"Don't, Dave!" Freddy screamed. "Are you crazy? Our orders were not to shoot even if we were attacked!"
"But this is different!" Dave roared. "That bird...."
"No!" Freddy cried insistently and hung onto Dave's hand. "We've got to follow orders. Fake that you've been hit, and try to get away from him. Gosh, Dave, we haven't even sighted the raider yet. Get away from this chap. A Fulmar can fly rings around a Swordfish. Get away from him and let's continue with the patrol."
Whether it was Freddy's convincing argument, or whether it was the fact that the Swordfish was no longer a perfect target, Dave didn't really know. Anyway, he kicked the Fulmar off its stall and went sliding off and down to the right. However, the stall had cut the Fulmar's speed to practically nothing. Also there was more than just an average run of the mill pilot flying the strange plane with Seventy-Four Squadron markings. Before Dave could pick up sufficient speed to do any fast maneuvering the Swordfish came ripping in again with its guns spewing out jetting streams of flame.
Dave felt the plane tremble as it was hit in a hundred different places. Then suddenly the Bristol in the nose began to cough and sputter, and the controls went wishy-washy in his grasp. A cold lump of ice took the place of his heart, and a load of buckshot began to bounce around in his stomach. For a moment he couldn't move a single muscle. He simply sat there like a man of stone waiting for the next burst from the Swordfish's guns to rip and tear into his body. Instinct, however, took charge where his brain failed. The next thing he realized he had put the plane into a tight spiral and was working down toward the surface of the water as fast as he dared.
It was not enough, though, for the mysterious Swordfish pilot to know that the Fulmar was crippled and going down. The plane tore in for three more bursts before it zoomed up for altitude and went thundering away at full throttle toward the east. Luckily the parting burst did no further damage to the Fulmar. The plane was finished for good, however. The engine made one last gasping sound and then died completely. Dave gingerly worked the wabbly controls and eased the craft out of its tight spiral and put it into a long flat glide. Then he turned around and glared at Freddy.
"Right or wrong, we should have plugged that tramp!" he growled. "I had him pinned to a cloud when you knocked my hand away from the trigger button. But skip it, pal. Orders are orders, I guess. How's the face feel?"
"Can't feel a thing!" Freddy called out and impulsively touched the bleeding bullet crease on his cheek. "What do we do now, Dave?"
Dave laughed harshly and pointed down.
"Three guesses!" he said. "And all of them correct. We go down and play we're in the Navy. And I.... Oh my gosh, Freddy! Look! That rotten bum plastered our radio and knocked it haywire. That means our signal's stopped going out over the air. And that means that the navy ships and planes will come a-running, and there's not a raider or a U-boat within miles of here, I bet."
Freddy looked blank for a moment. Then he threw back his head and roared with laughter.
"What a lad, what a lad!" he finally cried. "Yes sir, one in a million. Sure the planes and ships will come a-running. But won't it makeyoufeel good to be picked up instead of floating around until you sink?"
Dave grinned and gave a little shake of his head.
"Yes, I guess it will at that," he said. "But, heck, once we crashed the signal would have stopped, and they'd have come anyway. But darn it, I don't like this, Freddy. Not even a little bit. I've got a funny feeling that Manners didn't think ofthispossibility at all."
"What do you mean by that crack?" Freddy exclaimed as he saw the look on Dave's face.
The Yank R.A.F. ace slowly raised a hand and pointed ahead and toward the east. Freddy looked in that direction, gulped, but said nothing. About a mile away and just beneath the surface of the water was the tell-tale shadow of a submarine. It was slowly coming to the surface, and as the boys watched it they saw that it was a Nazi U-boat. Just a lone Nazi U-boat in an area where they had been expected to sight ten or fifteen in the company of a powerful surface raider.
Dave slowly turned and looked Freddy in the eye.
"And on second thought I like it even worse," he said. "That U-boat knew that we were coming here. It also knew that a Fairey Swordfish was going to shoot us down. Catch on to what I mean?"
"No, I don't quite follow you," Freddy said with a worried shake of his head.
"The old double cross, or whatever you want to call it," Dave said and flattened the glide of the plane even more. "We were going to set a nice little trap for the Nazis, but they've crossed us up. It's my guess they have set a nice little trap for the naval ships that are right now racing to our rescue!"
Freddy Farmer's face paled as he looked at the damaged radio.
"And there isn't a thing we can do about warning them," he said in a hoarse voice.
"Not a thing," Dave said as he stared at the submarine again. "But there's something we cando, Freddy. Hang onto your hat, pal! You and I are going to crash right on top of that baby! By the time he gets clear of our wreckage it'll be too late for him to crash dive and let go with his torpedoes at our navy ships. Hang on, pal!"
"Right you are!" Freddy sang out. "Give it to the beggar! At least we can do one more thing to help. Let her rip, Dave, and the heck with our necks!"
Hunching over the controls, Dave veered the Fulmar around until it was heading in the direction of the U-boat, and then steepened his dive to gain extra speed. Unconsciously he felt for the straps of his life jacket, or Mae West as they call them in the Royal Air Force. Even as he touched them, however, he grinned and gave a little shake of his head. If they smacked that surfacing U-boat as they planned, their life jackets wouldn't be of any use to them. When you're smashed to pulp in a crash a life jacket is just a souvenir for somebody else to take home.
"And smack him we're going to!" Dave grated to himself. "Good old Freddy. I simply told him what I was going to do, and there wasn't a single yip of complaint out of him. Dear God, if one of us can come through this thing please make it Freddy Farmer. England needs him, and alive!"
As the simple but straight from the heart prayer slid off Dave's lips he steepened his dive even more. The U-boat had suddenly started acting strangely. It was half awash and seemed to be hanging half in and half out of the water. Then as the bow started to go under again the truth dawned on Dave. The U-boat's commander had sighted them, guessed their intentions, and was not taking any chances. Instead he had slammed shut the conning tower hatch and was crash diving as fast as his diving fins and propellers could take him down.
"Faster, Dave, faster!" Freddy's voice screamed. "The beggar is trying to cheat us. He's going to pop down where we can't hit him. Get the blasted rotter, Dave. Get him, please!"
"What do you think this is, slow motion?" Dave shouted back over his shoulder. "Our engine's dead, pal, you know. All we've got is gliding speed. And it isn't going to be enough, I don't think."
"It's got to be!" Freddy howled and unconsciously thumped Dave on the back. "We can't let him cheat us. We just can't!"
Dave didn't bother to make any further comment. The Fulmar was streaking down like a comet straight from Heaven, but the U-boat wasn't losing any time in crash diving. In the last couple of seconds Dave knew that they had lost. If he dived straight in they would only hit hard water, and not even touch the U-boat that was now completely submerged. And so in the last split instant of time Dave hauled up the nose of the Fulmar in order to save Freddy and himself from certain instant death.
