As Dave Dawson strutted German officer style along the sidewalk of Rue Chartres, he had the crazy feeling that he was ten feet tall, twice as wide, and was wearing a uniform made out of striped red and white silk, with a lamp shade for a hat. There were several German soldiers and civilians wandering along the same street, and to tell the truth, not a single person glanced his way. True, the soldiers saluted him as he passed, but they did so automatically with their thoughts obviously on other things. But to Dave's pounding heart, and his tightly drawn nerves, it was as though he were the most conspicuous thing in all Belgium. It made him angry to think such silly thoughts, but that didn't help him any. Every step he took was another moment of tingling tension. And when finally he came abreast of Number Sixteen, his throat was dry as a bone, and little beads of nervous sweat were trickling down his spine.
He paused there and bent over, supposedly to adjust the lacings of his German boots. Instead, though, he took advantage of the moment to glance keen-eyed about to see if anybody was watching him, or if by chance anybody was trailing along behind him. There was not a single sign of anything like that, however. The military and civilian population of that part of Antwerp was going about its business, and leaving one Dave Dawson strictly alone.
Presently he straightened up, got a firm hold on his jumping nerves, and boldly pushed in through the ancient door of Number Sixteen. A bell tinkled somewhere as he stepped inside. Its sound was echoed by the pounding of his heart, but he only clamped down harder on his nerves. He closed the door behind him and looked around. A gasp of amazement almost spilled off his lips. In all his life he had never seen such a mixed up conglomeration of junk. There wasn't even a suggestion of order about the room. Coils of rope, parts of marine engines, navigation charts, books, boxes, dirty sea clothes, and goodness knows what were scattered over the place. Shelves along the walls were broken and sagging, their contents long since dumped down onto the floor.
A single oil lamp with a smoke-smudged shade was on a table with only three legs. In a chair by the table sat an old man in the most disreputable-looking clothes possible. His face was thin and the features so pointed as to give the whole a hatchet appearance. Shaggy white hair adorned his head, and a dirty grey beard reached down to the second button of the torn shirt he wore. He held a length of rope in his gnarled bony hands, and had obviously been working on it with a splicing spike when Dave entered. Right now he was staring up at Dave out of the brightest, most piercing set of eyes the young R.A.F. pilot had ever looked into in all his life. They were like X-ray eyes that could look right through your brain and count the hairs on the back of your head from a distance of twenty feet.
For a brief instant the two of them locked glances. Then the old man dropped his rope and splicing spike and got to his feet.
"Good morning,Herr Leutnant," he said in flawless German. "Is there something I can do for you this morning?"
Before Dave could reply, a curtain over an opening at the rear of the disordered room was pushed aside, and an old woman, perhaps even more aged than the man, stepped through. Her eyes flew to Dave's uniform, and the corners of her thin mouth tightened, and stark fear flickered in her eyes.
That sudden look of stark fear in the old woman's eyes made Dave's heart leap with hope. He felt sure that this old man was the real Pierre Deschaud. He was sure of it because the old woman's flash of sudden terror told him she was afraid that, as a Nazi officer, he had come there to do them harm—perhaps to take her husband away. He did not jump at that conclusion, however. He was still on mighty ticklish ground. He had to be sure,reallysure. He took his eyes off the woman and looked again at the man.
"I was with a friend," he said stiffly. "We became separated and I am now hunting him. I was wondering if he came in here."
"No one ever comes in here," the old man said quietly, and kept his burning gaze fixed on Dave's face. "Perhaps if you could describe your friend,Herr Leutnant, I will recognize him if he should come in."
Dave shrugged as though he didn't think that very important, but it was simply a movement to cover up the tremendous quiver of excitement that rippled through his body. The moment of moments was now at hand!
"I will probably find him some place outside," he said, and started to turn. "We are leaving soon for Houyet, and I would not like him to be left behind."
Dave glanced at the old man as he spoke the secret code word, but there was not so much as a flicker of the eyelids. Bitter disappointment and a tingling sense of fear crept into Dave's heart. He hesitated a brief instant and then continued turning toward the door. In fact, he had taken a couple of steps when the old man's quiet voice stopped him.
"I am sorry you have lost your comrade,Herr Leutnant," he said. "It is not likely that he will come into a place such as this. I have nothing to sell but my humble services. I was a marine engineer in my day, but that was long ago. You are interested in boats,Herr Leutnant?"
Something caused Dave to stop and turn around.
"I have done a little sailing," he said.
"And so have I, but many years ago," the old man said with a sigh. "But I did my design work on big boats. My masterpiece was the Fraser. She was built right here in Antwerp for an American company. She was beautiful."
Fraser! Colonel Fraser! The mention of that name wiped the last of Dave's fears away. His eyes widened with joy, and he started to open his mouth, but a sudden fierce warning look leaped into the eyes of the old man.
"I have never heard of that boat," Dave said. "For me, the most beautiful boats are built in Germany."
"Ah, yes, they build beautiful boats, indeed, in Germany," the aged one said, and started fishing around in the drawer of the table next to him. "The Fraser, of course, was not a big boat like the Bremen or the Europa. But she was a lovely boat. I think I have a picture of her some place. You would please me by looking at it,Herr Leutnant. You can spare the time?"
As the old fellow spoke, he shot a quick meaningful glance at Dave. The young R.A.F. ace caught the meaning and shrugged.
"I have a moment to spare," he grunted. "Show me the picture."
"Ah, here it is!" the old fellow said triumphantly, and pulled something from out of the table drawer. "Here, you can see better under the light. This is not a very good picture, but it will give you an idea of what the Fraser looked like."
As the old man spoke, he beckoned Dave over to the table and blew some dust from an old photograph he had taken from the drawer. Dave stepped over and looked down at the picture. It was one of a single funnel cargo steamer, and not a very trim-looking vessel, at that. It was quite short and stubby-looking, and seemed to be riding exceeding high in the water.
"Is she not a beauty,Herr Leutnant?" the old man said eagerly, and then suddenly slid a piece of paper over the lower half of the photograph. "She was four thousand tons, and built sturdy as a rock. I myself was aboard on her maiden cruise."
The old man continued talking about the maiden cruise of the funny-looking ship, but Dave wasn't listening. Every ounce of his attention was focussed on the old man's right hand. He held a stubby pencil in his hand and was scribbling on the sheet of paper he had placed over the lower half of the photo which he held in his left hand. Dave's brain was on fire with excitement by the time the man finally finished and he was able to read the message. The message read:
"Take care! Their eyes and ears are all about. One mile west along the river, there is an old coaling wharf. Just beyond is an old river boat half under water. The bow is above water, and there is a hole on the port side. One can wade out to the hole. Meet me inside that hole at nine tonight. Now ask questions about this picture, and then leave this place."
