For a full three minutes after the sound had ceased abruptly, the two boys sat in absolute silence. Stew was waiting for the sound of a violent explosion. More minutes ticked away, and still silence over their tropical isle.

“Well, I’ll be—” Stew sprang to his feet.

“We’re not the only ones on this island,” Jack said in a husky whisper.

“Why? What makes you think that?” Stew was startled.

“That thing is not a torpedo,” Jack said, speaking slowly. “Nothing of the sort. It’s an airplane.”

“But such a sound!” Stew protested. “You can’t hear the propeller or the motors either. Whoever heard of a plane that made a noise like that?”

“Who knows?” Jack’s tone was thoughtful. “Perhaps a lot of people heard of it. We don’t know everything.”

“What people? Japs?”
50

“Perhaps. But I doubt that. Japs are clever imitators, but they don’t invent things.”

“Oh! Then it’s all right,” Stew breathed. “If they’re white men they’re friendly to us. Perhaps they’ll take us off this island.”

“We can’t be too sure of that.” Jack pricked Stew’s bubble of hope. “They might be Nazis. Don’t forget that there were a lot of Germans in these islands before the war—promoters, prospectors, traders, spies—all sorts. Now that Japan has the Malay Peninsula and the Dutch East Indies, do you think the Germans are staying away? Not on your life! They’re right in there getting theirs. You often hear of a German blockade runner being caught trying to sneak into Germany with badly needed raw materials. Where did the cargo come from?”

“Right over there,” Stew pointed to the west. “We’ve got to be careful.”

“You bet your sweet life we have! We’ll take turns keeping watch tonight.”

“We certainly will,” Stew agreed. “All the same, before I leave this island I’m going to have a look at that squealer if it costs me a leg.”

At that same moment back on the carrier, in the Commander’s cabin, Ted Armour was saying to the Commander:
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“I think, sir, that something should be done about those two boys, Jack and Stew. They did a magnificent job, sir, watching that Jap task force up to the minute our bombers arrived.”

“Magnificent!” the Commander agreed. “I shall recommend that they be given a citation.”

“But that’s not what I mean, sir.” Ted was in dead earnest. “Their plane was damaged, but they were not on fire when I last saw them. They couldn’t have had a bad crackup. My theory is that they made a try for those islands off to the east.”

“We’ll hope they made it.” The Commander was pleased; for after all, he liked Jack very much and admired the courage the young Ensign had displayed that day.

“But, sir, all the islands in this region are held by the Japs, are they not?” Ted asked.

“Yes, all of them. But they are not all occupied by Japs. The smaller, rougher islands have been passed up by them as of little or no consequence.”

“There are natives?”

“Yes, perhaps.”

“Wild natives, cannibals—”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. There have been missionaries.” The Commander tapped his desk.

“Don’t you think we should make a search for them, sir?” Ted asked.
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“A search at night is impractical. Tomorrow,” the Commander’s voice dropped, “we hope to be two hundred miles from here, bent on a dangerous mission. This Jap task force we encountered today was in the nature of an accident, a fortunate accident.”

“Then nothing will be done, sir,” Ted’s voice fell.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. In a few days we should be passing this way again. Then we’ll look them up, if such a thing is possible.”

“A few days!” Ted exclaimed. “A lot can happen in a few days, sir!”

“Quite right, my son. But this is war. In war we must all face the consequences.” The Commander rose. “I appreciate your interest in your friends. You, yourself did splendid work today. It shall not be forgotten.”

“Oh, that!” Ted waved a hand. “Add it to Jack’s share of glory, sir.”

“In the Navy,” the Commander smiled, “there can be no reflected glory. Don’t be too greatly disturbed by the plight of your comrades,” he added. “They’re probably eating native-fried chicken at this very moment.”

“Here’s hoping.” Ted smiled uncertainly. “Many thanks, sir. Good night, sir.”
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“Good night.” The interview was at an end, but for Ted the incident was not closed, nor would it be until Jack and Stew were safely back on the carrier, or known to be gone forever.

In the meantime, sitting there beneath their mosquito-bar canopy on the dark mysterious island, Jack was finishing the story he had been telling to Stew.

“Queer thing is,” he was saying, “though you might not say it was so queer, either; but when Ted found me on the carrier he dragged me off to a dark corner. He seemed pretty excited.

“What he said was, ‘Look here, Jack. We’re not from the same town—not any more, we aren’t.’

“I didn’t like that kind of talk. ‘How come?’ I demanded.

“‘Look, Jack, don’t get me wrong.’ He seemed very much in earnest. ‘I’ll do anything I can for you, just anything. But you know how we’ve always been?’

“‘Yes. Fighting.’ I said.

“‘Well, not fighting,’ he said, ‘but rivals. That was all right back there,’ he went on. ‘But here it’s different. Here we’re working for Uncle Sam. We’ve no time now for personal rivalries. It’s a mighty serious business.’

“‘It sure is, Ted,’ I told him.
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“‘All right then, look.’ He grabbed my hand. ‘We’ve got just one rival in this business.’

“‘Tojo,’ I said.

“‘You’re dead right. And look,’ he gripped my hand, ‘we can’t fight Tojo and one another at the same time, so what do you say we don’t tell anybody we’re both from Pineville?’

“‘That’s okay with me,’ I said. ‘The telling part, I mean. But anyway we’re from the same old town, all the same, and that’s the next thing to coming from the same family, so if I ever see two fellows in trouble, and one’s you, I’m going to help you first.’