The diving speed of the plane was too great, however, to permit him to pull it completely up onto level keel. The belly of the plane struck the water with terrific force. The mighty hands of invisible giants seemed to reach down and jerk the plane up toward the sun flooded sky. Then suddenly they sent it crashing down again. Twice more the plane bounced before it finally stayed down. And during that time Dave and Freddy were tossed about in their double cockpit like a couple of dried peas in a tin can. A thousand and one fire crackers went off in Dave's head. Hundreds of bombs exploded, and countless balls of colored light wheeled and spun around before his eyes. Then as though somebody had slammed shut a sound proof door, there was nothing but silence all about him.
For a moment or so he sat slumped up against the side of the cockpit where the last crazy lurch of the plane had flung him. Then he gulped air into his aching lungs, slowly sat up straight and turned around to look at Freddy. The British youth was upside down in his section of the cockpit. His head was down by the flooring, and his feet were sticking up in the air. His safety belt had been snapped in two by the terrific impact of the plane, but by some miracle he had been spared serious injury. Even as Dave reached back to lend a hand Freddy wiggled himself around and came upright, eyes popping and his face the color of a flaming sunset. It was a second or so before he could drag enough air into his lungs to speak.
"Did we get it, Dave?" he finally choked out.
"Sure we got it!" Dave replied. "But I don't mean the U-boat. You don't happen to have a nice ocean going cruiser in your hip pocket, do you? I think this baby is going to sink right from under us in darn short order."
As Dave spoke he made a sweeping gesture with one hand. Freddy looked about and it was not joy and happiness that came into his eyes. The Fairey Fulmar fighter plane looked as though it had been jammed through a meat grinder. The tail was completely gone; broken off clean as though clipped by an axe. The wing was twisted and bent, and the fuselage was punched full of holes. Sea water was coming in through the holes, and coming in fast. Freddy shook his head and looked at Dave in apologetic chagrin.
"If we get out of this you can kick me around the block six times!" he said bitterly. "All my fault for not letting you get that blasted Fairey Swordfish when you had him cold. It wasn't until after that that he got our engine. Gee, Dave, I could jump overboard and drown myself for being such a blasted fool. I...."
"I might have known!" Dave snapped at him. "We no sooner get in a tight spot and you want to quit me cold!"
"But, Dave," Freddy protested, "I didn't mean it that way. I simply meant that I...."
"Then get a grin on your mug, and stop picking on yourself!" Dave cut in. "How many times have I got to explain that Freddy Farmer is the best pal I ever hooked up with, and that I don't allow anybody to ride him. Not even you, Mister! Get it? Come on, that grin, or I'll toss you overboard, myself."
Freddy blinked a couple of times, swallowed, and then forced a faint smile to his lips.
"Always right there to put sense into a chap's head," he said softly. "That's Dave Dawson. But I still say I was a blasted fool. How long, though, do you think before we'll be in the water with only our Mae Wests keeping us afloat?"
Dave shrugged and made a little gesture with both hands.
"Search me," he grunted. "Your guess is as good as mine. What's worrying me is that darn U-boat. If we'd only been able to clip it. We didn't, and now the darn thing's down under some place getting ready to let loose a brace of torpedoes at the first navy ship that comes tearing up this way."
"I wonder about that," Freddy said. "Maybe it just happened to come to the surface by accident. Ten to one it's making tracks for distant places right now."
"No," Dave said firmly. "I'm sure it's hanging around. This thing was all planned, Freddy. That bum in that Fairey Swordfish proved that to me."
"How so?" Freddy questioned with a frown.
"Gosh, it's simple to figure that one!" Dave cried. "Didn't you see that bird make a couple of final passes at us and then breeze off? No, Freddy, that boy had a perfect chance to riddle us both with slugs so that it would be a waste of time for anybody to pick us up, but he didn't! His job was just to shoot us down for a forced landing."
"Good grief, I believe you're right!" Freddy Farmer gasped. "But what was the idea of that U-boat coming to the surface? Why did it risk showing itself to the pilots of a forced landing plane? That doesn't make sense to me."
"I think it makes sense to me," Dave said after a moment of thoughtful silence. "I think the U-boat was taking no chances of our signalling to anybody once we were in the water. Or of our sinking the plane so that searching craft wouldn't sight it. I think they planned to take us aboard, let the ship float, and submerge to wait for our navy ships to arrive."
"And that is probably what it's doing right now!" Freddy said, tight lipped. "Dave, we've got to think of something, some way to warn all surface ships away from here. There may be a dozen U-boats waiting!"
"You're telling me?" Dave muttered grimly and hoisted himself up on the seat to keep clear of the mounting water level in the cockpit. "But what in thunder can we do? The radio's out. And even if we could set the ship on fire ... which we can't ... the column of smoke would only attract the navy boats all the more. There's just one chance, one hope. And it's the slimmest hope you and I ever had, my boy!"
"Well, what is it?" the English youth cried impatiently. "Anything's worth a try."
"We can only hope that a Fleet Air Arm plane will get here well ahead of any naval craft," Dave said. "The trouble is they may hold back the planes for fear that they would be sighted before the destroyers and cruisers arrived. It's the raider they want most, you know. And I don't think they'd risk showing a plane until the surface ships were close enough to check the raider from making a run for port and escaping."
"And there isn't any raider!" Freddy groaned as lines of worry grooved his face. "We don't know what kind of a trap this is. We don't know what the navy ships may run into. Phew! What a mess I made of things."
"Shut up!" Dave growled. "I was as much at fault as you were. A great deal more, in fact. I should have made a run for it the instant you sighted that plane, instead of sticking around and trying to outfly him. No, Freddy, we're in it together. And our only hope is that a Fleet Air Arm plane will get here first."
"You mean so's they'll see there's no raider about and suspect that it is some kind of trap?" Freddy asked hopefully. "And they can radio the surface ships to stand clear?"
"Partly that," Dave said with a nod. "But mostly so's we can wig-wag them with our shirts andtellthem to radio the fleet to stand clear. That's our hope. That they'll spot us first and read what we signal to them. And...."
"Dave, look!" Freddy suddenly screamed. "The hope's come true. There's a plane up there to the northwest. It's a Catalina, too. And they've spotted us. See? She's starting to slide down from altitude!"
Dave snapped one quick glance up toward the huge flying boat several thousand feet overhead and some five or six miles distant. Then he started tearing off his Mae West life jacket, and ripping off his tunic to get at the white shirt he wore.
"Get your shirt off, too, Freddy!" he barked. "Here, give it to me. Thanks. You wave both arms westward and I'll wig-wag for them to radio the surface boats to stand clear. Okay, Freddy, start waving. We've got to make those boys understand that all plans have gone haywire!"
Hoisting himself up until he was standing straddle legged with a foot braced on either side of the cockpit, Dave clutched Freddy's shirt in one hand, his own in the other and started wig-wagging furiously at the huge Catalina boat that was continuing to lose altitude rapidly. Seconds passed and his arms ached so much he thought they were going to drop off at the shoulder sockets, but still the flying boat continued to come on down toward the water. It was Freddy who finally voiced the terrible fear that was mounting in his heart.
"They don't see our signals, or else they don't understand, Dave!" the English youth groaned. "That boat is coming down to land alongside and take us aboard."