"Take care! Their eyes and ears are all about. One mile west along the river, there is an old coaling wharf. Just beyond is an old river boat half under water. The bow is above water, and there is a hole on the port side. One can wade out to the hole. Meet me inside that hole at nine tonight. Now ask questions about this picture, and then leave this place."
Dave was forced to steel himself for a second or two to make sure he would keep the wild excitement out of his voice. He reached out a finger and pointed at the bow.
"That doesn't look right," he said. "It seems to ride too high. It does not look to me like a comfortable boat in a heavy sea."
As Dave spoke, he quickly took the stubby pencil from the old man's hand, and wrote, "There are two of us," on the slip of paper. The old man nodded, glanced up at him and nodded again.
"Ah, that proves you know about boats,Herr Leutnant!" he cried, and nodded some more. "You are quite right. She was not a very good sea boat at first. We had to make some changes. Afterwards she could ride out any kind of a gale. But perhaps this old man is boring you. So I will stop. I hope you find your comrade,Herr Leutnant."
Dave straightened up and went through the motions of smoothing out his uniform.
"He is probably about some place," he grunted, and turned toward the door. Then, on sudden thought, he kicked aside a coil of greasy rope, and turned his head toward the old man. "You have a dirty place here, old man," he said. "You had better do something about it, or you may get into trouble."
As the old man mumbled apologies and promises, Dave stepped outside and slammed the door behind him. Hot and cold chills were taking turns racing up and down his spine. His first impulse was to take to his heels and race madly back to Freddy with the news. He curbed the impulse, though, and started along the street at an even gait. So Pierre Deschaudwasalive? He and Freddy were to meet him in secret at nine o'clock that night! What would Deschaud tell them? Did he really have information about a Nazi attempt to invade England? Colonel Fraser had said that he was willing to stake his life that Deschaud knew, but that wasn't proof that Deschaud actually did know. And it was strange, that note Deschaud had written—and, by the way, had made disappear as if by magic as Dave had left. Deschaud had warned him that Nazi ears and eyes were all about. Where? There in Deschaud's place? But that was a crazy thought. Yet he had had the feeling that Deschaud had been scared stiff that he would say something that would be a tip-off to anybody listening near. But could there be Nazi agents in that place?
Dave shivered at the thought and was forced to swallow hard a couple of times. Before he could stop himself, he turned his head and took a quick glance back over his shoulder. However, there still wasn't a single sign of anybody following him. Just the same he increased his pace slightly. A few minutes more and he had crawled and scrambled over the piles of rubble in the alley next to the deserted house where Freddy was waiting, and was walking into the room.
The grin on his face faded, and the words rising to his tongue clogged in his throat. Freddy Farmer wasn't there. The room was completely deserted. Panic gripped Dave, and his first thought was to spin around and beat a quick retreat. Somebody had found out their hiding place. Somebody had sneaked up and grabbed Freddy while he was talking with Pierre Deschaud. And he had walked right back into the trap.
Cold sweat broke out all over his body. His heart became a chunk of ice that slid down toward his boots. His mouth and throat went bone dry and it was desperately hard to breath. Like a man struck dumb, he stood there, unable to move, unable to decide whether to stay or flee. Then suddenly sounds on the other side of the door he had just closed broke the spell. They were the sounds of footsteps. He took one wild look at the windows and saw that escape was impossible in that direction. The room was rather high above the ground. He whirled around and crouched, fists clenched, and his body tensed to spring forward. Come what may, he wasn't going to be taken without a fight, even though he was unarmed.
An instant later the door was opened and Freddy Farmer stepped into the room. He stopped short and gaped pop-eyed at Dave.
"Good grief, Dave!" he gasped. "Are you ill? What a face!"
Dave released air from his lungs in a whistling sound and straightened up slowly. Reaction set in at once, and his legs felt so rubbery he had to put a hand against the wall for support.
"Ill?" he choked out. "Man, oh, man! I'm practically dead from fright right this minute. Gosh, Freddy, where've you been? Jeepers! Did I get a belt when I came back here and found you gone! I thought the Nazis had nabbed you."
Freddy started to laugh, then instantly cut it off short as he saw the look on Dave's face.
"I say, I'm terribly sorry, Dave," he said. "I should have thought of that, but it completely skipped my mind. To tell you the truth, I got to thinking after you left, about my clothes. I can't go out in them, and I certainly can't stay here in this place forever. So I got to thinking about it. Well, you were lucky, so why shouldn't I be lucky, too?"
Freddy stopped and held out a suit of clothes he had flung over his arm. The suit was covered with dust and even raised a cloud as Freddy moved his arm. But it seemed to be in fairly good condition, even though it wasn't exactly 1940 style.
"I stayed at the window until I saw you leave Number Sixteen," Freddy said. "Then I did a bit of scrounging. The Kind Fairy must have been right at my elbow, for in the third room I looked into I found these, in an old box in a closet. Some other clothes were there, too. These looked the best, though. So here we are. But never mind about me. What about Deschaud? You saw him? You talked with him?"
Dave wiped sweat from his brow, heaved another long sigh of relief, and nodded.
"Right," he said. "And it's Deschaud. I'm sure of that. We are to meet him at nine o'clock tonight. Now, cut the questions, pal. Just give me a chance and I'll tell you everything. And while I'm talking, change your clothes. Just looking at that peasant get-up gives me the shivers. Take it off, quick, and ditch it."
While Freddy changed into his new disguise, Dave told detail by detail about his visit with Pierre Deschaud. Freddy didn't interrupt once, but there was a worried look in his eyes by the time Dave had finished.
"I guess it was Deschaud, all right," he said. "But I certainly don't like that 'eyes and ears about' stuff. Do you think he meant the old woman with him?"
"No," Dave said, and shook his head. "She was scared stiff when I walked in. She stood where she could see him writing. And when I left there was a look of hope, not fear, in her eyes. No, I'm positive that she's his wife, or his sister, anyway."
"Nine o'clock tonight, eh?" Freddy murmured as though to himself. "And it isn't nine o'clock in the morning yet. What'll we do in the meantime? Just wait?"
Dave gave him a scornful look.
"Well, we could go call on the Nazi Commandant at the City Hall, and see how he's getting along," he grunted. "I've got two better ideas, though."
