Collection 1986 - Night Over The Solomons (v5.0) by Louis L’Amour

air out a little, that’s all. You get that box and we’ll get out of here.”
    Joe said nothing. He glanced at Cowan curiously, shifted his rifle a little.
    Chiv got up and looked shoreward. Then he approached the manhole, flashing his light down the rungs of the ladder. It wouldn’t reach to the corner.
    “You got that plane, sure thing?” he demanded. “Because, if you haven’t—”
    “You got a rod, Chiv, haven’t you?” Joe cut in suddenly. “He’s tied up, ain’t he? If it ain’t there, what do we lose? If it is, we take this guy, still tied, and head for the plane.”
    “ ‘How does he know we won’t bump him?” Chiv asked. “We could have it all.”
    His yellow eyes shifted back to Cowan, and the Yank felt a cold shiver run down his spine.
    “Don’t forget I’m the flyer,” Cowan said. “Don’t forget I know where the plane is.”
    “All right.” Chiv glanced shoreward again quickly, then he looked at Joe. “Don’t let him try anything funny, see? I’ll be right back up.”
    His light thrust in his belt, he started down the ladder.
    Joe Gotto sat up a little, watching his prisoner, his eyes very bright. Cowan stared at the manhole. They both heard Chiv slip, heard the hollow thump when he hit the bottom.
    Cowan tore his eyes from the manhole.
    “Now it’s just us, Joe. You’re a Yank and so am I. Do the Japs get this load of planes to get our boys with? You’re a tough cookie, pal. So’m I. But we aren’t either of us rats!”
    Joe grinned suddenly.
    “What was it?” he asked. “What happened to Chiv?”
    He bent over Cowan and hurriedly unbound him. The Yank straightened up, stretching his cramped muscles.
    “No oxygen. Those tanks are dangerous. I had an idea that in this heavy air, darned little of that gas would escape.”
    Cowan grabbed up the shotgun dropped by Chiv Laran and ran with Joe to the gangway. A lifeboat bobbed alongside.
    “What happened to Mataga?” Joe demanded.
    He was nervous, but his hands were steady. In running forward he had picked up a tommy gun from the petty officer’s mess, where it had been left on the table.
    “He’s hunting Forbes and the girl!”
    Steve Cowan sprang ashore when the boat grated on the beach. Then as Joe jumped down beside him, he shoved the lifeboat back into the water.
    Turning, he led the way into the jungle, heading for the point. They had gone only a dozen steps when Cowan stopped suddenly, holding up a hand.
    “Listen!” he said.
    Someone was floundering through the brush, panting heavily. Joe lifted his tommy gun, his eyes narrowed.
    “Hold it!” Cowan whispered.
    It was Captain Forbes. The old seadog broke through the brush, his face red, his lungs heaving. His clothing was torn by brambles, and his face and hands were scratched.
    “They’re comin’!” he said. “Right behind!”
    “Where’s Ruanne?” Steve Cowan demanded.
    “At the plane!” Forbes looked bad, the veins in his throat standing out, his lungs heaving. “We found it! I tried to lead them away. But they got too close!”

----
    S OMEONE YELLED BACK down the shore. Cowan turned, leading the way toward the mangroves.
    “Make it fast!” he whispered. “We’ve got a chance!”
    They were almost to the amphibian before Cowan noticed that Joe had not followed. He wheeled and started back. Ruanne stopped helping her uncle in the cabin door.
    “Where are you going?” she cried. “Come on!”
    “Can you fly?” Cowan hesitated, the shotgun dangling. “If you can, warm that ship up. We’ll be back!”
    He turned and plunged back into the jungle. Even as he broke through the first wall of green, he heard the angry chatter of a tommy gun and Joe’s raucous yell, then the sound of more guns. Joe cried out suddenly in pain.
    Cowan burst into a small clearing just as Donner and Besi John Mataga, followed by a dozen men, came through on the opposite side. A bullet smashed by his head, and Cowan jerked up the shotgun. It roared. Donner grabbed