"I know," Dave said in a choked voice. "What are they, blind? Once they're on the water the U-boat can surface and blow them to kingdom-come. But keep signalling, Freddy. We've got to make sense to them!"
It was simply a futile, heartbreaking effort, however. The flying boat came down until it was almost touching the surface. Then it flattened out slightly and headed toward the fast sinking Fulmar with throttled engines. Another moment and the craft had touched the water. Spray showered up both sides of the hull. Then the craft settled and came slowly toward them as the engines picked up revs. Dave let his aching arms drop to his sides and anxiously scanned the surrounding waters. There was no sign of the U-boat, but that fact didn't make him feel any better. Deep down inside of him he had the firm conviction that the under-sea menace was lurking near ready to strike at the first opportunity.
Then suddenly came Freddy Farmer's shrill cry.
"Over there, Dave, to the right! A periscope! The U-boat's going to try for the Catalina!"
Dave Dawson didn't so much as bother to turn his head and look in the direction Freddy Farmer pointed. The Catalina flyingboat had come to a full stop not twenty yards from the water logged Fairey Fulmar. Its pilot was keeping it heading into the wind with the aid of his engines and sea rudder. A hull door had been pushed open and an R.A.F. clad figure appeared in the opening with a casting line in his hand. Dave gave him but a single glance, then shoved a hand against the small of Freddy Farmer's back.
"We swim for it, and fast, Freddy!" he shouted.
The English youth shouted a reply but it was cut off short in the middle as he dived headlong into the water. A split second later Dave dived in too. He hit the water with arms and legs working furiously. Perhaps it was a matter of five seconds before he reached the side of the flying boat's hull, but every second seemed a soul torturing eternity in length. Every second he expected to hear the thunderous roar of a U-boat torpedo crashing into the Catalina. Every second he expected to be his last in this war, and in this world.
Then suddenly he and Freddy were at the side of the flying boat. Waiting hands reached down and hauled them scrambling aboard.
"I say, why the blasted rush?" cried a voice in Dave's ear. "We could have pulled you aboard dry as a bone. Here there, what the devil, man?"
The last was because Dave had bounced up on his feet and shoved the speaker roughly to one side. Without wasting breath to either explain or apologize Dave dashed along the hull cat-walk leading to the pilots' compartment. He went through the small compartment door like a twelve inch shell, fell over the chief pilot's shoulder and rammed both throttles wide open.
"Port rudder!" he screamed in the dumbfounded pilot's ear. "Port rudder, man, for Heaven's sake!"
Though still completely dumbfounded the pilot was a man trained for split second action. He jammed on port rudder and the roaring engines swung the huge craft around to the left. Panting and gasping for air, Dave turned his head and looked out the compartment window. What he saw froze every drop of blood in his veins, and made his heart stand still. No more than fifty yards away a white frothy line was being traced in the water and the front end of the line was heading straight for the Catalina.
He tried to shout out but the words clogged in his throat. He automatically reached out with his hand again and pressed it hard against the already wide open throttles, as though in so doing he might add speed to the flying boat that was slowly getting under way. And every instant of the time he kept his gaze riveted on the white frothy line that drew closer and closer to the flying boat. A second, an hour, or maybe it was ten years dragged by. The sea, the sky, and the whole world seemed to stand still. Nothing seemed to move save that deadly white line being traced in the water. It moved right up to the flying boat and then passed out of Dave's vision. He held his breath, closed his eyes, and awaited that last horrible second.
Then came sound. But it was the sound of an excited voice and not that of a world blasting explosion.
"Torpedo off our stern, sir!" shouted a figure that suddenly appeared in the compartment doorway. "Only missed us by inches. Came from dead starboard, sir!"
Dave wanted to shout, wanted to cry, wanted to get up and dance a jig of joy. He did none of those, however. Instead reaction set in and for a moment turned all of his muscles into so much limp rubber. He slipped off the back of the pilot's seat and flopped down on the floor boards. By the time he had been lifted to his feet the huge Catalina was clear of the water and arcing up toward the sky. Dave wiped sweat and sea water from his face and grinned crookedly at the pilot at the controls.
"That was the idea of my haywire actions," he said. "There wasn't time to explain."
The pilot grinned, reached out with one hand and pressed Dave's arm hard.
"Thank God you didn't take time to explain!" he cried. "We'd all be shark food now. You're Dawson, aren't you? I'm Featherstone, and my co-pilot here is Williams."
"Never so glad to meet two fellows in all my life," Dave said with a nod and a grin. "But, look, didn't you get my wig-wag stuff? Things went all haywire. I'll explain later, but right now contact the fleet and tell it to stand clear of this area. I don't know what's up, but I'm pretty sure Jerry is trying to spring a trap on us."
"Hold your horses, my lad!" Featherstone said as Dave started unconsciously pounding him on the shoulder. "You'll have me black and blue for a week. The fleet's standing clear, and has been for an hour or more. The Old Man didn't like the way your signal stopped so soon. According to our calculations you had no sooner reached the edge of the suspected area than your signal went off the air. The Old Man got the idea you had run into Jerry planes, so he sent us off for a look-see. As we came down I sent back word in code that there was not a thing to be seen but your plane in the water. What happened, anyway?"
Dave heaved a long sigh of relief and started to speak but checked himself as Freddy came through the compartment doorway looking very much like a half drowned rat. Dave made introductions all around and then opened his mouth to speak again. But once again he checked himself and gave Featherstone a hard stare. The flying boat's captain looked mystified for a moment. Then his face brightened and he laughed shortly.
"It's quite all right, Dawson, old chap," he said. "You won't be telling any state secrets. The Old Man acquainted us with the orders you received from Air Marshal Manners. Naturally some of us had to know, you see, in order to carry out our part of the assignment. Of course, though, if you'd rather not, then don't tell me a thing. I'll get it later from the Old Man's report."
"Oh, it's okay by me," Dave said. Then in a sudden excited voice, "Man, oh, man, am I slipping! That U-boat! We should have been hunting for it instead of standing here jawing!"
"Relax, Dawson!" Featherstone said with a good-natured laugh. "Really, man, give us credit for a little sense! I've been circling ever since we cleared the water and the crew has maintained a constant watch. Williams, here, too. See those headphones on him? Intra-plane communication, you know. What's the word, Williams?"
The co-pilot shook his head.
"Not the ghost of a sign," he said. "She probably went right down to sit on the bottom when she saw she'd missed us."
"And she'll probably stay there until dark," Featherstone added.
"Okay, okay, I'm over the jitters," Dave said with a gesture of one hand. "Well, here's what happened."
Beginning with the moment they opened their sealed orders Dave gave Featherstone a detailed account of exactly what had happened.
"Don't ask me what I think about it," he finished up, "because it sure has me in a flat spin. It stands to reason, though, that the Jerries knew more about our little trap than we did. Anyway, something went haywire."
Dave emphasized his words with a shrug and looked at Freddy Farmer.
"Did I leave out anything?" he asked.
