fall on you, or did you go out hunting for one? Knowing you fighter
command lads, I'm guessing it was the latter."
The words banished the last of any fears that might have been lingering
in the boys' minds. They relaxed completely and laughed.
"It was about halfway between, sir," Freddy explained. "I mean, a couple
of them landed close to the hotel, so--well, we went out and took a
look, you might say."
"We didn't bring extra uniforms, sir," Dave added. "And this was the
best the hotel could do. I'm sorry, sir."
"Sorry?" the air vice-marshal echoed. "About a little bit of
water-soaked and fire-scorched cloth? Rot! It's not the looks of a
uniform that really counts; it's what's inside that matters. I won't
push you for information, but I fancy you did more than just take a
look. I--Ah! There's the colonel now."
The boys heard the door open in back of them. They both got quickly to
their feet, turned around, and stopped dead with their eyes popping in
sheer amazement. A big man in civilian clothes was walking into the
room. He had a strip of surgeon plaster over his left eye, and his left
hand was completely hidden by a bandage. He walked with a slight limp.
The two boys watched him, speechless. They stared at him as though he
were a ghost, because it was the man who had been trapped under the desk
in that bomb-blasted building the night before.
"Ah, good morning, Colonel," they heard Air Vice-Marshal Saunders say.
"Had a bit of an accident, eh? Or is this just another of Intelligence's
disguises?"
"Not this time, sir," the colonel said with a tight smile. "Caught a bit
of trouble during that mess last night, and--Well, bless my stars!"
The injured man had looked at Dave and Freddy for the first time. His
eyes grew wide with amazement, and he gave a little shake of his head as
though to clear his vision.
"Great guns, you two?" he gasped. Then, turning to Air Vice-Marshal
Saunders: "Are these two Pilot Officers Dawson and Farmer--the two I'm
supposed to meet?"
"That's right, Colonel Fraser," the air vice-marshal replied. "Why?
You've already met them?"
"And jolly well right I have!" the colonel exclaimed. "But for these two
chaps, and a fire lieutenant, I wouldn't be here now. I was in my secret
office last night with two of my agents, and my secretary, when a bomb
caught the place fair and square. We were all trapped under the
wreckage. These two lads got us out a split second before the floor gave
way and dropped everything down onto the next floor. Great guns, this is
a small world. And say, you two, I'm deucedly sorry about last night."
"Sorry, sir?" Dave echoed, and gave him a questioning look.
The man reached up his good hand and touched the strip of plaster over
his eye.
"Got a bit of a crack, and it put me off my napper for a spell," he
said. "I was pretty much in a daze while you lads were saving our lives.
When I came around, I found myself in my regular office in the War
Office building. Must have walked all the way there. Everything came
back to me clear as day, but you and those fire fighting chaps had left
the spot by the time I got back there. But I certainly want to express
my heartfelt thanks to you two, now. I certainly owe my life to you."
"We're glad we were of service," Freddy said, as embarrassed crimson
seeped up into his cheeks. "How about the others, sir? Are they getting
along all right?"
"Coming along fine," the other said. "Miss Trumble, my secretary, will
be out of things for a bit, and I'll certainly miss her. Smartest woman
in the service. But that's a jolly sight better than losing her
completely. By Jove, this is like a cinema thriller, isn't it! My word!"
Dave and Freddy moved their feet uncomfortably and glanced at Air
Vice-Marshal Saunders. The high ranking officer was grinning broadly and
slowly nodding his head up and down.
"So you simply just went to _take a look_, eh?" he murmured. "Knew
perfectly well that it was much more than that. You two certainly have
the reputation for chasing after trouble, _and_ whipping it."[1]
[Footnote 1: _Dave Dawson at Dunkirk._]
The air vice-marshal suddenly stopped short. The smile faded from his
face, and he stared gravely at the two young R.A.F. pilots for a moment
or two.
"And that is just why you are here," he said presently. "This officer,
as you probably have guessed already, is Colonel Fraser, of British
Intelligence. He is the one who wishes to speak with you. I only
suggested to him that you two should have first chance to listen to what
he has to say. Shall we all sit down? Colonel, are you ready to start?"
The Intelligence officer seemed to have difficulty in tearing his eyes
from the two boys. He finally succeeded, and nodded. And as though a
curtain had been drawn across his face, he too became grave and
unsmiling.
"Yes, of course, sir," he said in a flat voice. "Let's get on with it at
once."
As Dave sat down on his chair again, his heart was pounding so hard he
feared it would push right out through his chest. His throat was dry
with excitement, and there was that familiar tingling at the back of his
neck. The tingling was a sure sign that danger and action were waiting
for him just ahead. He glanced at Freddy and saw the look in his pal's
eyes. That look said that Freddy was thinking and wondering the same
things.
CHAPTER SIX
_England Must Never Die_
It was a few moments before Colonel Fraser of British Intelligence began
talking. He sat staring unseeingly down at his bandaged left hand as
though he were choosing the words he would speak. Presently, though, he
lifted his head and looked at Dave and Freddy.
"Adolf Hitler's greatest goal in life is to crush the British Empire
completely," the Colonel began speaking. "No matter what other battles
or minor engagements his troops and his air force may win, they are but
steps toward his great goal--the defeat of England. However, in order to
defeat England, Hitler must invade and conquer these British Isles. He
cannot bring us to our knees from across the Channel. He has got to
come over here and beat us into submission. Invasion of England! Those
words are on the tongue of every German today."
