The sudden change from sunset's glow to murky shadows blinded Dave for a moment as he entered the room followed by Freddy Farmer. His vision cleared in a moment or two and he saw that the room into which he had stepped was fitted out like an air operations center. There was every conceivable kind of a gadget. He saw radio sets, plain wireless sets, a row of field telephones, and what-not. Many of the instruments he saw fitted to the walls, or attached to tables, were complete mysteries. The whole scene, however, reminded him of a visit he had made three or four years ago with his father to the experimental laboratory of the General Electric Company at Schenectady, New York. The only difference was that sane men had been in charge at Schenectady.
Suddenly, Dave pulled up short, and the blood pounded in his temples as he saw the big hulk, Colonel Comstadt, seated in a chair in the corner. The Gestapo man was chewing on a hunk of meat he clutched in his big paws, but most of it was on his chin and down the front of his tunic. He paused to leer and make sound deep in his throat.
"So the two little babies finally woke up, eh?" he rumbled. "That is good. I was getting lonesome. Perhaps we can have some more good sport, eh?"
"Sure!" Dave flung at him. "Just as soon as I find me a crow-bar, you lop-sided car barn!"
The Gestapo man dropped his hunk of meat and lunged up on his feet.
"What is that?" he roared. "A cow barn?"
"That'll do even better!" Dave snapped at him, and set himself to dance to the side in case the Gestapo man came after him.
If that was the big brute's intention, he did not have the chance to carry it out. General von Peiplow glided in front of him with the stealthy movement of a jungle panther.
"I will talk with them first, Colonel Comstadt," he said in a voice that was almost a purr. "Perhaps later you will have another chance to ... er, entertain them. For the present, that is all, Colonel."
The Gestapo man's eyes seemed to glow red. He clenched his big hands. He moved his lips but no words came from them. Then slowly he lowered his eyes before the other's steady stare.
"I receive my orders fromHerrHimmler," he muttered.
"And I receive mine fromDer Fuehrer!" General von Peiplow said softly. "You will wait outside, Colonel!"
The Gestapo man hesitated a fraction of a second longer, then shrugged and moved toward the door. The look he flung Dave as he passed by was like a white hot knife driving deep into the Yank's heart. In spite of himself, Dave gulped and shuddered slightly.
"A nuisance, but necessary at times, is Colonel Comstadt," he heard von Peiplow say. "But sit down, Gentlemen. Perhaps we will not find his return necessary, eh?"
Dave didn't reply to that, nor did Freddy Farmer. They simply exchanged glances and then dropped into the chairs the Nazi indicated with a wave of his hand. General von Peiplow seated himself behind a huge desk, clasped his hands on top of it, and smiled at them benignly.
"And, now, shall we start our little talk?" he asked after a moment or so.
"Shoot," Dave said and folded his arms on his chest.
"Oh, quite!" Freddy murmured and did the same thing.
General von Peiplow chuckled softly and nodded his head.
"Brave men, both of you," he said. "I admire bravery and great courage, even in my enemies. At times, though, bravery can be utter stupidity. This, I am afraid, is one of those times. Do you want to be brave, or stupid?"
"I want to play around with one of those gliders," Freddy said, and let his gaze roam over the assortment of electrical gadgets. "Do you mind, General?"
"I'm afraid I do," the German replied with a smile. "But I see what you mean. You have sharp eyes, and a great interest in technical things, eh?"
"Some," Freddy replied easily as Dave wondered what in heck the two were talking about. "I'd say, though, that we're considerably more advanced than you Jerries. For one thing, we don't have to use auxiliary engines, at all."
"That is a lie!" General von Peiplow shouted in a loud voice. "I know all that you're doing along that line.Donder!YouEnglandershave hardly begun research work in that field."
"Have it your way, if you like," Freddy said with a nonchalant shrug. "Perhaps what I saw them doing at Bristol was simply a mirage, a dream."
"Now, I know you lie!" von Peiplow snapped. "Bristol, England, is in ruins. The Luftwaffe bombers have reduced it to dust. They.... Why do you shake your head?"
"Because I think it's a blasted shame!" Freddy said. "A rotten, mean trick!"
"It is war!" von Peiplow replied curtly. "It is necessary to bomb your cities and towns to make you fool English realize that...."
"I don't mean that," Freddy Farmer interrupted evenly. "I mean it's a dirty shame nobody has told the population of Bristol that their city is in ruins. Imagine living in a house day after day, and night after night, and nobody telling you it's really nothing but dust! They'll be no end surprised, General, when they find out. Or is that a new Nazi technique? You bomb a building flat and don't even tell the people in it? A very queer war, I say!"
"And very amusing, your little joke, Flight Lieutenant Farmer!" the German said tight lipped. "Weknowwhat happened at Bristol. We have cameras and reconnaissance planes, too, you know. Enough of this foolish talk, though! There is something else much more important. Flight Lieutenant Dawson! What about the message you mentioned? What message?"
Dave scowled and acted as though he were reluctant to answer the question. General von Peiplow leaned forward on the desk and fixed Dave with a steady stare.
"Do we need Colonel Comstadt's help to refresh your memory?" he murmured softly.
"Take it easy," Dave grunted. "I'm just thinking up the answer. A message, you say?"
"A message," the Nazi repeated quietly. "You three pilots came over here for a special reason. The reason was to take photographs of this area. Ah, yes! I examined your burnt planes personally, and saw the fire charred camera in each. There was also a camera in the third plane. The one that was shot down in flames on its way back to England. Yes, you came over to take pictures. Naturally, we Germans always prepare for the unexpected. And so we were prepared to greet you three R.A.F. gentlemen. My pilots could have shot you down with no trouble at all. However, I was curious. I desired to find out how you happened to come straight to this area."
"I should think you could guess that!" Freddy Farmer suddenly cut in scornfully. "The chaps in the plane that returned last Tuesday night told us some funny business was going on at this spot. So, Air Ministry simply ordered us to buzz over and take a picture or two. Dave and I met up with a bit of hard luck. But the third chap's pictures will tell Air Ministry all it wants to know. If you're a brainy chap, General, and I must admit you don't look a bit like Colonel Comstadt, you'll evacuate this area in a hurry."
General von Peiplow smiled at Freddy, but there was no warmth in his smile, and less in his eyes. The deep rooted hatred for a superior race glittered in their depths.
"It is plain to see that you are truly English to the very core!" the German presently snapped. "Nothing but lies, and more lies, come from your lips. No wonder your country is doomed to defeat by German arms. I will correct your lies. Not one of those British Lockheed Hudsons returned to its base last Tuesday night. They werealldestroyed. I saw that with my own eyes, for it was I who had charge of destroying them! And Air Ministry did not send them over tothisspot. They were high and on their way farther inland when they suddenly met their doom. No, it was something else that sent you three straight tothisarea today. As for your comrade, the third one? Believe he escaped back, to England, if you wish. I am telling you, though, that he is dead!"
General von Peiplow directed a curt nod at Freddy Farmer, and then turned his attention to Dave.
"And now that message," he said. "What message? Where did it come from, and who...?"
The German suddenly stopped, and his eyes flew open wide in amazed consternation.
"That swine I sent back?" he choked as though questioning himself. Then with a vicious shake of his head, "But that is impossible! Impossible! He was dead, and he had been thoroughly searched."
Dave leaped at the opportunity presented as General von Peiplow let his voice trail off and sat scowling into space.
