Collection 1986 - Night Over The Solomons (v5.0) Read Free Page A

the lip of the crater, he hesitated, drawing a deep breath. He knew the place. In the past, he had speculated on whether or not a strong, agile man could make it down to five thousand feet from that point.
    Taking firm grasp on a rock, he lowered himself over the rim. For an instant his feet dangled in space. Carefully, he felt for the ledge he remembered. He found it, tested it briefly with his weight, then relaxed his grip and felt for a new hand hold on the edge itself.
    Slowly, painstakingly, he worked his way down, the six-inch ledge of rock, feeling with feet and hands for each new hold.
    On the way up the mountain he had thought much. Areas for possible landing fields were few. Kolombangara was rough, and the best spot, if not the only spot, was on the floor of the crater itself. There was a chance that when he reached bottom he’d find himself at the edge of their field.
    Suddenly, he was in complete blackness. Twisting his head. Mike saw the moon was under a cloud. From his memory of the cliff, he knew he had reached the most difficult point. Carefully, he felt over a toehold, found it, and reached out in the darkness. His hand felt along the bare rock, searching, searching.
    A protruding corner of rock met his fingers. He gripped it, shifted his weight. The rock came loose.
    For one awful, breathtaking instant, he grabbed wildly, then he felt himself falling.
    He slid, grabbed out, felt a rock tear loose from his hand, and fell clear. He must have turned over at least three times before he struck with such force that it knocked the wind from him, then slid, and started to fall again. His hand, grasping wildly, caught a shrub. It pulled, then held.
    Breathless, frightened, he hung over the void.
    Around him was absolute silence. Slowly, majestically, the moon slid from behind the cloud. To his horror he saw the bush to which he clung had pulled out by the roots, and seemed suspended only by a few stronger roots that might give way at any moment.
    Turning his head carefully, he glanced below. Nothing but blackness. The shrub gave a sickening sag, then held.
    Moving cautiously, he felt with his toe. He found a toehold, not more than an inch of rock. Then another inch, and he let go with one hand. A heavy root thrust out from the face, and he took hold with a sigh of relief.

----
    A LMOST A HALF hour later, he let himself down on the slope, then stepped into the brush. He had worked along silently through the jungle only a little way when he heard a clink of metal against metal. He froze. A sentry stood not twenty feet away, and beyond him bulked the dark body of a plane.
    Mike Thorne flattened against the earth. The grass beneath him was damp. He crept softly nearer the sentry. The man turned rifle on guard, staring out into the dark toward him. Mike lay still. Then the sentry shouldered his rifle and walked away.
    Listening, Thorne could hear the man’s feet recede, then stop, then start back. Mike moved forward and lay still.
    The sentry drew near, paused, and turned away. Swiftly, Mike lunged. His left arm slid around the sentry’s throat, crushing the bony part of the wristbone against the man’s Adam’s apple. His left hand grasped his own right wrist, and Mike gave a quick, hard jerk. The man’s body threshed, then relaxed slowly. Grimly, Mike Thorne lowered the body to the ground.
    When he straightened again, he carried a heavy-bladed knife. It was a smatchet, evidently taken from some British commando, or picked from the ground after a battle. The rifle he put aside.
    Moving forward, he sniffed air heavy with the fumes of gasoline. He hesitated, then felt around. Several tins of gas stood about the plane. It was a Zero pursuit.
    Deliberately, he opened the cans and poured one of them over the plane itself. His time was short. He knew the chances of discovery were increased immeasurably by every instant, yet he worked on.
    A movement froze him to stillness. A Japanese sentry had stopped not fifty feet away