"They'd better be!" Freddy said, and gave him a dark scowl. "What two ideas?"
Dave slipped his hand under his German officer's tunic.
"First a bout with our emergency rations," he said. "My stomach's just about decided my throat has been cut. After that, a few hours of shut-eye. I've got a hunch that it won't hurt a bit to stock up on some sleep."
Their glances met and stayed locked for a long minute. Neither spoke, because each knew what was in the other's mind. Nine o'clock that night was their Zero Hour. At nine that night they would learn what they had come through a hundred lurking dangers to find out. Would it be the end, or, as they both hoped and prayed, would it simply be a glorious fulfillment of their mission?
Suddenly Dave grinned and broke the tensed silence.
"And there's another reason why I want some shut-eye, too," he said.
"I don't like that grin," Freddy said cautiously. "But I'll bite. What?"
"If my eyes are closed," Dave said, and backed away a couple of steps, "I won't be able to see that trick suit of clothes you swiped. Boy! Would your girl friend give you the gate if she saw you in that rig. Hot-diggity! Ain't you something the cat dragged in!"
Freddy snorted, then leaned forward and sniffed loudly.
"Why not be honest?" he asked. "That staff car and duffel bag story was just a fib, wasn't it? You really found that Nazi uniform in a garbage can, didn't you?"
Black night had again settled down over Europe. Layers of cloud scud and fog completely hit the stars, and to Dave and Freddy, crouched down on a sandy strip of shore not twenty feet from the waters of the Scheldt River, it seemed as though they were the only two people alive in the whole world. All about them was darkness and utter silence. Antwerp was just a darker blot a mile or so to their left. And although by staring hard they could catch the flicker of pin point lights, the city was so dark and still that the little points of light could well have been their imagination playing them tricks.
It was now exactly eight minutes of nine by Dave's radium dial wrist watch. A little over an hour ago, when the shadows of coming night had begun to fall, they had slipped out of their hiding place and started a roundabout trip to the spot where they now crouched. Death had walked with them every step of the way, waiting and ready to pounce about them both and gobble them up. But Lady Luck had also traveled with them. And although on three occasions they had come very close to stumbling headlong into Nazi black-out patrols, they had avoided them in the nick of time, quickly changed their route and hastened onward. And now they crouched down on the sandy strip of shore and stared hard at the lopsided darker shadow out there in the water. It was the water-logged and half sunk houseboat, and by straining their eyes hard they could just barely make out the jagged hole stove in the bow on the port side.
Presently Dave turned his head and leaned toward Freddy.
"Deschaud said to meet us inside the thing," he whispered in the English youth's ear, "so I guess we'd better get moving. If anybody is around, he certainly is a darn sight quieter than the night. What do you think?"
"Same as you," Freddy whispered back. "We'd better get out there. Only thing we can do. Watch the noise you make wading."
"You're telling me?" Dave echoed with a silent chuckle. "You bet I'll watch out. Sure could use a flashlight, though. Okay, let's go."
The two boys slowly stood up and crept down to the water's edge. For mutual balance and guidance they clasped hands and started wading. The water was cold and the bottom was very muddy, making it doubly hard to keep their balance. Neither of them, however, met with an accident, and eventually they were directly under the gaping hole in the boat's bow. There the water wasn't more than a very few inches above their knees, and it was not difficult to grab hold of the jagged ends of broken hull planks and pull themselves in through the hole.
It was pitch black inside, and everything they touched was wet and slimy. A thousand different kinds of smells struck them in waves. Inch by inch they crawled forward until Dave found a sturdy cross beam that was comparatively dry. He pulled Freddy to it, and together they sat down and turned around so that they could look out the opening toward the shore. For a moment or so it was like staring at a black curtain hung in a room with all the lights out. Bit by bit, though, shadows began to take shape and they were able to make out the exact shoreline and the tree clumps and building rooftops beyond.
"Well, it's up to Deschaud, now," Dave whispered. "Gosh! I sure hope nothing's happened to him! It's ten minutes after nine!"
"I'm thinking the same thoughts," Freddy whispered back. "But you can bet I sure hope they're all wrong. I—Dave!"
Freddy had stopped short and gripped Dave's arm, and was pointing his other hand toward the shore. Dave said nothing, for he had already spotted the faint shadow moving slowly along the strip of sandy beach. The shadow suddenly stopped, and then whirled as a second shadow seemed virtually to leap right down out of the black sky. The two shadows merged together and swayed back and forth. Then one of them fell back and down onto the sand. Freddy's fingers were digging like steel barbs into Dave's arm, but he hardly felt the pain. His breath was locked in his lungs, and all the world seemed to stand still as he kept his eyes riveted on the shadowy scene ashore.
After a moment or so, the shadowy figure remaining on its feet bent over and gathered the fallen shadow in its arms and slung it across a shoulder like a wet sack of meal. Then the shadow moved slowly out into the water. Hardly daring to breathe, Dave and Freddy watched the shadow come closer and closer. Presently it was at the opening in the bow. It paused there motionless, and it was all Dave could do to choke back the shout that struggled to rise up in his throat. Then suddenly a tiny needle thin beam of light flashed across his face and went out almost instantly. Then came a hoarse whisper.
"Give me a hand! Help me lift this traitor inside! Quick!"
The two boys moved forward at once, caught hold of the limp form and pulled it inside the hull of the boat. A second or so later and Pierre Deschaud came slithering in like a greased cat.
"Leave him there," he whispered, and touched them lightly on the arms. "He will be a traitor to Belgium no more. Follow me, and be careful how you step. This craft was not built yesterday."
Before either of them could ask a question, the old man snapped on the needle point of light again and glided past them as silently as an eel in a barrel of oil. They silently followed him deeper into the boat. After a moment or so he pushed open a small bulkhead door and stepped into a bare cabin that had eighteen inches of water on the deck floor. He paused and waited for them to pass through, then stepped inside himself and pulled the door shut. There were two empty bunks fitted to the walls of the cabin well above the water line. Deschaud gestured with his light for them to sit on one, while he sat down on the bunk facing them. Then he held his light down at the water, which threw back a faint glow that made it possible for them to see each other.
It was Freddy who spoke first.
"What about that one in the bow?" he asked.
"We can forget about him," Deschaud said, and looked at Dave. "He was the reason I was so scared this morning. He was in the next room, and listening, of course. The Nazis do not suspect me, but they do not overlook anything, either. We have many traitors here in Antwerp, scum who would send their mothers and fathers to the firing squad for a few extra loaves of bread from the Nazi brutes. He was one of them. I have known it for a long time, but I did not dare do anything about it. Tonight, it was different, however. I knew that he would report this boat to his Nazi pay-master. There is far more at stake than his rotten life. And so, there is one less traitor in Antwerp."
