“Hear that? They’re tuned to Tokyo! My hunch was right! They’ve captured this island and were waiting for that additional force to help ’em hold on when our men found out. How about sneaking up on ’em and having a look-see?”

  “Sure,” O’Malley grunted. “Just so long as I can tote this two-ton tommy-gun along. I’m like the guys in the movies. I want to die behind a spitting rifle. You got a flag on you, partner?”

  “They’ll put one around your body if you don’t pipe down,” Roberts grumbled.

  He drew a heavy Army automatic from his holster. The gun was wet, but would work. Roberts knew his weapons.

  For almost a third of a mile they crawled on all fours, then both flattened themselves against the earth. Four Jap soldiers were proceeding along a path in single file, their rifles held at ready. Roberts guessed that some outpost had heard the plane as she had slid along the beach. These men were to see what was going on.

  Roberts put his lips against O’Malley’s ear.

  “Okay, fighting Irish,” he whispered. “This is your chance to do some fancy work. We’ve got to take those four monkeys. If they report that plane, we’ll be in the soup. We slip through the jungle, get ahead of them and pick ’em off silently. No blasts with the tommy gun, you hear?”

  O’Malley carefully laid the gun down and drew his own automatic. He gripped it by the muzzle and grinned. They separated then, each taking a side of the trail.

  It was easy to outstrip the Japs. They were not moving fast and the insect night life made enough racket to hide the little noise which the two Yanks made.

  Roberts crouched behind a bush at the edge of the trail. He saw the four Japs heave into view, and three of them filed past. Roberts jumped the fourth, wound an arm around his throat, and lifted him completely off his feet. The man’s kicks and struggles made no noise. Roberts gave the man a sudden push, then brought down the butt of his gun. The Jap’s skull crunched.

  Roberts knelt over him, drew out the man’s bayonet and found four grenades in a sack. He slung this over one shoulder and set out for more prey. He stumbled on O’Malley a moment later. The Irishman was wiping blood off the butt of his gun, too.

  But the remaining pair of Japs were suddenly aware that things were radically amiss. They jabbered to one another and tried to penetrate the darkness. Just about the time they decided to yell for help, two shadowy forms came catapulting out of the brush. Each had a bayonet. It was over in half a minute.

  * * * *

  O’Malley’s Jap was dead. Roberts held a squirming, mass of flesh and bones against the ground until O’Malley came up. The Irishman did not believe in elaborate measures. He just kicked the Jap’s jaw hard enough to break it and put him away.

  “I wish we could get one of these apes who could speak English,” Roberts grunted. “I’d like to know how many of them are on the island.”

  “Well, for the love of Mike, let’s go find out,” O’Malley suggested. “If they can’t speak English, we can count in good old American as we mow ’em down.”

  “Park here a minute,” Roberts said. “It won’t be as easy as that. If we could locate their barracks and lob a couple of grenades through the window, that might be okay, but what if we toss those grapes into the shack where the Japs have the workers imprisoned? We’re pretty well alone out here. No chance to get help, so this becomes something of a private war for you and me. There’s only one thing to do, Mike.”

  “Shoot,” O’Malley offered.

  “I’m going to let them capture me,” Roberts said. “That will draw the whole garrison into the open. They wouldn’t miss grabbing a Yank in uniform. They’ll be plenty busy with me. Your job is to hide, keep that machine-gun ready and watch where they throw me. Then blast their barracks and officers’ quarters into a cocked hat. Turn loose the gun on what’s left and I’ll get the prisoners to bust out too.”

  “Yeah,” O’Malley said slowly, “only it’s me who is going to surrender. You’re better at heaving grenades than me.”

  “After all the bragging I heard you do?” Roberts scoffed. “Nix. I’m in command, and you take orders. Now let’s sneak up and get your gun into position to strafe the whole clearing.”

  They worked furiously then. It would not be long before more patrols would be sent out to search for the first one and when the bodies of those Japs were discovered, Roberts’ whole plan would blow up.