"Stay with it, General!" Dave said. "You're getting close! You're getting mighty warm. Just stay with that poor fellow you murdered and dumped out over England. Give up? Want a little bit of a clue?"
The Nazi Luftwaffe high ranker seemed not to hear Dave. He stared at space for a moment longer, then suddenly dug two fingers into his tunic pocket and pulled out a wrinkled bit of paper. Dave, seeing it, caught his breath sharply, and impulsively started to reach into his own tunic pocket. The paper von Peiplow held in his hand was the pencil drawn map Colonel Trevor had given Dave before the take-off from Eighty-Four's field. It didn't require a single guess to know that Freddy and he had been thoroughly searched while they were unconscious.
Von Peiplow studied the map a moment and then looked up at Dave.
"And the message that went with this?" he asked. "The information it contained?"
Dave swallowed hard and steeled himself. He reached up and tapped a finger on his head.
"In here," he said evenly. "And you can whistle for it. But don'tyouknow what's going on over here?"
"I'm afraid that won't work either, Flight Lieutenant Dawson," the Nazi said in his soft but deadly toned voice. "The spy we caught and sent back to England with our compliments could never have taken this map back with him. He was searched too thoroughly."
"Who says he brought it back?" Dave taunted him. "So you give up? You don't want that clue?"
"Clue?" the German muttered with a frown.
"Sure, clue!" Dave said lightly. "Don't you want to find out how you stumbled? How all the dope about this place dropped into the hands of British Intelligence? All the dope on your new weapon youthinkis going to make it possible for you to hold the occupied countries no matter how many troops your boss, Hitler, withdraws? Gosh! You're notreallysurprised, are you? You mean you didn't evenguessthat British Intelligence was wise to you? Freddy! That's another bet you owe me. My hunch the Nazis were completely in the dark was absolutely right."
"Good grief, yes!" Freddy Farmer gasped. "But I would have been willing to bet anything, Dave! I was sure that they...."
"Silence!" von Peiplow thundered. And for the first time uncontrolled rage showed on his good looking face. "What clue? Tell me, or I'll call in Colonel Comstadt this instant!"
"Call him in, the big ox!" Dave snapped back. "But I'm giving you the clue, anyway. Here it is. Have you got false teeth, General von Peiplow?"
The Nazi stiffened in his chair, and for a second his eyes went glassy, as though he had received a terrific punch on the nose.
"False teeth, false teeth!" he sputtered. Then slamming a clenched fist down on the desk, "So that was it? He had a hollowed-out false tooth!"
"Hand him the gold medal, Freddy," Dave said out of the corner of his mouth. "You're nearer than I am."
If General von Peiplow heard the remark it bounced off him like a pebble off a tin roof. He was shaking his head like a boxer getting up off the floor at the count of nine. For a moment or so Dave and Freddy could have been a thousand miles away for all the attention the Luftwaffe high ranker paid them. Presently, though, the muscles of his face ceased jitter-bugging around and he fixed them both with a brittle stare.
"So that swine did carry information back to England?" he said in a voice that promised death for those who had searched Colonel Trevor's dead brother's body. "That was the message you spoke of, eh? Well, I must thank you for mentioning it. Now, you will tell me what it said. Exactly how much did that swine find out?"
Dave shrugged and folded his arms across his chest. Freddy also shrugged and calmly scratched an imaginary mosquito bite on his right ankle. The corners of von Peiplow's mouth tightened slightly and his clasped hands whitened a bit at the knuckles.
"I have already said I admire you two as brave men," he said evenly. "And I have also said that courage can also be stupidity. You two are young. You have your whole lives before you. True, you are my prisoners, and I cannot permit you to return to England. However, I can make you very comfortable on this side of the English Channel. And I can give you my word that once Germany has won the war we will see that you are given high and most satisfactory positions in the Reich's commercial air industry. Now, would that not be better than ... than suffering tonight at the hands of Colonel Comstadt? Would that not be far better than perhaps not seeing tomorrow's sunrise?"
"It might rain tomorrow, and there wouldn't be any sunrise," Dave grunted.
Von Peiplow whistled air through his clenched teeth.
"A man is a fool to joke with death!" he bit off. "It is regrettable that you are but mere boys. But you have taken up arms against a Germany struggling to live, and so your young age cannot save you. You play at being grown men, and so you shall be treated as grown men. Answer my question or I will order Colonel Comstadt, and his men, to force the answer from your lips.How much does British Intelligence know?"
Dave's head was roaring and it felt as though in the next second it were going to fly off his shoulders. His heart was a lifeless lump of ice in his chest, and the very air he breathed seemed to burn the walls of his lungs. Just the same he closed his lips tight and stared defiantly back at General von Peiplow. He heard not so much as a murmur from Freddy Farmer. So he knew that his pal was also giving the German the silence treatment.
Von Peiplow glanced first at one, then at the other. After a moment or so he bobbed his head and banged both hands palms down on the desk.
"Very well, then!" he barked and pushed up from his chair. "You wish to be fools, so...."
The Luftwaffe high ranker did not finish the rest. He cut himself off short as there came a sudden mighty bellow of wild alarm from outside. Before the cry had been lost to the echo Dave heard the high keyed whine of something tearing down through the air. Von Peiplow roared a curse, leaped for the door and yanked it open. The terrified face of Colonel Comstadt loomed for an instant in the doorway, then he came lunging inside, almost knocking General von Peiplow off his feet. Dave snapped his eyes out through the door opening just in time to see one of the gliders dive straight into the ground not fifty feet from where he stood. A loud explosion smacked against his eardrums, and the blast almost knocked his feet out from under him. A flash of flame, a spouting cloud of smoke, and then there was a five foot crater where the glider had struck the ground. And there wasn't even a splinter of the glider to be seen.
"Swine fools!" von Peiplow bellowed and shoved Colonel Comstadt to one side, as he leaped toward the door. "Do you want to kill us all? Where is Captain Meuller? Where is...?"
The Luftwaffe general choked off the rest as a white-faced Nazi flying captain came rushing up and practically slid to a stop on the heels of his polished boots.
"Ah, you are safe, Herr General!" he gasped. "Praise be to the gods for that. I have never known such fear as this last moment. I...."
"Shut your mouth, you blabbering imbecile!" von Peiplow thundered at him. Then with a savage gesture of his hand, "What is all this? Who was at the control board?"
"I was, Herr General," the Captain said and wrung his hands. "But something went wrong. The glider would not respond no matter what I did. It went into a dive and I could not right it. Neither could the pilot of the control plane in the air. The power glider went into a dive, and never recovered."
General von Peiplow tilted his head and stared up at the faintly red tinted sky. Unnoticed, Dave and Freddy had walked close to the door. They looked up, too, and saw the Messerschmitt One-Ten that was sliding down out of the air, obviously toward a landing field on the opposite side of the woods.
"Who is in that plane?" von Peiplow suddenly snapped at the Captain.
"Lieutenants Himmer and von Lisk, Herr General," the other replied. "They were up for a test. But I swear, Herr General, I did not know even a small charge was in the glider! I gave definite orders that all charges be removed for the test. It is the fault of Sergeant Reuter. I will deal with him at once, Herr General. This thing will not happen again! I...."
"I will deal with Sergeant Reuter!" von Peiplow snapped. "As for you, Captain Meuller! You will leave tonight and rejoin your Squadron on the Balkan Front. Fool! It was for you to make sure with your own eyes thatnocharges were in the glider. What if the thing had crashed down into the underground hangars? There are enough high explosives there to blow this part of France from off the face of the world. Now, get out of my sight before I change my mind and have you shot for such disregard of duty."
