“Tom, we’re higher than man has ever gone!” Rip cried.
“Do you think it’s safe?” Bud asked apprehensively. “If we go much higher we’ll be hurled off into space!”
“Don’t worry,” the excited pilot replied. “This is as high as we are going. Is the pressure system okay?”
Bud checked the dials on the big panel. “Tight as an eleventh-inning ball game,” he replied.
“Then we’ll sit up here for a while,” Tom said. “I want to test the automatic stabilizer.”
The Sky Queen hung in space while the pilots and the other passengers had sandwiches and hot drinks. Half an hour later Tom said he was going down.
“I’d advise you not to drop too fast, Tom,” Rip spoke up. “You know atmospheric friction plays strange tricks.”
“I know,” Tom agreed.
He brought the Sky Queen down as easily as if he had been flying an ordinary plane no more than ten thousand feet up. When they reached ground, Hank took charge of the automatic recordings, but Tom ordered him not to make them public until after their South American flight.
That evening at the Swift home Sandy and Phyl arranged a gay bon voyage dinner party. Rip was
I
A BRILLIANT FORMULA 117
there, and when the party was about to break up, he called Tom aside.
“Have you got a few minutes to come over to the Swift Construction Company field and see a new plane?” he asked.
“Sure thing,” Tom replied. “Tell me about it.”
Rip said that a single-seater fighter plane had just been delivered to him. He hoped there would be room aboard the Flying Lab for it, and he wanted Tom to look at it and give his opinion at once.
“The pilot brought me word that I’m to do some scouting in South America for that Air Force pilot who deserted,” he said.
Reaching the field, Rip pointed out the tiny aircraft, which he said could land and take off on a runway as small as a forest clearing. It was the same size as the Kangaroo Kub, but was geared for close-range fighting. It fairly bristled with small armor. Nozzles of tiny cannon and midget rocket tubes protruded along the leading edge of the wings.
“Wow!” Tom cried. “That’s quite a ship.”
“I call it the Bolo Fighter,” Rip rejoined. “Strictly experimental. Well, do you think you’ll have room for it?”
“Sure thing,” Tom answered. “Fly her over to the Enterprises field now, and we’ll put her aboard in the morning.”
“I’ll do that.”
As Rip started off, Tom went to a telephone to inform Roberts, the night watchman, that Rip was on his way over.
118 TOM SWIFT AND HIS FLYING LAB
“By the way, Roberts,” Tom asked, “have you heard anything from your son lately?”
“Not a thing. His wife is extremely worried. I hope that you find out something about him while you’re in Bapcho.”
“I’ll certainly try,” Tom promised, and hung up.
The next morning Rip’s plane was rolled aboard the Flying Lab. Mrs. Swift, Sandy, Phyl Newton, and her father were on hand to wish the travelers Godspeed.
“Do be careful, Tom,” his mother begged, “and don’t take chances.”
Tom, Bud, Rip, Chow, and Arvid Hanson climbed aboard the gleaming ship.
They stood in the open doorway a moment to wave good-by. Then the door was rolled shut.
Soon the great nuclear engines roared to life. Minutes later the Sky Queen was off on her maiden trip!
CHAPTER XV
OPERATION JUNGLE
IN LITTLE OVER an hour the Sky Queen was flying above the Caribbean, nearing the South American mainland. A short time later it headed inland.
“Look out, Tom!” Rip shouted as they reached a wooded area. “A plane’s coming at us from two o’clock!”
As Tom maneuvered out of the way, he caught a glimpse of a sleek European jet fighter as it flashed across the nose of the Sky Queen.
“That guy must be crazy,” Bud howled.
“He may be crazy, but he’s making deliberate passes at us!” Rip warned.
“Here he comes from eleven o’clock.”
“He’s firing on us!” Bud cried, as a bullet went below them. “If he puts a hole in this pressurized cabin, we’ll be gone gooses!”
Already Tom was getting more altitude, as Rip, grabbing binoculars, shouted: 119
120 TOM SWIFT AND HIS FLYING LAB
“I believe that’s the fellow I’m looking for! I’m going after him in the Bolo.”
Quickly Rip zipped himself into a heavy insulated flying suit and rushed to the Flying Lab’s hangar, followed by Bud and Hanson. As he hopped into his plane, they started the electric motors to open the rear door and then catapulted him into space.
