A faint buzzing sound penetrating Dave's ears pried his eyelids open. For a second or two he stared bewildered at Freddy Farmer's motionless body a couple of feet from him, at the shelf of rock upon which he found himself, and out across a short rocky valley to a wall of jagged rock studded with sun-scorched brush on the other side. Then, like a door in his brain being opened, memory rushed back. Sure, of course! He had dropped off to sleep in spite of his jitters from the deadly scorpion episode. And a funny buzzing sound had awakened him.
He remained perfectly still for another moment, his ears strained and listening intently to the buzzing sound. At the end of that moment he realized what it was. Not a bee, or a hornet, or anything like that. The sound came from the engine of an airplane high overhead. He got to his feet and walked over to the edge of the rock shelf where he could stare up into the sky. It was then he realized that he hadn't had any cat-nap. The sun was well down toward the western lip of the desert and the sky was slowly being painted with streaks of gold, and red, and purple blue. An impulsive glance at his watch showed that his little refresher nap had lasted a good six hours and some odd minutes.
Because of the altitude of the plane, and the countless ever changing streaks of color in the sky, it was some time before he could pick it out. When he did, there was no way of telling whether it was friend or foe up there. The plane was just a dot moving swiftly toward the west. One thing was certain. It wasn't a Nazi plane. He could tell that from the steady unthrobbing note of the engine. It was either Italian or British. The direction of the plane's flight, the fact that he could tell it was a small single-engined job, and the fact that night was not very far away, gave him the belief that it must be Italian. A moment later the engine's note died off a little, and he saw the dot start sliding downward.
"What's that, Dave? Company?"
Dave looked around at the sound of Freddy's voice. The English youth was digging groggy sleep out of his eyes and getting slowly to his feet. He came over to the edge of the rock shelf, shielded his eyes with his hands and squinted up into the sky.
"An Italian, or one of ours," he said after a moment's study. "I doubt it's one of ours, though. I say, look! The beggar is banking around and coming back this way. Good grief, do you suppose he's spotted us?"
"From that altitude?" Dave grunted, and watched the dot swing down lower and curve around in their direction. "Not a chance. But he's heading back here, sure enough. There! He's flattened out of his glide. And there's his engine hitting on all six again."
It was true. Even as the two boys watched, the still very indistinct plane seemed to level off, and the sound of its engine increased. Impulsively they both backed up a couple of steps and stood there silently watching the plane come closer and closer. Presently it was close enough to take on definite shape and outline. It was an Italian Fiat C.R. 42 fighter plane powered by a Fiat radial engine; a biplane type that had been used extensively by Mussolini's air force since the very start of the African campaign. They had proved no match, however, for even the slowest planes General Wavell used, and little by little it had become harder and harder to find one in the air. Their pilots had no stomach to stray close to R.A.F. controlled air.
The two boys had been acquainted with the facts about the Fiat C.R. 42, and so their interest and wonder increased as soon as they noted its type.
"Now what would that lad be doing way out here?" Freddy murmured aloud. "Of course he isn't near where our flying chaps might possibly be, but the fact the blighter's actually alone certainly looks queer."
"Yeah, if what they told us about those jobs is true," Dave grunted, and scowled at the oncoming plane. "Hey, I wonder! Could that bird be on reconnaissance patrol, or even contact patrol? Look at the way he's zigzagging. He's even losing some altitude. Freddy, that guy's looking for something as sure as you're a foot high!"
"Maybe the crashes of the four planes we shot down," Freddy suggested. "Perhaps that ship was sent out to confirm the results of the scrap, to drop food and water to any of those Nazi or Italian lads who may have survived the crashes."
"Could be," Dave nodded, and continued to scowl at the plane. "But they sure gave him the wrong location bearings. He's 'way too far north. No, I think that idea is out, Freddy. That bird's on the look-see for something else. He's—Hey! See there? He's found what he was hunting for. Look! He's veered to the north a bit and he's going down in a long power dive."
Dave gave a final look at the plane, then looked across the desert canyon toward the other side. The opposite wall was too high for him to see over it and the stretch of desert beyond. From the glide angle and direction of the Italian plane, he knew that it was going to pass low over some point well beyond the northern slope of the desert plateau. He half turned and touched Freddy on the arm.
"He's got business some place over there where we can't see," he said. "Get on your shoes, and collect your stuff. We're going to the other side of this plateau crack and see what the heck is what."
"You took the words right out of my mouth," Freddy said, and started putting on his shoes.
Going down that side of the escarpment, crossing the valley floor and scrambling up the other side was no easy task. Bush thorns caught at their uniforms, and jagged points of rock inflicted more than a couple of bruises on their bodies. They sacrificed body safety for speed, however, and presently they were flat on their stomachs on the top of the other escarpment and peering ahead at the dune-humped stretches of sun-painted sand.
The Italian plane was now down very low. It wasn't more than three or four hundred feet above the surface of the sand. It was a good five miles away from them, however—much, much too far for them to make out the pilot seated in the pit. Breathlessly they watched the plane nose down even lower. Then suddenly Dave let out a startled cry and nudged Freddy with his elbow.
"Look!" he cried. "He's dumped something over the side. Looked like some kind of a box to me. Did you see it?"
"I saw it," Freddy replied in a voice reverberating with excitement. "And I see something else, too, to the left of where that box-shaped thing appeared to hit the ground. Look hard, Dave. See those—those little humps? They look like little sand dunes, but I'll bet anything they're not."
"No bet!" Dave breathed after a long moment of silence. "Freddy, there's something very screwy going on. Those humps are little shacks, or huts. So help me, that's a village over there. Yet darned if I can spot a single palm tree."
"And there's somebody there!" Freddy whispered tensely. "There must be, or that plane's pilot wouldn't be dumping anything over the side. Look! He's climbing now, and heading back where he came from. Dave, we're the luckiest two chaps in all Libya right now."
"Maybe," Dave admitted grudgingly. Then, giving him a keen look, "What makes you say it?"
Freddy didn't answer at once. He chewed on his lower lip and kept his eyes fixed on the distant scene.
"Do you think you could spot those humps from say five or ten thousand feet in the air?" he suddenly asked.
"Five or ten thousand?" Dave echoed with a laugh. "Unless I knew they were there, like that Italian bird must have known, I would probably sail right over them at five hundred feet, and not know the difference."
"Right!" Freddy replied instantly. "Now, answer me this one. Why would an Italian pilot be dumping something overboard on a spot you could miss at even five hundred feet, eh?"
"I give up," Dave said after a moment's thought. "What is this, anyway? Some kind of a game you've just thought up?"
"Use that stuff in your noggin you call brains!" Freddy said sharply. "Use it, Dave! Think hard. I may be completely off my base, but I think I now know why we didn't spot anything of interest during our patrol. Certain parties took care so that neither we nor anybody else should spot anything. Now, does that give you a little idea?"
"For cat's sake, you're talking in riddles!" Dave growled. "How do you know why we didn't—"
Dave suddenly cut himself short and clapped a hand to his forehead.