  They set the machine-gun into position at the end of a fairly long field. The field was clearly meant for planes but not yet fully completed. O’Malley nodded and disappeared into the darkness. He carried two grenade sacks over his shoulders and Roberts’ automatic was stuck in his belt. A Japanese bayonet was strapped around his middle. He looked like a walking arsenal.

  Roberts ripped his uniform in a couple of places, rubbed dirt on his face then staggered boldly onto the clearing.

  He yelled for help. The Japs would be sure to believe his prepared story about being wrecked close to the island and that he made for it as a haven because he thought it was in American hands.

  Lights flashed on. Men poured out of one long, low building. If O’Malley was in position, he would know this was the barracks and get set. Bayonets jabbed Roberts as he stumbled along. Twice he fell and the bayonets prodded him painfully.

  A dapper Jap lieutenant stood waiting. A smirk was on his yellow face and his buck teeth glistened as though he would like to take a bite out of this fair-skinned Yank.

  “Well,” the Jap staid in good English, “what have we here?”

  Roberts stared at him in open surprise.

  “I don’t understand,” he said. “I thought there were Americans on this island. My plane developed engine trouble. I came down about half a mile east of the island and swam the rest of the way. Now I find a lot of Japs—and you, who speak English as well as I do.”

  The Jap stepped forward. His open hand hit Roberts across the mouth.

  “I speak English better than you,” he hissed. “I was trained in an American university. It was a glorious four years. For me, Yank, not for you or your kind.”

  Roberts caressed his bleeding lips.

  “Nice way you have of returning our hospitality. Would you mind telling me what’s going on here?”

  “No. Of course not. We simply took over the island a week ago. Some of the fools here tried to fight us with clubs. They are buried over there, in one grave. The others are my prisoners. They are kept busy finishing this flying field which we shall soon use. Tomorrow you will help them. I suppose you are hungry.”

  “Starved,” Roberts said. “I’d appreciate—”

  Another slap smacked him across the mouth. The officer gave a signal and his men pitched in with rifle butts. Roberts got in a few licks, but they were inconsequential, and he went down under the terrific barrage of blows. The Jap officer smirked and kicked him to his feet again.

  “You will remain silent,” he snapped. “Oh, yes—I do thank your country for letting me study there. In fact, I liked the gesture so well that soon now, I shall return to the United States—at the head of an armed force. I’ll show you pigs a yellow man is as good, or better, than a white. Tomorrow you work, from dawn to darkness. If you do enough, there will be some rice. Otherwise—nothing. And, Lieutenant, I would very much enjoy shooting you for the sheer pleasure of it—so don’t cross me.”

  He barked a command in Japanese. The bayonets started work again and Roberts was forced over to another long, low building at the opposite end of the field. Two sentries opened a door and Roberts was kicked through it. He fell heavily.

  Wan, hungry-looking Americans eagerly helped him to his feet. They plied him with questions. Did the Army know the island had been lost? Was help coming?

  “No,” Roberts said loudly, “There’s no chance of any help. I just happened to fall into the sea within swimming distance and I thought I was safe because you fellows had the island. Who is the boss here?”

  A gray-haired man moved up. Roberts spoke to him in a low voice.

  “All of you,” he said quickly, “start talking. Ask me questions and make so much noise nosey ears won’t hear me speak. The Jap lieutenant knows English.”

  They jabbered at him. The gray-haired man spcke with his lips against Roberts’ ear.

  “They just swarmed over us in the dead of night. We didn’t even know war was declared. For hours before it happened, our radio was jammed. They wrecked it. I’m the assistant super. The real boss showed some fight and they—they wrapped him in an American flag and—turned a machine-gun loose on him. We, all of us, had to stand there and watch it. I’m telling you, if I lay my hands on one of those Japs—”

  Roberts’ face was grim. He gestured for silence, but first he had the word passed along to get ready for trouble. The bedlam died away just before a dozen Jap troops pushed their way into the barracks. They held the Americans back. The Jap lieutenant swaggered in.

  “Very nice trick,” he hissed at Roberts. “Very good indeed, having the men talk all at once so you could pass propaganda among them. I suspected something was in the wind. Lieutenant, come with me. And you’re going to talk. Do you understand? You’ll talk!”

