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Show j .WHITE. fy'?77aC.7flAt W.N.U.TEATUCEJ THE STORY THUS FAR: Lieut. Col. Frank Kurtz, pilot of a Flying Fortress, tells ol that fatal day when the Japs truck In the Philippines. Eight of his men were killed while fleeing for shelter, shel-ter, and Old 99, with many other Fortresses, For-tresses, was demolished on the ground. After escaping to Australia, what Is left of the squadron flies to Java, where they go on many missions over the Philippines Philip-pines and Macassar Strait. Sergt. Boone, gunner, tells how Queens die, from eye witness experience. Java sea is now full of Jap carriers. The Japs bombard a helpless Dutch town, and a Jap bomb blows op the kitchen. Another bomb cores a direct hit on the fliers' supply of beer. CHAPTER XVI "The Dutch made us steel tripods for them in a machine shop, but we had a hell of a time getting anyone to dig the holes. We were flying missions and couldn't do It ourselves. our-selves. So Silva and I took the truck and went into Madiun. On the street corners we saw a bunch of natives standing around picking their teeth or scratching' their bottoms. bot-toms. We argued they must be Jap sympathizers, or else they would have been busy helping win the war. So we pulled out our .45's, and by a coincidence they all got into that truck, and dug us some of the nicest nic-est foxholes you ever saw. After that, when the alarm would go off we could run to those foxholes and swing a gun we knocked down five Zeros with them in the short time we were there. "We were fixing up our planes, too. Our tail guns had finally cured the Japs of making attacks from behind. be-hind. Now they were coming In at all directions, hunting for our soft spots, feeling lis out like we were some dame on a sofa, but mostly they were hitting us head-on, because be-cause they discovered that In the nose we had only a single little .30-caliber. .30-caliber. I guess the designers, after aft-er putting in those tail guns, had figured they could rest on their laurels, lau-rels, but you can never do that long In a war. "So we got busy there on Madiun Field. We mounted a big .50-caliber down In the navigator's compartment, compart-ment, rigging It so it would fire out of the ventilator. And for good measure we stuck in another .30-caliber. .30-caliber. "Since then they're carrying out this idea at the factory, but the only way any factory can learn what is needed is from the combat crews themselves. "But about the time we got those new guns rigged in the nose, the Japs started staying away from us. We'd be flying along pretty as you please when a flock of Zeros would come Into view, but staying well out of range just looking us over. Then one of our gunners might fire a burst In their direction, just to let them know we were on the balls. Or sometimes some-times the Zeros might come in for one or two wide, sweeping passes. But mostly they'd go off with their tails between their legs. Toward the last they only tried to get us on the ground. They knew we had no protection there to speak of no fighters and no pom-poms. They'd come in insolont as could be." (Meaning the gunners were in the ball turrets ready to fire.) "That was the week I got Into something way over my head in this liaison work," said Frank, "but first you ought to look at that big de luxe hotel which was the unofficial capital capi-tal of Java. Its lobby, bar, and dining din-ing room were crowded with uniforms uni-forms British, Dutch, and American. Ameri-can. It looked like a Hollywood costume cos-tume parade. "It was an enormous high-ceilinged high-ceilinged spacious thing, open to the soft Javanese air little tropical birds would fly in and out of the dining room and roost on the gleaming gleam-ing chandeliers. "The Dutch are great eaters, and they have something they call reis-taffel. reis-taffel. You order it and then sit back and eat while twenty-three ' waiters line up and walk by your table, ta-ble, each carrying a different sauce or fish or bowl of relish or rice. I tried It once and managed to live by eating only every other course, but your true colonial Dutchman will stoke in all twenty-three into his big pot, drenching the layers down with mugs of beer. "In the bar you might see the boys of Patrol Wing 10 in from reconnaissance, re-connaissance, drinking Daiquiris (this hotel was Navy billeting headquarters), head-quarters), and often I would see my old Hollywood High School classmate, class-mate, John Robertson, sitting there in his off hours, very handsome in his Naval pilot's uniform, and with him was the most beautiful girl in Surabaya. "She