Red Randall's One-Man War

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  Chosen by General Denton, Chief of American Far East Intelligence, for a dangerous and highly important mission, Red Randall and Jimmy Joyce take off from the carrier Tipton. Their assignment is to contact the American leader of a guerrilla band on the Japanese-held island of Luzon. Against incredible odds they land their Grumman Avenger on the strongly Japanese-guarded island, only to find that the guerrilla leader, Navy Lieutenant Jackson, has been captured. Grimly determined to complete their assignment, they map out a daring plan to rescue Jackson, who possesses information of vital importance to the American forces in their plans for the invasion of Luzon. How they effect a rescue with the help of Jackson’s Filipino guerrillas, and how Red wages a one-man war against a Japanese garrison, make a suspense-filled action-packed story.

  RED RANDALL 8:

  RED RANDALL’S ONE-MAN WAR

  By R. Sidney Bowen

  First Published by Grosset and Dunlap in 1946

  Copyright © 1946, 2021 Robert Sidney Bowen

  First Electronic Edition: January 2022

  Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by means (electronic, digital, optical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book

  Series Editor: Ben Bridges

  Text © Piccadilly Publishing

  Published by Arrangement with Cosmos Literary Agency.

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  Chapter One – Carrier Tipton

  THE NEW DAWN was a thin, faint pink line that etched the eastern rim of the Pacific. Gradually it grew brighter and then the color changed to a deep red. A moment later, as though a battery of colored searchlights had been switched on, shafts of blue and gold and green and crimson light fingered their way high up into the waning night-shrouded heavens.

  Lounging comfortably on the flight deck of the Escort Carrier Tipton, Red Randall and Jimmy Joyce stared, in awed and almost reverent silence, at the color spectacle in the heavens. They had been watching the sunrise now for a good half-hour and during that time not a single word had been spoken between them. Presently Jimmy Joyce let out a deep sigh and broke the silence in a low, hushed voice.

  “There are a lot of things about this war that I hope I’ll forget once it’s over,” he said. “But there are a couple of things I’ll remember to my dying day. This is one of them.”

  Red Randall turned his head to look at his friend, Jimmy Joyce, and gave a little grunt like a man coming out of a trance.

  “Huh?” he asked. “Come again? Or didn’t you say anything?”

  “What a man,” young Joyce snapped. “You could sleep through anything. You haven’t got a soul, Red.”

  “Thanks for the compliment, pal,” Red retorted. “And the same to you, Jimmy. It so happens that I didn’t hear what you were saying because I was so busy feasting my eyes on that sunrise. It is really something to see, even for an old graybeard like me.”

  “Oh, so you were awake?” Jimmy said with a faint note of amazement in his voice. “Well, that sunrise happens to be just what I was talking about. I was saying that there are a lot of things about this war I want to forget as soon as possible, but I’ll always remember the sunrises and sunsets here in the Pacific. Just look at those colors, Red. If you saw them in a painting you’d say that the artist was trying to kid his public; that you just didn’t see colors like that any place in the world.”

  “Right,” Randall agreed. Then as he took his eyes off the horizon and glanced toward the ship’s island, he said, “Not to change the subject, Jimmy, but it won’t be long now. A few more hours, and then back to the war.”

  “Have we ever left it?” young Joyce muttered. “Or do you call that month’s leave in Australia your idea of paradise? Not that I don’t think Australia is a swell country, you understand.”

  “Whoever did understand what you mean half the time?” Randall retorted. “But skip it. It still makes me feel good to be getting back into combat. There are still a couple of million Japs on my ‘must’ list. One thing I feel sorry about, though, is that the Leyte invasion is practically in the bag by now. I wish we could have been in on it.”

  “Yes,” young Joyce said. “But we’re going back to the Philippines eventually, so why grouse? In a war this size no man can take a hand in all of the fighting. He’d have to be fifty different guys all at once. And don’t forget, we’ve only taken Leyte up to now. There are still an awful lot of the islands crawling with Japs. We’re— Oh-oh!”

  “What now?” Randall asked without bothering to look at Jimmy. “Did you forget to take something aboard at Darwin?”

  “No, landlubber,” Joyce replied. “I just happened to notice that we’re changing course. Due west, so we must be heading in close.”

  “About time if you ask me,” Randall said and sat up. “I feel as though I’ve been on this thing for years and years. Why couldn’t they have flown us up here in transports or bombers? Why give us a two weeks’ sail? Or has it been only a week?”

  “Five days,” young Joyce informed him. “And as this early morning air seems to be fogging your gray cells more than usual, I’ll try to put you straight on something else. We were not flown in transports or bombers because we happen to be a fighter plane squadron of the Army Air Forces heading for Leyte. We’ll take over from the Navy boys who have been supplying the invasion forces with air cover since the first day of the scrap. Because we’re fighter pilots, we must have fighter planes to fly. To date there is no fighter plane factory operating on the island of Leyte, so naturally—”

  “All right, all right!” Randall growled. “My error. The Navy is bringing us up with our planes which you can now see parked on the aft flight deck. I can figure out a couple of things once in a while. But I still say it would have been nice to come up by air, and then come out to this carrier by PT boat and fly these planes off to the Leyte air strip. Or—”

  At that moment the carrier’s “Donald Duck” blared out instructions from the flight bridge.