  They herded Roberts to the Jap lieutenant’s quarters. All the lights had gone out. Sentries patrolled the field, but most of the troops were lounging in front of their barracks.

  Roberts was pushed against a wall, a bayonet held at his throat. The Jap lieutenant eyed him malevolently.

  “Well, have you made up your mind to talk yet? Or shall I have that bayonet thrust through your throat?”

  “I’ll talk,” Roberts gasped. “But not under these conditions. Treat me as a prisoner of war, of a rank equal to your own. Then I’ll fill your ears full of things that will make you plenty sorry to be here.”

  The lieutenant gestured and the guards withdrew. He motioned to a chair and handed Roberts a cigarette.

  “Very well, you shall be fairly treated, but I know something is in the wind. You will keep your promise?”

  “Sure.” Roberts blew smoke toward the low ceiling. “Why not? Listen, my buckoo, a destroyer is heading this way. When we couldn’t contact the island, we suspected something was afoot. When that destroyer arrives in the morning, what chance will you have? There are about forty men here. Do you think they could fight off United States Marines? According to the odds at Wake Island, three Marines should be able to take you over.”

  The Jap flushed, but retained his temper.

  “One destroyer?” he repeated. “That is bad. Very bad. What do they intend doing when they take over the island?”

  Roberts shrugged. “What did you think?”

  “Ah, yes. Very pleasant for you to contemplate, Lieutenant. So the destroyer will not arrive until morning? Fine! Excellent! Do you know why? Because at dawn I shall have enough heavy bombers coming this way to sink your precious destroyer. I shall radio at once.”

  Roberts made a half-hearted move to leap out of the chair, but a gun menaced him. The Jap lieutenant walked over to a short-wave radio set, concealed beneath tarpaulin. He contacted one of their bases not too far away.

  Roberts didn’t understand what he said, but it was clear that he meant to carry out his threat. He cut the connection finally and Roberts heaved a mental sigh of relief. He had been tense with fear that O’Malley would start the fireworks before the Jap finished.

  “You will go back now—to the swine who live in the barracks and work for us,” said the Jap officer. “Beginning tomorrow, I shall have a good assignment for you, Lieutenant. You wish to be treated as a prisoner of war equal to my rank. Very well—you shall wait on me hand and foot. There are boots to be cleaned, laundry to be done. Food to be fed me. I shall grow fat and lazy while you become thin and puny. Then some day, when I am tired of seeing your face around, I shall treat your comrades to another spectacle of our contempt for the United States.”

  “Don’t go into detail,” Roberts said quietly. “I know all about the murder of the superintendent of this island. Remember it was murder and there is a certain penalty—”

  The Jap leaped to his feet and raised his gun to rake its muzzle across Roberts’ face. At that moment bedlam broke loose. The barracks where the troops were quartered went first, under half a dozen grenades lobbed through its windows by O’Malley.

  The Jap lieutenant spun around. Roberts leaped. He got an arm around the Jap’s neck. Instantly, the Jap dropped his gun and reached up to secure a ju-jitsu grip. But Roberts let go of him suddenly and stepped back. The Jap, with a bellow for help, started slowly to circle Roberts, both arms outspread like a wrestler’s.

  * * * *

  Roberts watched him narrowly. He could hear running footsteps drawing closer. That would be part of the guard. If they arrived too soon, he would be shot in the back. Then O’Malley’s machine-gun, at the end of the field, let go. There were screams. Bullets plastered into the walls of the shack.

  At that moment Roberts bored in. He evaded the Jap by ducking under his outthrust arms, came up within two inches of the yellow-skinned man and pumped a savage blow to his midriff. The Jap bleated in pain and doubled up. Roberts slammed one against his face and flattened his nose. Blood spurted. The Jap squealed in terror now. He dropped to the floor and started fumbling for his gun. Roberts pounced on it first.

  As his fingers closed around the weapon, a Jap soldier appeared in the doorway with leveled rifle. Roberts shot him through the chest. The Jap lieutenant made a mad leap for the Yank. Roberts squeezed trigger again. The slug passed through the Jap’s forehead, squarely between the eyes.