"No, that was the whole story," the English youth said. "But, now that we're sure the U-boat's gone I think we'd better get back to Plymouth Base as fast as we can. The Fairey Swordfish had Seventy-Four markings, you know. And I got the number on the tail. I think the first thing we should do is check up on that plane at once."
"I agree," Featherstone said. "But just a minute, lads. I can't take you back to Plymouth. My orders were to take you back to the Old Man aboard the Aircraft Carrier Tornado. That is, if I picked you up, and I did. The Tornado isn't far off, and...."
"And we'll just be wasting time," cut in Dave. "Look, Featherstone, be a good guy and radio the Tornado's skipper. Tell him I'm requesting permission for you to fly us to Plymouth at once. Say that I have to report to Air Marshal Manners in person at the earliest possible moment."
The Catalina's captain looked dubious for a moment, then gave a little shrug of his shoulders.
"Right you are, then," he said and nodded at the waiting Co-pilot Williams. "The Old Man's wrath will be on your shoulders, not mine. And he's a lad with a sharp tongue, I can tell you. Go ahead, Williams."
Nobody said anything while the co-pilot got busy on the radio. Two minutes later he slipped off his headphones and looked at Dave with a faint trace of awe in his eyes.
"You must rate with the Old Man, Dawson," he said. "Or perhaps mentioning Air Marshal Manners was the bit of magic. Anyway, his orders were to grant your request at once."
"God bless you for making the suggestion, Dawson!" Featherstone cried. "Frankly, I've been praying the answer would be yes. We've been in the air a solid eighteen hours and a bit of rest and an odd spot of liquid refreshment at Plymouth Base won't make us mad at all. Right-o! Plymouth it is, and in a hurry. You and Farmer better go aft and get some dry duds on. The Sergeant Gunner will dig up something for you. And thanks again for that little bit of haywire action of yours when you came aboard. Hate like the devil to get shot down by a torpedo, you know. Would be kind of fantastic, wouldn't it?"
"Also final," Dave said with a grin. "But if you want the truth, I was thinking only of my own skin all the time."
"Liar!" Featherstone snapped, but softened it with a smile and a look that spoke volumes. "Now, get back there and into some dry things. Both of you."
"We're gone," Dave said and pushed Freddy Farmer ahead of him through the compartment door.
A little over an hour later the huge Catalina flying boat slid down toward a landing in the mooring basin at Plymouth Base. Perched on an empty bomb rack amidships Dave and Freddy watched the basin surface rise up toward them. During the seventy minute flight they had not spoken more than a dozen words to each other. They hadn't for the simple reason there wasn't much to say. Both realized that they could hash over their close to death adventure until the cows came home, and still be no nearer to a correct solution. Then, too, the feeling of depression that had come with failure made the speaking of words seem futile.
True, it was not their fault that they had failed. They had carried out their orders to the letter. They had even gone beyond orders and attempted to crash into the lone U-boat and disable it at the cost of their own lives. Yet, in spite of all that they felt depressed; felt that they had slipped up somewhere and brought failure to what should have been a successful mission.
Such thoughts were rambling through Dave's brain when Freddy reached out and placed a hand on his knee.
"Chin up, Dave," the English youth said with a smile. "I've been thinking."
"Well, I haven't exactly been asleep," Dave grunted. "But what has your brain been chewing over, pal?"
"The whole crazy business," Freddy replied with a heavy scowl. "I've been thinking that all this started back at Adastral House. I mean, the business was doomed to failure long before we opened our sealed orders. In fact I'm sure of it. Because, why should that Fairey Swordfish suddenly start popping up into our lives?"
"Okay, I'll bite," Dave said. "Why? But speak words I can understand this time. That last has me all balled up."
"Well, I figure it this way," Freddy said after a moment's hesitation. "Some one knew, or found out that we weren't just a couple of replacements being sent to Seventy-Four. Some one also knew what our sealed orders were going to be. So when we took off in the Fulmar that some one tagged after us in that Swordfish. Being in a Seventy-Four plane, he knew that he could get in close and smack us down without much danger to himself. And...."
"And do it without killing us, though he came close in your case!" Dave interrupted. "I get your train of thought, now. A Nazi spy in Adastral House. Maybe he's actually on Manners' staff. The Jerries know everything that is planned. They just sit back and wait for you and me to go sailing off on our little adventure. A radio message in code to some U-boat near by, and everything's set. Yeah, I get it. Joe Saps! A couple of fall guys. That's you and me."
"Quite," Freddy said with a curt nod. "But don't you get all of it?"
"Huh?" Dave grunted. "Now what?"
"Go ahead and laugh at me, but here it is," Freddy said in a deadly serious voice. "Our little boy friend on the train coming down. Flying Office Steffins!"
Dave stiffened, gave Freddy a hard stare, but he didn't laugh.
"You sure are souped up on that guy, aren't you!" he finally said. Then with a half shake of his head, "But darned if you're not getting me thinking the same thoughts. Right! I've got the hunch that Steffins was the pilot of that Swordfish. He.... You know something, Freddy? The thing has suddenly hit me like a ton of brick. Yes, sir, I'll bet you any amount of dough you want to put up!"
"I don't bet unless I know what I'm betting on," Freddy said. "So why not tell me first?"
"Then pin your ears back and listen, my little man!" Dave said with tense excitement in his voice. "We didn't see Steffins again, did we? No. And here's why. The guy was waiting until he knew our sealed orders had come through before he reported to the Base. I'll bet you that he was reporting to Squadron Leader Hays just about the time we were taking off in the Fulmar. He probably had faked papers and all the rest of it. Well, he takes up a Swordfish for a joy hop. Once he's clear of the field he heads straight for where we're heading. He knows the U-boat's there. Probably saw it. So, bang, he cracks us down and heads back for Plymouth knowing that the U-boat will pick us up and take care of us for keeps. See? Smooth as silk. The tramp double crosses our plans, gets rid of us, and now he's safe in Seventy-Four Squadron all set to do more of his dirty work!"
"But he won't!" Freddy said grimly, and bunched his two hands into rock hard fists. "We're still alive and kicking. We also got the tail number of that Swordfish. They have records at the Base that Steffins took it up. We'll cook that chap's goose for him!"
"And how!" Dave grated. "Look, what we want to do is to sneak ashore and get in touch with Squadron Leader Hays as soon as possible and tell him the whole story. Then he can grab Steffins, and that will make at least one rat who won't jam up the works next time."
"Yes, if there is a next time!" Freddy said gloomily.
Dave started a wise crack but let it slide.
"Yeah!" he muttered and shook his head slowly. "For a couple of fellows in the Emergency Command we're doing swell. I mean, terrible!"
Right after the Consolidated Catalina flying boat had settled on the surface of the mooring basin Dave went forward and explained their plan to Featherstone, though he didn't mention Steffins by name.
"So you and the crew go ashore, Featherstone," he finished up, "and Farmer and I will wait here a spell and then slip ashore: Just make believe that you are returning from a patrol, and sat down because you were running out of gas. I'll explain to Squadron Leader Hays when I see him."
