Red Radall in the Aleutians

By R.Sidney Bowen

When Red Randall volunteers for special duty in the Aleutian Islands, west of Alaska, he wants action—and he’s not disappointed! After the American-owned islands of Attu and Kiska have been invaded by Japan in June 1942, America seeks to regain control and to defend the Alaskan mainland. Here in the Aleutians, where visibility is zero, where williwaws rage, and jagged mountain peaks are blanketed in fog, Red and Jimmy Joyce have some of the most harrowing experiences of their careers. For not only are the Japanese their dangerous enemies, but the elements, too, are a constant challenge to their flying skill and courage.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Piccadilly
• Release date: Oct 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9780463400746

R.Sidney Bowen

Robert Sidney Bowen, Jr. was a World War I aviator, newspaper journalist, magazine editor and author who was born in Boston, Massachusetts. After the invasion of Poland by Germany in 1939 sparked World War II, Crown Publishers called Bowen, asking for an adventure story based on the war. The Dave Dawson series, also known as the War Adventure series, was the result. Bowen got to work immediately, and the first book, Dave Dawson At Dunkirk, was published in 1941. A total of 15 volumes were released between 1941 and 1946. By 1945 the series had sold over 2,000,000 copies. Inspired by the success of the Dave Dawson books, Crown's competing publisher Grosset & Dunlap hired Bowen to write a similar series for them. The Red Randall series debuted in 1944, selling 200,000 copies its first year.

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When Red Randall volunteers for special duty in the Aleutian Islands, west of Alaska, he wants action—and he’s not disappointed! After the American-owned islands of Attu and Kiska have been invaded by Japan in June 1942, America seeks to regain control and to defend the Alaskan mainland. Here in the Aleutians, where visibility is zero, where williwaws rage, and jagged mountain peaks are blanketed in fog, Red and Jimmy Joyce have some of the most harrowing experiences of their careers. For not only are the Japanese their dangerous enemies, but the elements, too, are a constant challenge to their flying skill and courage.

RED RANDALL 6:

RED RANDALL IN THE ALEUTIANS

By R. Sidney Bowen

First Published by Grosset and Dunlap in 1945

Copyright © 1945, 2021 Robert Sidney Bowen

First Electronic Edition: November 2021

Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by means (electronic, digital, optical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book

Series Editor: Ben Bridges

Text © Piccadilly Publishing

Published by Arrangement with Cosmos Literary Agency.

Visit www.piccadillypublishing.org to read more about our books.

Chapter One – Dutch Harbor

LEANING FORWARD, ARMS resting on his knees, Red Randall peered out through the hatch glass in the nose of the PBY-5 Catalina. He could see a distance of about five feet. Beyond that point there was a world of fluffy whiteness. He turned his head to the right and looked back up at the wing. He could see the propeller of the Wasp engine spinning over, but he could not see the wing tip. It was lost in the fluffy whiteness that seemed to flow by like water. It was the same on the other side.

And they call this fog? Red muttered aloud.

What would you call it, my dear Watson? Jimmy Joyce asked from the jump seat next to Randall’s.

I’ve seen fog, plenty of it, but nothing like this, Randall replied. "This is a million bales of cotton that got away from somebody. Why, you could reach out and grab this stuff by the handful. I’m beginning to think that maybe I was nuts."

"I’ve known for years that you are, Jimmy shot at him quickly, but what convinced you of that fact?"

Randall settled back in his seat and fixed Joyce with a withering eye.

For your education, he growled, I was referring to the suggestion I made that we apply for this special duty.

I agree with you. And I was nuts to let you talk me into it: Don’t feel too bad, though. Everybody says that things are about due to pop up here in the Aleutians. Besides, it has been a very scenic ride up from Frisco.

You can have all of it! Randall grunted, and made a wry face at the oceans of fog flowing by. If things do pop up here in the Aleutians, we won’t be able to see a thing. Good grief! Just look at it!

I’ve done nothing else since we took off from Kodiak, Joyce said with a sigh. But why growl? We had a nice leave in Frisco. They posted a notice for volunteers for special duty. You fell for it, and so did I. And here we are. Dutch Harbor next stop.

Don’t bet on it, Randall said. It could be a mountain. I only hope the skipper of this misplaced sailboat knows where he is.

You can bank on it, Jimmy assured him. He’s made this trip a hundred times. He told me so.

Well, to be pessimistic, there’s always a first time for everything, Randall grunted. And...oops! Duck!

A solid wall of black suddenly loomed up out of the fog, seemingly inches from the nose of the Catalina. The flying boat lurched violently to the left and up. Its engines howled and the black wall faded back into the fog and was gone. Randall had to lick his lips and swallow before he could speak.

That was a mountain, in case you don’t know it!

Yes! Joyce got out in a strained voice. There’s a lot of them in this neck of the woods.

Just then a lean, square-jawed Naval lieutenant climbed down into the nose compartment. His name was Rankin, and he was flight engineer aboard the flying boat.

