Free Trouble on His Wings by L. Ron Hubbard

and lifted them into the boat.
    The Jinx pushed her
hair from her eyes and looked around at the Japanese sailors on the thwarts.
Johnny, she saw with a start, was empty-handed. No, Irish did not have the
drum. With her spirits sinking even lower, she felt the conviction that she was
again the cause of lost film.
    Mr. Wu was nodding
politely to a Japanese officer, who bowed politely in return, and then the gig swerved into a long turn and sped back to the man-o’-war.
    They clambered up the
black side, trailing water on the white-scoured ladder, and arrived in a group
of polite officers on the deck. The captain, seeing them, turned and made a
sign with his hand to the gig, which curved outward again and swept down upon
the wrecked but floating transport. She saw the officer retrieve Johnny’s
camera from it, while others tossed luggage into the gig and then the boat came
back.
    â€œI am very sorry,”
said the bedraggled Mr. Wu to the Jinx, “to be the cause of unpleasantness to
you.”
    She didn’t think he
meant more than the transport crash itself, until she heard Johnny talking to
the captain.
    â€œAh, yes,” said the
captain to Johnny. “I am very sorry. I realize how serious it is. But, believe
me, we made a most regrettable mistake, thinking you were a Chinese bombing
plane sent to destroy this warship. Very regrettable, very sorry.”
    â€œA common mistake,
Captain,” said Johnny, tight-jawed, but not to be outdone in politeness. “If
you would be so kind as to set us ashore—”
    â€œThe country,” said
the captain, “is very wild. I would fear for your safety. May I invite you to
be my guests?” He was eyeing the camera, which was being brought aboard. “We
will store this for you—if you do not mind?”
    â€œOh, not at all,” said
Johnny, grimly.
    â€œYou will be taken to
your cabins,” smiled the captain.
    Escorted by a young
officer, Mr. Wu went slowly down a hatch and out of sight. Another officer
signed that the Americans were to follow him. Johnny took Irish and the Jinx,
each one by the arm, and tagged the officer.
    â€œThe dirty rats,” said
Irish. “That pilot didn’t have a chance. He’s dead on the bottom.”
    A thudding explosion
shook the river behind them and the Jinx glanced back to see that the remains
of the transport were pattering the breadth of the river.
    â€œIf we get out of
this,” said Johnny, “we’ll be lucky. Keep your chin up.”
    â€œYou mean . . . they
won’t set us ashore?” said the Jinx.
    â€œUs?” said Irish
scornfully. “Newsmen? Ready to blast that story across the world? What do you
think would happen to Japanese prestige if it got noised around that they
attacked an American plane, killed the pilot, took Mr. Wu a prisoner and
executed him?”
    She looked at Johnny.
    â€œSure, his goose is
cooked. They’ll ease his body over the side as soon as they get to sea.”
    â€œBut they can’t hold
us forever!” she protested.
    â€œNo?” said Johnny.
“That’s like the jailbird saying they can’t jail him—but there he is. Keep your
chin up. I hope you’ll like Japan.”
    â€œWhen I think of those
pictures,” mourned Irish, “I wanta cry. The biggest scoop of the war this
year—on the river bottom.” And he glanced at the girl and she saw in his face
that he was beginning to believe things about her too.
    As they entered the
large cabin suite they heard the anchor engines grinding, and through the port
they saw the river bank begin to slide away. For a moment the Jinx was a little
dizzy.
    â€œIs . . . is this
business always like this?” she said.
    â€œLike what?” said
Johnny innocently.
    â€œOne minute in the
Atlantic, the next in the mountains and . . . I can’t believe it . . . here we
are in China, and heading for Japan and all in less than two