The German captain's mouth worked like a fish out of water, but he said not a word. He shivered and his eyes went glassy with fear. He hesitated one brief moment and then turned and slunk away like a dog with its tail between its legs. Von Peiplow said something savagely under his breath and swung around to re-enter his office. It was only then he seemed to remember that Dave and Freddy were still there. He shot them each a blazing look of annoyance and hatred.
"Well?" he boomed at them. "What have you to say? Go ahead, speak!"
"About what?" Dave stalled for time. "Gosh, General! What happened? It's knocked everything right out of my head."
Freddy Farmer groaned softly, and put a hand to the side of his head.
"Something hit me," he mumbled. "I feel dizzy and faint."
General von Peiplow's lips curled in a sneer.
"You both lie, of course!" he snapped at them. "I know perfectly well that you are only making believe. However, I have no time to fool with you, now. I have other important things to do. So I will give you a few hours to recover from yourinjuries, and decide whether or not you wish to tell me the truth, or die!"
General von Peiplow emphasized his words with a curt nod, and swung around to Colonel Comstadt.
"Take the prisoners and put them in the old repair shed!" he ordered. "It has no windows. Only a door. You will stand guard at that door, personally, and see that they do not attempt to escape. I am holding you responsible, Colonel. If they try to escape ... you will stop them! You understand, eh?"
The huge gorilla like Nazi smiled broadly and rubbed his two hands together.
"Perfectly, Herr General, perfectly!" he said. "I will take the best of care of them. And if they do not behave ... it will be a great pleasure to teach them a few things."
General von Peiplow flashed the boys a cold smile, and then nodded at Colonel Comstadt.
"Good!" he grunted. "Now, take them away!"
Dave Dawson sat on an old oil soaked workbench beside Freddy Farmer and absently rubbed his left arm where it still ached from the steel fingered grip of Colonel Comstadt. That was a good hour ago, but he could only tell that by looking at the radium painted dial of his wrist watch. It had been light right up to the moment the Gestapo man had more or less hurled them inside the old repair hut. Then when he had slammed the heavy door shut darkness had enveloped them. As von Peiplow had said, there were no windows. And the only door fitted too snug all around for any light to come through the cracks. And so they had groped about for a place to sit, found the workbench and climbed up on it for no other reason than to get off the cold damp dirt floor. Once settled, each had been content to remain silent and battle with his own thoughts.
"Powered gliders loaded with explosives?" Dave broke the silence as he mumbled the words aloud. "That doesn't make sense to me. It.... In fact, Freddy, something you said still doesn't make sense to me. What was all that stuff about Bristol, and the English being more advanced than the Nazis, and stuff? I thought for a while you were just giving him double-talk, or something. But doggone if you both didn't seem to know what it was all about. What...?"
"If you'd just let that tongue of yours run down, I'd tell you!" the English youth interrupted. "Certainly we both knew what the other was talking about. I thought you had guessed it, too, Dave. The stuff I said to General von Peiplow was just to see if I had the right idea. And what he said to me was proof that I had. Blast the Nazis, anyway. Trust them, the cunning devils, to be the first to adopt a new weapon!"
"Pardon me, old thing!" Dave grated at him. "Would you like me to leave so you can go on having a nice little conversation with yourself? Snap out of it, Freddy! Stop talking riddles! You're driving me bats. What the heck are you driving at, anyway?"
"Those gliders, you idiot!" Freddy hissed at him. "Didn't you see with your own eyes, Dave? Don't you know,now, how those Lockheed Hudson bombers were so mysteriously destroyed last Tuesday night?"
Dave took a deep breath, and slowly counted up to ten.
"No," he finally said with forced patience. "I don't catch on to a thing. Now, for cat's sake stop beating around the bush, and put it in words I can understand!"
"Very well, then," Freddy said. "Be quiet and listen. Each of those gliders, or soaring planes, is powered with a small auxiliary engine, and enough gas to take it up to very high altitudes. Instead of a pilot the glider is loaded with high explosives. When the thing reaches maximum altitude the engine cuts out, and from then on the glider is radio controlled. Understand, now, Dave?Radio controlled!Every air force in the world has been working on that for years, and it looks like the Nazis have been able to make it work on gliding, or soaring planes. And they've got hundreds of the things in those underground hangars. This area, here, is the testing and experimental ground for radio controlled auxiliary powered gliders. You see?"
Dave sucked air into his lungs and sat perfectly motionless. His brain was whirling, and drops of cold sweat oozed out of his face.
"Sweet tripe!" he suddenly ejaculated. "Am I dumb, and are you one bright lad, Freddy, to catch on so fast! Gosh! They can fill the air with those things, and...."
"Exactly!" the English youth interrupted excitedly. "Fill the air with hundreds and thousands of the things the factories can turn out like hot-cakes. Each glider carries a load of sudden destruction for anything that bumps into it, and the whole lot can be maneuvered from a radio control plane in the air, or from the ground. Right from von Peiplow's office, too, I fancy. I've fiddled around quite a bit, and, although I'm years and years from being an expert, I knew at once that all those gadgets in von Peiplow's office had to do with the radio control of planes, or something."
"Those Lockheed bombers of flare picture patrol last Tuesday night!" Dave breathed softly. "The Nazis heard them coming. Maybe they can even spot and locate planes at night by radio, just like we can in England. Maybe they have a hush-hush radio plane locator just like we have. Anyway, they spotted those Lockheeds and sent up a flock of their TNT gliders. It is a million times better than a balloon blockade, or wire nets, and that sort of stuff. A wall of TNT loaded gliders swinging around in the night sky in solid formation. All of them controlled by radio. The Lockheed boys probably never saw them. Flew right into them and were blown to bits. That's the terrific explosion you must have seen, Freddy!"
"I'm sure of it!" the English youth said through clenched teeth. "Hitler's new weapon is a radio controlled glider loaded with TNT, or some other high explosive. They cost little to make, and they can be turned out in great quantities in almost no time at all. No need to train pilots. No costly guns and instruments, and the like. No worry how many of them are destroyed. Always hundreds and hundreds coming off the factory line to fill up the gaps. And, Dave!"
"What?" the Yank asked as Freddy stopped short.
"Perhaps von Peiplow's experiments here on this glider business, mean much more than simply holding control of the air over the Occupied Countries!" the English youth said in a strained voice. "Think, Dave! Think of thousands and thousands of those gliders being directed across the Channel to England! It would be like trying to shoot down a swarm of bees. Every time you got one there'd be three more to fill its place. Dave! That can't happen. Itmustn'thappen!"
"You're telling me?" Dave grated and clenched his fists in helpless rage. "You're darn right it mustn't happen. We've got to do something, Freddy. We've got to do something that will make all of von Peiplow's tests and experiments go up in smoke. And.... Hey! That's it! The whole works go up in smoke!"
Dave had lowered his voice to a whisper as he spoke the last. Freddy Farmer leaned close to him and whispered back in the darkness.
"Are you crazy?" he hissed. "What in the world are you talking about? It's impossible!"
"Nuts it's impossible!" Dave shot back. "Von Peiplow let the cat out of the bag, only I'm just realizing it. Remember his bawling out that scared pink captain? Remember his saying it was a break that crashed glider didn't hit the hangars? How there was enough stuff there to blow the works right off the face of the earth? That's all we've got to do, Freddy. Blow this whole place right clean out of sight. Von Peiplow, Ox Face, the hired help, and all the radio equipment, and stuff, going sky high, and not coming back. That's it, Freddy!"
