“Nonsense,” the lieutenant said irritably. “That’s just a childish superstition.”
“Don’t bet on that,” Red said gloomily. “I’ve seen some mighty queer things happen up here that weren’t caused by any human factor.”
“Rubbish,” the lieutenant said.
He glanced down again at the dashboard and suddenly the expression on his face changed to one of complete astonishment.
“Well I’ll be damned!” he said loudly-
“What’s the matter?” Red said, leaving his turret and coming up to the lieutenant’s side.
The lieutenant was still staring at the dashboard with bewildered incredulity.
“I should be taken out and tossed in the Thames,” he said finally. He pointed emphatically at the compass. “Look at that! I’m a full ninety degrees off course. No wonder we’re heading into blizzard weather. We’re going straight north.”
“No!” Red said dazedly.
He stared at the compass, his lean features blank with astonishment.
“But how could that happen?” he said.
“Search me,” the lieutenant said sourly. “I guess I’m just the world’s worst navigator.” He kicked the right rudder and moved the stick slowly, bringing the ship about in a sharp right angle bank. The needle of the compass swung around to “E” and he straightened the plane out.
“That’s better,” he said. “Now we’re on course again and with a little luck we’ll flank this heavy weather.”
Tink was smiling triumphantly at Jing.
“You see?” he said. “We’re out of trouble.”
“But I don’t see how,” Jing said.
“Simple. I threw the compass off ninety degrees. We were heading east but the compass showed north. When the lieutenant corrected the position to east we actually turned due south.” So, Tink grinned, “we’re heading south now, toward warm weather. The plane won’t need de-icers in a little while.”
Jing clapped her hands together with pleasure.
“Why, that’s wonderful!” she cried.
Tink smiled modestly. “It was clever,” he admitted with only a shade of reluctance.
But an hour later, as the plane continued to wing its way south at high speed, his cheerfulness faded slightly. The weather was warmer but soupy and thick and the lieutenant was flying on instruments, getting farther off course every minute.
“I don’t know what to do now,” Tink confessed worriedly to Jing. “I don’t know where we are. And the lieutenant still thinks he’s flying on course. We may run out of gas and be too far from London to return.”
The lieutenant was scowling anxiously at his instruments and finally he turned to Red and said, “Something’s a bit wrong. I think we’re off course. I’m going to drop down and see if we can’t pick out a landmark.”
The plane started down through the dense massed clouds, the altimeter needle swinging dizzily as the plane slanted groundward.
Red’s loud incredulous voice suddenly broke the tense silence.
“It ain’t possible!” he cried. “My eyes are playing tricks on me.”
“What’s the matter?” the lieutenant demanded.
“We’re over water!” Red cried shrilly.
“That’s impossible,” the lieutenant snapped.
“Maybe so,” Red said dolefully, “but if that stuff below us ain’t water, it’s a darn good imitation.”
The lieutenant straightened the plane out and then scrambled to the side and peered down. He swallowed abruptly.
“You’re right,” he said in a shaken voice. “It is water.”
“Then where the hell are we?” Red asked helplessly. “This sure ain’t Europe unless they been having a lot of rain.”
The lieutenant was staring at” a mistily outlined shore line, and when he turned to Red, his face was pale.
“Red,” he said, in an odd, brittle, voice, “we’re over the Mediterranean, heading for Africa!”
“What!” Red stared at the lieutenant and his adam’s-apple bobbed rhythmically. He pointed feebly at the dashboard. “We can’t be!” he cried. “The compass says we’re heading east.”
“The compass in on the fritz,” the lieutenant said tersely.
“Oh my God!” Red said weakly. “More gremlin trouble.”
“Stop babbling about gremlins,” the lieutenant said. “This is a mechanical breakdown, nothing else. And we’re in a mighty tough spot.”
“Well what’re we going to do?” Red asked.
“There’s only one thing we can do,” the lieutenant answered. “We haven’t enough gas to make London, and if we return to the French coast, we’ll be captured and dumped into a German prison camp. We’ve got to try for Africa and hope we can find an allied airfield to land on.”
“Yeah, but there’s lots of Nazi airfields in Africa,” Red said, “especially along the coast. How’re we goin’ to tell one from another?”
“Let’s worry about that when we get there,” the lieutenant said.
Tink listened to this conversation in silent misery. He turned to Jing with sagging shoulders.
“I’ve certainly made a mess of things,” he said dolefully.
“That’s no way to feel,” Jing said. “You saved them from the storm, didn’t you? It isn’t your fault that this other trouble came along.”
“I know,” Tink said miserably. “But that’s not much consolation.”
The sun was edging an orange shoulder over the horizon when they sighted the ragged coastline of Africa, and after a few more minutes they were able to make out the camouflaged site of an airfield.
“Maybe luck is with us,” Red said jubilantly. “That looks like home-sweet-home to me.”
“Maybe,” the lieutenant said grimly. “If it isn’t, we’re too low on gas to do much scouting around.”
They headed in over the airport at about five thousand feet, coming down out of the early sun to keep out of sight as long as possible.
“I can see some fighters warming up,” Red said excitedly.
“Take a good look,” the lieutenant said. “Are they ours?”
“Can’t tell yet. Drop in a little closer.”
“Okay,” the lieutenant said. He shoved the stick forward slowly. “But make up your mind pretty fast. We’ll be in their laps soon.”
Red was standing in the turret peering downward, his eyes narrowed to thin slits as he strained to make out the insignia of the planes on the ground.
“I think I got ’em,” he said.
“What’s the verdict?”
“Start climbing,” Red said tersely, turning from the turret. His voice was dull and flat as he said, “They’re Focke-Wulf, 109’s!”
“Judas Priest!” the lieutenant whispered softly.
He jerked the stick back into his stomach and gunned the ship, but there was an ominous sputter from the left engine as the plane took the extra gas.
“We’re about through,” he said. “Did they see us?”
“Can’t tell,” Red said. “They’re still on the ground. But it’s a cinch they heard us.”
The lieutenant nursed the plane to eight thousand feet, but then the left engine conked, and a few seconds later, the powerful throbbing of the second engine began to fade to a labored cough.
“We’ll have to land,” the lieutenant said. “Can’t do much about it. It’s the law of gravity.”
They slanted down in a long sweeping dive that carried them toward a distant fringe of vegetation that marked the beginning of the trackless jungle wastes.
“I always wanted to do a little big game hunting,” Red said, and his voice sounded hollow and loud in the unnatural quietness of the cabin.
“Then this is your chance,” the lieutenant said.
At three thousand feet they were over the green carpet of jungle, heading inland at a dead speed of almost three hundred miles an hour.