MOTORS mounted on the blocks in the concealed hangars of the American Volunteer Group in China purred smoothly. Hands worked deftly over the intricate mechanism, oiling, replacing parts, and tuning up. Featherweight Chinese mechanics worked side by side with the American grease monkeys, all with a determination that burned in their eyes. Of late the Jap planes had been coming over in ever increasing numbers, and the P-40s had to be working like clocks if they wanted to hold them back.
Artie Chrisman, the burly-headed mechanic from the States stood with his hands shoved in his jumper pockets and surveyed the hangar.
“Shucks,” he said to the Chinese beside him, “I’m getting a little tired of this. I came all the way over here to get in a little fighting … and what happens? They shove me in here to play nursemaid to a couple of million horses!”
“Horses?”
“Yeah, you know … horsepower. I’m burned up. I want some action!”
The small Chinese smiled slowly.
“I, too, would like action, but as it is, we must all do that which we are best capable of, and through those efforts the war will be won.”
“Guess you’re right, no doubt about that, but I’m NOT HAPPY! I WANT TO FIGHT! All those pilots get a chance to crack down on the invader personally. That’s what I want to do!”
“Perhaps someday you will get your chance,” his companion answered, “only don’t be impatient … it will come soon enough!”
The two split up and went about their duties. Artie jumped into the cockpit of a Tomahawk and gave the motor the gun. Like a great bird, the ship made a quarter turn and rolled slowly out of the hangar. A pilot came out of the “ready tent” and took over. Artie watched him as he climbed into the blue, testing the crate to make sure all the bugs were out of the motor. Always, whenever he saw a ship cutting chunks out of the sky, his blood surged. The adventurer in him screamed out to be released … to go soaring high above.
ARTIE had flown many times. He had a private pilot’s license when he came to China, but when the men had seen him work miracles with motors that had been shattered into apparently worthless debris … making them run smoothly once again … he had been stuck with ground crew duty. He kicked at a pebble and strode back to the hangar, seething inwardly. Somewhere a whistle blew and the Chinese and white men filed out to the mess table. Artie went back to the empty hangar and made his way around the motor parts and plane bodies to the back of the hangar.
There under a huge canvas was the outline of a plane. He stripped off the cover and gazed at it. Altogether, it was a queer looking thing. The body was that of a P 40, with a tail assembly built up by many hours of painstaking labor. The stubby wings came from a Stuka that had cracked up not far from the field. What the motor consisted of, no one knew but Artie, for there were parts from every ship that had ever crashed in the vicinity.
This was Artie’s masterpiece. Whenever he had an idle hour he spent it working on this queer contraption, until at last he had a plane. It didn’t make much difference whether or not it would fly … that didn’t matter … It was a plane, and it was his! He dragged out a can of paint, dipped in the brush, and added the finishing touches to the weird insignia on the side. Then he stood back and grinned.
“Oh, boy … is that something! I think that maybe I will try her out today.”
Pulling the chocks out from under the wheels, Artie grabbed a wing and swung the plane around. Slowly, he maneuvered it out of the hangar to the apron, then flipped the switch and walked to the propeller. A couple of twists sucked gas into the cylinders and he hopped into the cockpit and pushed the inertia starter. The propeller went over … the motor whined … then broke into a powerful roar.
At once the men of the A.V.G. ran out of the mess hall to the field. They knew their motors, and realized at once that his wasn’t one of theirs. Some thought the Japs were coming, but in a minute they saw what it was. Up to this time the only ones that had seen the ship were the Chinese mechanics, and they never mentioned a word to anyone. The men broke out into a laugh.
“Gonna take ’er up, Artie?” one yelled above the motor. The husky grease monkey cut the power a little.
“Naw! Just gonna wheel her up and down. It wouldn’t fly anyhow!”
“Where did you get that thing?” the C.O. hollered, a big grin on his face.
“Made it out of the planes you chumps cracked up. This is a ship of all nations … even the Japs and the Germans very nicely contributed some pieces to it! But don’t laugh, you guys, the motor’s as good as any in the heaps you fly. As a matter of fact, I even mounted guns on it for good measure. Now I can have some fun while you guys are wasting gas looking for Japs!”
The gang walked back while Artie taxied up and down the apron in the plane.