"Oh, quite!" the English youth groaned. "Sounds so terribly easy, too! What would you suggest we do first? Walk out of here and bash Colonel Comstadt over the head? I'm sure he must be fast asleep, and we'd have no trouble."
"Go sell it up the next street, and shut up!" Dave growled. "Give a guy a chance to think. I'll figure something."
"Take all the time you want, little man," Freddy grunted. "There's no hurry. Seriously, though, Dave, if we only could think of some way. If.... What's the matter?"
Dave had reached out in the darkness and gripped Freddy's arm.
"Just keep talking," he whispered. "Talk about anything. Tell me a story. Anything, but just keep talking. A half baked idea is beginning to buzz in the old dome. I'm going to prowl around a bit, and...."
"Dave, you madman!" Freddy hissed. "You can't get outside. You're no match for that big devil. He'll...!"
"Keep your shirt on!" Dave choked him off. "I'm not going outside. I'm going to prowl around inside, and try to find something. You just keep talking, pal. Ox Face can hear through that door, so I want your voice to cover up any sounds I make. Okay. Start talking!"
Dave gave Freddy a reassuring pat on the knee and glided away in the darkness. He heard the English youth start telling about an experience he had when he was learning to fly, and then Freddy's voice became no more than a constant murmur in Dave's ears. He was down on all fours and creeping around on the dirt floor and concentrating every bit of his attention on his task. Seconds ticked by to form a minute. Then two minutes, three, four, and on up to ten.
By then Dave had explored every square inch of the dirt floor with his hands, one side wall, and the rear wall. A cloud of bitter defeat was crowding into his heart, and it was all he could do to stop from pulling a clip of matches from his pocket and striking one into light. There had to be something he could use in this deserted repair shed. Therehadto be something! An old rusty wrench, or a length of stout timber. Something he could use as a club. Even a rock would do the trick. But his hands touched nothing that wasn't nailed or bolted fast. The dirt floor was smooth as glass, and entirely unbroken by a corner of rock jutting up.
More agonizing minutes ticked by and hope began to fade in Dave's heart. Then, suddenly, when he had reached a point but a few feet from the workbench upon which Freddy sat, his groping hands touched something that electrified him with wild joy. The something was an eighteen inch length of lead pipe that stuck out from the side of the repair shop. He explored it with his fingers and hope leaped even higher. The length of pipe, which he guessed had served as a conduit for electric wires, was not screwed tight in the connecting joint set flush with the shop wall. After several twists with his hands he had the thing free. He hefted the pipe in one hand and grinned happily in the darkness.
"Lady Luck, give me just one whack!" he breathed softly. "Just one whack, that's all!"
With a nod for emphasis he got to his feet and moved over to Freddy. The English youth cut his monologue off short as Dave touched him on the arm.
"What is it, Dave?" he whispered. "Good grief! What's that? It feels like lead pipe."
"It is," the Yank whispered back. "Now, listen, Freddy. I've got a hunch. I'll bet you anything you like, part of Ox Face's job outside is to listen to us ... in case we spill something talking to each other. Von Peiplow is worried, plenty worried. If he wasn't, he would have put bullets in us long ago. And, if you ask me, one reason he is worried is because Barkerdid get through!"
"You think so, Dave?" Freddy questioned eagerly.
"I've got a strong hunch he did," Dave replied. "Anyway, von Peiplow is in a spin, or I miss my guess. He's darn sure we know something he wants to know. So he's keeping us on ice here to break us down with fear of what Ox Face would do to us, if von Peiplow should give him the green light. Also, it's a good bet von Peiplow is playing a hunch that you and I will get talking and spill something for Comstadt's ears. Okay, now. Here's my plan.
"You and I are going to talk, see? We're going to have a sweet argument. I'm going to be in favor of spilling what we know, and saving our skins. You're to be against that, and get real sore, see? Give me the works, and shout that you'd kill me before you'd let me say a word. Got it? Raise the roof!"
"Yes, but why?" Freddy whispered. "What do you hope to happen?"
"I'm hoping that Ox Face will come barging in here to break it up," Dave said. "And the instant he sticks his head in through that door he gets this lead pipe, but good! Then we beat it."
"To where?" Freddy wanted to know. "What do you expect to do? Throw a firecracker at those hangars and blow up the TNT loaded gliders?"
"Certainly!" Dave snapped in sarcastic tone. "Didn't you know I always carry a pocketful of firecrackers around with me? No, you dope! We head for the landing field on the other side of these woods. Where we saw that Messerschmitt One-Ten go down."
"Then what?" the cautious English youth wanted to know.
"For cat's sake, how do I know?" Dave groaned. "We'll blow up that bridge when we come to it. The main thing is to put Ox Face bye-bye, and get out of here. Are you with me, or not?"
"What a blasted silly question!" Freddy growled. "Of course, Dave! I simply wanted to know what we were to do afterward, that's all."
"Well, that's one I can't answer, yet," Dave grunted. "The instant we're out of here just hang onto my coat tails, pal! We'll be going places, and fast. Now, hold everything for a second or two, then play right up to what I say. And, luck, little man!"
Freddy didn't say anything. He simply reached out quickly and pressed Dave's arm hard. The Yank pulled his arm free and moved over to a point a foot or so to the right of the door. There he stopped, turned toward Freddy and cupped his hands to his lips to make his voice sound as though it came from the rear of the repair shop.
"But you're nuts, Freddy!" he said in a loud voice. "What's it going to get us? A bullet in the head, after that big baboon gets through tearing us apart. Well, nix on that for me! I say, tell von Peiplow what we know, and at least go on living. Heck...."
"Never, Dawson!" Freddy Farmer shouted back angrily. "And I thought you had courage, and were ready to die for England? Why...!"
"Not this way!" Dave snarled. "Not in a rotten dump like this. Okay, so you're an Englishman. Well, go ahead and get your own head beaten off. I'm not going to. I'm going to tell von Peiplow, and that's final!"
"No, you're not!" Freddy bellowed. "You may have been my best friend, Dawson, but I'll kill you before I'll let you say a word to von Peiplow. I warn you!"
Dave sensed rather than heard movement just outside the door. His heart was trying to burst out through his ribs, and the blood racing through his veins was like liquid fire.
"Yeah?" he yelled back at Freddy. "You and who else? You dumb dope, what good is it for us to be dead? None! We're sunk, I tell you! Von Peiplow has us both right behind the eight ball, and.... Easy, Farmer! Stand back, I'm telling you! Lay a hand on me and I'll belt you right through that wall!"
"Then go ahead and belt, you yellow coward, you traitor!" Freddy screamed. "I'll shut your mouth, if it's the last thing I do! I'll...."
The English youth screamed other things but Dave didn't bother listening. He heard the sound of the bolt outside being snapped back. A second later the door handle rattled, and the door was pushed open. A shaft of light from a flash in Colonel Comstadt's big hand cut the darkness and started sweeping the interior.
"Stop it, both of you!" the Gestapo man's voice roared. "What is all...?"
At that exact instant Dave brought the lead pipe down on the big head that had moved past the edge of the door. Every ounce of Dave's strength was in the blow, and when he connected the jolt almost tore the length of lead pipe from his grasp. Colonel Comstadt didn't so much as let out a tired sigh. He folded to the floor in a heap of motionless bones, flesh, and fat. Dave bent over quickly, snapped off the flashlight, and wrenched it from the Nazi's stiff fingered grip.