"Well, fry me for an oyster!" he breathed fiercely. "Yeah, I think I begin to see the light. That, Freddy, is an enemy desert outpost, and so perfectly camouflaged that you'd never spot it from the air, unless you knew exactly where it was located."
"Absolutely correct," Freddy said. "You may go to the head of the class, my little man. But wait a minute. One more question."
"Boy, how you wear a guy down!" Dave said, and sighed. "Okay, dear teacher, shoot."
Freddy nodded his head toward the odd-looking cluster of humps in the desert.
"Why do you suppose that plane didn't land?" he asked.
Dave gave him a startled glance and shook his head at the same time.
"I give up," he said. "I haven't the faintest idea. But you always were the military expert on this team, so tell me. Why?"
"It's just a guess, of course," the English youth said, after a long pause. "Maybe a crazy one, too. Somehow, though, I have the feeling that the Nazis or the Italians over there are taking no chances on being spotted by any possible British plane out on long distance reconnaissance. Now, if one of our ships were way up there in the sky somewhere, he wouldn't give a thought to seeing an Italian plane swoop down low like that chap we just saw. However, he would prick up his ears if he saw the plane land. He'd at least get curious enough to slide down himself to see if it was only a forced landing. Therefore I think that Italian pilot had orders not to land; to drop whatever he had to deliver, and not deliver it by hand. Are you getting a little bit of what I mean, now?"
Dave nodded and stared intently at his English pal. Count on good old Freddy Farmer to dig down and ferret around for the true meaning of everything that appeared strange and mysterious. He had a mind like a steel trap, and more than once his mental ferreting around ahead of time had helped them out of a tight corner later.
"Yes, I'm beginning to catch on," Dave said presently. "In fact, I'm getting a couple of ideas of my own. I don't know what that Italian pilot dropped, but it certainly wasn't food, and it wasn't ammunition. The box, or whatever it was, wasn't big enough."
"And so?" Freddy echoed as Dave hesitated and scowled off into space.
"And so maybe that's no ordinary desert outpost," Dave finally said. "Maybe there are important people there—I mean, important military people. Do you know something, Freddy?"
"'Way ahead of you, Dave, as you would say," Freddy interrupted with a grin. "Important military people means staff headquarters. Yes, we're probably crazy, Dave. Both of us may be completely out of our heads, but I'll bet you the Bank of England against your oldest pair of flying boots that that spot over there is some kind of field headquarters for enemy troops in this area of the desert."
"Enemy troops in this area?" Dave echoed, and gave a wave of his hand that included the surrounding desert. "Troops where? You mean the force that's right over there where we're looking, don't you?"
Freddy shook his head and gave a stubborn tilt to his chin.
"No, I don't," he said. "I mean that that's the headquarters base for alotof spots in this section just like it, only we haven't seen them. And, by good luck, we didn't stumble into them since leaving our burned up Skua."
Dave started to nod, then checked himself and gave Freddy a perplexed look.
"Don't look right now," he said, "but you're getting me all balled up, my friend. Just what are you driving at, anyway? Come clean with the works; then maybe I'll argue with you."
"It's quite simple," the English youth said with a faint smile. "You just mix a little imagination with what facts you know, and there you are."
"Maybe you are, but I'm not!" Dave grunted. "Skip the imagination part and just give me the facts."
"Right you are," Freddy said, and started counting off the fingers of one hand. "First, British Middle East High Command knows that troops, planes, and supplies, and so forth, have been transported across the Mediterranean to Tripoli by air and water. Two, High Command knows that it is mostly Nazi stuff. Three, it is obvious that preparations are being made for a drive to beat back Wavell's forces. Four, it is equally obvious that the enemy knows that Wavell's forces are not very strong. As Group Captain Spencer said, everything that could be spared was yanked away and sent down south to hand the Italians a quick mop-up knockout blow in Ethiopia. Five, the one important thing in desert warfare is surprise—surprise attack. Six, if the Axis forces simply started along the main coast road from Tripoli and around the southern end of the Gulf of Sidra, Wavell's outposts, to say nothing of his planes, would spot them long before they were within attacking range, and there would be no surprise at all. You want me to continue?"
"Sure, stay in there and pitch," Dave nodded with a grin. "I know you've got something, kid, and I want to hear it all. I really mean that."
"Very well, then," Freddy said, and started counting his fingers over again. "Seven, to move a huge attacking army down toward the south and back up toward the north would be much too exhausting for the troops, and such an army would be spotted by Wavell's pilots days ahead of time. R.A.F. bombers would then sail out and bomb the stuffing out of the advancing armies."
"Just a minute," Dave cut in. "They wouldn't be dumb enough not to have air protection of their own."
"Correct," Freddy said, and made a little gesture with one hand. "But where would that air protection base itself in this part of the desert? Certainly not with the armies as they moved forward a few miles each day. At Tripoli? And keep flying way out here to guard troops and tanks and other motorized equipment on the move? Not a bit of it, Dave. They might just as well send General Wavell a letter telling him they were creeping up for a surprise attack! They'd—"
"Hold it, hold it!" Dave suddenly broke in excitedly. "You gave me the tip just now. Creeping up. That's it! Creeping up insmall unitsuntil they get close enough to strike at some point in Wavell's defenses in a main body. Sure, sure, my imagination's beginning to work too! Small units that can camouflage themselves perfectly so as not to be seen by any of our planes that might pass over. And then when they're all close enough, and all set, the bombers and stuff can wing along the coast from Tripoli and take their part in the attack. Gosh, Freddy, I'll bet that you've hit the old nail right smack on the head. We've stumbled onto the hottest thing in Libya. And I don't mean the sun or the sand, either!"
"I'm sure of it!" Freddy said, and beamed happily. "And here's something else. The small units move onlyduring the night. And before dawn they dig in and camouflage themselves so they won't be seen during the day."
"Yeah, like a tribe of Indians sneaking up on a frontier village in the old days back in the States," Dave breathed. "And—"
"Dave, that's exactly the idea!" Freddy suddenly cried, and gripped him by the arm. "Take a good look, now! I see things moving over there. Am I right, or are my eyes just going haywire?"
The setting sun was now quite low, and the long shafts of orange gold light that stretched across the desert made it extremely difficult to distinguish individual objects, or even movement, at any distance over a mile. The rays of the setting sun cutting through the shimmering waves of heat rising up off the hot sand made everything seem to blend into one huge picture of shadows and various shades of color. After a few moments of intense scrutiny, however, Dave was ready to agree with Freddy's belief. Unquestionably things were moving over there. Many things, in fact, and of all shapes and sizes. He continued to stare hard, and then suddenly the faint echo of engines coming to life drifted down the desert wind. He felt, rather than saw, Freddy stiffen at his side. And a moment later the English youth's excited voice came to his ears.
"Dave! Dave, do you hear that? Those are tank engines, and armored car engines! See? They're starting to take off the camouflage coverings. They're getting ready to move, Dave, just as soon as it gets dark."
"Right!" Dave echoed. "And that means us. We're going to get on the move, too."
"What do you mean?" Freddy asked without turning his head.
