“If anyone’s watching, that may keep them guessing awhile,” he said, “even if not for long.”
“If we find these planes, what then?” Powell asked.
Arseniev indicated the two-way radio. “We’ll contact Khabarovsk, and they will send out a fleet of bombers. We’ll show them a thing or two. Besides,” he indicated the lockers, “we have a few messages for them ourselves, if necessary.”
After flying a dozen miles due west, Turk swung the Grumman and started north, reaching for altitude. At twelve thousand feet he leveled off and soon left the hamlets and cultivated fields behind. He swung away from the railroad, and headed for the coast.
“I’ll follow the coast to the Nahtohu, then follow it west to the forks. After that, finding the lake should not be hard.”
He checked his guns. The Grumman mounted four machine guns forward; .30 calibers. Aft, there were three gun ports and two automatic rifles available.
“What have you been doing with this crate?” Powell demanded. “I thought you were flying express in the Indies?”
Turk grinned. “I was, but those East Indies are a long way from tamed yet. Lots of times I was flying gold, pearls, rubies, diamonds. Flying over wild country, over Moro, headhunter and cannibal country, and there’s lots of renegades. Sometimes I had trouble.”
Below them a cold gray sea was running up on the shore, boiling among worn black rocks, and curling back in angry white foam along the huge cliffs that lined the sea. The forest below them did not seem green, it seemed black, lonely and forlorn like the woods of a dead planet. Here and there on the heights there was snow, and down below in the occasional clearings they could see it too.
Turk studied the dead gray of the sky. “Storm making up,” he said, “but there’s plenty of time. That’s the Nahtohu coming up.” He swung the Grumman to cut over the woods and intersect the river trail.
“Madden!” Arseniev’s voice was sharp. “A Nakajima fighter is coming down toward us!”
“Okay,” Turk replied. “Get those automatic rifles and stand by aft. But don’t shoot unless I give the word, or he starts. Then pour it into him!”
He flew right straight ahead. His mind was working swiftly. It would have to be quick, it would have to be surprise. The fighter’s armament was no better, but his speed and maneuverability were much greater.
He glanced around. The fighter hadn’t offered to open fire. It must be that he was uncertain. Turk slowed up suddenly to let the Nakajima overtake him. It did, coming at such a terrific rate that when the Grumman abruptly lost speed the fighting plane drew ahead. Madden suddenly banked steeply toward the Nakajima, and at the same instant, opened fire with his full forward armament.
The savage blast of fire caught the uncertain Japanese unprepared. A shell exploded against his instrument board, riddling his body with fragments. As he sprang up in the cockpit, a hurricane blast of machine-gun fire swept the ship from wing to tail assembly, and the Nakajima rolled over and started for earth, screaming like a dying eagle.
Turk pulled the ship into an Immelmann and wheeled back over the spot where the plane had been. But the pursuit ship was a gone gosling. It was headed for earth with a comet’s tail of fire streaming out behind. Paralleling it fell the black body of the pilot, turning over and over in the air.
He’d had no chance to think, let alone to act.
“Nice work,” Powell said, coming forward. His eyes were narrow, and he was sweating. “You don’t gamble much, do you?”
Madden looked up quickly. “Gamble? With a war at stake?”
Powell laughed, his voice a little harsh. “Some would. You had me worried there for a minute!”
Turk eased back on the stick and began to climb. He glanced at the altimeter. Slowly the needle left ten thousand behind, then twelve…fifteen…sixteen.…
Powell looked uncomfortable, and loosened his collar. Arseniev, who had rejoined them, was watching Powell curiously.
At twenty thousand Turk leveled off and continued west. “What now?” Powell’s breathing was heavy in the thin air. “Better land and look around on foot, hadn’t we? If they see us we’ll have a flock of pursuit jobs around us faster than we can think, and they’ll do what you do, shoot first, then talk!”
“No,” Turk said. “If they are down there, we’re going to call Khabarovsk, then attack.”