"Phew, you hit him a terrible one!" Freddy Farmer breathed in Dave's ear.
"I hope to kiss an alligator, I did!" Dave panted. "It even bent the pipe. Come on! Help me haul the rest of him inside. Then we lock him up for the night, and get going. Boy! Would I like to do that over again half a dozen times, the big lug!"
In the matter of a few seconds later the two boys had hauled the unconscious Gestapo man all the way inside the deserted repair shop, and bolted the door on the outside. For a moment more they crouched there motionless in the darkness of night straining their eyes and ears. They saw nothing but a couple of faint lights in the distance that probably came from General von Peiplow's office. And they heard nothing but the distant throbbing note of night flying Nazi planes far, far to the north. Then Dave reached out and took hold of Freddy's hand.
"To the right around this hut, Freddy!" he whispered. "Then straight through the woods to that landing field. And pray hard we have some luck when we get there!"
"Right you are!" the English youth whispered back. "And I'm jolly well afraid we're going to need a lot of it!"
Dave didn't make any comment to that. There was nothing he could say. They were free men, but that was only the beginning. With every step they took they might be moving a step nearer to final failure, and certain death. No well laid plans and preparations, now. Everything that happened from this instant on, was in the laps of the gods!
Fifteen minutes, fifteen weeks, or was it fifteen years since Freddy and he had left the old repair shop and entered the woods? Dave couldn't tell, and he didn't bother to guess. Every muscle and bone in his body ached from bumping into tree trunks and huge boulders that loomed up without warning in the darkness. And his face and hands were scratched from bramble thickets that tried to hold him back and pin him helpless.
How long had they been groping blindly through these darn woods? He had no idea. Perhaps the woods were endless. Perhaps ... and the sudden thought chilled him to the core ... they had simply been wandering about in a circle, and didn't know it. However, there was at least one tiny thing for which to be thankful. They had not bumped headlong into any Nazi patrols. As a matter of fact they had not heard a thing nor seen a thing to make their hearts loop over with fright. It was as though this section of Occupied France had gone sound asleep.
For that possibility Dave was thankful. Yet, at the same time it caused his worry to mount. In the back of his head was the faint hope that they might be able to steal that Messerschmitt One-Ten they had seen sliding down to a landing, and escape back to England. That von Peiplow had said it was a radio control plane made things that much better. No doubt British radio engineers would like very much to examine German radio control equipment. Yet, escape was not what Dave wanted most. Escape would save Freddy's life, and his own, but, it would mean leaving this area, the Nazis' testing ground for their newest weapon of war, untouched. True, a swarm of British bombers could be sent over to blast it off the map. Butcouldthey? What if swarms of TNT loaded gliders, and soaring planes, were sent aloft to bar the way? To not only bar the way, but be radio directed right into the R.A.F. bombers before they could be shot out of the skies by the British gunners? But, more likely than that, supposing before the British bombers could come over von Peiplow moved all his gliders, soaring planes, and equipment elsewhere? What then? The job would have to be done all over again. Von Peiplow's new hide-out would have to be found ... and there would still be the terrible danger of not being able to wipe it from the face of the earth. Still the danger that von Peiplow's new weapons would prove their full worth and destroy all British aircraft sent against them. True, perhaps von Peiplow's experiments and tests were far from being completed. Perhaps there was much more he had to do before this new deadly weapon was ready for continued active service. However, what happened to those Lockheeds last Tuesday night proved that the new weapon was far enough along to spread doom throughout war torn skies. It was....
Dave cut short his rambling thoughts as Freddy Farmer suddenly checked his forward movement and pulled him down onto the ground.
"What, Freddy?" he whispered excitedly. "See anything? Hear anything?"
"Shut up!" the English youth hissed in his ear. "We're practically on top of the spot. Look ahead, and just a shade to the right. See the glow of light between those trees? That's a tarmac oil-pot flare. And a light means somebody's there keeping guard. And...."
The English youth stopped short and squeezed Dave's hand hard in his mounting excitement.
"Look, Dave!" he whispered again. "See them? A half a dozen planes, pulled up under the trees! They look like Messerschmitt One-Nines to me, but I can't say for sure!"
"Boy, what eyes you've got!" Dave breathed and blinked hard. "So help me I can't see a thing but shadows. I.... Hold it! Yeah, I can see a faint glow of light, but nothing else. Looks about fifty yards from here. What do you say?"
"Yes, just about that," Freddy replied. "We'd better keep down on all fours, now. Here, better let me lead the way. But don't go crawling up my back, old thing. And for Pete's sake, don't make any noise!"
"I promise not to bust out singing!" Dave growled. "Get going, you old Eagle Eye."
Making far less sound than a jungle panther stalking its prey the two R.A.F. pilots wormed their way forward, inching under bramble branches, sliding around tree trunks, and gliding past huge hunks of rock that stuck up out of the ground. Dave didn't dare raise his head once to glance ahead. He spent every instant of the time sticking so close to Freddy Farmer's heels that his nose almost touched.
As a matter of fact, after a thousand years or so his nose did touch Freddy's boots. He bumped his whole face smack into them as the English youth came to a sudden stop. Dave swallowed the groan of pain that came to his lips, and lifted his head. Freddy had come to a halt directly in back of a clump of thick bushes. But they were not too thick for Dave to see what was beyond. The sight set his heart to pounding, and the blood to surging through his veins.
Not fifteen yards away was the first of a row of six Messerschmitt One-Nine single seater fighting planes. They were hauled back partly under the overhanging branches of some trees, and in the faint glow cast by a small oil-pot flare set out in front of them in the middle of the row the craft looked like prehistoric vultures crouched and ready to spring into the air. Dave gave them but a single glance. What caught and held his attention was the figure of an armed Nazi Air Force mechanic comfortably slumped in a canvas chair to one side of the oil-pot flare. He was smoking a cigarette and seemingly staring up at the night skies. Propped against an arm of the chair, and within split seconds reach was a high powered German Mauser rifle. And as Dave strained his eyes he saw the usual half dozen or so hand grenades hooked to the German's belt. That the German was armed with both rifle and hand grenades made it obvious that General von Peiplow was taking no chances of loyal French peasants in the area committing any acts of sabotage.
Dave took another good look at that rifle and hand grenades, and groaned softly.
"Think we can sneak up on him, Freddy?" he breathed softly.
"We won't have to," came the startling reply. "I can take care of that chap. What makes me mad is about that Messerschmitt One-Ten. Look, Dave, it's way around in back of the One-Nines. We couldn't hope to get it out in front where we could take off without waking up half of France. Blast it! I was hoping we could get that bus back to England!"
Dave stared at the shadowy shape of the three place Nazi plane completely blocked off by the row of single seaters. He started to nod his head in bitter agreement, and then cut it off short.
"Nuts to the three seater, Freddy!" he whispered excitedly. "I've got it!"
"Got what?" Freddy demanded.
"The solution to the whole works!" Dave said. "It all depends on nailing down that Nazi mechanic before he can let out a peep. Darn! If we only had a gun!"
"We have," was Freddy Farmer's startling reply. "I thought you saw me, Dave. Before we left Ox Face I took his Luger out of its holster. Here it is, now, right in my hand."
Dave touched the smooth metal gun Freddy thrust at him, and chuckled inwardly.
"Pal, do you think of everything!" he breathed. "What would I do without you!"
"Make a blasted mess of things, no doubt!" Freddy hissed in his ear. "But, what's your plan? What were you going to say?"