"We're going to get close for a good look," Dave replied, and rose up onto his hands and knees. "I don't think they'll pull out until it's actually dark. By then we can sneak up close to them and see what's what. You know, Freddy, I've a hunch there are the answers to a lot of questions over there. And if we get up close enough, maybe we can find out a few of those answers. Anyway, we can't stick here forever."
"No, of course we can't," the English youth agreed, and got up onto his feet. "Our bad luck seems to have turned into good luck, so we'd better make the most of it. Come on. Wait, let's see."
Freddy pulled out his compass and held it steady in one hand. He peered at it intently for a moment.
"Right-o," he said presently. "If we hold a course fourteen points east of north we'll be traveling a straight line toward that spot. As soon as we get down off this escarpment we won't be able to see the spot all the time. But this compass will take care of that. Right-o. Let's get started."
"Hey, hold everything!" Dave cried, and held Freddy back. "A fine Indian scout, you are! And have you forgotten everything you learned about aerial combat, huh?"
Freddy stared at him in wide-eyed amazement.
"What in the world is eating you, Dave?" he gasped. "Aerial combat?"
"Sure," Dave said with a nod. "What's the best way to sneak up on an enemy ship for a surprise attack?"
"Come down on him with the sun at your back, so it's extra hard for him to see you," Freddy replied promptly. "So what of it?"
"Plenty," Dave said, and pointed to the west. "The same idea holds good right here. We'll circle around to the west for a spell, and then creep up on them with the setting sun at our backs. That way we can get much closer. Less chance of anybody spotting us. Right?"
Freddy grinned a bit sheepishly and nodded.
"The young man is right," he said. "He's absolutely correct. My apologies and congratulations, sir."
"Oh, think nothing of it, my dear fellow," Dave said with a magnanimous gesture. "Think nothing of it at all."
"As Dave Dawson would say," Freddy grunted as they started down the escarpment, "nuts to you!"
By the time the sun was a ball of flaming color that rested lightly on the western lip of the world, the two youths had detoured around to a point less than half a mile from the spot where they had seen mysterious activity. Now, though, it was no longer a mystery. Lying side by side on the western side of a rolling sand dune, they peered over its crest at a scene that caused their hearts to pound in wild excitement and the blood to surge through their veins.
There, less than half a mile away, were two enemy motorized units preparing to break camp and continue their obvious march northward under the cover of the Libyan night. There were at least twenty tanks of the small, light armored German type. There were also as many troop truck transports, and four or five armored cars. One good look at those armored cars confirmed their earlier beliefs. High ranking officers of the Axis forces were in charge of those attack units, and it was quite evident that the mobile force served as headquarters for other units scattered about the desert area.
If either of them held any doubts as to the truth of that, such doubts were dispelled some ten minutes later. As though by magic, a plane seemed to rise up out of the camp. It was a German Messerschmitt 109 single seater, and no sooner had it cleared the sand than it wheeled toward the northwest and streaked away with the speed of a bullet. It was not the plane itself that confirmed their belief, however. It was the German Staff markings they saw painted on the fuselage of the fleet plane as it raced by.
"Boy!" Dave breathed, and grinned at Freddy. "Talk about finding the old needle in a haystack! Lady Luck sure is giving us the glad smile."
"Sure, whatever that means," Freddy commented with a frown. "You and your American slang!"
Dave laughed.
"Slang, my eye," he chuckled. "I simply mean that out of all the enemy units that are probably hiding out here on the desert, we spot the headquarters unit right off the bat. See? Like finding a needle in a haystack first time."
"That's headquarters over there, right enough," Freddy murmured. "Ten to one that Messerschmitt is winging back to Tripoli to inform them of the new positions they will take up before dawn."
"And ten to one that ship will be back and nicely camouflaged with the rest of the stuff by dawn, too," Dave grunted. "Much as the Germans and the Mussies give me a pain in the neck, I have to hand it to them for being tops when it comes to camouflaging technique. You could fly over this desert until you were blue in the face and not even spot a thing that didn't look like just ordinary desert."
"They certainly know how," Freddy admitted grudgingly. "But let's grant them that and get our heads to working on more important things right now. In an hour at the most they'll be under way. What shall we do? Tag along behind them—or what?"
Dave scooped up a handful of sand and let it slowly trickle between his fingers as he silently considered the question.
"I think that idea's out, Freddy," he said after a while. "For one thing, tanks and armored cars don't travel at a snail's pace, not on a flat desert and in the middle of the night. Another thing, even if we did manage to keep up with them somehow, we'd be dead on our feet by dawn. And we'd be faced with the possibility of spending all tomorrow in the sun. There might not be any spot where there was shade."
"I know," Freddy murmured in a worried voice. "And tough as we think we are, that would be too much for us."
"Check," Dave said. "But supposing we could take it somehow. So what? So we wouldn't be any better off than we are right now. What we've got to do is get into that camp and find out things, then get out and get word to the British High Command what the Germans and Italians are up to. That's the problem—two problems, they really are."
"And mighty ticklish ones, too," Freddy said with a sudden show of gloomy depression. "What do you think of the idea of trying to sneak in there and have a quick look around? We might find out something."
"And wemightfind a couple of Mauser rifle bullets heading our way, too!" Dave said with a shake of his head. "If they were camped there for keeps that might be a worthwhile bet. But they're getting ready to move, and they'd only need one look at our uniforms to know darned well we didn't belong. Even the dumbest Italian over there would figure that out."
"But after it gets dark, couldn't we—" Freddy began, and then stopped himself with a negative shake of his head. "No, I guess not."
"Nix is right," Dave said. "After it gets dark they'll all be in their tanks and trucks and armored cars, and on their way. Nope, even pulling the old hitch-hiking stunt wouldn't get us a thing."
Freddy Farmer started to speak, then seemed to change his mind. He closed his mouth and scowled unhappily at the fingers of his two hands digging in the sand. Dave watched him for a moment, then reached over and touched him on the shoulder.
"There is a way, if you're game, Freddy," he said softly.
"I'm jolly well game for anything!" the English youth came right back. "You know that, Dave. What's your plan?"
"We could make them take us prisoners," Dave said.
Freddy's jaw dropped in utter amazement, and his eyes bulged out like marbles on long sticks.
"Make them take us prisoners?" he choked out. "Give up? Are you mad, Dave?"
"No, just maybe a little screwy," Dave replied. "Pin back your ears for a couple of seconds, and listen. If we try to sneak up on them, we run the risk of being shot first, and questioned afterwards. That wouldn't do either of us any good. If we try to tag along behind them as they move northward, who knows what kind of trouble we might run into. So what's left? To go along with them—as their guests. See what I mean?"
"I don't even begin to see," Freddy replied with a befuddled groan. "Frankly, I don't fancy those chaps over there are in the mood to have guests. In fact, I doubt very much they would consider us as guests."
"Oh, I just said 'guests' for the heck of it!" Dave snorted. "Look! Here's exactly what I mean. You and I will be a couple of British infantry officers hopelessly lost in the desert. And, boy, that's doggone close to the truth, and how! Anyway, we have been wandering around for we don't know how long. We've lost track of time, see? Maybe the sun has got us a bit. We have just a few drops of water left in one canteen, see? Our uniforms are torn, and all our food has gone. We simply stumble right into that camp over there while it is still light, and they can see us andnot take pot shots. Beginning to catch on?"