As the old Belgian finished, he shrugged his shoulders in a gesture as if dismissing the thought. Dave shivered inwardly, and there was a pounding in his head. So it had been true! A traitor, who could have bought about his death by a single word to his Nazi boss, had been lurking in the next room all the time. Thank goodness he had not been such a fool as to ask Deschaud questions right then and there. Thank goodness the brave and courageous old Belgian patriot had warned him before he'd made a damaging slip of the tongue!
"Tell me your story quickly," Pierre Deschaud's voice suddenly broke into his thoughts. "How did you get here? Who sent you? What is it you wish? Were you seen by the Nazis? Were you followed here? Did you meet anybody on the way? Tell me everything quickly; then I will decide if it is best to talk."
Both boys realized instantly that Pierre Deschaud was checking up on them; making sure that it was safe to tell what he knew. After all, he carried his life in his hands twenty-four hours of the day. And when you do that, you have to be sure of everything, no matter how small or trivial. And so the boys told him everything that had happened to them from the time they had stepped in Air Vice-Marshal Saunders' office at the Air Ministry right up to the present moment. Pierre Deschaud watched them closely out of his X-ray eyes. By the time they had finished, the old man had visibly relaxed, and there was an expression of profound admiration on his face.
"The world will long remember the gallant men of the British Royal Air Force," he said in a voice deep with sincere feeling. "And you two well represent that splendid organization. In the air or on the ground, your courage and your fighting spirit are no less. I salute you from the bottom of my heart. All loyal Belgians salute you. Now!"
The old man paused and leaned forward on the edge of the bunk. As he did so, he drew a folded sheet of dirty paper from under his torn and oil-smeared shirt.
"I am convinced you come from the great Colonel Fraser," he said. "Ah, how I admire that man! How I should like to meet him one day."
"And he feels the same way about you, sir," Freddy spoke up.
The old man smiled, and the warm light of great joy glowed in his eyes.
"I prayLe Bon Dieuwill bring that day to pass," he said softly. "However, it is of the present we speak. Listen carefully, you two. The Nazis are going to attempt to invade England. They are going to attempt to set up a bridgehead on British soil. Not at Dover, or at Hastings, or at Brighton on the south coast. It is to be made at a point, a nine mile strip of shoreline, just north of Harwich on the east coast. And that attempt will be made on the night of the sixteenth after a terrific bombardment by theLuftwaffeon the fifteenth."
"The sixteenth?" Dave gasped excitedly. "Three days from today?"
"That is correct," the Belgian said solemnly. "But theLuftwafferaids on the fifteenth will be directed at thesouth coast. It is a trick to make the British believe that an attack will be made there, while actually the attack will be made much further north on the east coast. Close to seventy-five thousand troops will be used in the first attack. If they gain a foothold in England, three times that number will follow."
Dave unconsciously tried to check the question, but it popped right out of his mouth.
"How do you know this to be true?" he asked.
For an instant he expected to see anger flare up in the Belgian's eyes. No such thing happened, however. Pierre Deschaud simply smiled and slowly nodded his white head.
"Naturally, you ask that question," he said quietly. "It is of course strange that I, an old man, should know the one thing the Nazis wish to keep secret. I do know, nevertheless. I have known all about it for over a month."
The old man paused, lifted a bony hand and pointed in the direction of Antwerp harbor.
"The day they first set foot in Antwerp, they started taking charge of every boat in the harbor, as well as every place where boats are made," he said. "Those of us who were not blind or stupid knew at once the reason. They were starting to prepare even then for the coming invasion of England. I have been a marine engineer all my life. I know how to build boats as well as the next man. The Germans needed men to build barges—long high-sided barges that could be powered by Diesel engines taken from tanks and armored cars. They put hundreds of us to work building those boats. I was one of those men, and the Germans soon realized I knew how to build boats. I acted grateful and overjoyed that they had come. I let them know my hatred toward England for starting the war. I played right into their dirty hands at every turn. It is hard on your heart to strike down a friend, a brave soldier, when you hear him say something against the Germans. Many times, though, I was forced to do that. It was hard, terribly hard, but there was nothing else but to act as I did. There was more at stake than the love and affection of a few dear friends. There was Belgium, and Europe, and England—and perhaps the entire Christian world."
Pierre Deschaud stopped talking and brushed a hand across his eyes, which glistened with tears. Dave wanted to reach out and touch him, and so did Freddy. But they didn't move. They knew in their hearts that the brave old man did not want sympathy. He had done his duty, and the knowledge of that was far, far greater than all the sympathy in the world.
"It was hard, yes," he continued after a moment, "but it was something I had to do. I wormed my way into the good graces of my Nazi jailers. They did not know that I spoke and understood German perfectly. Nor did they know I can remember words spoken for the rest of my life. No, it was not so easy as all that. The Germans did not discuss the invasion much. They had received their orders from their superiors to keep their mouths shut. However, a word was spoken here, a word was spoken there, and I filed every word in my memory. All dates, all names of towns, all names of boats, and a hundred other little items. Alone, not one of them means a thing, but after weeks of collecting and remembering words spoken, slips of the tongue, I was able to gain complete knowledge of what was planned."
The old man paused again and held up the folded sheet of dirty paper.
"It is all here, written down in detail," he said as triumph rang in his voice. "Every move they plan to make. When, where, and how. Their complete plan. Get this paper back to England, and the Nazi murderers can be given a smashing blow from which they will not recover for a long time. Get this paper back to your superior officers, and Adolf Hitler will think twice about sending his forces against the British Isles. Mark you, smash this attempt, and Hitler will leave England alone and look eastward for new nations to conquer, not westward toward England."
Pierre Deschaud stopped talking and held out the paper. Dave started to reach out his hand for it, then quickly drew it back. He turned to Freddy.
"We're both R.A.F., Freddy," he said. "But you'reEngland, too. You carry the paper, and I'll just tag along with you."
Freddy tried to speak, but his throat was too choked up. He pressed Dave's knee hard with one hand, reached out the other and silently accepted the paper.
"There can be no greater friendship than this!" Pierre Deschaud whispered softly.
For a long moment tingling silence settled over the trio. Then Pierre Deschaud made a little gesture with his hands, and broke it.