"Two Messerschmitt One-Nines, and those hand grenades that guy has!" Dave said. "We gag and tie up that Nazi. Then we take off in a One-Nine apiece. Then we tear for those camouflaged glider hangars and let fly with the hand grenades. Their explosions will touch off that TNT, and the whole works will go sky high."
"Us, too, I fancy," Freddy Farmer murmured.
Dave swallowed hard and nodded.
"Yeah, probably, Freddy," he said and pressed the other's arm. "We'll have plenty of company, though, so what the heck? But wait, Freddy! I got a better idea. We don't have to fly too low over that drained swamp to toss the grenades overboard. First we get plenty of altitude, and then let the things go. A couple of them are bound to hit, and two will be plenty. That's a pretty fair sized area, and hard to miss."
"No, getting altitude won't do!" Freddy Farmer objected. "The instant we start those engines and take off the whole place will be alive with Nazis. In case you didn't notice they've got a lot of anti-aircraft guns around here. I saw them from the air. And, Dave, another thing. Once we're in the air von Peiplow will be able to spot us with his radio plane locator. He has equipment to do that just as we have to locate Nazi bombers coming in off the Channel. In less than a minute, Dave, they'd know exactly where we were in the air, and where we were headed. Our only hope is to skim back over the trees and let those gliders have the hand grenades from fifty feet. And that will finish things for us, of course."
The English youth paused and sighed faintly.
"Oh, well," he murmured. "There'll always be an England!"
"Hey, cut out that stuff!" Dave growled and affectionately patted Freddy on the arm. "Don't be so anxious to die, pal. I've got an idea. Look, they can't locate a plane with that new radio stuff when the engine's off, can they?"
"No, at least not anywhere near as accurately," Freddy replied. "It's sort of tuning in on the engine's ignition that really does the trick. But what do you plan to do? Fly without an engine?"
"That's it, little man!" Dave whispered. "Look, Freddy. The second we get off the ground we climb like the dickens in the general direction of the English Channel, see? Go up just as steep as one of those Messerschmitt One-Nines will take you. The Nazis when they tune in on us, or whatever it is that they do, will think that we're legging it for England and safety.But, we won't be doing that little thing!"
"No?" Freddy Farmer echoed.
"No," Dave said. "When you and I reach an altitude of eighteen thousand feet, we level off from the climb, and cut out the engine dead. Then you swing around to the north in a glide, and I'll swing around toward the south. Hold her in an easy shallow dive. From eighteen thousand it will be a cinch to glide back over this area and not lose more than ten or twelve thousand feet. Then at the right moment, we cut in our engines, power dive down another thousand feet, let the grenades go over the side, and pull up and away and thus not be right over the place when comes the explosion, see?"
"I think I do," Freddy whispered and nervously fingered the Luger he held in his hand. "But it sounds a little difficult. For one thing, what about the right moment? How am I going to know if you're down low enough? And how are you going to know that I'm over the target and down low enough? If we're to stand any chance we should toss the hand grenades over at the same time."
"Sure, and it can be done," Dave said. "Radio, pal! It's a cinch there's radio in those One-Nines. And this won't be the first time you and I have worked a German radio. See? As for being over the target. You can't miss it from under ten thousand feet because that bend in the river stands out like a sore thumb even at night. And we both know those underground hangars are just east of the bend in the Lille River. Okay! Set your plane's radio, Freddy, at a sixteen hundred and twenty-five wave length reading. I'll set mine at the same reading. When you reach a point seven thousand feet over the target give me a signal over the radio. I've got it! Yell, 'Ox Face.' That ought to make any Jerries listening in on that wave-length wonder what the heck. Yell, Ox Face, and hold as near as you can to your altitude until I yell, Ox Face, back at you. Then dive and open up your engine. I'll do the same, and the exhaust plumes from our engines will show each of us where the other is so's we won't go bumping into each other. Okay?"
"Okay, fine, Dave!" Freddy whispered eagerly. Then, "But hadn't we better get as much altitude as possible before we turn to glide back?"
"Too risky," Dave replied. "Eighteen thousand is safe enough. Any higher might not be so good. We haven't got our helmets, or oxygen masks. Von Peiplow, and his bums, must have swiped them for souvenirs when they searched us. Or would you like to go back and ask them for them, huh?"
"I'm laughing my head off at your funny remarks!" Freddy growled. "All right, eighteen thousand feet it will be. Now, let's not waste any more time. First thing you know, it'll be morning. We've got to get busy."
"Just one more thing, Freddy," Dave breathed. "The instant you let go with your hand grenades ... and don't forget to yank the string that will make them explode when they hit ... climb like the dickens and head home for England. I'll do the same. Now, just how do you figure to take care of our little friend over there having a smoke?"
"Easy!" Freddy whispered. "Just follow me, and keep your mouth shut. This is something Icando, without any suggestions. This is one thing I can do on my own. Now, shut up, and follow me!"
"You bet, pal!" Dave chuckled. "But don't flop it, for cat's sake. This guy's only the beginning of things!"
Freddy Farmer grunted scornfully, and then started to worm along the ground to the left, and around in back of the parked planes.
Dave's whole body was trembling from wild excitement and torturing suspense before Freddy Farmer came to a halt right under the wing of one of the Messerschmitt One-Tens, and not an inch less than fifteen feet in back of the armed Nazi guard comfortably slouched in his canvas chair. For one awful second Dave was afraid that Freddy was going to attempt to creep right up to the man, but the English youth stopped a good fifteen feet short.
In the glow thrown by the oil-pot flare Dave had a good look at the German's profile. It wasn't, however, anything very pleasing to look at. The man had the hawk like features and weak undershot chin, so common to Nazi soldiers. His neck was much too small for his head, and looked like a stick poked up out of a hole formed by the collar of his cheap cloth tunic with a lump on the top. However, funny and dopey as the man looked, there was nothing funny or dopey about the rifle in his hand, or the hand grenades hooked to his belt. Those were certain death if he were given even a second in which to use them. There was also a question of the Nazi's mouth. One startled roar and his mates would undoubtedly come on the run.
Dave scowled in the semi darkness and suddenly wished he'd made Freddy tell him of the plan. If that Nazi let out a yell, or if he had just enough time to grab up that gun, it wouldn't be so good. Freddy would be forced to fire, and the sound of shots would surely bring other Nazis before they could leap into those planes, kick the engines into life and get away. Maybe he'd better....
Dave cut off the thought and checked his hand reaching out to touch Freddy as he saw his pal lift up the Luger and draw a dead bead on the back of the Nazi's head. A second later the English youth spoke in German and his voice was like steel hitting against steel.
"Don't move, or you're a dead man, soldier!" the words came off Freddy's lips. "My gun is pointed right at your head,schweinehund! One move and there'll be a bullet in it, I promise you!"
The Nazi stiffened. The half smoked cigarette dropped from his fingers to fall into his lap, but he made no move to brush it off. Freddy Farmer sighed faintly, and then he was away from Dave like a shot leaving the muzzle of a gun. Dave hardly had time to blink before he saw the English youth half crouched right in back of the Nazi and with his Luger pressed against the man's head. Dave leaped to his feet and dashed out just as Freddy snatched the Nazi's rifle away.
"Boy, that was fast, Freddy!" Dave panted. "Just keep him like that, while I unhook those hand grenades. Hot dog! Eight of them. Two more than I counted on!"
While Freddy held the gun hard against the Nazi's head Dave bent over him and unhooked the eight hand grenades from the man's belt. As he placed them gently on the ground to one side, the Nazi made a faint gurgling sound in his throat.