The enemy pilot, seeing the Bolo Fighter, immediately went after it. He closed in on Rip with a vicious dive, forcing the ace to bank and climb in an attempt to shake the attacker off his tail. All this time a stream of tracers was ripping into the edge of the Bolo’s wing.
With a lightninglike loop Rip Hulse suddenly whipped up and over and got on the other ship’s tail. Before the enemy pilot could get out of the way, Rip fired a burst of .50-caliber bullets into the other plane’s fuel tank.
“Rip hit him!” Bud cheered. “Look at the smoke!”
“The fellow’s bailing out,” Tom cried. “There he goes and his chute is opening.”
Then Rip’s voice sounded clear and calm over the Flying Lab’s radio. “Hulse calling the Sky Queen. Hulse calling the Sky Queen.”
“Come in, Rip,” Tom directed.
“This is my man, all right. I’m staying with him. Go ahead on your trip, Tom.
Good luck. Out.”
They watched as Rip followed the parachuting pilot down to a large clearing.
Suddenly the Bolo began to wobble.
“Hey! Rip’s in trouble!” Bud cried.
OPERATION :UN6LE 121
Tom lowered the Sky Queen for a better look. Rip would indeed have difficulty reaching the ground without a crack-up.
“I’m afraid one of his ailerons is damaged,” Tom said anxiously. “I’m going after him.”
As Tom prepared to land, Rip’s voice came again.
“Hulse to Sky Queen. No need for help. I can land okay.”
“Roger. But we’ll stand by.”
The Sky Queen waited, while every member of the crew, including Chow who had come to the cabin, watched the chase below.
“Well, brand my tall pines,” Chow exclaimed presently, “that HI ole Bolo sure made a right purty landing in that forest clearing!”
Meanwhile, the disabled fugitive had crumpled to the ground, his chute almost enveloping him as it collapsed. When Rip reached him, the flier put up some resistance, but the ace quelled him with a right uppercut to the jaw. Five minutes later he spoke again to the Flying Lab over his portable belt transmitter.
“This is Leeskol, all right. He won’t give any more trouble. I have a full confession, and papers I found on him prove he’s working with Pedro Canova.
Leeskol was hired by him to stop your trip in case you got this far, Tom. It’s all part of the plot to get that uranium.”
As Rip paused, Hanson muttered, “We’re lucky that guy didn’t knock us out of the sky.”
“Leeskol figured his best bet was a surprise attack,” Hulse went on.
“Incidentally, I got another
122 TOM SWIFT AND HIS FLYING LAB
name from him. Watch out for a Fritz Manuel.”
“I sure will,” Tom replied. “What are you going to do with your man, Rip?”
“Fly him back to civilization.”
“But what about your plane? We’ll wait until you look it over.”
After an examination, Rip changed his mind about needing assistance. Not only had the aileron been damaged, but his prisoner was becoming obstreperous.
“I’ll be there pronto,” Tom answered.
Just before he set the Sky Queen down in the clearing there was a cry from Bud.
“Look! Indians!”
A band of some dozen mahogany-skinned natives, bows and arrows poised, were moving toward Rip and Leeskol. But a moment later they were retreating among the trees, evidently frightened by the approaching Sky Queen.
As the plane settled on the ground and everyone started to get out, Chow waved a stout rope he was carrying.
“I’ll tie that Leeskol up myself! Nobody can double-cross Uncle Sam when I’m around an’ get away with it!”
While Tom and his engineer were busy making use of the Flying Lab’s equipment to repair the Bolo’s damaged aileron, the Indians suddenly appeared again.
“They’re going to shoot!” Hanson cried. “Run!”
“Wait!” Chow cried.
To everyone’s amazement, he stepped forward
OPERATION JUNGLE 123
and haltingly spoke a jargon of guttural sounds. Slowly, smiles of understanding broke out on the faces of the Indians.
“What are you telling them?” Tom asked.
“That I fetched ‘em some presents from the Lone Star State.”
“Presents?”
“Sure thing. I’d never get caught in Injun country without some lil ole knickknacks.”
From a pocket he pulled several cheap bracelets, rings, brooches, and four pearl necklaces, and distributed them.