The light of hope had come back into Freddy Farmer's eyes, but he was still a bit befuddled.
"I think so," he said. "You mean, bury our stuff here, and tear our uniforms, and all that sort of thing?"
"Right on the button!" Dave nodded eagerly. "We happened to see their camp. When we get close enough we'll start yelling to attract their attention. We'll—Hold it! I've got an even brighter idea!"
"What is it?" Freddy demanded. "I'm sure it can't be any crazier than the one you've already told me."
Dave reached over and gave him a playful punch on the shoulder.
"It's a pip!" he cried. "We think we've finally found a small detachment of our own forces, see? We don't realize they're the enemy until they've captured us. That will start them spinning."
"Spinning?" Freddy echoed.
"Sure!" Dave nodded. "It'll start them playing guessing games with themselves. They'll start wondering if they really are alone out here, as they thought they were. They'll wonder just where we came from. They'll wonder plenty about us stumbling onto their camp, Freddy. And you and I can fill them with a lot of hooey that will make them wonder all the more. No fooling, Freddy, it's a perfect set-up."
"Ifall goes well," Freddy said as the cautious side of him came to the fore for a moment. "But, after all, this wouldn't be the first time we'd taken a long chance."
"That's the boy, Freddy!" Dave cried, and patted his shoulder. "That's the old fighting spirit. Okay, it's a deal, huh?"
"You and your wild ideas!" The English youth sighed, then smiled faintly. "They'll probably end up putting me in front of a firing squad one of these days. It might just be crazy enough to work, though, I guess. Right you are, you mad hatter. It's a go."
"My pal!" Dave breathed, and beamed at him. "Contact, then! Let's peel off the stuff we don't need, and muss ourselves up to look as though we've been through the mill."
"If we haven't been through the mill today," Freddy groaned, and started burying things in the sand, "then I sure don't know what you'd call it. But just remember, my little friend, if I get shot for this, I'll come back to haunt you every single night, I promise you that!"
"You won't have to come back," Dave brushed the threat aside, "because I'll be right there with you."
"I don't doubt it for a minute," Freddy said with a hopeless shrug. "The lad's just like my shadow. Can't get rid of it. Ah me! If I'd only had sense and remained in England, I'd probably be an air vice-marshal about now. Oh well, such is life!"
"Boy, am I glad!" Dave murmured with feeling.
"Glad about what?" the English youth asked unsuspectingly.
"Why, that you didn't stay in England and get promoted to be an air vice-marshal, of course," Dave said solemnly. "After all the good old R.A.F. has done, to have it fold up and fall apart because a young squirt has—I just can't finish. I shudder even at the thought of such a fate for the R.A.F."
"So?" Freddy grunted, and gave him a stern look. "Very well, then, I refuse to go through with this as planned. I'm going to tell them the truth. They may be Germans and rotters, but just the same I can't play that kind of a dirty trick even on them."
"Refuse to go—" Dave gasped as sudden alarm shot across his face. "Won't play a dirty trick on them? Hey! What goes on here? What do you mean, tell the truth?"
The English youth didn't answer at once. With deliberate movements he carefully smoothed the surface of the sand that covered the equipment he had buried. Then he nonchalantly brushed sand dust from his hands and glanced at Dave.
"I'm going to tell them who you are," he said firmly. "I just haven't the heart to let them think they've really captured somebody, when it's actually only you. No, I'm going to tell them who you are so they can kick you back out into the desert, the same way a fisherman throws back a fish that's too small. And I'm going to teach them that bit of American slang to say as they do it."
"What's that?" Dave asked as the corners of his mouth twitched.
"It's—" Freddy began, and hesitated. Then his face lighted up. "Oh yes, I remember now. Ten pennies for twelve. Yes, that's it."
Dave started to bellow with laughter, but clapped his hand over his mouth just in time. Sound carries like magic across the desert, and they were not yet ready to make their presence known to the enemy tank and armored car units. However, it was a couple of minutes before Dave could choke off his laughter enough to speak.
"Ten pennies for twelve!" he gasped out as tears streamed down his cheeks. "Boy, oh boy, is that one for the book. You mean, Freddy, a dime a dozen. But let it go. Anyway, you're one in a million, and that's no kidding. Well, all set?"
As Dave asked the question, it served as an automatic brake, a full stop, for kidding and joshing around. In a moment the serious business would begin—deadly serious business, upon the outcome of which might hang not only their own lives but the success or failure of Britain's war efforts in the Middle East. Freddy searched Dave's eyes for a couple of seconds, and then nodded.
"Right-o," he said quietly. "Let's get on with it. We've buried all our stuff, and we both certainly look as if we've been wandering around in this blasted desert for days. Yes, let's get on with it."
"Wait, just one more thing," Dave said as Freddy started to get up and move over the brow of the sand dune. "It just hit me, and it might help. You can't tell. Speak nothing but English. Make out that you don't understand German. That is, of course, if any of those birds speak English. But let's not let on we speak and understand German until we have to. They—Well, they might let something slip, you know."
"A darn good idea, Dave!" Freddy said in honest approval. "You're right. One never can tell."
"Then off we go," Dave said, and got up onto his feet. "Stagger and reel a little. Pretend you don't hear them the first time they challenge. Let's even lean a little on each other for support. Boy, if there's any of the actor in us, this sure is the time for it to come out. And to think—Gosh!"
"And to think what?" Freddy shot out the corner of his mouth as they started lurching forward and up over the crest of the sand dune and into full view of the enemy camp. "What were you going to say?"
"To think the day would come when you and I would walk up to a bunch of Nazi slobs and say, 'Here we are,'" Dave grunted. "Of course it's all for a reason, but—well, it sure gives me a funny feeling inside."
"I know just how you feel," Freddy said. "And I could feel a lot better, myself. But if things work out our way, we should fret."
"Thingswillwork out for us!" Dave said grimly, and gave the English youth's arm a squeeze. "They'vegotto!"
Neither of them spoke for the next few minutes. They trudged forward across the sand, purposely faltering in their steps now and then and stumbling to their knees. Every second of the time, however, they kept a watchful eye on the desert camp that was just about ready to move forward. The sun was down below the rim of the world now, and night was rushing forward from the east on black wings.
Stumbling step by stumbling step, they drew closer and closer to the enemy camp. With each step they expected to hear a wild shout go up, a shout that would mean they had been sighted. With each step, also, a certain inner and unspoken fear walked with them, the tiny fear that their little plan might fail horribly almost before it had been put into action—the kind of failure, very definite and permanent, that the bark of a rifle and a singing bullet would cause.
No rifles barked, however, and no challenging voices thundered across the rolling sands. The tank, armored car, and truck motors had been silenced after a short test run period, and the stillness of the vast desert had closed down over everything. The boys impulsively held their breath every now and then as though they and the entire world were waiting for some sudden all destroying explosion to shatter what seemed an eternity of silence.
"Are we going to have to bump right into those birds before they see us?" Dave murmured desperately. "Gosh! We could have come this far on a couple of motorcycles and saved our feet. The dopes are—"
"Shut up!" Freddy whispered out the corner of his mouth. "Here they come! For goodness' sake don't keep your hand near your automatic. The blighters have their rifles trained right on us."