"And now, the most dangerous part of all," he said, "your safe return to England with that very valuable paper. And youmustget back. Five other brave men came for the information you now possess, and they died.Youmust not die. If you fail, all is lost. There will not be enough time left for Colonel Fraser to send over another agent to contact me. It is up to you two, now."
The two boys nodded grimly.
"Colonel Fraser spoke of there being a few military air fields at Antwerp," Dave spoke up. "What is the nearest and best one for us to tackle and try to steal a plane?"
"I will take care of that little matter, too," Pierre Deschaud said. "Were you to try such a thing alone, you would not live ten minutes. That happened to two of those five. Two others were killed before they even reached a field. And the fifth, a fine lad not much older than either of you, was not fast enough. He was shot down to his death before he was out of sight of Antwerp. But you—youmustget through!"
"Can we get started now?" Dave asked, and nervously clenched and unclenched his fists. "The sooner the better is the way I see it."
"Right you are," Freddy echoed with a nod. Then, looking at Pierre Deschaud: "There's no use wasting time unless we have to."
"But of course not," the Belgian patriot said, and rose to his feet. "We will start at once. Come with me, and be careful how you step."
The old Belgian turned to a door on the side opposite to that through which they had entered. The door stuck a bit, and he was forced to put his shoulder to it hard before it gave way. Admiration for the aged man, and something close to love, stirred in Dave Dawson. Pierre Deschaud might be close to seventy, but he had the strength of two men, and the courage of a brigade.
Deschaud flickered his light forward to reveal rotting bulkheads amidships. The boat was well down by the stern and at a dangerous slant. Halfway along the port side, Dave suddenly made out the shape of a small shallow rowboat. An instant later he noted that the oars were joined and fixed to swivel brackets so that one could row facing the bow instead of facing the stern as is the usual case. The Belgian sloshed through a foot of sluggish water, climbed into the boat, and motioned to them to get in.
"Sit near the bow," he directed. "That makes her ride better for the one who does the rowing. And I will be that one."
The man paused, chuckled softly and patted the side of the boat affectionately with his hand.
"This is one boat in Antwerp that the Nazi pigs know nothing about," he said in a purring voice. "I made her with my own hands years ago. Before the Nazis arrived, I hid her here in this sunken hulk. She has been worth many times her weight in gold to me. To lose her would be like losing my dearest friend. Now, sit steady, for I am about to put out the light. You will hear me moving, but do not be alarmed. I have a secret way to get her into the Scheldt. I remove but two or three loose planks, and we glide through as nice as can be."
"Where are we headed, sir?" Freddy whispered in the darkness.
"Directly across the river from this point," Pierre Deschaud said, "there is one of their military air fields. A mile of the shore is dangerous swamp ground, however; a man who did not know the way could lose himself, and probably drown, before he even realized what had happened. But I have lived in Antwerp almost all of my life. I know that swamp as one knows the palm of his hand. I will lead you through it safely. And when we reached the edge of the field—but we will attend to that matter when we come to it. Now, silence, please. Not even a whisper. They patrol the river all night long in their E-boats. And they have keen ears and eyes, these Nazi sons of the devil. Now, we start."
Dave and Freddy, crouched near the bow of the small craft, could hear Pierre Deschaud moving, and could hear soft grating sounds like boards being rubbed together. A moment later they felt the boat move under them, and a moment after that the darkness was a little less, and a chilly wind blew against their faces. They had slid out of the half sunken houseboat and were now out in the Scheldt River.
Dave's nerves danced and twitched around, and his head felt light from excitement. He slowly turned and stared off into the blackness to his left. He thought he saw a couple of dim lights far away, but he was not sure. Then gradually his eyes became accustomed to the change of shadowy darkness, and he could make out the sprawling dark hulk that was Antwerp, crouching like some motionless monster on the banks of the Scheldt River. He tilted his head and looked up to see that cloud scud and fog still blotted out the stars. At that moment he heard the throbbing drone of unsynchronized German aircraft engines far to the east. He was not sure, but once or twice he thought he also heard the faintcr-rumpof bursting anti-aircraft shells. However, though he peered hard in that direction, he could not see any flashes of fire in the dark sky.
Then suddenly there was a muffled roar of sound up the river in the direction of the waterfront center of Antwerp, and a long beam of light stabbed out across the water. Pierre Deschaud's command was like a shrill whistle.
"Face down on the bottom of the boat, quickly! Don't move a single muscle. Pray hard they do not catch us in that light!"
Dave and Freddy dropped flat and practically tried to press themselves into the wooden bottom of the boat. Pierre Deschaud also crumpled down instantly. And as the throbbing of a speed-boat drew closer and closer, its sound was matched by the wild beating of three hearts in the bottom of that rowboat. Dave clenched his teeth in an effort to ease the terrible strain of just waiting there helplessly for the beam of light to swerve and catch them in its brilliant glow. Each second was a minute, and the fifteen that ticked by while they crouched there motionless were as a lifetime in a world of unforgettable torment and torture. At the end of that time, the German river craft had roared past their position and was streaking farther on downstream. Each of them realized it at the same time, for they all straightened up together.
"BlessLe Bon Dieufor saving us that time!" Pierre Deschaud breathed in a fervent whisper. "That is a trick of theirs. They slide along without lights, and then suddenly switch on the searchlight, and race forward at full speed, hoping to catch some poor devil where they have forbidden him to be. A thousand curses on their souls. We will yet drive the last of them from this part of the world!"
Pierre made a gurgling sound in his throat for emphasis, then fell to on the oars again. He had greased them well, and had it not been for the movement of the boat, Dave wouldn't have been able to tell if the man was rowing or not. There was not so much as a whisper of sound from the oarlocks.
Twice more they were forced to fall flat and hold their breath in fear as a Nazi river patrol boat streaked by. The last time its savage wash caught them amidships and rocked them about like a chip of wood in an angry sea. But they hardly noticed the tossing they received, they were so thankful that they had not been caught in the searchlight's beam. Then suddenly dark shapes rose up on either side of the boat. They glided along between the dark blurs for a few moments, and then the nose of the boat nudged into a muddy bank and came to a stop.
"Don't move!" Pierre Deschaud whispered sharply. "That river was nothing for its dangers. This is the beginning of the difficult business. Sit still, and I will get out first. I know exactly where to step. And if one does not step just so—"
The old Belgian left the rest hanging in mid-air as an additional warning to the two boys. He moved forward past them and climbed out. A tug or two brought the bow higher up on the mud. Then they heard his whisper again.