“Attacking twelve pursuit ships?” Powell said, his face getting red. “You’re no combat pilot! You’re mad!”
“Didn’t you know that?” Turk grinned. “And that’s not true, I flew in Spain.”
Powell turned, looking at Madden. “You flew in Spain?”
“That’s right,” Turk nodded. “And I was a prisoner for a while during the siege of the Alcazar at Toledo. Remember?”
“Remember…” Suddenly, Powell’s hand flashed for a gun, and Turk shoved the stick forward. The Grumman’s nose dropped and Powell, overbalanced, plunged forward, his head smashing against the wall. He slumped in his safety belt, and Turk eased the stick back and brought the ship to an even keel. Arseniev’s eyes were bright.
“All the time he was a traitor!” he whispered hoarsely. “All the time!”
“Sure,” Madden agreed. “I couldn’t place him at first. He’s a German, lived in England for several years, but he was with Franco. You’d better tie him up.”
Arseniev glanced down as Turk banked the ship. On the shores of a small lake were lined a long row of planes. Half of them were in the process of being camouflaged with branches and reeds. The others still were uncovered. There must have been a hundred.
Arseniev, his face white, bound Powell hand and foot, then he stepped over to the radio. “Calling Khabarovsk…calling Khabarovsk…enemy airdrome located…between the forks of the Nahtohu…position 138 degrees east, 47 degrees 2 minutes north.…Approximately one hundred planes.”
Turk glanced down again. Below them the airdrome was a scene of mad activity.
“Heard us!” he snapped. “Get set, I’m going down! Get on those bombs!”
Turk pulled the Grumman into as steep a dive as she would take and went roaring toward earth. When the ship was built she had been fitted with a bomb rack, and he had taken her just that way. Now it would come in handy.
Roaring toward the ground he saw one of the pursuit ships streaking along the field, and he opened up with the guns. The ship was just clearing the trees at the end of the field when it dipped suddenly, smashed into the timber and burst into flame.
The Grumman dove into the field so close that frightened Japanese scattered in every direction, then Arseniev pulled the bomb release, and Turk brought the ship out of the dive. For an instant he didn’t think the wings would stay with her, but they did, and the ship was shooting away over the trees when the thunder of the bursting bombs reached their ears. He did a quick wingover and started back, his forward armament chattering wickedly.
He strafed the field from beginning to end, and a pursuit ship that had started to make the run for a takeoff spilled over into flame. He saw men start across the field.
Behind him, Arseniev was busy dropping incendiary bombs, then the Grumman began to climb, and Turk looked back over his shoulder. Several blazes were burning furiously around the field, two planes had definitely crashed there, and several were on fire.
He turned south. “We’re getting out of here, Fyodor. Better inform your boys!”
Madden heard the voice replying behind him, then Arseniev switched off the radio.
“There’s a force coming!” he yelled.
Turk tooled the Grumman on south, then swung away from the mountains toward the marshes. Suddenly the motor stuttered, coughed, and Turk worked, his face changing. The motor sputtered again, missed, then died.
“What is it?” Arseniev demanded.
“Gas!” Turk indicated his fuel gauges. “Must have winged us as we were leaving.”
He put the Grumman into a slow glide, studying the earth below. It was marshland, with occasional ponds and lakes. But all were small. Suddenly, just ahead, he saw one that was somewhat larger. He pushed the stick forward, leveled off, and landed smoothly on the lake water. With what momentum remained, Turk tooled the ship into a small opening in the marsh. Nearby was a small island of firm ground.
“Better get on that radio and report,” Turk said. “I’m going to look around.”
He tried a hummock of grass near the plane, and it was solid. A flock of birds flew past, staying low. Turk turned to look at them, scowling. Then he looked up, studying the sky. There were clouds about, and the wind was picking up, but not much yet. Along the horizon there was a low black fog.
Suddenly, complete stillness fell over the marsh. Above, the clouds had ragged edges, and the black fog along the horizon suddenly lifted, and then the sun was covered.