It was true. A squad of Nazi desert troops, led by a corporal, came dashing across the sand toward them with rifles held up and ready to shoot.
"Lady Luck, stay with us, please!" Dave whispered softly as he and Freddy lurched forward a few more steps.
"Halt!"
The order barked in German was akin to the crash of a rifle shot. The two boys reeled forward one more step and then lifted their heads and stared in surprise at the German non-commissioned officer who stood straddle-legged in the sand directly in front of them. There was a service Luger in his belt holster, but he wasn't using it. Instead he held a short-barreled, rapid fire Mauser in his hands.
"Put up your hands!" he snarled in German.
Neither of the boys moved. They continued to stare at him in bewildered dismay. Then Dave gave a little confused shake of his head.
"Germans!" he choked out. "These aren't our chaps, Freddy. We've run into Germans. We've been captured! Oh, blast our luck!"
As Dave spoke he shot a keen glance at the expression on the corporal's face. What he saw caused his heart to leap with hope. The man obviously understood English, for a triumphant light leaped into his eyes, and he smiled broadly.
"Yes, you have been captured," he said in English that was heavy with Teutonic accent. "Put your hands up. I will take your automatics. Careful, now! One move and I will shoot."
"Take them, and get it over with!" Freddy said in a hoarse voice. "All we want is water and food. Where are we, anyway?"
The corporal took a cautious step or two forward, then snatched their automatics from them. He looked at Freddy and grinned.
"Where are you?" he sneered. "What does it matter? You are my prisoners. Now get moving.HerrColonel is anxious to meet you."
As though he considered that quite a joke, the German laughed loudly and showed a set of very bad teeth. Then, motioning his squad of soldiers to form about the two boys, he started back toward the camp. Still continuing to act exhausted and all in, Freddy and Dave staggered forward, faltering with every step, and reaching out to one another for support to stop from pitching down onto the sand. All the time, though, they shot glances at the desert camp through slitted eyelids. Dave counted some sixty vehicles in all, and as he looked at them his admiration for Nazi camouflage technique went up another point. Every truck, every tank, and every armored car was daubed with paint in such a way as to make it exactly the shades of the desert. Even two or three tents that were still standing looked more like the desert than the desert itself.
To all that, however, Dave gave but a passing look. What caught and held his attention was the actual equipment. It all was right up to the minute stuff. None of it was the shabby, slipshod equipment used by Mussolini's forces in Northern Africa. It was all made-in-Germany stuff, light, fast, highly mobile, and of high fire power. In short, it was instantly obvious to Dave that this was a strong and completely equipped attacking force of the Nazi army in Africa. It was no mere scouting patrol. And there was one other item that impressed him at once, too. It was all Nazi. He did not see a single Italian uniform as the corporal marched them past groups of curious-eyed German soldiers toward one of the tents on the far side of the camp. It was as plain as the nose on his face that these Germans were out for business, serious business. For that reason probably, they had no Italian troops along with them who might break and flee for their lives at the sound of the first shot, or the first smell of gunpowder in their noses.
Presently the corporal brought them to a halt in front of a desert tent. It was the square type with slightly slanting roof and sides. The front flap was lifted up and fastened to poles stuck in the sand to serve as a sort of porch. But in the event of a sand storm, it could be lowered at once and made fast so that those inside were completely protected. Three portable tables had been placed side by side, and in back of them sat two German officers. One was a colonel. His head was the shape and size of a watermelon that was terribly sunburned. His eyes were little more than slits cut in the flesh on either side of his lumpy nose. His mouth was thin-lipped and much too wide. And on the upper lip was a little patch of black that was supposed to be like the little pen wiper mustache worn by his lord and master, Adolf Hitler.
The other officer was a major, and his appearance was the direct opposite of his colonel's. He was thin as a rail, and tanned the color of old leather. From the jaw to the forehead was three times as long as from ear to ear was wide. His nose made Dave think of a letter opener. His eyes were like green marbles, and his pointed chin could very well have served as one end of a pick-axe.
The corporal smacked his heels together and almost threw his arm out of joint saluting.
"Two English prisoners,HerrColonel," he said. "We found them stumbling across the sand. They seem surprised that we were not of their own forces. I have taken their guns away from them. Here they are."
The corporal went forward two steps and placed the boys' automatics on the tables. The German colonel didn't give them so much as a glance. He kept his slitted eyes on his prisoners and stared at them as though they had just popped out of some museum. Dave stared back weary-eyed at him, and tried to read the look in his eyes. Did he see surprise, chagrin, or angry wonder there? He couldn't tell, because the lids were drawn so close.
"Where is your unit?"
The colonel suddenly spat out the question in German. The boys were perfect actors. They looked blank, shook their heads, and shrugged.
"Do you speak English, sir?" Dave presently said. "And could we have water, and—"
He cut himself off short as Freddy Farmer quickly played up to him. The English youth groaned, swayed on his feet, and would have fallen if Dave had not grabbed him. The little exhaustion act fooled the German colonel completely. He spat out a few words in angry annoyance, and then ordered the corporal to help Dave and Freddy to chairs just inside the tent, and to give them water. The boys gestured thanks with movements of their hands, and accepted the water canteen from the corporal. The two officers watched them in keen-eyed silence and waited until they appeared to revive a bit.
"Yes, I speak English," the colonel presently said, and surprisingly enough, without the slightest trace of an accent. "Where is your unit? I see from your uniform badges you are from the Sixth London Regiment."
"We don't know, sir," Dave mumbled as he lowered the water canteen from his lips. "We are lost. Two hours ago we saw this camp. We thought this was our regiment's post."
"How did you get lost?" the colonel demanded. "How long ago?"
"Four days, sir," Freddy spoke up. "We were on advance patrol and—"
"It was more than four days, Freddy," Dave interrupted. "It was six. I have kept count of them."
"Four or six, let him finish!" the colonel snarled, and then looked at Freddy. "Yes? You were on patrol? Where?"
Freddy hesitated and scowled.
"Is that necessary?" he asked. "Would you reveal valuable information if you were captured and taken prisoner, sir?"
The blunt question startled the two Germans. They exchanged swift glances; then the colonel bent his slitted eyes on Freddy again.
"I would not be captured and taken prisoner!" he said harshly. "If you do not wish to speak, that is your privilege. But—"
The German paused and waved a hand toward the surrounding desert.
"But you look as though you know what the desert can do to a man," he finished suddenly.
The two boys flinched visibly. Then Dave spoke quickly.
"My comrade got a touch of the sun, sir," he said. "We possess no valuable information we could reveal. We were simply on advance patrol. A sand storm came up and we became separated from the main body. We have been trying to locate it ever since. That is all of our story, sir."
Dave held his breath as he finished, and prayed inwardly. The prayer was answered. The very fact he had said they possessed no valuable information had instantly convinced the German colonel that they were lying. That was as it should be. When the enemythinksyou know something, he will hold your life as valuable as his own until he has found out. The longer you keep him guessing, the longer you have to find out things yourself, and perhaps eventually beat him at his own game.