“‘Same here.’ He pumped my hand up and down.

“Well, what do you think of it, Stew?” Jack asked after a time.

“Strikes me you’re two grand guys,” said Stew. “But what about that girl Patsy?”

“That doesn’t matter so much any more, I guess.” Jack paused. “Of course the home folks mean a lot to a fellow when he’s out here. Patsy writes to me, quite a lot, just the home town news. Wants to know what I’m doing, and tells me what she’s doing. Half a dozen other girls do the same. It’s their patriotic duty. Mighty nice of them, but it’s just their homework, that’s all.”
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“Don’t be too sure!” Stew was in dead earnest. “You just keep on writing to Patsy.”

“Oh, sure I will!” Jack laughed. “And all the rest of them. But it may be a long time between letters just now. Lie down and rest,” he suggested. “I’ll call you when I feel like changing places.”

“Don’t wait too long.” Stew stood up and yawned.

After a short walk up and down the pebbly beach Stew stretched out for a few winks of sleep. Jack gripped his automatic and patrolled the beach.

As he walked he thought of all the circumstances that had brought him to this wild spot. He had always wanted to fly. Flying toy airplanes had been his favorite occupation in grade-school days. The strange, gypsylike life his family had lived in summer, camping in some Indian cabin or roughing it on an island, with canoes, rowboats and sailboats always at hand, had prepared him for all this. After high school he had spent a winter on an island as assistant ranger. His only contact with the outside world had been by radio. For five months no boat came to the ice-locked island. Snowshoes, long inspection marches, nights in deserted cabins, wolves, moose, and snow buntings. He had loved it all.

“Now we haven’t even a radio,” he thought. It was strange how the jigsaw puzzle of his life appeared to fit together.
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“I have always had my violin,” he thought. “And I still have one,” he reminded himself, with a start.

When midnight came and went with no sign of life on the island, he at last took the violin from its case and began playing “Ave Maria” softly.

“Ave Maria.” How strange it sounded there in the silent night.

He played on. For a full hour he was lost to his surroundings. The simple things he had played as a small boy came back to him. So, too, did the more difficult selections he had played with the college orchestra in his home town, and the one that had won first place for him in the state high-school contest.

“That’s all in the past,” he thought once. But he wasn’t sure. He sat on a fallen palm tree, with the violin across his knee, and dreamed of a great concert orchestra and of a funny little conductor with a shock of white hair—a very fine musician. And in that dream he saw himself playing as the soloist of the performance.
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Then he took up his violin and played again. Though his strings were muted, the low melodies carried far in the still night. It was during the playing of his last piece that two figures appeared on the ledge far above him. Standing there in the moonlight, their light garments turned them into ghosts. Realizing this, perhaps, they moved back into the shadow of a great rock, but still they lingered. All unconscious of this, Jack played on. Then suddenly he was wakened from his dream by a wild shout from Stew, a cry of pain and fright.

The two figures on the rocks darted away so quickly that they loosened a stone which went tumbling down to stop with a crash a short distance from the spot where Jack sat.

“Stew! What’s up?”

“It was a Jap!” Stew exclaimed. “He tried to carve me up.”

“A Jap!” Jack laughed as he came dashing up. “There wasn’t any Jap. Couldn’t have been. I would have seen him.”

“But look! My ear is bleeding!” Stew rubbed his ear.

After a hasty glance up the rocky ridge Jack turned on his flashlight.

“Here’s your Jap,” he laughed. He pointed to a huge land crab with pincers six inches long. “He was looking for something soft.” Jack seized the crab by its back and tossed it far up on the slope.

“All the same,” Jack snapped off the light. “There was something up there on that ridge, and it wasn’t a crab.”

“Why? How do you know?” Stew’s voice was low.
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“A rock came tumbling down. Thought I caught a flash of something white. I might have been mistaken.”

“We’ve got to watch our step.” Stew spoke in a solemn tone.

“We sure must,” Jack agreed.

But something more than the thought of danger was troubling Jack at this moment.

“If we don’t get off this island in a day or two,” he said gloomily, “we’re almost sure to miss the Big Show.”

“Oh, yes,” Stew breathed. “Say! That’s right!”

“And I’d about as soon be dead as to miss that.” Jack’s gloom deepened. Occasionally during his watch, when he listened in vain for the sound of a rescue plane, the thought of the “Big Show” and the part he wanted to play in it became a definite goal.

Only the night before, the ship’s commander had said to him, “We’ve got a little job to do down south of here. Then, I hope, we’re due to join the big push for the grandest show of all.”
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Yes! The “Big Show”! Whispers had gone around the ship. For two whole weeks rumors had been crystallizing into facts. They would join other task forces, a dozen carriers, some big battle wagons, a hundred—perhaps two hundred—fighting ships, scores of transports and cargo ships, as well as many fast PT boats. Then all together, with the greatest fighting force the world had ever known, they would go after Mindanao.

And what was Mindanao? For the fiftieth time Jack got out a map, and flashing his pinpoint light on a spot said:

“There it is, one of the largest of the Philippine Islands.”

“MacArthur said he’d go back, and now we’re going,” Stew said soberly.

“What do you mean, ‘we’?” Jack demanded bitterly. “Looks as if we’re stuck right here.”

“I’ll be there if I have to swim!” Stew vowed.

“All right. Suppose you sit up for a while and think that one over,” Jack suggested, “while I grab three winks of sleep.”