  Roberts was up in a flash. He picked up a submachine-gun from a dozen stacked in one corner. At the doorway, astride the body of the dead soldier, he saw O’Malley’s guns go into action. Half a dozen Japs were running like mad toward the barracks where the workers were imprisoned. Apparently they intended to take their vengeance there.

  Roberts swept the group with fire. All but one dropped. The survivor threw away his rifle and reached for the stars.

  Men swarmed out of the barracks. Weak and pale from the ordeal of capture and virtual torture, they nevertheless closed in on other Japs who surrendered. Roberts did not attempt to dissuade them. They had a certain amount of fun due them.

  O’Malley came running down the field, carrying the heavy machine-gun. He dropped it and began thumping Roberts on the shoulders.

  “Boy, I thought I’d missed the train! A couple of sentries came up behind me and we had a little scrap.”

  “Are you hurt?” Roberts asked.

  “Nope.” O’Malley shook his head. “That blood on my sleeve dripped off the bayonet. Say, those can be pretty darn good weapons—and do the Japs hate ’em! How’d I do?”

  “Great,” Roberts said. “Now we’ve got to go to work.”

  He raised his voice and called all the men around him.

  “Listen, men, you want to get back to the United States. There’s no radio except the short¬wave set the Japs used, and it’s too weak to contact our forces. The only chance we have is getting the plane O’Malley and I came here in. There isn’t enough gas to fly back to our base, but I’ve taken steps to have some delivered.

  “Six of you arm yourselves with tommy guns and patrol the beaches. If you see any more Japs, let ’em have it, and don’t stop to ask questions. The rest gather axes and knives. Shovels and picks. We’ve got to haul our plane to this field. It’s the only way O’Malley and I can take off.”

  “But you said there wasn’t enough gas,” O’Malley protested. “Did you find a cache of it here?”

  “There isn’t a drop,” the gray-haired strawboss said. “The Japs made sure of that. But didn’t I hear you say you’d sent for some?”

  “Yep—it’s coming C.O.D. But O’Malley and I have to be in the air to pay off for the stuff. Let’s go.”

  * * * *

  For the rest of the night they worked furiously. A swathe was cut through the jungle. Ropes were arranged to haul the plane ashore, and a quick examination showed it was in excellent condition.

  O’Malley put the machine-gun back into place. As the sun rose, the plane was poised at the end of the field. Men, posted on the highest portions of the island, fired a signal. The Jap bombers, sent to destroy the mythical warship, were coming in.

  Roberts gave his plane the gun. He zoomed across the rough field, broke contact with it and soared into the sky. There were three Jap bombers, heavy, slow affairs and unaccompanied by fighters. Probably the distance was too great for smaller ships to negotiate.

  “Here comes our gasoline!” Roberts yelled. “See what you can do with the gun, Mike.”

  The bombers spotted them and wheeled frantically, but the Vultee could about double their speed and triple their maneuverability. O’Malley got the first one with a burst straight down on top of the pilots’ compartment. The big bomber dived into the sea.

  The rear gunners in the blister of the second bomber started to throw up plenty of hardware. Roberts smiled, and it was not a pleasant smile. He was remembering that island superintendent, shot to death for no reason at all. He streaked for altitude, then came down, a howling demon of revenge. All guns cut loose.

  The heavy bomber broke in mid-air and the pieces darted toward the water. The third bomber was riding with wide-open throttle. Roberts went in pursuit, overtook it in ten minutes and sang out an order to O’Malley. The Irishman smashed the aft blister and its occupant and gun.

  Roberts flew directly above the bomber and sent a burst of smoking white incendiaries just ahead of it. The bomber slowed up. Gradually Roberts herded the big plane around, keeping steel spraying near it every moment or two. O’Malley joined in the game.

  The island was almost directly below them. Roberts dived toward the bomber, and its pilot dropped fast. He must have seen the open field and realized that surrender was his only salvation. The bomber came down, hit the rough field and buckled over.

  The workers closed in on it. The Japs were hauled out and tied up. Roberts came in, too. He jumped out of the plane, ran up to the bomber and made sure no devices were in operation to destroy it.