"I do not believe you!" the colonel suddenly snapped, thus confirming Dave's belief. "Listen to me! I have no time to waste. We have taken you prisoner. We have given you water. Later you will receive food. But we do nothaveto do those things. Understand that! You are completely helpless. I have only to give the order and you will be kicked out onto the desert to shift for yourselves. Or I can even give the order and have you shot. It is up to you whether you wish to be wise, or foolish."
The two boys didn't say anything. They simply sat motionless and stared unhappily off into space. Suddenly the German major spoke, and it was all Dave could do to stop from starting violently.
"I suggest you question them about that plane we sighted early this morning,HerrColonel," he said in his native tongue. "The one we sighted and informed Tripoli about by radio."
There was a moment's silence after the major had spoken, and during that moment a hundred and one thoughts leaped and danced across Dave Dawson's brain. So this unit had sighted the Skua? This unit had radioed Tripoli, and attack planes had been sent out? Then it was not just by chance that those six planes had come slicing down out of the sun. On the contrary, their pilots had known exactly what to look for, and the location. They had climbed up into the sun on purpose. True, that maneuver had availed them nothing but the loss of four of their number. Nevertheless, the realization that hostile eyes had been watching them all the time sent little shivers rippling up and down Dave's spine. And at the same time it made his heart sink. When he and Freddy did not make their rendezvous contact with the Victory, another flying team would be drawn and sent out. They, too, would be sighted as they cruised about over what looked like nothing but limitless desert. And when Axis planes swooped down on them—perhaps they would not be so lucky as he and Freddy had been.
Lucky? The word was like a taunting laugh in Dave's brain. Were he and Freddy as lucky as they hoped? Had they perhaps walked knowingly into a trap from which there was no possible escape? Was this the end of the war for them? Was this perhaps the end of—everything?
At that moment the colonel's voice roused him from the depths of his bitter reverie.
"What have you seen since dawn?" the colonel asked.
"Since dawn?" Dave echoed vaguely, and then looked questioningly at Freddy.
The English youth rose to the occasion at once.
"Don't you remember, Dave?" he asked. "Or has the sun dulled your memory, too? We saw an air battle. We saw the planes fall. Don't you remember?"
"Oh, that?" Dave echoed with a shrug. "What was important about that?"
"So you saw the air battle, eh?" the German colonel asked quickly. "You saw the planes fall, perhaps?"
Both Freddy and Dave hesitated. Both had the same sudden feeling that the German was trying to lead them into some kind of a word trap. Just what they replied to his questions might make all the difference in the world as to their own safety. Finally Dave spoke.
"Yes, we saw the planes fall," he said.
The two Germans leaned forward slightly, and suppressed excitement showed on their faces.
"How many?" the colonel asked.
"Five," Dave answered promptly. "Three Nazi, one Italian, and one of ours."
"That British plane," the German major spoke up suddenly. "You say you saw it fall to the ground? What happened to the pilot and observer? They jumped with their parachutes, eh?"
Dave shook his head.
"No," Freddy said for them both. "They did not jump. They glided the plane down and crashed when they tried to land. The plane caught fire. It was about a mile away from where we were standing. When we reached it, it was too late to do anything."
"It is as I told you,HerrColonel," the major said to his senior officer in German. "If those British aviators saw anything, they died before they could take the information back to their base. Yes, undoubtedly they were simply sent out to hunt for these two standing before us."
Dave kept a dumb, blank look on his face, as though he didn't understand a single word the German was saying. Inwardly, though, he was smiling happily to himself. Thank goodness he had made the suggestion to Freddy that they act as though they didn't speak German. And thank goodness, too, they had decided to wear infantry uniforms, and to admit readily they had seen a British plane crash and burn up, in the event they were captured. It was all working out perfectly.
A moment later, though, when the colonel replied in the same tongue, the smile died in Dave, and little fingers of worry and fear began to clutch at his heart.
"Perhaps," the senior officer grunted. "Then again, perhaps not. These two young swine puzzle me. I feel sure their story is made up of lies. Four, six days in this cursed desert? I doubt that very much. Yes, very much, indeed."
"But just look at them,HerrColonel!" the major protested. "Both are ready to collapse at any moment. They are completely exhausted. I agree that perhaps they lie a little. But I think they speak the truth about wandering about the desert."
"For six days?" the colonel echoed harshly, and gave him a scornful look. "It is evident you have had no experience with the desert. I have spent a lot of my life in this part of the world,HerrMajor. Look at their boots! Six days of sand and sun would do more than that to a pair of boots."
It was all Dave and Freddy could do to refrain from looking down at their boots. Boots! The one item that hadn't even occurred to them. Of course the German colonel was right. Six days, or even four days of tramping across the desert would unquestionably wear their boots paper thin unless they had taken special care of them such as rubbing them with grease or oil to stop the leather from drying up and cracking, and mending each little crack or cut before it was too late. Their boots showed none of that kind of care, however. And the fact they had no packs was proof they hadn't had any shoe oil or grease in the first place.
"You're right,HerrColonel," the major said as he scowled down at the boys' boots. "They do not look very much the worse for wear, at that."
"That doesn't prove anything, however," the German colonel grunted, and Dave's heart started sliding back down out of his throat. "We shall see, however. I have thoughts about these two, and I will find out soon enough if my thoughts are true ones. Meantime we will get as much out of them as we can."
"You mean, in case they do speak the truth?" the major murmured.
"Exactly that!" the colonel replied with a curt nod. "I doubt if there are any British forces within two hundred and fifty miles. Still, we must make sure. The success of this surprise smash against the British means much to me. It means everything. I wish to be removed from this cursed part of the world. I am sick of the sun, and the sand, and the flies and other insects. Soon, in case you have not been told, things will happen in the Balkans. That fat, stupid fool, Mussolini, has made a mess of things in Greece and Albania. It will soon be necessary for theFuehrerto go to his aid, and pull him out of the fire. I hope to have a division command when the Leader marches down into Greece. If I smash the British out of Libya, and annihilate them so they cannot even escape to their Egyptian strongholds, I shall be given the command of a division of tanks for the asking. And I shall have it, never fear!"
The German colonel emphasized what he had just said by giving a savage nod of his head, and banging one huge clenched fist down on the table. Then he turned his glittering, half closed eyes upon the two boys.
"So you have been lost for four or even six days, eh?" he shot out. "Very well, then. Look closely at this map. Put your finger where you were when you started out of this advance patrol."
As the German spoke, he unfolded a military map and spread it out on the tables. Hope zoomed up in Dave. Perhaps the map would tell them about the plans of the expected attack against the British forces from Bengazi eastward to the Egyptian frontier. It might even show the location of the other Nazi units he was sure must be operating under the command of this headquarters colonel.
If he expected all that, however, or even a small part of it, he was doomed to disappointment. The instant he glanced at the map he saw that it was completely unmarked. He studied it for a moment as a stall for time. He didn't dare point out a spot too close to where he judged to be their present position. A short scouting trip by the Germans could prove them liars in no time at all. Yet at the same time he didn't want to indicate a point miles and miles away. It was obvious that the colonel suspected them, and to state they had wandered some two or three hundred miles across the desert would simply add to the German's suspicions. You don't walk that far in the desert in that short space of time. You don't even walk a small fraction of it—and live. Ten or fifteen miles in the cool of the night is about the limit.