"One of you give me your hand, and with your other hand take the hand of your friend," he said. "Do not let go for a single instant. This is most treacherous. Ah, yes, many men are buried here in this swamp. Now, we move very slowly. Put your foot where the man ahead has put his. If you slip and start to fall, do not cry out in alarm. Hold on tight to the hand you grasp."
As Freddy was closer, he grasped Pierre Deschaud's hand and reached the other hand back to grab Dave's. Then, Indian file style, they started to move forward slowly foot by foot. In the distance Dave heard faint sounds, and it was all he could do to keep from lifting his eyes and peering ahead. He did not do so, however, for he would most certainly miss his footing and go pitching off into the deep muddy pools that lined the row of swamp hummocks along which they walked at a snail's pace.
Time and time again Pierre Deschaud turned to the left or the right, but always it was in the general direction whence came the sounds. Dave's eyes smarted from peering down at Freddy's heels so constantly. But he blinked away the pain and kept doggedly onward. Every now and then some swamp animal would plop off a hummock into the water with a splash that sounded like a cannon going off to Dave's strained nerves. And he could tell from the sudden pressure of Freddy's hand gripping his that his pal wasn't enjoying the journey, either.
For well over half an hour the old Belgian led them step by step through the swamp. Then finally they heard him sigh with relief, and a moment after that they felt firm hard ground under their feet. Dave raised his aching head and looked around. He saw nothing but darkness, but he plainly heard the throbbing purr of an aircraft engine in the distance. He stared hard in that direction, only to realize that they were standing at the bottom of a slight slope of ground. The Belgian pulled them close to him.
"Keep hold of hands," he whispered. "And walk as though your shoes were made of feathers. When I stop, you must stop at once. Remember that. If you don't, you will die, my dear young friends."
"How come?" Dave whispered as the Belgian paused for breath. "What's ahead?"
"These Nazis fear sabotage at their fields," Pierre Deschaud replied. "So they have strung a wire fence about the entire area. The wire is charged with high voltage electricity. If you should stumble against it in the dark—you would never know it."
"But how can we get near the planes, then?" Freddy asked.
"Do not worry," the Belgian murmured. "I will take care of that fence. Now, come. Bend over as you walk, so."
Hunched over forward, the trio crept stealthily up the slope and along the flat for some fifty yards. Then suddenly Pierre Deschaud stopped. Freddy and Dave froze in their tracks and peered ahead. Some three feet in front of them, they could just make out a five strand wire fence that was about six feet high. Beyond was a field of tall, waving, sun-scorched grass. And beyond that was the level expanse of the military flying field. They could see dark shapes that were the hangars and other buildings. And far over on the other side they could see a Heinkel night bomber in the faint glow of a single flare. Its prop was ticking over, and shadows walking past in front of the light indicated that mechanics were making night repairs. Then Pierre Deschaud whispered.
"Get down flat on your stomachs," he directed, "one behind the other. Be ready to crawl forward when I say so. Crawl as if you were swimming, but do not lift your elbows. And keep your heads down. Now, wait just a moment."
As the boys got down flat on the ground, Pierre Deschaud pulled a forked stick some two feet long from under his shirt. Then, crouching down, he hooked the bottom wire of the fence in the fork part and lifted it upward as high as he could.
"Now, one at a time worm your way under," came his strained whisper. "Keep as close to the ground as you can. Now, go ahead."
Dave hesitated a fraction of a second, and then started to inch his body forward. He did so by digging his fists and his toes into the ground and shoving. He kept his face so close to the ground that his nose was rubbing along it. Inch by inch he crawled forward, with air locked in his lungs and his heart hammering against his ribs. Just a few inches above him was sudden and terrible death. If Pierre Deschaud's strength should fail! Or if the forked stick should break and the deadly wire sap downward! Or if—
"There, you are through!" he heard Pierre Deschaud's whisper. "Now, turn around and grasp your friend's outstretched hands and pull him under."
Trembling like a leaf, and his body dripping from nervous tension, Dave got up on his hands and knees and swiveled around. Freddy's head and shoulders were already under the wire, and his hands were outstretched. Dave bent down and grabbed them and slowly pulled his pal through to safety. The instant Freddy's feet were clear of the wire, Pierre Deschaud removed the forked stick and let the straining wire snap back into place.
"And now you have only to hide in that grass and wait until it is almost dawn," they heard him whisper through the wire. "Always just before the dawn they start up all their engines to remove the chill of the night. The nearest plane cannot be more than seventy yards from where you are, now. Wait until the mechanics have started the planes and walked away to let them warm up. Then dash for the nearest plane. The swift fighters are hangared on this side of the field, so you need not worry about having to steal a huge bomber. And so, I leave you now."
The old man's voice faltered for a moment; then he got control of his emotions.
"May God fly with you, my brave friends," he whispered. "It rests with you, now. I must return to my boat and get back across the river before it is light."
"I wish you could go with us, sir," Dave whispered.
"No, although I thank you for the kind thought," Pierre Deschaud whispered. "However, my place is here in Belgium. Here I must stay until I die, fighting as best I can for the liberation of my country. And so, farewell, my courageous friends. May God fly with you!"
Dave blinked to drive away the tears that filled his eyes. When he opened his eyes again, there was nothing but darkness beyond the charged wire. Pierre Deschaud had gone back to his boat. Dave felt Freddy's hand groping for his. He gripped it and squeezed hard.
When the new dawn was but a faint streak low down in the east, the sound of a hundred airplane engines being kicked into life suddenly shattered the stillness of the surrounding countryside. The two boys lying flat on their stomachs side by side started violently, then looked at each other and grinned.
"This is almost it!" Dave whispered. "Let's start worming closer. We've got to grab a ship before anybody else gets in the air. Here in the grass, we could easily be spotted from the air."
"You're right!" Freddy whispered back. "And I'm sure whoever saw your uniform and my suit would jolly well land at once to find out what was what. Right-o. Forward we go."
Like two human snakes, the boys wiggled forward through the tall grass until they were but a few feet from the edge of the close cut, level flying field. Through the grass ahead they could see the row of Messerschmitt One-Nines, and One-Tens. And as luck would have it, a Messerschmitt One-Ten was the ship nearest them. It was not more than thirty yards away at the most. Dave nudged Freddy and pointed.
"Just what the doctor ordered!" he breathed. "A One-Ten with plenty of room for two. Hot dog! Hoped I'd get a crack at flying a One-Ten some day. Or do you want to do the flying?"
Freddy smiled and shook his head and touched the pocket of his jacket where he kept Pierre Deschaud's detailed report of the Nazi invasion plans.