"Right you are," the Catalina's captain said. Then after a moment's hesitation, "Sure there isn't something I can do to help catch the chap, wherever he is? I think I'd rather like to bash him one on the snoot, myself. I'm sure I would when I think of that torpedo that just missed us."
"Nix, nothing doing," Dave said with a grin. "If there's any slugging to be done Freddy and I will take care of it."
"And in tip-top order, too, I can tell you!" Freddy said over Dave's shoulder. "But thanks for everything you've done, Featherstone."
The Catalina's captain laughed.
"You've got that sentence the wrong way round, my lad," he said. "I'll remember you chaps in my prayers for the rest of my life. Well, we'll be off. Good luck, and if you do catch that murdering blighter, at least bash him one for me."
"A promise, pal," Dave assured him.
Dave and Freddy forced themselves to wait twenty minutes after Featherstone and his crew had gone ashore. That was as long as they could wait, however. Another minute of sticking there in the plane with countless thoughts, surmises, and speculations whirling around in their heads and they would have just naturally up and exploded. And so at the end of twenty minutes they sneaked ashore unseen and made their way to Squadron Leader Hays' office by a round about route. It was Dave who slid into the office first. But once he was inside he pulled up so short at what he saw that Freddy close at his heels banged right into him.
Automatically Dave regained his balance and continued to stare pop eyed at the officer seated behind the desk. It was the last man in the world he expected to see at that moment. In short, it was Air Marshal Manners.
"I say,you, sir?" Dave heard Freddy gasp behind him.
The Adastral House high ranker nodded, flashed them a quick smile of greeting and motioned with one hand.
"Come in, you two, and shut that door," he said. "I've been having a bad case of heart failure waiting for you. Isn't that 'Cat' boat out in the basin the one that picked you up? I didn't see you leave it with the pilot and crew. Fact is, I was just about to hunt them out and ask questions."
"We were on it, sir," Dave said, finding his voice. "But we stayed aboard as part of a plan. Look, sir, there's a Jerry spy here at this station. We know him by the name of Steffins. A few hours ago he took up a Fairey Swordfish, Number two-six-nine-seven. He shot us down, sir, and we have a hunch he returned here."
Dave stopped talking and his hopes sank as he saw Air Marshal Manners shake his head.
"No, he didn't," the Air Ministry official said. "That Swordfish plane was assigned to one Flight Lieutenant Barker who has been at this Base for the last six months. His mechanic told Squadron Leader Hays and myself that he was to take it up for testing this morning. The mechanic saw the plane take off and believed Barker was in the pit. Barker wasn't. Two hours ago they found Barker's body hidden in an old fuselage in the hangar. He had been stabbed through the heart. Murdered!"
Dave and Freddy stood there in stunned silence for a moment. Then the words fairly leaped off Dave's lips.
"And no replacement by the name of Steffins has joined this squadron today?" he asked.
"No one," Manners replied. "Nor has that Fairey Swordfish returned. It's long overdue right now, as regards fuel. So I think there's just one answer to that. After he shot you down he probably headed for the coast of occupied France. But enough of that for the moment. Sit down, you two, and tell me everything that happened. I know a little of it from a radio message the commander of the Tornado sent me. That's one of the reasons why I flew down here from London at once. And I can guess a little of the rest. However, I want to hear it all from you two. Go ahead, and don't leave out a single thing no matter how unimportant it may seem to you. Better start with the moment you left my office at Adastral House."
Some fifteen minutes later Dave and Freddy had given a detailed account of every minute of the time since they had left the Air Ministry in London. As ordered they didn't leave out a thing. They even related their own conversations, word for word as near as they could remember. Air Marshal Manners listened in silence right through to the end. He didn't interrupt once. He didn't even nod or make any kind of a gesture. He simply sat in the chair moving his steel blue eyes from one face to the other.
"And that's all of it, sir," Dave ended the narration for both of them. "There's probably a hundred other things we should have done. And maybe we made ... I mean, I made a mess of that meeting with Steffins on the train. Perhaps we should have made some kind of a report to you. But...."
"Take it easy, Dawson," Air Marshal Manners finally spoke up. "And you, too, Farmer. You two don't have to apologize for a single thing. Great guns, your attempt to crash that U-boat deserves the Victoria Cross in my opinion. No, you don't have to feel badly about a single thing. Fact is, I'm the one to blame for things going all wrong. At any rate I'm taking the blame. As for that Steffins meeting, it perhaps really didn't mean a thing. There's lots of lads who like to go around posing as officers. He may have been one of them. Then, too, hemayhave been Baron von Khole."
Both Dave and Freddy sat up straight in their chairs.
"Baron von Khole, sir?" Dave finally asked. "Is he a Nazi agent?"
Air Marshal Manners nodded and a look of smouldering anger came into his eyes.
"The best, and most deadly one in Hitler's pay," he said presently. "And a mystery man if there ever was one. What we know of the man you could write down on a piece of paper the size of a postage stamp. As a matter of fact, British Intelligence isn't even sure that von Khole is his right name. And nobody outside of a few in Germany so much as knows what he looks like. One of the reasons he has been so difficult to catch is his expert knowledge of make-up and disguise. He can make himself up to pass for a youth of seventeen or an old man of seventy. He speaks, reads, and writes a dozen different languages, and what he doesn't know about Hitler's method of waging unrestricted war isn't worth knowing."
Air Marshal Manners stopped talking and stared flint eyed off into space. There were a dozen questions hovering on Dave Dawson's lips, but he refrained from giving them voice. He sat with Freddy waiting patiently for the chief of the newly formed Emergency Command to continue.
"And unless I'm all wrong, and not even worth my salt to my country," the senior officer finally continued, "this Baron von Khole is behind all that has happened. I even fancy that he was the one who shot you down. He is an expert pilot and was in command of the Luftwaffe in the Polish campaign. But I'm getting ahead of myself. I'd better go back to the beginning and start there."
The Air Marshal paused and lighted a cigarette.
"Shortly before I was put in charge of the Emergency Command," he said, "they had a bit of a spy scare at Air Ministry. As a matter of fact it was quite serious. Plans for two new types of plane were stolen, and also the plans for a new aerial machine gun. In addition to that, considerable information as to R.A.F. operations in England and in the Middle East got into the hands of the Germans. In other words it was discovered that there was a mighty big leak at Air Ministry. Well, to make the story short, British Air and Army Intelligence got to work like beavers. Wires were tapped, every bit of incoming and outgoing mail was censored, and everybody from the Chief Air Marshal down was watched like a hawk day and night. The result was positive proof and the arrest of three German agents actually in the Royal Air Force and assigned to duty at Air Ministry. They were tried and shot in short order."
Air Marshal Manners emphasized the last with a curt nod, and then puffed on his cigarette for a moment or two before continuing.
"Of course the activities of this mysterious Baron von Khole were well known to us long before this last round-up of agents," he went on. "Facts and what-not showed that he was the supreme head of all Nazi agents in England. It was also quite evident that since Dunkirk he and his gang had been concentrating on the Royal Air Force. Let me say right here that most of our airplane crashes in England during the last year were not accidents due to the fault of the pilots or the planes. They were due to deliberate acts of sabotage. And, of course, all on the order of this Baron von Khole.