"What is this?" the fear whitened lips gasped. "You areEnglanders!"
"And plenty homesick!" Dave grunted. "Now out of that chair and down flat on your face. Hurry, before I kick you out of it. Face down, and hands behind your back!"
The Nazi didn't need any urging by Dave's foot. He quickly slid out of the chair and stretched out face down on the ground with his hands crossed behind his back. The man's belt, his handkerchief, and strips torn from the canvas chair did the trick. In less than two minutes he was gagged and tied up tight as a drum.
"Okay, Freddy!" Dave said and gave four of the hand grenades to him. "Three loud cheers for us. You take the end plane. I'll take the next one to it. Don't forget our arrangements! And ... and the last one back to England is a dope. Be seeing you, pal!"
The pair clasped hands quickly, looked deep into the other's eyes, and then without another word between them turned around and sprinted for the two end Messerschmitt One-Nines. Dave leaped into his, fumbled for the safety belt harness in the shadowy darkness and fastened it securely about him. Then he ran his eyes and hands on the instrument board and gadgets to familiarize himself quickly with their various functions. Then he slipped the cockpit set of radio headphones over his ears, and reached for the throttle and starter button.
He did not press the starter button instantly, however. He rested a finger on it and turned his head and peered through the bad light at Freddy Farmer in the next One-Nine. The English youth had apparently done things at top speed, too, for just as Dave turned his head so did Freddy, and their eyes met.
"Tally-ho, Dave!" Freddy shouted.
"And how!" Dave roared back.
A split second later the starting gears on both engines whined out their unpleasant note. And a few split seconds after that both twelve cylinder liquid cooled Daimler-Benz engines roared into life. The instant Dave's caught he throttled it slightly and raised a hand to wave to Freddy to take off first. And at that same instant a savage blast of rifle fire broke out from somewhere behind. There was the blood chilling clatter of a machine gun, too. And Dave felt the Messerschmitt One-Nine tremble slightly as bullets tore into its tail.
He didn't waste time to turn his head and investigate. He simply snapped a glance to the side to make sure Freddy's plane had started moving forward, then kicked off his wheel brakes and rammed the throttle all the way forward. The plane lunged ahead as though tightly coiled springs had been released. The engine howled out its note of mighty power, and the yammer and chatter of machine gun and rifle fire from behind seemed to double in fury. Yet, clear above the inferno of sound came an unintelligible roar of rage that made Dave's heart start violently in his chest.
"Ox Face!" he gasped and hunched himself low over the controls. "Has he got a head of cast iron! He shouldn't be waking up until sometime next week. Okay, girlie! Off you go!"
As he spoke the last he hauled the stick back, cleared the ground and went prop clawing straight up toward the night sky. Just off his right wing and flying in beautiful formation was Freddy Farmer climbing upward right along with him. Dave grinned and felt a surge of pride in his breast.
"Good old Freddy!" he whispered. "Gosh! What that lad has done today would fill a book. A couple of them. He...."
A crash of sound and a blaze of light off to his left cut off the rest and jerked his head around. The glob of red and orange in the night sky was a familiar sight to Dave, and he recognized it instantly. Anti-aircraft gunners on the ground were groping for them in the black sky. A second glob of red and orange flame appeared in the sky, but twice as far away as the first, and Dave's heart slid back down out of his throat.
More anti-aircraft bursts appeared in the sky but as none of them was close Dave didn't give them a second look. He held his ship steady, prop-clawing upward and straight westward toward the English Channel. A couple of minutes later the anti-aircraft fire was far behind and rapidly giving it up for a bad job. At just about that same time Dave saw that his altimeter needle was right on the eighteen thousand foot mark. He automatically leveled off from his climb and turned his head to see the shadowy blurr that was Freddy Farmer's plane doing the same thing. For perhaps five seconds the planes roared straight ahead on an even keel, then Dave saw the exhaust plumes from Freddy's plane wink out, and the craft start turning around in a wide arc toward the north. The English youth had killed his engine and was starting the long silent glide back that would take him over the glider hangar area from the north. Dave swallowed a lump in his throat, cut off his own engine and went gently gliding around and to the south.
"Luck, old pal!" he spoke in a husky whisper. "We're going to make it okay. I've got the old feeling, Freddy. The old hunch. Be seeing you soon in dear old England. Yup! The home of tea and crumpets!"
Dave grinned in the darkness, and nodded for emphasis, but he couldn't kid himself. There was an icy emptiness in his chest, and the eerie tingling sensation at the back of his neck. In fact, for one crazy moment he was filled with the almost uncontrollable urge to call out to Freddy over the Messerschmitt's radio and suggest they call all bets off, and go streaking home to England, instead. He angrily killed the urge even as it was born in his brain, squared his shoulders and held the plane in its long flat glide southward and around toward the east. In spite of it being night he could clearly see the hair pin bend in the Lille River. And as the Messerschmitt's wings whispered their way lower and lower down through the air he caught sight of a few lights spotted here and there on the murky carpet of ground below.
He imagined that one of those lights came from General von Peiplow's test laboratory, and office, in the patch of woods. He imagined the Luftwaffe high ranker at the open door and scowling in savage defeat up at the heavens toward England. He imagined those things, chuckled softly, and made a face earthward.
"Just stick around, von Peiplow, old sock!" he grunted. "The old balloon's going up any minute, now. Any minute, now!"
As he spoke the last he squinted at the altimeter dial that was just faintly visible in the pale glow of the single instrument board light. The needle had moved down to close to eight thousand feet. That fact startled him for he felt he had started his downward glide but a couple of seconds ago. But it had been more than that. And as he took another look down over the side at the guiding bend in the Lille River, he saw that he was in correct position to the south of the glider hangar area. It was time to glide around due north and ease down the last thousand feet or so before Freddy's signal would come over the radio on the agreed wave length reading he had tuned at several minutes ago.
Banking gently around and down, he reached out with his free hand and made sure his four hand grenades were still in an empty map box where he could reach them without wasted movement. His own safety, and Freddy's too, rested in their getting rid of those hand grenades fast and clearing out from over the area twice as fast. If their planes received the full force of the explosion's concussion, the wings would be torn off like paper, and....
Suddenly, without the slightest sign of warning, the inky darkness of night was shattered apart by a thunderous roar of sound and a seething ocean of red, yellow, and orange flame that seemed to come boiling upward from the ground below. The plane bucked, and shivered, and lurched crazily forward. And for one horrible second a mighty invisible force tore Dave's hands from the controls. Head whirling, and his lungs seeming to burst right out through his ribs, he fought with every ounce of his strength to keep the plane from plunging wildly downward out of control.
Freddy Farmer! Where was Freddy? Did he get through? Was Freddy all right? The radio! Was it working? Would that signal come through from Freddy? Darn the blasted thing! Would it never speak?
Those and countless other thoughts spun and raced through his brain. Then a planet of fire rushed up out of nowhere. It seemed to crash straight into the nose of the Messerschmitt and explode in a roar that shook the very heavens apart. Dave felt as though unseen steel claws were tearing strips of flesh from his bones, and hammering his brains to pulp. He didn't know what it was. He didn't know what had happened. He only knew that he was spinning down into a limitless void of roaring thunder and boiling flame. Down ... down ... down into the raging inferno of another world.
"Ox Face! Ox Face! Dave! Are you okay?Ox Face, Dave!"