"The least I can do in return," he said. "Besides, you spoke first. Look! The mechanics have checked the instruments, and are walking away!"
It was true. Mechanics were climbing down out of cockpits and walking along down the tarmac in groups. In a moment or so there wasn't a single man within seventy-five yards of the first Messerschmitt in the line. Dave gripped Freddy's arm, tried to speak, but couldn't get the words out of his throat for a second. Then they came in a muted rush.
"Okay! Let's go! Luck to us both, fellow!"
Quick as a flash, they shot up out of the grass and started running with every ounce of driving power in their legs. It was only some thirty yards to that One-Ten, but Dave felt as though he weren't covering more than a couple of inches of ground with every stride. A thousand torturing thoughts whipped through his brain, and with every stride he expected to hear the yammer and chatter of many machine guns blazing away at him.
Not a single shot was fired, though. And not a single voice cried out in wild alarm, as he reached the tail of the plane and dashed around it toward the long three-man cockpit. Then suddenly a German mechanic seemed to rise right up out of the ground. Obviously he had been making some delayed check on the plane and was only just starting to join his comrades down at the other end of the tarmac. As he saw Dave, blank amazement flashed across his moon-shaped face. Then his eyes seemed to crackle out fire, and his mouth flew open.
Decision and action were one with Dave Dawson. He dived forward the last step and lashed out his right fist, putting every ounce of his strength in the blow. Perhaps the mechanic tried to duck, but at any rate he didn't do it in time. Dave's driving fist caught him flush on the jaw. His head snapped back, his feet left the ground, and he did a beautiful backward somersault to crash down on the tarmac in a heap. Before the German had even hit, Dave was in the pilot's pit, reaching for the control stick and throttles.
He kicked off the wheel brakes with his foot and jerked his head around. Freddy was already in and grinning from ear to ear.
"The beggar will sleep for a week!" he cried. "Right-o! Give her the gun!"
As though Freddy's voice was some kind of a signal to the Germans about the field, shots suddenly rang out, and the air shivered with shouting angry voices. Dave shoved the throttles forward and the twin 1,150 hp. Daimler-Benz engines thundered up in a mighty song of power. The plane quivered and bucked for an instant, and then charged straight out across the dawn light-shadowed field. Machine guns and rifles were now cracking and banging away on all sides, and countless metallic wasps of death were hissing past the plane as it rocketed forward.
An instant later he heard the Messerschmitt's rear guns rattling away, and Freddy's wild shouts and bellows as he sprayed the Germans swarming across the field. Dave grinned, tight-lipped, eased back on the stick and lifted the One-Ten clear of the ground and upward toward the dawn sky.
"R.A.F. coming up!" he shouted, and jerked his head around for a second.
Freddy was still drilling away with his swivel gun in the rear cockpit and yelling at the top of his voice. Dave turned front, leveled off the climb and banked around toward the west and the English Channel. His heart sang a wild song of joy as the swift Messerschmitt One-Ten ripped along through the air. Victory was in sight, now. Death and danger had been defeated. In half an hour they would be over the English Channel. Another forty minutes or so and they would be well over English soil. Back to England! Back to England with complete information about the coming Nazi drive. Names, dates, places—everything that the Nazis planned. The number of troops to be used, the list of ports where invasion barges now waited to be sent out toward England under the cover of darkness. Everything! The whole works! And now the British could—
Dave didn't finish the thought. At that moment Freddy's fist banged down on his shoulder, and the English youth's voice shouted excitedly in his ear.
"To the right and up, Dave!" Freddy yelled. "Take a look! A swarm of Nazi planes trying to cut us off. The beggars back there must have radioed to units already in the air, telling them about us swiping a plane. Get everything you can out of this blasted bus!"
"And you get back to your guns!" Dave shouted, as he found the flock of some twenty-five or thirty dots high up to his left. "We're going to have trouble! Those birds have the altitude, and they can get the speed to cut in front of us by diving. Get set, Freddy! The final lap!"
Even as the last left Dave's lips, he saw the group of dots wheel toward the east and then go slanting downward. Impulsively he jammed his free hand against the already wide open throttles, as though he might be able to get additional revolutions of the thundering Daimler-Benz engines. And although he didn't have more than three thousand feet under his wings, he slanted his own nose down slightly to gain what extra speed he could.
His prophecy came true, however, regardless of his frantic efforts to skip away and out-fly that cluster of Nazi planes. Their diving speed was plenty for them to outstrip the One-Ten in the mad race for the Channel. And when Dave and Freddy roared out from the shore, the dots had changed into deadly Messerschmitt single seater One-Nine fighter planes. And they were now charging in at breakneck speed, their guns chattering out a mad song of hate and destruction.
Body braced, Dave kept the One-Ten tearing straight at the leading German plane, and pressed the gun button on the top of his joy stick. The four 7.9-mm. machine guns mounted in the nose of the One-Ten spat flame and sound. The plane rushing in seemed to crash up against an invisible brick wall. It went cartwheeling crazily off to the side, and then curved over and down into the Channel.
"Good lad!" came Freddy's voice faintly above the roar of the engines.
A split second later Freddy emphasized his words with the chatter of his rear gun. Out of the corner of his eye Dave saw a One-Nine swerve crazily and crash straight into another German ship before its pilot could pull out of the way. The two ships fell downward, leaving behind a long column of smoke and flame. Dave shouted words of praise, sliced past yet another One-Nine charging in and then hauled back on the stick. The One-Ten power zoomed wildly toward the sky.
The maneuver, however, was not so successful as Dave had hoped. There were more Messerschmitts up there, and they opened up with a withering fire. He kicked rudder and almost went into a complete "black-out" as the terrific turning force seemed to roll his eyeballs back into his brain. He straightened out slightly, slammed down in a quick dive and caught a One-Nine cold in his sights. He pressed the gun button on the stick, and German machine gun bullets put another German out of the war.
For every German those two boys dropped out of the sky, however, three more seemed to come streaking out of nowhere. They were all around the One-Ten, underneath it and above. Time ceased for Dave Dawson. Time stood still. He became a part of the plane he flew—a sort of mechanical pilot who had no time to think or consider the next move. Every touch of the stick or rudder was both instinctive and automatic. There was smoke and flame and hissing bullets all about him. White pain ripped into his side, but he hardly felt it. His One-Ten shook and shivered as burst after burst ripped into it. His heart was cold and his brain was frozen with the realization that it could not go on forever. The One-Ten was being constantly raked from prop to tail.