"Well, when the Nazi agents working in Air Ministry were caught Intelligence gained information which it was believed would lead them directly to von Khole. It did, but in a round about way, and too late!"
"Too late, sir?" Freddy Farmer encouraged as the senior officer paused again.
"It is incredible, but the truth!" Air Marshal Manners continued as though he hadn't stopped. "There was afourthspy serving as a Personnel Sergeant at Air Ministry. Intelligence didn't catch him in their round-up of the other three. And yesterday we gained definite knowledge that he was, and still is, Baron von Khole. Now, wait a minute before you ask questions. He was known as Sergeant Kinney, but thereusedto be arealSergeant Kinney. The real Sergeant Kinney had been in the service for years. He lived alone in a flat out Golder's Green way, and had very few friends. Naturally, we'll never know the real truth until we catch von Khole and he tells us, which he probably never would. However, several months ago von Khole, probably after studying Kinney's mode of life, his way of doing things, and a million and one things about him, murdered him and took his place at Air Ministry. And he has been there ever since working side by side with the whole lot of us.Butworking for Hitler instead of for the King!"
"Boy, what a smooth artist he must be!" Dave breathed. "And even if he is a Nazi he's sure got plenty of nerve and courage."
"Plenty of both, and a whole lot of other things," Air Marshal Manners said grimly. "Much as we'd like to believe it, all Germans are not nitwits like their Fuehrer, Goering, and a couple of others of the inner circle. No, von Khole is clever, a genius in his work. Fact is, the only bad thing I can say about the man is that he is a cold blooded, ruthless murderer. That is perhaps the only thing he has in common with his superiors."
The Air Ministry official made a little gesture with one hand as though dismissing the subject and lighted a fresh cigarette.
"But I'm wandering in my story," he said. "Let's get back to facts. And they are not pleasant ones for me. A week ago I took on some extra clerical help on my staff. Sergeant Kinney was one of those sent to me. Yes, none other than Baron von Kholewent to work in my office. How he did it still remains his secret, but he discovered everything pertaining to the new Emergency Command. The very fact that you had your little adventure today proves that he knew the contents of your sealed orders before they even left my office. He must have learned their contents yesterday. Last night my private secretary ... a man I've known all my life, and whom I would trust with my own life ... was murdered in my office. An hour later Intelligence came in to arrest Sergeant Kinney. A tip had led them to his house. There they had found code books and a dozen other things used by Nazi agents."
"But they didn't get Kinney, or this von Khole who posed as Kinney?" Freddy Farmer asked.
Air Marshal Manners made a wiggling motion with his hand like an eel scurrying away.
"Not that slippery one!" he said harshly. "As usual, he was a couple of jumps ahead of us. My sealed orders had already gone out, so I didn't do anything about checking or stopping them. I simply took the chance that everything was all right. As we three know, now, everything wasn't all right regarding your secret assignment! My not countermanding those orders nearly cost the lives of two of the bravest R.A.F. pilots I ever had the good fortune to meet. And so, as I said, I alone am taking all the blame for things going wrong today. It was nobody else's fault but my own."
"And to think I had him square in my gun sights!" Dave murmured softly. "But, tell me this, sir. Was Sergeant Kinney on duty the night you talked to all of us? Or the next day?"
The Air Marshal looked thoughtful for a moment, then sat up straight with a jerk.
"By the gods, no!" he cried. "He was on thirty hours leave. And I know what's in back of your question, Dawson. That chap, Steffins! By George, I guess that Steffinswasvon Khole."
"But you said he had courage!" Freddy protested. "And Steffins was scared pink when that Jerry plane strafed the train."
"I'm wondering," Dave grunted.
"About what?" Freddy demanded. "Good grief, you think that was part of an act, too? But why?"
"This may be crazy reasoning," Dave said slowly. "But somehow it makes sense to me. He tried to pump us, and didn't learn a thing. I think he knew that we weren't telling him the truth. Maybe that made him a little suspicious of us. So maybe he pulled that yellow belly stunt so that we wouldn't bother about looking him up at the squadron, here. Or when we didn't see him again we'd just put it down that he was too yellow to carry on, and we'd just forget about him. And yet there's another angle that just occurred to me. Maybe just as screwy."
"Well, let's hear it anyway," Air Marshal Manners said as the Yank R.A.F. ace hesitated.
"That strafing plane," Dave said eventually. "It came down and seemed to blast away at the rear car of the train. Maybe it wasn't even aiming at it. Fact is, I forgot all about checking on that when we reached Plymouth. What I'm getting at is, why strafe just the rear car? Me, if I had a few slugs left to slap at a train, I start up at the engine and rake the whole works. That Focke-Wulf plane didn't. I'm wondering if its pilot knew that von Khole was on the train, and his strafing was some kind of a message that didn't please von Khole at all."
"Perhaps," Air Marshal Manners said gravely. "Perhaps either one of your ideas is the truth. It doesn't help us much, now. Nor does it help much being pretty sure that your friend Steffins was actually von Khole. That, like some other items, is all so much water under the bridge, now. We've taken our beatings and that's that. What we've got to concentrate on now is the future. Our next move in this game of death against the survival of England."
The Air Ministry official stopped talking and a tingling silence seemed to hover over the room. Dave and Freddy waited breathlessly for the senior officer to go on. Defeat was behind them, but it was not final defeat. They not only felt it, but they could see it in Manners' face. No, they were not yet washed-up with Emergency Command. They both knew that Manners had another assignment for them. Another tilt against the Nazis and death. And it was all they could do to refrain from breaking the silence and begging Manners to tell them of their new assignment. Finally Freddy Farmer just couldn't stand the suspense any longer. He cleared his throat nervously and spoke.
"We're ready for any job you want to give us, sir," he said. "And regardless ofwhathappens, we'll do better next time."
"Check!" Dave echoed with feeling. "You can count on that, sir."
Air Marshal Manners smiled but before he could say anything the office door was pushed open and Squadron Leader Hays came inside. The Commanding Officer of Seventy-Four seemed not to see the two R.A.F. aces. He looked straight at Air Marshal Manners and gave a savage shake of his head.
"Couldn't unearth a single clue," he said, tight lipped. "I've questioned every mechanic and pilot here at the field, but not one of them remembers seeing Flight Lieutenant Barker after eight o'clock this morning. I looked in his hutment but not a thing has been touched. Honestly, sir, I can't understand it at all. Why should anybody kill Barker and then steal his plane? He was the best liked officer at the field."
"No clue, eh?" the Air Ministry official murmured. "Well, on my authorization you can order a special investigation. Call on Air Intelligence if you want to. We lose enough pilots in the air without having them murdered on the ground. Do everything you think necessary, Hays, and report to me the minute you discover anything important."
"Very good, sir, I'll do that," the Squadron Leader said. "I'll appoint an investigating board at once. And ... I say, where did you two come from?"