Suddenly Freddy spoke up—Freddy, of the keen, sharp brain that had helped them avoid more than one enemy trap in the past.
"This map is printed in German, sir," he said. "I can guess at the spelling of some of the places, but I am not sure. The place where our patrol started from was called Amarir. Yes, I think that was the name. It was fifty miles southwest of El Siwa. One of the tanks broke down, and it was necessary to repair it at once. This officer and I went ahead on foot to reconnoiter the area beyond an escarpment. It was there the sand storm caught us."
Freddy paused, gave a little puzzled shake of his head, and scowled down at the map.
"I'm sure my brother officer is mistaken," he said presently. "It was not six days ago. No. Perhaps it was not even four. I have lost track of the days completely. But where are we now, sir? Are we very far from El Siwa? Or perhaps Amarir?"
The German colonel didn't reply. He gave Freddy a shrewd glance and then looked down at the map. Presently he raised his eyes.
"It is of no importance to you where you are," he said pointedly. "You are prisoners. Be content with that fact. You were lucky you were not shot on sight. I—"
The colonel cut himself off short as a tank captain appeared at the entrance of the tent and saluted.
"All is ready,HerrColonel," he said. "Shall I give orders for the column to proceed? AsHerrColonel can see, it is practically dark now."
"Give the order, then," the senior officer said with a curt nod. "But, as usual, have the armored cars and one truck remain for a time. Also their crews, of course. They can strike these tents in a few minutes. That is all."
The colonel waited until the tank captain had saluted and made a hasty exit. Then he turned to the major at his side and spoke again in their native tongue.
"Perhaps a little rest will help the memory of these two," he said with a faint smirking twist of his lips. "Anyway, I haven't any more time to waste on them right now. You will take charge of them, and take them in your car. Try to get something out of them if you want to. However, they will probably fall asleep on you. Tomorrow I will spring my little surprise. Then we shall see what we shall see. Curse that British plane we sighted this morning! It is the first we have seen so far, and it worries me a little. If we were not so far away, I'd—"
The German let his voice trail off and sat staring moodily down at his fingertips drumming on the table top. After a moment or so he jerked his head up and shrugged.
"Perhaps I will, even now," he said as though talking to himself. "Anyway, take these two away. Give them food and water and take them along in your car. That's all. Now get out. I'll see you later."
The colonel dismissed them with a nod and immediately started stuffing papers and maps into a black dispatch case. The major got to his feet and looked at the two boys.
"You will come with me," he said in halting English. "Please remember I have this Luger here at my belt. It may help you to remember that if I tell you I am one of the best shots in the German army. You understand?"
"A man would be a fool to go out there," Freddy said quietly, and pointed toward the desert.
"A first class screw-ball," Dave, grunted, and watched the German colonel cram things into the brief case.
The senior officer heard him and looked up sharply.
"So you are not English, eh?" he asked with a frown. "You are an American."
Dave didn't say anything. He simply returned the man's stare.
"An American?" the colonel repeated as though he were rolling the word around in his brain and observing it from all angles. "So you left your country and came over here to fight for the British? That is interesting. That isveryinteresting, indeed!"
A sly smile that curled the German's lips, and a sudden odd gleam that showed in his half closed eyes, made Dave's heart grow chilly and cold, and caused the back of his neck to tingle with that all too familiar warning sensation. He shrugged it off after a moment and obeyed the major's order to fall into step with Freddy and be marched away.
Dull pain shot through Dave Dawson's left shoulder and crawled up the side of his neck and into his head. It came at regular intervals like the ticking of a clock, and no matter which way he moved he could not seem to get away from it. From a long, long way off he heard the murmur of sound, but it held no meaning for him. His brain was too befuddled to grasp the meaning of anything. All about was darkness. Darkness, the shocks of dull pain, and the distant murmur of voices.
"I say, can't you just shake him? Do you have to punch his blessed head off? Let him alone, I say!"
The sound of Freddy Farmer's voice suddenly cleared Dave's head and revived his senses. He awoke from a groggy sleep to find himself in the back seat of one of the armored cars. The German major was bending over him and punching him on the shoulder and snarling in his ear.
"Wake up, you American swine! Wake up, do you hear me? Wake up!"
At the other end of the seat Freddy Farmer was protesting angrily, helpless to do anything else but that. A German soldier standing by the side of the car was holding a Mauser muzzle against the English youth's chest. For a split instant Dave was tempted to pretend he was still asleep and lash out at the German major's chin, and apologize afterward. On second thought, though, he decided that might not be so good. So, instead, he groaned and sat up so that the German missed his next blow and struck the back of the seat.
"Hey, what's the matter?" Dave cried sleepily.
The German stopped punching and swore softly in German through clenched teeth. Dave could just see him vaguely, as it was dark all around, although there was the first grey streak of a new dawn in the east. It was then he realized that the murmur of sound he had heard in his sleep was caused by intense activity about him. The German mechanized column had completed its night march and was now "bedding down" for a new day. Trucks, tanks, and armored cars alike were being covered with strips of camouflage canvas that would render them invisible to aircraft above. Headquarters tents were being set up, and off to his right a couple of rolling kitchens were being made ready for the preparing of the early dawn mess for the officers and troops. The commands that flew back and forth were spoken in low tones, and every soldier seemed to know exactly what to do. It was a display of military efficiency plus, and once again Dave had to admit admiration for Nazi war technique.
At that moment he received a final blow from the German major.
"This is no sightseeing trip!" the officer barked at him. "Get out of this car, and come along with me. No wonder the British are losing the war. You seem to do nothing but sleep. Get out of this car, at once."
A blazing retort rose to Dave's lips, but he choked it back and climbed stiff-legged out of the car and down onto the sand. Freddy was pushed out beside him. He looked at his pal and grinned in the bad light.
"That shut-eye sure helped," he said to Freddy. "Anything happen? I think I must have popped off the instant we got under way."
"You did," Freddy replied. "Phew, you could sleep through a bombardment, I fancy. His Nibs didn't like it at all. He was full of conversation, and—"
Freddy suddenly received a blow in the middle of his back that sent him pitching headlong down onto the sand. Dave instantly leaped forward and helped him to his feet. The German major glared at the English youth and fingered his holstered Luger.
"Another insult and you'll get a bullet, British swine!" he hissed. "You forget I speak your filthy language."
"Do you?" Freddy echoed with icy calmness. "I hadn't noticed it, you know."
Dave set himself to leap in front of his pal in case the officer struck again. However, the German seemed to think better of it. Perhaps it was because the colonel came striding up at that moment. The commandant of the mechanized desert column ignored the major and peered at Dave and Freddy. Presently his flat moon-shaped face relaxed into a brief smile, and he nodded.
"So you got some sleep, eh?" he grunted. "That is good. Perhaps you will remember things a little bit better today. First, though, we must eat. Ninety-five miles is a long way, even in the cool of the night. Yes, we will all eat first."