had dark hair, and an almost ghostly pale face that was sad in repose. re-pose. Then a smile would quickly light it up, and you'd wonder how you could ever have thought that. And the most beautiful legs in the city. When she'd walk through the bar clinging to John's arm and look-i look-i ing up at him, even the oldest and ! crabbiest admiral would rustle a lit-I lit-I tie in his chair and lean out to give j them a formal inspection. The younger Naval pilots envied John to the point where they would have hated hat-ed his guts if they hadn't liked him so much. "John was very busy and I don't think he save her much thought. but still it's nice to have the most beautiful girl in town crazy about you, to the point where it even bothers both-ers the admirals. "She was, so they said, a very high Dutch socialite and had lots of money, which you might guess by how simple and expensive her evening eve-ning dresses were. In the daytime she wore a beautifully tailored uniform uni-form of one of the woman's volunteer volun-teer organizations. I think she drove a car for the Dutch General Staff. "Meanwhile my job was growing by leaps and jumps. In that hotel dining room you might see General Wavell, the British Commander in Chief, or Admiral Hart, or General Brett, who commanded the United Nations Air Force, or Van Oeyen, the Dutch Commander in Chief. I was circulating among the tables, and my brief case was so crammed with hot information I wouldn't trust it in a checkroom. "There was a feeling of tension. Refugees had been crowding in from Singapore and Sumatra. Now there was a feeling that maybe they'd be crowding out soon. .Lots of the natives na-tives had already left, and those servants ser-vants who remained you knew were staying only because they were very loyal. But to whom? Maybe to the Dutch. Or maybe to someone else The same fist which held the flashlight flash-light also held a steel knife. staying around to watch us, relaying re-laying information we knew not how, or to whom. You couldn't be sure of anything. "Except that I knew they were watching me, maybe only out of idle curiosity as I circulated from one table to the other, 'and kept that brief case leaning against my leg when I sat at my own table. "That hotel certainly wasn't built to keep military secrets. The big high-ceilinged bedrooms had only swinging half-doors like barrooms open to the air above and below. The barefooted native servants looked after them, only I'd catch them slipping in and out of mine at queer times of the day. But I thought I only imagined it. I also suspected they were listening in the corridor outside. One evening a couple of the pilots were down from Malang going back the same night sitting on my bed while we talked over new orders, and somehow a feeling grew on me we were being watched. I whispered to the others to go on talking, slipped off my shoes, tiptoed to the door. Just as I opened it: I caught a glimpse of a white robe flitting around the corner. When I got out into the blacked-out corridor, I could see nothing. But then I was sure. "That night I slept with my brief case under my pillow. In addition every bed was provided with a Dutch widow. At first the American pilots didn't know what to make of this and would kick them out on the floor. I should maybe explain that a Dutch widow is a long padded bolster, and if you sleep with it between your knees, it keeps your legs from pressing press-ing together and sweating in the tropical heat. After a while the pilots began to like them. "But that night I went to sleep wondering about the white shape I'd seen flit around the corner. It seemed about the same size as the waiter who had "oeen staring at me in the dining roo. for the past three days. Only staring isn't quite the word. Because this particular little chili-picker had glassy eyes like a turtle. I could never catch them directly di-rectly on me, but I had the feeling it was I he was interested in. "Two nights later Lieutenant Jac-quet Jac-quet came up from Malang. By the time we had finished work it was so late I suggested he'd better spend the night with me. I put my brief case under my pillow as usual. On this particular night it contained something so important I don't even like to talk about it now. Maybe that was why I slept u.ieasily. Or maybe because the whole outlook for the war was so bad. I realized In the Philippines I had only been lucky, and I might never get out of Java. It was very hot, and In the distance a thunderstorm was muttering mut-tering as it moved toward the city. "Anyway, I'd been lightly asleep for about an hour when a glare awoke me. It was a flashlight, held