  “All pilots stand by to man your planes,” the voice intoned. “All pilots stand by to man your planes.”

  “That’s us!” cried Randall happily as he jumped up. “Got all your gear with you, Jimmy?”

  “Everything I’m going to need,” Joyce replied. “And you?”

  Randall did not reply for a moment. He was checking his own gear. Finally he nodded and stretched his arms over his head.

  “Everything, except my Lockheed Lightning,” he said, “and I’m going to collect that now. Well, kid, try to do your best getting off this thing. I’ll be seeing you at the Leyte air strip. Just remember your manners and let the first ones there land first.”

  “Naturally, and that goes for you, too,” Joyce said tartly. Then on impulse he reached out a hand and squeezed Red’s arm. “Good flying there, kid,” he said. “Be sure to make it. Much as I hate to admit it, it wouldn’t be the same war without you flying wing with me.”

  Randall grinned, pressed Joyce’s arm in return but said nothing. Ever since that fateful December Sunday morning at Pearl Harbor, he and Jimmy had flown all their missions together. They would joke and kid each other constantly, but the deep-rooted bond of affection between them was so strong that
at times words between them were unnecessary. This was one of those times. So they just gripped each other’s arm in silence, and then headed toward the group of pilots gathering in front of the first of the Lockheed P-38s parked on the narrow flight deck.

  They had taken but a dozen steps or so, however, when one of the Tipton’s junior officers appeared.

  “Captains Randall and Joyce?” he inquired, peering at their faces in the half-day, half-night gloom that still clung to the flight deck.

  “That’s right, Lieutenant,” Randall replied for both of them. “Something up?”

  “Maybe,” the other replied. “Commander Barkley requests that you both report to his quarters at once.”

  “The executive officer?” Jimmy Joyce asked. “But what does he want with us? The stand-by just sounded.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” the lieutenant replied, “but come along. I’ll take you to him, and maybe you’ll find out.”

  “Right, lead on,” Randall said. Then half to himself as he dropped into step, “But I’ve got a sudden feeling I’m not going to like what I’ll find out.”

  “Cut it,” Joyce muttered. “Don’t be a worry-wart all your life. It’s probably nothing, or just a mistake.”

  “From what I’ve seen of Commander Barkley,” Randall said, “he’s not the kind of man who makes mistakes. I tell you, something’s up. I can feel it.”

  Jimmy Joyce opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it and said nothing. In silence the two fliers followed the lieutenant to the executive officer’s quarters. Commander Barkley received them with a nod and a half-smile. He waited until the junior officer left before he spoke. Then when he did he was blunt and direct.

  “Bad news for you two,” he said. “You’re to stay aboard.”

  For a second or two both Randall and Joyce stared at him openmouthed.

  “Stay—stay aboard?” Randall finally blurted out. “You mean, not go with the others?”

  “Yes, I mean just that,” the executive officer replied briskly. “You two pilots are to stay aboard and not proceed to Leyte with the others.”

  “But may I ask why, sir?” Jimmy Joyce said. “Something that we’ve done aboard, and are we to be returned to Australia?”

  The commander unbent enough to smile a little at Jimmy’s question.

  “You’ve done nothing that I know of, Captain Joyce,” he said. “And as I am the Tipton’s executive officer I’d know if you had ‘done something aboard,’ as you say. No, to be perfectly frank, I really don’t know why you two are being ordered to remain aboard. All I know is that orders to that effect were received less than fifteen minutes ago from the task force admiral. No doubt further orders regarding you will come through soon. But right now you’re to stay with us. Sorry, because I think I know a little of how you Army pilots feel about being aboard a Navy ship. That’s how it is, however.”

  Randall groaned softly as he heard the plane engines starting their racket down on the flight deck.

  “I knew it, I knew it,” he said more to himself than to the others. “But I thought they needed every fighter pilot they could get on Leyte.”

  “They do, Captain Randall,” Commander Barkley said quietly. “The fact that you two are not to go doesn’t alter the need in the slightest.”

  “If I may ask another question, sir?” Jimmy Joyce said, gently nudging one of Randall’s feet with one of his own.

  “Certainly, go right ahead,” was the prompt reply. “I’ll answer it—if I can, or am permitted to.”

  “Where is the Tipton heading after the planes have taken off, sir?” young Joyce asked.

  Commander Barkley smiled and shook his head.

  “Sorry, I can’t say, Captain,” he said. “From here on we’re sailing under sealed orders. I myself haven’t even seen them yet. Your guess is as good as mine, right now. Well, that’s all. I’m needed on the flight bridge. Stow your gear and make your selves comfortable.”

  “Yes sir,” Red and Jimmy murmured in the same voice.

  And like a couple of men in a trance they turned and walked out of the executive officer’s quarters.