The Squadron Leader addressed the last to Dave and Freddy as he saw them for the first time. Dave opened his mouth to speak, but Air Marshal Manners beat him to the punch.
"They had no luck on their special mission," he said quietly. "Matter of fact they were forced down off shore and were luckily picked up by a Cat-Boat. I ordered their return here at once. They're flying up to London with me right away, and rejoining their old Fighter Squadron."
Squadron Leader Hays murmured something that might have been an expression of sympathy and regret, but Dave wasn't listening. The verbal bombshell that Air Marshal Manners had suddenly exploded was still scrambling his brains. Returning to their old Fighter Squadron? Then they really were all washed up with the Emergency Command? Though their failure had been through no fault of their own, Manners wasn't going to give them a second chance? Washed-up? Through? Finished?
Dave looked at Freddy and saw similar stunned grief in the English youth's eyes. He looked at Air Marshal Manners and hot blistering words rose to his lips. He was too good a soldier, however, to let them fly off. He choked them back, and spoke them instead with his eyes. Manners seemed completely blind to the look he received. He stared back at Dave, then made a short dismissal wave with one hand.
"There's a Staff Lockheed Hudson on the line I came down in," he said. "You and Farmer go out to it and wait. I'll be with you in a few minutes, and we'll be off. Oh yes, collect your personal belongings and put them aboard. That's all."
It was the hardest thing he ever did for Dave to get to his feet, click his heels and salute smartly. He wanted more than anything else right at the moment to jump over the desk and shout what was on his mind right square in the Air Marshal's face. Of course, though, he didn't even so much as make a move in that direction. Training and the instincts of a loyal soldier held him back.
"Very good, sir," he said.
Then he and Freddy did an about face and went outside with heads up and shoulders squared ... but with the whole wide world very much blurred before them. Never since their very first day in the R.A.F. had their hearts ached so much, or their spirits sunk so low.
"Do you think, Dave? I mean.... Gosh! I'm still whizzing around in circles. I thought sure Manners understood how things turned out as they did. And I thought sure he had another assignment to give us. I ... I don't know what to think. I wish I were dead!"
Freddy Farmer groaned, gave a helpless shake of his head, and leaned wearily back against the bomb compartment wall of the Lockheed Hudson. Their stuff was all aboard and they had been waiting for Air Marshal Manners a good half hour. Dave grunted, studied the finger nails on his right hand and absently started chewing on one.
"You and me both!" he finally grated. "Of all the let-downs this is tops. And right after his admitting that it washisfault! Sweet tripe! What do these brass hats expect? Miracles out of a hat like rabbits? Boy, did I want to toss his own words back into his teeth, with Squadron Leader Hays standing right there, too. Freddy, it was the rottenest trick ever played on us. It was just plain low down and mean. Praise a fellow, and then cut the world right out from under his feet. I don't get it. I don't get it even a little bit!"
"I was dead certain he was about to tell us of a new assignment when Hays came in," Freddy said, a baffled frown creasing his brows. "Something must have happened. Maybe something that Hays said. I can't even begin to guess, but it changed his mind."
"Yeah, he sure froze up on us like an Arctic winter," Dave growled. "So it's back to our old Fighter Command squadron, huh? Well, I say, okay. That suits me fine. And for two cents I'd take off in this crate right now, and let him walk back to London. I'd...."
"Too late to do even that, Dave!" Freddy cut in quickly. "Here he comes!"
The words were no sooner off Freddy's lips than Air Marshal Manners came in through the compartment door. He tossed a brief case he carried on an empty bomb rack and looked at Dave.
"My pilot's suddenly gone sick," he said. "Take the controls, please, Dawson. Get us off as soon as possible, and get lots of altitude as you head for London."
"Yes, sir," Dave said, and got to his feet.
He took one step along the cat-walk leading forward, then stopped and turned. He knew what he was about to say was childish, foolish, and the uncensored ravings of a sorehead. But for all the gold in the world he could not have kept the words back. The seething pot of justified anger within him had suddenly boiled over on all sides.
"Do you mind, sir, if I crack us up taking off?" he said evenly.
Air Marshal Manners stiffened up straight, gave him a blazing stare, and opened his mouth to speak. He held back the words, though, and looked from Dave to Freddy and back again.
"I see," he said. "Thought you caught on. Yes, I mind very much your cracking us up, Dawson. Now, you get forward and get us up in the air before I turn you over my knee. Chase along, lad, now. Explanations later."
"Then you mean, sir—" Dave cried joyfully and stopped.
"I mean get us into the air!" Manners snapped. "And hurry it up!"
"One Lockheed on the way!" Dave shouted, and dashed forward to the pilots' compartment.
In less time than it takes to tell about it he had the twin engines turning over and was taxiing to the far end of the runway. There he wheeled around into the wind, waited a moment or so for Freddy and Air Marshal Manners to come forward and join him, but when they didn't he opened up the throttles wide and sent the American built plane rocketing forward. Once the ship was clear he cranked up the wheels and continued prop clawing upward for altitude.
When he was above a layer of cloud and well out of sight of the Plymouth Base, Freddy and Manners stepped through the compartment doorway. Dave glanced quickly at Freddy only to realize at once from the wondering look on his pal's face that Manners hadn't told him anything yet. Then he looked at the Air Marshal and pinked a bit as the steady steel blue eyes bored into his. But almost immediately the Air Ministry official grinned crookedly and sighed.
"You certainly fumbled that one, lad," he said. "After all that's happened I was sure you'd understand. By George, son, did you think I was dropping you two chaps like a couple of hot bricks? Of all the crazy notions!"
"My error, I guess, sir," Dave replied sheepishly. "But it was sort of a bolt out of the blue that tossed me over on one wing. I mean.... Well...."
"Well, let's forget about it," Manners said. "The reason was simply that from now on I'm trusting no one but you two. Not that Squadron Leader Hays isn't the finest type of Englishman you could find. He is. And in addition he's a very good friend of mine. However, my idea was to create the impression that I've taken you off this special convoy mission, and am sending you back to your old squadron. We don't know where von Khole is. He may be in France or even in Germany. Then again he may be right back there at Seventy-Four again. The beggar's a blasted ghost, so I'm not taking any chances whatsoever of his finding out that you're still connected with Emergency Command."
Dave blew air out of his lungs and smiled happily.
"Gosh, do I feel reborn!" he exclaimed. "Sorry, sir, I was such a dope not to catch on."
"And that goes for me, too, sir!" Freddy Farmer echoed.
"Right you are, lads," Air Marshal Manners said with a laugh. "Just make sure you don't get any crazy ideas any more. I'll be through with you two just about the time the war's over. And I doubt even then. Right-o. Now...."
"Enemy aircraft!" Freddy suddenly yelled and pointed off to the east. "See it? A Messerschmitt One-Ten and heading our way!"
Both Dave and Manners snapped their heads around and spotted the Nazi plane at the same time. The craft was a couple of thousand feet above their altitude, but even as they spotted it the nose dropped and the plane came down toward them at terrific speed.