Then, suddenly, it happened!
A long burst crashed into his port engine. It coughed and sputtered and then passed out completely. Smoke belched out for an instant but there were no licking tongues of flame. It was the end, nevertheless. With only one engine Dave couldn't possibly hope to get away from the swarm of Messerschmitt One-Nines wheeling and darting about them. And in that horrible moment of realization he realized also that neither he nor Freddy wore parachutes.
He jerked his head around to yell at Freddy to hang on tight, but the words never left his lips. Rather, a cry of wild alarm came out instead. Freddy was slumped forward over his swivel gun. His eyes were closed, and there was blood trickling down from an ugly bullet crease along the left temple.
Dave took one quick glance, then jerked his head forward and shoved hard on the stick. The nose dropped, and the single engine started to haul the plane downward in a terrific dive. It took every ounce of Dave's strength on the left rudder to compensate for the useless port engine. With only one engine going, the plane fought savagely to veer off to the right and into a spin. But Dave somehow held it steady and went rocketing down through the swarm of One-Nines before their pilots realized what was happening.
And then, as he suddenly cast his gaze downward and to the north, his heart almost burst with joy. Cleaving the water southward was a British destroyer. Black smoke lay back over her aft deck, indicating her speed. And Dave could tell from the countless tongues of flame leaping up from her decks that her anti-aircraft "Pom-Pom" guns were blasting away at the sky full of German planes.
"Hold on, Freddy!" Dave got out through clenched teeth. "Don't die on me, pal. Everything's going to be jake. They haven't licked us by a darn sight. There's a destroyer down there, Freddy, a British destroyer. I'll crash in her path and make her pick us up. Hang onto everything, Freddy, old pal!"
Twenty seconds later Dave flopped the crippled One-Ten down into the waters of the English Channel. The jar flung him hard against the instrument panel, and for a brief moment all the stars in the heavens swirled and spun around in his brain. The instant his vision cleared, he stood up on the seat and waved both arms wildly at the destroyer rushing toward him. The Messerschmitt One-Nines tried to drop down and machine gun him murderously, but the destroyer's Pom-Poms kept them at a respectful altitude.
The destroyer swerved slightly and cut her speed down. In a few moments she had worked up close to the floating plane. Sailors on the low decks threw Dave a line. He caught hold of it somehow and made the end fast to the cowling brace. As the Pom-Poms continued to bark, the sailors pulled the plane close. Dave motioned one of them to jump down, and scrambled back to Freddy. Tears of joyful relief burned Dave's eyes when he found out that Freddy was still breathing. Two sailors took charge and hoisted Freddy aboard. White pain stabbed Dave's side as he scrambled aboard in turn, and he would have toppled over backwards if a sailor had not caught his arm.
"Easy does it, Fritz!" the sailor said.
"Fritz, nothing!" Dave gasped as the pain in his side started leaping up into his chest. "R.A.F. Where's your commander? I've got to see the commander at once! Get me the commander at once!"
A white blur appeared in front of Dave, and a voice said:
"I'm the commander of this craft! What's this all about?"
Dave clenched his teeth, staggered over to the two sailors who held Freddy, and took the plan paper from out of Freddy's pocket. He reeled back across the deck and grabbed hold of the railing for support. There was a thunderous roaring in his head, and red hot knives were cutting his body to pieces. He raised haze-filmed eyes to the destroyer commander's face, and held out the folded sheet of dirty paper.
"Think I'm about to pass out, so listen plenty close!" he said with a tremendous effort. "We're Pilot Officers Dawson and Farmer, R.A.F. Just escaped from Antwerp. Put into the nearest port. Radio Colonel Fraser to meet you. Reach Colonel Fraser at once. These are Nazi invasion plans. The—the whole works! Put—into nearest—port. Radio—Colonel Fraser—Chief—British Intelligence. Important—"
Dave knew that he was falling down into a great big black hole, but he was too far gone to do anything about it.
When he next opened his eyes, he was in a hospital bed and all wrapped around by three or four miles of bandages. At the foot of the bed stood Air Vice-Marshal Saunders, Colonel Fraser, and a major in medical uniform. He stared at their smiling faces for a moment, then turned and looked at the next bed. Freddy Farmer had at least one mile of bandage wrapped about his head, but he was sitting up and grinning from ear to ear.
"Going to sleep out the rest of the war, Dave?" he asked with a happy chuckle. "Man, is it good to see you come around! How do you feel?"
"I don't know, yet," Dave heard himself say. Then a little light seemed to flash on in his head, and memory came racing back. He turned and looked at Colonel Fraser. "The invasion attempt!" he gasped. "The plans Pierre Deschaud gave us! What—"
The Intelligence chief stopped him with a gesture of his hand and stepped around to the side of the bed.
"Everything's fine, my boy," he said in a soothing voice. "You just relax, and take it easy. You stopped a couple of bullets, you know. Take it easy and get your strength back."
"But the invasion attempt?" Dave insisted.
"Thanks to you two, there wasn't any," Colonel Fraser said with a smile. "We beat them to it and blasted the tar out of their invasion bases. Too bad you couldn't have seen it. Your pals shot down one hundred and eighty-five planes on the fifteenth. That was two days ago, by the way. It was a new R.A.F. record for a single day's bag of Goering's chaps. And that night the bombers made a mess of the invasion attempt, but before it was even attempted. So you see, there really wasn't any invasion attempt."
"But Hitler has jolly well been taught a thing or two," Air Vice-Marshal Saunders spoke up. "And it'll be a while before he thinks about trying it a second time. As the Colonel said: Thanks to you two lads, we beat them to it, and gave them a very bad trimming into the bargain, too. And it will help you to get back to active duty sooner, let me say that there'll be a decoration for you two for the wonderful job you've done."
Dave looked at Freddy, and as their eyes met an understanding passed between them. The smile on Freddy's lips faded, and he shook his head.
"You tell them why not, Dave," Freddy said.
"Eh?" Air Vice-Marshal Saunders grunted. "What's that?"
"We'd rather not be given decorations, sir," Dave said quietly. "The man who should get it, and really deserves it, is not here. He's Pierre Deschaud. He was the man who did the tough job, and—well, Freddy and I were just sort of messenger boys, you might say. Right, Freddy?"
"Absolutely!" Freddy said. "Satisfaction that we helped pull off the job is decoration enough for us."
Air Vice-Marshal Saunders looked at Colonel Fraser and smiled.
"I ask you," he murmured, "what chance has old Adolf got when he's up against chaps like these two?"