Like a half drowned man he faintly heard the voice of Freddy Farmer in his ear phones. For a split second he thought he was simply hearing things in his dreams. Thought that he was dead and simply hearing the echo of Freddy's voice reaching across the great void between life and the hereafter. But he wasn't dreaming, and he wasn't dead. Far, far from it, in fact. The Messerschmitt was in a crazy spin, but it was slowly spinning down through clear night air. High above him the sky was splashed with red, orange, and yellow fire. And as he snapped a glance up toward it he realized what had happened. By accident ... or perhaps Nazi anti-aircraft gunners below had spotted the moving silhouette of his plane against the faint light of the stars ... the Messerschmitt had been caught cold in the bracket fire of several bursts of the famous "flaming onion" type of anti-aircraft shell. The crazy sea of colored flame, the roar of sound, and the terrific concussion of the shells exploding practically on the propeller hub had thrown him haywire, and tossed the plane into its crazy spin.
The Messerschmitt, however, still had plenty of flying in her bones. He realized that the instant he touched the controls and started to pull out of the spin. Then out the corner of one eye he caught the flicker of twin exhaust plumes etched against the darkness of night. And a split second later came Freddy Farmer's repeated cry in the earphones.
"Are you all right, Dave? Ox Face, Dave!"
"Ox Face, pal!" he roared into his own mike. "Down, and let them have it!"
Even as the last burst from his lips he kicked the Daimler-Benz into life again and stuck the Messerschmitt's nose straight down. The engine screamed out its song of power, and the wings shrilled their high note as they sliced down through the air. Body hunched well forward, and every muscle braced, Dave fixed his gaze on the ground below, and held his breath. Split seconds, infinitesimal periods of time ticked by, but it seemed as an agonizing life-time to Dave before he clearly saw the wide expanse of ground hangar camouflage below him. He snapped a glance at his altimeter and saw that the needle was at the five thousand foot mark.
"One thousand feet more, Freddy!" he screamed into his radio mike. "We'll make sure we don't miss with any of them. Luck, pal!"
"Luck, Dave!" came the faint reply in his earphones.
And then the altimeter needle was at four thousand feet! Dave tore his hands from the controls for a brief instant, grabbed up the hand grenades, jerked the little strings that freed the detonating pin, and hurled, the lot over the side. The split instant they left his hands he grabbed for the controls again and started to haul up out of the vicious power dive.
The plane jerked and bucked, and fought savagely to stay pointed downward. But Dave battled with it tooth and nail, and got the nose to swinging upward. Terrific pressure pressed him down in the seat. He felt that his neck was going to snap in two, and that his backbone and ribs were going to be forced right down into his thighs. Glaring white light filled his brain, and there was the roar of a thousand Niagaras in his ears. For perhaps ten full seconds he was completely "blacked-out" by the terrific pressures exerted on his body. Then the white glare faded away from his brain, there was less roaring in his ears, and the Messerschmitt was streaking straight forward toward the west on an even keel. He forced himself up from his half crouch and glanced to either side for sight of Freddy Farmer's exhaust plumes.
He saw them off to his left rear, perhaps a quarter of a mile away. And then suddenly it happened ... down below!
There were a half dozen spurts of flame that shot upward from the night shadowed ground. Then quick as a flash a pool of flame spread out in all directions. It came spouting upward as though the very earth had split apart and the raging inferno of flame at the core of the universe was belching up through. A beautiful and terrifying spectacle of Satan's fireworks spreading across Occupied France. And then came the sound of the explosions! There are no words to describe it. It was like the whole world blowing up. It was like a thousand worlds blowing up at the same time.
The bellowing blast seemed to drive Dave's eardrums right into his head though he was thousands of feet up in the air. Wave after wave of concussion swooped up to catch the Messerschmitt in its grip and toss and whip it about in the sky as though it were a leaf caught in the vortex of a tornado. For a moment Dave fought to keep control of the plane, but he might just as well have put out both hands and tried to push back those mounting waves of explosion blast. He was forced to let go of the controls and use both hands to hang on and keep himself in the seat.
The Messerschmitt danced and spun all over the inferno lighted sky. Unseen fists pounded and hammered every square inch of his body, and seemed to drain every drop of blood from his brains. He didn't wonder if he was going to live or to die, because his brain was too stunned, too befuddled to even begin to function properly. Like a man bordering on complete unconsciousness he did what he could to stay with the plane as it whipped up on its tail, nose pointed straight toward Heaven, one second, and went spinning drunkenly over on its back the next.
And then slowly the plane stopped banging around the sky. It fell into a half power dive and stayed there. Invisible giants stopped thumping Dave's body, and his concussion dulled brain began to work once more. With a mighty effort he dragged air into his burning lungs, and clutched hold of the controls and started to get the nose up.
"Freddy!" he mumbled thick tongued into his radio mike. "Are you okay? Okay, pal?"
Three seconds ticked by, but they were three eternities to Dave. Was Freddy gone? He had been farther behind. Had the explosion caught him, and was Freddy dead? The horrible thought made Dave cry tears of blood in his heart. He jerked both hands from the controls and grabbed the radio mike between them as though that would help to carry his voice out over the air.
"Freddy!" he bawled at the top of his voice. "Freddy! Check back to me! Are you okay? Are you still around?"
"I think so, Dave!" came the voice in the earphones, and tears of joy streamed down Dave's cheeks. "Yes, I guess I must be. I hear your voice, see your exhaust plumes, and this bus is still flying. Yes, I fancy I must still be alive. But, good grief! It was like the end of the world, wasn't it? And, look down, Dave! It's as if all of France were on fire!"
Dave had to wipe the tears from his eyes before he could take a good look. And when he did a shudder ran through him. The ground behind and below was like a lake of liquid flame. Flames of all colors danced across its surface, and great columns of dirty white smoke, tinged a weird pink at the base, reached up high into Heaven.
"The lot of them gone, and good riddance!" Dave heard his own voice speak out grimly. "Okay, Hitler, think up something else new to toss at us. And we'll knock that forty ways from Sunday, too!"
"Jolly well right!" came Freddy Farmer's voice over the radio. "But, I say, Dave! Let's head for home, shall we? This business may bring some Nazi night fighters for a look, and I think I've had enough excitement for tonight. How about you?"
"Check, and double check!" Dave shouted. "Give her the gun, pal. England, here we come!"
A little under an hour later two German Messerschmitt One-Nines dropped down out of the night sky onto the home drome of the Eighty-Fourth Squadron of the R.A.F. Fighter Command. A group led by Squadron Leader Markham rushed out as the wheels touched and the two very battered looking planes were braked to a halt. When Dawson and Farmer climbed wearily down from the pits Markham's eyes popped wide, and his jaw dropped down on his chest.
"Dawson, and Farmer?" he cried in stark disbelief. "You two? Great guns! Where did you come from? We thought you were dead. Barker reported that you both had gone down. In an hour we were going to lead Fifty-Seventh Bombers over there and blast that spot from the face of France. Barker's pictures didn't show a thing, but we were going to bomb it anyway, and ... God be thanked! You two are still alive!"
In his great joy Squadron Leader Markham leaped forward and bear hugged them both before they could do anything about it.
"Now, tell me all about it?" he demanded.
"Could we sit and eat a bit first, sir?" Freddy Farmer asked in an apologetic voice.
Dave chuckled.
"For once I agree," he said. "It's a good idea, sir."
"Well, blast my eyes for being so selfish!" Markham shouted. "Of course, of course, chaps. You can talk while you eat."
Some thirty minutes later Dave poured his third cup of tea.