very close a haze of yellow light coming through the mosquito netting net-ting over my face. But in this haze I could see that the same fist which held the flashlight also held a steel knife, and that its point stuck down into the yellow cone of that flashlight. flash-light. The other hand was just touching touch-ing the edge of my pillow. "I gave a yell and dived through that netting like a cat, but the yellow yel-low light instantly winked out and I was standing there alone In the darkness, while Jacquet rolled out on the other side. He hadn't been as nervous as I, and was sleeping more deeply. But just then a blue lightning flash lit up the room, and by its quick glare I saw the door into the corridor closing (I was sure , I had locked it). But when I got out into the corridor, it seemed empty. "Why hadn't he stabbed me? I ' think because he was surprised to find Jacquet there. One of us would surely have been able to make an outcry. And I thought to myself, 'Well, stranger, for a newcomer you're sure getting into a lot of things, because you never thought some guy you didn't know and had never bothered would ever try to kill you through mosquito netting in a place called Java.' The brief case was okay." "And the queer thing was," said Margo, "that just at this time the report got back to America that Frank was dead. He'd been killed in a flying accident in Java. I was down in Florida by then, and the only man I could really talk to was Clifi Jensen, an Air Corps boy we had known at March and Albuquerque, Albuquer-que, and later at Morrison Field. "He was stationed near by, and now was working twenty-one hours a day for the rest of the gang who were fighting in Java. I could really real-ly talk to Cliff we understood each other. The rumor that Frank was dead somehow reached Australia, and of course the Air Corps is a small place. In a few days Colonel Truesdell in California heard it from one of the ferry pilots, and a few days later Cliff heard of it. He didn't tell me, because he wasn't quite sure, but some people thought it had really happened. "I could feel the difference. They were looking at me queerly now. They would say what a fine boy Frank 'had been.' Or that they were praying for his safe return. They never understand. They can't see that what you're anxious about is not the distant future, but this very night. Is he hungry? Must he go out on a mission? Maybe he's been badly hurt during the day, "and you don't know it yet. "Praying that everything will be all right during those weeks and months to come scares' you it's asking ask-ing too much, you're afraid. You just pray he's all right tonight, and isn't wounded, and will get enough sleep, so he'll be strong and alert and have a good chance tomorrow. You don't dare ask more. "Also those strong plump sunburned sun-burned men who could leave their business for months to lie around on the Florida sands were very 'realistic' 'real-istic' about the war sure it was all a terrible mess and everything was going to pieces, offering me lots of sympathy. But what had any of them ever done to, get us a decent Air Force in the past? Or what good were they or their 'realism' doing anyone now? I liked Cliff's better. He knew what the boys were up against and was up hah the night trying to hurry reinforcements. Out of the little we had (and he knew how little), so they could hold what they could. Cliff made sense. The rest was a nightmare." "When we'd first hit Java," said Frank, "we'd been full of the offensive offen-sive spirit sure we were going to roll the Japs back off the Philippines onto Formosa with those thousand planes which, according to rumor, were coming within three months. The second month was almost up now, Java was unsteady under our feet, and we'd so far received about two dozen P-40's, maybe a few more Forts than that, and seven dive bombers. Hardly fifty planes in all. "Now we knew the offensive was out for the time being. What we prayed for was fighters to defend what was left of our Forts and those beautifully camouflaged Dutch airfields. air-fields. With fighters to hold them off, we knew we could hold Java. "All right, suppose the Japs had moved into Timor and cut the jugular jugu-lar vein from Australia, so that our P-40's could no longer hop on the island chain to us on their belly tanks? Why not a carrier? Couldn't the Navy spare just one which could load up with P-40's in Australia Austra-lia and then, when it was still several hundred miles from Java and out of range of the Jap bombers, it could turn the P-40's loose, let them fly on in to us, and go back for another load? (TO BE CONTINUED! |