  Chapter Two – Special Assignment

  THE DARKNESS OF night shrouded the Tipton again as the carrier cleaved her way through the rolling swells at maximum knots. Out in front, to port and starboard, two escorting destroyers led the way. To the stern, a single cruiser kept pace, ready to race up and give assistance in case trouble was encountered.

  Once again Red Randall and Jimmy Joyce were making themselves comfortable on the flight deck. No further orders regarding them had been received, at least insofar as they knew. Once during the day they had gone to Commander Barkley’s quarters. They had learned nothing, and the expression on the executive officer’s face had made it plain that he was too busy to be bothered with them. In short, when it was time they would be told their future orders and not one second before. In the meantime, Commander Barkley was busy carrying out his administrative duties aboard ship.

  Upon leaving Leyte the Tipton had steamed a more or less northerly course. Anybody aboard could tell that by the position of the sun. And right now, in the darkness of night, she was still steaming her northerly course. That, too, was simple to tell by the position of the North Star. However, apart from that one known fact, Randall and Joyce knew absolutely nothing about the Tipton’s destination. Questioning some of their Navy pilot friends aboard produced the fact that they, too, knew nothing of what was up.

  “So help me, I give up!” Randall suddenly spoke in the darkness. “I’ve seen a list of screwy things as long as your arm in this cockeyed war, but this is absolutely and definitely the tops. Call it what you like, but I call it being shanghaied by your own Navy.”

  “Well, the chow is sure good,” Joyce opined listlessly. “And at least we haven’t got any ship’s duties to perform. We can come and go as we like.”

  “Come and go where?” Randall snorted. “Down below, up topside, down below, up topside. Over and over. Brother, it’s almost got me praying for that missing Japanese fleet to show up and start heaving steel at us. That would break the suspense of waiting.”

  “And a lot of other things too, no doubt, including the eggshell-thin hull of this baby,” Jimmy grunted. “But stow it, Red. We’ve gone over the thing a hundred times since Commander Barkley gave us the bad news. So why rack your brain about it? It’s silly.”

  “Maybe for a placid guy like you, but not for me,” Red said with feeling. “There we were just about to take off for Leyte and some real action, when bingo, we get taken for another boat ride. Darn it, if they’d only let us fly one of the cover patrols with the Navy boys. But no! We have to sit and watch, and wait. I— Hey, what’s the matter with you?””

  Jimmy Joyce suddenly had sat up straight and was staring intently off the port bow. Randall glanced in that direction and then sat up stiff and straight himself. Some distance off the port bow a signal light was blinking, and as both air aces stared at it, the speed of the Tipton fell off rapidly.

  “One of the destroyers out there in trouble, you suppose?” Randall grunted.

  “Couldn’t be,” Joyce replied with a shake of his head. “We wouldn’t cut speed to help one of the escorting tin cans. We’d keep on going and let the cruiser behind us take charge of things. My guess is that somebody’s coming aboard.”

  “I hope it’s a Jap admiral,” Randall growled. “I’m sure in the mood to slug somebody. I— But you’re right, Jimmy. That’s a blinker on a small boat. See the way it’s bobbing up and down in the swells? And it’s getting closer.”

  “I’ve got eyes, mister,” Joyce replied, and let it go at that.

  It was true. The blinking light of a small boat came closer and closer, and the Tipton’s speed fell off until she was just barely making headway. A few moments later a small Navy launch came up alongside. Randall, Joyce and everybody else on deck went to the port rail and watched the launch make fast. They stared at the three muffled figures tha
t came up the companionway ladder. As the trio reached the deck, they were met by the Tipton’s commander. He practically whisked them onto the island. The last act of the little scene was the launch casting off and speeding away in the darkness. A moment later the carrier resumed speed, and presently she was streaking forward at maximum knots once again.

  “Well, there’s your craved-for break in the monotony,” Jimmy Joyce said as he and Randall walked back to their former spot on the flight deck. “I wonder who those three men were who just came aboard?”

  “Could be the three Marx Brothers,” Randall said with a heavy sigh. “This business is getting that screwy.”

  Jimmy Joyce sighed, too, but he did not say anything. He knew that his flying pal was fast reaching the point where he would go plumb loco unless something happened. As a matter of fact he himself was fast reaching that point. So he simply squatted down on the deck beside Randall and stared broodingly out across the night-blanketed waters.

  But twenty minutes later something did happen and it was the “Donald Duck” that brought them the news.

  “Captains Randall and Joyce report to Commander Barkley’s quarters at once. Captains Randall and Joyce report to Commander Barkley’s quarters at once!”

  For a full five seconds Red and Jimmy were so surprised that neither of them could believe his ears. And then they scrambled up onto their feet so fast they almost knocked each other down.

  “Did you hear that, kid?” Randall gasped as he caught and held Joyce’s arm. “The Exec. wants us? Or are my ears going screwy on me, too?”

  “You heard right, mister!” Joyce muttered. “He wants us, pronto. This is it, and about time.”

  “You can say that again,” Randall shot back. “Let’s go before he changes his mind.”

  Commander Barkley met them in the companionway outside his quarters. The grin he gave them set their hopes and spirits soaring.