The German nodded and turned to his major.
"Put them in one of the tents, and post a guard," he ordered. "Then report to me."
Without waiting for the junior officer to acknowledge the order, the colonel swung around on his heel and walked off. Dave still kept his muscles coiled and ready for action, but it proved unnecessary. The major's anger had cooled off. At any rate, the sudden appearance of the commanding officer had caused him to change his mind. He simply glared at Freddy for an instant and then gave a jerk of his head.
"Follow me!" he grated. Then to the guard who hovered close, "Walk behind them and use the muzzle of that gun if you have to."
A few moments later the two R.A.F. pilots were seated on the sand floor of a tent that had been set up on the eastern fringe of the camp. The front flap was left open, and they could look out at the guard pacing up and down in front of the tent and at most of the camp beyond. Dawn was coming fast, but the camouflage work had been completed, and the entire column was ready for another day of hiding from any patrolling British aircraft.
"They sure know their stuff!" Dave breathed softly. "Here we are right in the doggone camp, and we can hardly tell those covered over tanks from the sand. They must have been preparing for this a long time, what I mean!"
"I don't doubt it a bit," Freddy grunted moodily. "Thoroughness is a by-word with the Germans. Listen, Dave, what do you think—?"
Dave suddenly reached over and touched his arm.
"Take a look at that guard," Dave said in a loud voice. "Did you ever see such a funny-looking face in your life? And look at the way the slob carries his rifle. I bet he hasn't been in service over a couple of weeks. Bet he couldn't hit the back side of a barn door. What an awful-looking dope! Holy smoke! He's got a face even funnier looking than that dizzy boss of his, Hitler. Hey, Guard! You're all out of step, you fathead!"
"Dave, for cat's sake!" Freddy gasped.
The guard turned toward them, looked blank, then shrugged and continued his slow pacing up and down.
"Are you mad, Dave?" Freddy choked out. "You want a gun butt or a boot heel in your face?"
"Who, me?" Dave echoed, and grinned at him. "Of course not. I just wanted to see if the guy understands English. He doesn't. Now, what were you going to say?"
Freddy whistled softly and gave a little shake of his head.
"You certainly find out things a strange way!" he breathed. "Lucky for you hedidn'tunderstand English. He would have bashed you a good one for those insults, have no fear. What was I going to say? Blast it, I've forgotten. No! Wait a minute. What do you think of that colonel, Dave?"
"Dumb like a fox," Dave said slowly. "He had the wheels in his head working all the time. He's not even close to being satisfied about us. Yeah! I sure wish I were a mind reader. I'd like to know what this surprise he was hinting about is."
"I have an idea it is some kind of a trap," Freddy murmured with a frown. "He's jolly well up to something."
"Speaking of traps," Dave said, "thanks for not letting me step into that one he set when he pulled out that map. I was just about to point out some town. That would have let him know we understood German. You sure gave him a good line. By the way, where the heck are the Libyan towns of Amarir and El Siwa, anyway? Never heard of them."
"Me either," Freddy said, and grinned. "Just made them up. I think it worried him a bit, too. Out this way there're lots of little spots you don't hear mentioned once in a hundred years. Like all those islands in the South Pacific, the names seldom appear on maps because the places are too small. Yes, I think that German colonel spent a lot of time last night studying his maps and looking for Amarir and El Siwa."
"It sure was fast thinking, pal," Dave said. "My hat's off to you. We're in a jam, though, Freddy, and you and I've got to work fast. I can only guess where we are, but my guess is that we're not far from British-occupied ground. That means the surprise attack is going to be pulled pretty soon."
"I agree with you," Freddy said with a nod. "By the way, did you see that dispatch case of his? Those maps and papers? I have a feeling they could tell us all we want to know."
"I'll bet my shirt on it!" Dave said excitedly. "If we could only get hold of that dispatch case, and get us a plane, we'd—"
Dave cut himself off short and made a wry face at the vast stretches of desert he could see by simply raising his eyes and glancing out the front side of the tent.
"Sure!" he said presently with a bitter chuckle. "And if we had some ham we could have some ham and eggs, if we had some eggs! Nuts!"
The two boys lapsed into moody silence and stared unhappily at the guard marching slowly up and down in front of their prison tent. Then, suddenly, it happened! Perhaps it was just another of those mysterious coincidences so common in war, or perhaps Fate had been waiting for that exact moment. At any rate, the sound of a distant airplane engine suddenly came to the boys. They sat up straight, cocked their heads and stared hard at the shadowy dawn sky to the west.
"That's a Nazi ship!" Dave breathed excitedly. "I can tell the throb of a German Daimler-Benz engine with both ears stuffed with cotton."
"And it's a Messerschmitt," Freddy said, and pointed. "Look! Take a bead on that sand dune over there and then look up above it. See it? A Messerschmitt One-Ten. There! He's cut his engine and he's gliding down toward this camp."
"Not the ship we saw take off last night," Dave grunted as he found the plane in the sky and watched it glide downward and toward them. "That was a Messerschmitt One-Nine single seater. This is the Messerschmitt One-Ten three place job. Yeah, pilot, radio man, and gunner. Maybe they take turns contacting this desert headquarters. Boy! Seeing that ship certainly gives a guy thoughts, doesn't it, huh?"
Freddy simply nodded grimly and said nothing. The plane was very low, now, and sliding in to land in full view of their prison tent. As it slowly settled down onto the sand, they suddenly saw the German colonel and the major run out to the spot where the Messerschmitt was braked to a stop. There were only two figures in the plane. They climbed down at once and engaged in what appeared to the boys to be an excited conversation with the colonel. Dave wasn't sure, but twice he thought he noticed the column commandant half turn and shoot a look over their way.
The group talked for a few minutes, then moved away in the direction of the headquarters tent. When they had passed from view, Dave turned his head and smiled sadly at Freddy.
"Look at that plane just over there!" he said with a happy sigh. "They've even left the prop ticking over. Gosh, what I wouldn't give for a chance to—"
He left the rest hanging in midair and stared unhappily at the flat-faced guard walking up and down. The man carried a Mauser rifle in the crook of one arm, and there was a long-barreled Luger in the holster at his belt. He looked as though his thoughts were a million miles away, but Dave was quite positive the man was on the alert and ready for any sudden action of their part.
A moment later a second guard appeared with a couple of mess tins of food. Hardly looking at the two boys, he set the mess tins down inside the tent and then stepped up to the guard.
"We are all to report atHerrColonel's tent at once," he said in German. "Come along."
To the utter amazement of the boys, the two Germans walked away and disappeared around a group of camouflage-covered tanks in the direction of the headquarters tank. Two moments of tingling silence ticked by, and then Freddy grabbed Dave by the arm.
"A perfect chance, Dave!" he whispered excitedly. "Not one of the beggars in sight. Let's make a run for that Messerschmitt and be off. What utter fools they are to give us this chance!"
Dave was already scrambling up onto his feet, but upon hearing Freddy's last words something seemed to grab hold of him; seemed to freeze him motionless for a brief instant and then push him down onto the sand. Freddy half turned and stared at him as though he had suddenly gone crazy.