How goes it, Army pilots? he asked with an infectious grin. Enjoying your ride with the Navy?

Oh, just too, too much! Randall said, looking back over his shoulder. Has the pilot some special mountain he wants to hit, or doesn’t he give a darn?

Oh, that? Rankin echoed and laughed. We do that every trip—to give the passengers a thrill. We’ve got names for all the mountains around here. That one you just saw we call Dirty Face.

Well, you can change that name to Lucky Break, Randall said with emphasis. He was closer than he thought, and he knows it, too.

Tsk, tsk, such insults! Rankin chuckled. Davis is just about the best the Navy has. Know what he did when the Japs pulled that quickie on Dutch? He was on the deck, making a taxi test, when they came in. He took her off and went up after them—after float Zeros, no less. And his blister gunner got one, believe it or not. His Cat was so full of holes when he landed, it wouldn’t hold water. He got the Navy Cross for that bit of work.

Consider I’ve removed my hat, Randall said, and extend the gentleman my sincere apologies. I imagine it rugged that day. Were you at Dutch, Rankin?

The flight engineer grinned and pulled up his left sleeve. Both Randall and Joyce saw the dark red scar that ran diagonally across his forearm.

Compliments of the Japs, he said. The terrible part of it all was that I was just shooting down ten Japs when I got it. Yes, sir, ten Japs.

Red looked at Jimmy and frowned.

Take that hypo needle away from him, Jimmy, he said. He’s had too much already. Or, being Navy at heart as you are, do you believe him?

Joyce looked at Rankin and grinned.

He’s a cockeyed liar, he said. But being Navy makes him O.K. in my book.

Randall snorted and shook his head.

How in the world did you get mixed up in the Army Air Forces, anyway, Joyce? Rankin asked, ignoring Randall.

Jimmy sighed and gave a sorrowful shake of his head.

It’s a long story, Rankin, he said. But to be brief, Randall owes me money, and I’m going to collect even if I have to follow him into the paratroopers.

My heart goes out to you, my friend, Rankin said with mock sympathy. An Army man once owed me money, too. He still does. But there’s one thing this war teaches you and that is to put no faith in wishful thinking. Know what I mean?

And there I was! Randall snapped. At forty thousand feet. On my back. And ten Zeros coming in at me from eleven different directions. Well, sir, I pressed the—

But you didn’t let me finish! Rankin cut in. I truly was about to get ten Zeros. But it was in a dream, you see? Forgive me, but I was dead to the world in my little bunk when a Zero bullet came down through the roof and wrote its name here on my arm. That’s the trouble with you Army pilots. You always interrupt.

I give up! Randall cried. The way the Navy can crawl out from under things. Be serious for a moment, Rankin, if you can. How do you find Dutch Harbor in this stuff that some people call fog?

Think nothing of it, my flighty friend, the Navy man said airily. The radio says quote, ‘There is no fog at Dutch,’ unquote. A funny thing about that up here. Miles and miles of soup all around, but nine times out of ten there will be none at Dutch. I guess the mountain range holds it back. See what I mean? There’s Dutch now. That’s Priest Rock to port. And that’s Cape Cheerful to starboard. Don’t ask me why they gave that black buttress such a name. Well, I’ve got work to do. Besides, you Army pilots bore me. Be seeing you, I’m afraid.

With a grin that took all the sting out of his words, Rankin ducked back out of the nose compartment and was gone. Randall and Joyce looked at each other, laughed, and then stared out through the nose hatch glass. As though by magic, the fog had been pulled aside to reveal Dutch Harbor. From a scenic point of view, it was nothing to see. A gorge led into the harbor which was like a slate-gray disc flanked on three sides by rugged mountains. Mount Ballyhoo seemed to rise straight up from the water’s edge. Along the shore line were clusters of buildings that looked like yellow-green mud flats. A huge steel skeleton of a hangar stuck up like twisted black sticks at the end of the flying field apron, a silent reminder of that day, June third, nineteen forty-two, when the Japanese had tried to make Dutch Harbor a second Pearl Harbor. Staring down at it all, Randall felt depressed. Of what use was this desolate bit of land? Let the Japanese have it. Let them have all of the Aleutians. A man would starve to death on such ground—even a Japanese.

Stop it! he reprimanded himself harshly. "This is American ground. This is part of the U. S. This is our land. Crummy as it looks, this is ours! And no Jap, nor anybody else, can have any part of it!"

A sense of shame swept over him. The Japanese had their eye on Dutch. They already had landed on Attu and Kiska. Dutch Harbor had felt the weight of Japanese bombs. If they took the Aleutians, they would be nearer to the American mainland than they would have been if they had gone ashore that day at Pearl Harbor and taken the Hawaiians.

Well, there’s one thing about this war, Randall grunted aloud, as the pilot of the Catalina put the craft through its recognition