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

and was staring toward him. The man stepped forward and spoke softly, inquiringly. Mike Thorne crouched, his lips a thin line along his teeth.
    This was it. He could see it coming. Suddenly the Japanese jerked up his rifle. There was no hesitation. The man fired as the rifle came up, and the bullet smashed into the pile of cases beside Thorne. Instantly, Thorne lunged. The rifle cracked again, and a bullet whiffed by his cheek. The soldier lunged with the bayonet, and Mike felt the point tear through his sleeve, then he struck viciously with the smatchet.
    Blood gushed from the side of the Japanese’s neck, but the man scarcely staggered. He wheeled, dropping his rifle, and grabbed at Thorne’s throat. Mike tried to pull away, slashing viciously at the sentry with the heavy knife.
    The camp was in an uproar. Running men were coming from every direction. With a tremendous burst of strength, Mike hurled the sentry from him, struck a match, and dropped it into the gasoline.
    The tower of flame leaped high into the sky behind him, but he had plunged into the brush. He was running wildly, desperately. Running so fast that he never saw the wire until it was too late. He plunged into it, tried to leap, but his foot hung and he fell forward. Desperately, he hurled himself to one side, trying to avoid the barbs. He fell flat, and his head struck one of the anchor pins. He felt the blow, but nothing more.

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    H IS EYES OPENED on a different world. Weird flames lit the sky, although they were dying down now. They wouldn’t, he decided, be enough to attract help. It was too deep within the sheltering bulwarks of the crater.
    He was bound to a tree, his right leg around the bole, the toe hooked under the left knee. The left leg was bent back under him. His arms were tied around the tree itself.
    Mike’s eyes were narrow with apprehension. He knew what this meant. In such a position, in a short time his legs would be paralyzed and helpless. If he were to escape, it must be now, at once. From the tail of his eye he could see enough to know that two planes had been burned, and a fair quantity of supplies.
    Suddenly, a shadow loomed between the fire and himself. He tilted his head, and a stunning blow knocked it down again.
    “So?” The voice was a hiss. “You?”
    He looked up, brow wrinkled with anguish. Commander Ishimaru stared down at him. He remembered the man from an event on the coast of China. He forced a grin. “Sure, it’s me, Mike Thorne. How’s tricks?”
    Ishimaru studied him.
    “No change, I see,” he said softly. “I am glad. You will break harder, my friend.” He bowed, and his eyes glittered like obsidian in the firelight.
    The Japanese officer studied him. “Where did you come from?” he went on. “How many are there? Why did you come here?”
    “Side issue,” Mike replied. “Doolittle and his boys are taking another sock at Tokyo. They sent me down here to keep you boys busy while the big show comes off. Doolittle is going to blast Tokyo to the ground and burn the Mikado in its ashes.”
    Ishimaru struck him viciously across the face. Once, twice. Then again.
    “Better take a sock at a Yank when you can, Yellow Belly,” Mike said, “you won’t get many chances. Our boys are whipping the devil out of yours.”
    “You tell me how many, and where they are.” Ishimaru’s voice was level. “Otherwise, you burn.”
    “Go to the devil,” Mike replied.
    “You have ten minutes to decide.” Ishimaru’s voice was sharp. He spun on his heel and walked away.
    Mike Thorne’s lips tightened. His legs were already feeling their cramped position. The position alone would soon be torture enough, but the Japanese would not let it rest there. He knew only too well the fiendish tortures they could devise. Slivers of bamboo thrust under the fingernails and lighted, other things too ugly to mention. He had seen men after Japanese torture, and it had turned him sick. And Mike Thorne wasn’t a man to be