"Man the tail guns, Freddy!" Dave barked. "Here's our chance to pay back with a few slugs. We'll...!"
"No!" Air Marshal Manners said sharply. "No scramble with that plane. Get us down into those clouds, Dawson, and lose him. We haven't got time for a fight."
A wave of rebellion swept through Dave but he curbed it instantly. Something in Manners' face told him that the Air Marshal hated to run away just as much as he did, but that he had a very good reason for ordering it.
"Right, sir!" Dave cried.
Even before the words had popped off his lips he shoved the controls forward, pushed the nose down to almost the vertical, and sent the Lockheed Hudson wing screaming for the clouds. It was not more than the matter of a few split seconds before they were plunging through the billowing mist, but even then he heard the savage snarl of the Messerschmitt's aerial machine guns, and the heavier, louder note of its twin 20-mm. cannon. And a split second after that he heard the yammering reply from Freddy Farmer's guns in the tail turret of the Lockheed.
As soon as the Lockheed was completely hidden in the depths of the cloud layer he pulled out of the dive, leveled off and banked due west. For some ten or fifteen minutes he flew on the instruments, twisting this way and that, but always in the general direction of London. And during all that time Air Marshal Manners didn't say a word. He sat like a statue of stone in the co-pilot's seat staring out forward as though his steady gaze might pierce right through the bank after bank of cloud mist that rushed toward them and was sliced and churned by the whirling propellers.
Then suddenly, perhaps a second or two before Dave would have climbed up on top for a quick look-see around, a blurred shadow came racing in from the right. It was no more than a shadow tearing in, and Dave only caught sight of it out the corner of his eye, but his sixth sense told him at once that it might be the Messerschmitt One-Ten.
"Dawson! Look out! There's...."
Air Marshal Manners' wild cry was just a waste of breath. Dave had already slammed the Lockheed over and around on wingtip in a wing shaking vertical bank. The terrific force of the turn cut off the rest of the Air Marshal's cry and pinned him up against the side of the compartment as though he were nailed there. Every muscle of his body braced, and his mouth open to prevent possible blacking-out from the turn, Dave hung grimly to the controls and prayed in his thoughts as he had never prayed before.
A lifetime of agony was his. He lived and died a thousand deaths. Then suddenly he felt the right wingtip shudder as something ticked it. His heart stood still and his whole body became bathed in cold sweat. Nothing happened, though. The wing stayed on and the Lockheed kept on whanging around.
"Just brushed us lightly!" Dave heard his own choking voice cry out. "Another inch and it would have been a sweet mess!"
"Great guns, they can't come any closer!" Air Marshal Manners gasped. "Blast him, anyway! I might have expected as much. Look, Dawson, get off the London course. Head east or west, but not toward London!"
Dave cut out of the turn, went into a shallow dive that took the plane down deeper into the cloud layer, then leveled off and banked due south. Once he was heading south he turned his head and gave the Air Marshal a questioning look.
"You expected something like this, sir?" he asked.
Manners shook his head.
"No," he said. "I meant that Ishouldhave. No way for us to find out, and we're not going to try, but I'm pretty sure Baron von Khole was in that Messerschmitt One-Ten."
At that moment Freddy appeared at the compartment door, and in time to hear the Air Marshal's words.
"Von Khole?" he echoed excitedly. "Good grief, sir, what makes you think so?"
"For one reason," Manners replied grimly, "because you can expect that blighter to turn up anywhere. For another reason, because I sighted that same One-Ten on the way down to Plymouth this noon. Spotted him soon enough to lose him before he could get close and give any kind of a chase. And for another reason, because now I happen to be the one man in all the world von Khole desires most to remove from it. Remember my saying Intelligence found code books and things at the flat of that poor devil, Sergeant Kinney?"
"Yes, sure!" Dave said excitedly. "And by the way, was the real Sergeant Kinney's body found? I mean, you're sure von Khole actually did murder him, and he isn't the real Sergeant Kinney, himself?"
"Whether von Khole murdered Kinney, or one of his bunch did it, we don't know," Manners replied. "But the real Sergeant Kinney was no dirty Nazi spy. Early this morning some of my men dug up the cellar of the place. They found a body nobody could recognize, but the old World War identification tag they found on the wrist belonged to Kinney. No, there've definitely been two Kinneys serving in the R.A.F. One, the real chap. The other, Baron von Khole."
"And you learned something from the code books and stuff you found, eh, sir?" Freddy questioned eagerly.
"Enough to worry the Nazis sick!" Manners replied with a curt nod. "The code books alone are the greatest prize of the war, as far as I'm concerned. I now know the code signal for every U-boat and surface raider the Nazis have in the North Atlantic."
"Hot dog!" Dave cried in a burst of exuberant enthusiasm. "It's practically in the bag! We can knock them off like clay pigeons, and make the Atlantic clear sailing for British convoys."
"No, it isn't going to be as easy as that," Air Marshal Manners said with a shake of his head. "They'll change those codes as soon as they can. But with so many of their craft at sea it will take a certain amount of time. A couple of days, at least. Having failed to trap that devilish raider and her wolf pack of U-boats this morning, our only hope is to trap her through the code signals before she can receive a new set."
"But couldn't that be done in the matter of a few hours?" Freddy objected. "A Nazi plane fly out to her with the new code?"
"No," Manners said bluntly. "A new code that can't be broken down by the enemy in short order isn't something that you think up over night. True, every country has emergency codes, but even they need constant rearranging in order to fool the enemy. And the point is, I feel pretty sure that I've got hold of the Nazi's emergency code as well as all of their regular codes. As head of Nazi Intelligence in England it's only natural that von Khole would have a copy of every existing code."
"And leave them around for somebody to pick up?" Dave gasped. "Boy, that's just about tops for being dumb, I'd say!"
"It is," Air Marshal Manners agreed. "Incredibly stupid, but that kind of stupidity is a part of the German make-up that amazes one. Especially when you consider how thorough and clever they are about so many other things. You two lads are too young to have been in this world at the time, but it is a matter of confirmed history that before the entry of America into the last war, von Papen, the German ambassador to Washington, left a briefcase on a New York subway train containing a world of information regarding German sabotage and espionage activities in the United States!"
"Yes, my Dad once told me about that boner," Dave said. "Gosh, it's something like you'd read in a fairy story book!"
"The Germans are a strange race, for fair," Manners said dryly. "They lead the world in so many things, and trail it in so many others. Well, I think we've lost that beggar for good, now, don't you think so, Dawson?"
"Unless he's got cat's eyes, or some trick airplane engine detector on his ship," Dave replied. "Want me to go up on top? We've been heading south by east for a spell, now. Unless I'm all wet we should be just a bit off shore from Southampton. We can go up on top and find a hole and check."
"Then go on up," Air Marshal Manners ordered. "And if you're right, then so much the better. Find a hole and locate us, and then I'll give you further orders. But make it fast. Time is the most precious thing in the world to us, right now."
"Up she goes!" Dave cried and pulled the Lockheed's nose toward Heaven.