SUDDENLY a screaming shriek split the air … the siren … Japs were coming over! Artie scrambled out of his plane and ran to the P 40s, shoving them onto the field. Pilots tore out tugging on their helmets and goggles. In an instant they were in the cockpits and zooming into the wind! Plane after plane took off. Fourteen P 40s thundered into the sky.
Artie saw the Japs coming now. The sky darkened with the number of them. The American ships met them with blazing guns, and in a split-second the air was filled with flamers. Like a huge pack of dogs they tangled, seeking those deadly positions above and behind the enemy. On the ground the mechanics stood around anxiously, their eyes glued on the raging battle above. Never before had so many Japs tried to blast the volunteers from their position in the war! If help didn’t come from some source soon, the American-Chinese group was doomed!
Some of the mechanics looked at the plane on the apron. Its propeller still turned over idly, slicing the air. Artie licked his lips. He could practically read their minds. To them it was a plane … one in good condition. Not a bullet hole marred its fabric or metal. The motor purred like a contented cat, and the ugly snouts of the guns stuck out from the leading edges of the wings. It mattered little that it was only a plaything, an untried toy. It had wings, a motor, and guns. That was enough! Their glances shifted from the plane to Artie and back again, any one of them ready to take the ship up … Only it was Artie’s, and he should be the one.
“Doggne!” he shouted, “I know what you’re thinking. But that thing won’t fly!”
His Chinese friend moved over to him.
“Are you not the best mechanic here?”
Artie nodded. He was!
“And did you not build it yourself?”
Again he nodded.
“So … ?”
Artie shrugged his shoulders.
“OKAY, you win! I’ll try it!”
He leaped into the pit, closed the greenhouse and shoved the throttle forward. The plane sped down the runway. With his fingers crossed, Artie hauled back gently on the stick … and the plane rose! He climbed faster than an interceptor, the motor never faltering a second! It flew! But what it would do in battle was another thing.
He looked at the air speed indicator. This was incredible! Why, he was doing nearly 400 MPH … Faster than any of the planes the parts had come from! His thoughts ended there … the Japs were ahead. He blasted into them, his finger squeezing the firing button. A Jap plane fell to pieces in front of his eyes. A quick turn and another was in his sights, then that, too, blew up!
The sky was a mad frenzy of tracer bullets and smoke from flaming planes! The A.V.G. ships started to get the better of it, for the appearance of this new demon fighter distracted the Japs momentarily … enough however, to have them lose six Zeros. Artie, breathing heavily with the heat of the fight, put his ship into a spin and followed down a plane that was trying to get away. His speed rose … if there had been any miscalculations when he built this job … he would suffer now, for he wasn’t wearing a ’chute.
WITH a sudden wrench the Jap pulled out, and Artie fired. A blossom of flame billowed out of the Zero and a figure went over the side. Artie saw the pilot’s chute open, but the ropes must have fouled, for the rest never came out of the pack. Immediately he went back “upstairs.” Again, at that terrific speed, he ripped into the Japs. By now they were running away from his fire … but always there was a P-40 ready to gun them down. From a huge sky armada, the Jap force had diminished to numbers equal to the A.V.G. But they didn’t like equal odds. The Jap squadron leader signaled with his wings then turned tail for home.
However Artie was enjoying his first taste of battle and wasn’t going to let him get away so easily. He gunned the ship to the utmost and shot over the Jap leader. Then roaring down from above was the flash of a Zero … and he was going to ram! A kick at the rudder bar threw his ship out of the way, and Artie saw the Jap fly into the withering fire of a P-40.
The squadron leader tried desperately to evade him, but it was no use. Artie’s creation could out-run, out-climb and out-fly him! With the touch of an expert, Artie got the Jap in his sights, then let him have it! The burst caught the Jap squarely! The others, seeing their leader go down, scattered all over the sky in their effort to get away.
FOR the time being, Artie decided that he had enough. His gas and ammunition were going down, so he turned, and with the rest, landed at the field. A joyous crowd of pilots and mechanics lifted him from the cockpit and paraded him around. Artie got down finally, and ran over and kissed the propeller of his ship.
“Yep,” he roared, “they all laughed when I wheeled you out … but look at you now … You old SKY BUSTER YOU!”