The colonel paused and pulled a battered pipe from his pocket and a
pouch of tobacco. He started to fill the pipe, then stopped and glanced
questioningly at Air Vice-Marshal Saunders. The high ranking R.A.F.
officer smiled and nodded his head.
"Certainly, Colonel," he said. "Go right ahead and smoke."
The Intelligence officer smiled his thanks for permission and lighted up
his pipe.
"Yes, invasion of England is the German password today," he said when
the pipe was going. "And ever since Dunkirk and the fall of France the
Germans have been preparing for the great attempt. We have been
preparing, too--preparing to meet that invasion and throw it back into
the Channel. I do not have to tell you of the preparations we have made.
You've seen them countless times from the air, and you have no doubt
seen them on the ground. Also, like every other man in uniform in
England, you both have been constantly on the alert and ready to answer
an invasion attempt alarm. Well, the attempt was not made right after
Dunkirk. It was not made in the month of July. Nor was it made during
the month of August. Why?"
Colonel Fraser paused to tamp down the tobacco in his pipe with a
fingertip.
"Why?" he repeated. He shrugged and made a little gesture with his pipe.
"I do not know," he said. "No one in England knows. As a matter of fact,
I'm quite sure that only Hitler knows. Of course we can guess at a
thousand reasons why the attempt has not been made, yet. But it is
possible that they might all be wrong. This much we _do_ know. It has
not been made, yet. And this is something we can also be equally
positive is true. The desire to invade and conquer England _has not left
Hitler's mind for a single second_. The instant he believes that all is
ready, he will give his generals the order to invade us. I mean, by
that, to _attempt_ to invade us!"
The colonel gave some more attention to his pipe and then continued.
"Naturally, we haven't been so foolish as simply to prepare in every
possible way we can, and then sit back and wait for him to strike. The
R.A.F. Bombing Command has been blasting away at Nazi invasion bases on
the French, Belgian, and Netherlands coasts night after night, as you
both well know. The Navy has been on constant patrol seeking for signs
of invasion. It is not known by many people, but we have even done a
little invading of our own. Small detachments of sapper troops have
slipped ashore in France under the cover of darkness, and made short
raids as far inland as Lille. And as you two well know, the R.A.F. has
made countless photo and reconnaissance patrols over the occupied
countries. And lastly, but by no means least, British Intelligence
agents have been sent into the occupied countries, and they have been
working day and night, too, in an effort to ferret out scraps of
information regarding Hitler's invasion plans. Now!"
The Intelligence officer paused for breath, or perhaps for emphasis.
"Now, this is what I'm leading up to," he said. "The raids we've made,
the pictures we've taken, the reports of pilots, and the reports of my
own Intelligence agents indicate very strongly that the invasion attempt
will be made soon. Perhaps in a couple of weeks, and perhaps in a
couple of days. This month, September, the tides and the weather will
all be in Hitler's favor. Frankly, I would be willing to stake my life
that the attempt will be made sometime this month, but I have no idea
whether it will be near the first of the month, or near the last, or
even in the middle. That date, however, is something we have absolutely
_got to find out_. And that is why I am now speaking to you two chaps."
A quivering sensation like a charge of high voltage electricity shot
through Dave. A thousand questions hovered on the tip of his tongue, but
he held them in check.
"If there is anything I can do, sir," he said quietly, "I most certainly
want to do it."
"And so do I!" Freddy exclaimed with deep feeling. "No matter what it
is, sir."
"I told you, Colonel," Air Vice-Marshal Saunders spoke up. "I told you
you could count on Dawson and Farmer."
The Intelligence officer seemed not to hear. He sat staring at the two
youths. Dave had the strange feeling that the man was staring right into
his brain and reading the thoughts there. A moment or so later the
Colonel gave a short nod of his head and continued.
"No matter what Hitler tries, we'll beat him at it," he said. "If the
invasion attempt comes tonight, we're ready, and we'll beat him. That,
however, is not the way we want to beat him. We want to beat him
_before_ he's hardly got started; to smash him _before_ he's even come
within sight of our shores. In order to do that, though, _we must know
the exact date set for the attempt_. That date can be learned. In fact,
I almost learned it one day last week. I didn't because a German
Messerschmitt pilot shot down and killed the man who was bringing that
information back here to me in England!"
The colonel suddenly stopped and seemed to have trouble with his throat.
He swallowed a couple of times, then half turned and shot a faint
frowning glance at Air Vice-Marshal Saunders. Dave looked at the R.A.F.
officer just in time to catch the glint of deep sympathy and feeling
that flickered through his eyes. Then Colonel Fraser went on speaking
again.
"I spoke of sending my Intelligence agents to the occupied countries.
Well, some of them have been there since the war started. A few of them
have been there all their lives--were born there, in fact. Intelligence
and Secret Service agents are not always recognized citizens of the
country they serve, you know. The agent of whom I speak now is a
Belgian. All during the last war he fought side by side with British
soldiers to free his country from Germany's grip. He is too old to fight
as a soldier in this war, but he is fighting again to free his country
from Germany's iron grip--Hitler's iron grip. He is doing his fighting
in the dark and under cover, but more often than not that kind of
fighting is more dangerous than fighting in the open. Every second of
the day and night his life is in danger. He never knows when the hand of
the German Gestapo may drop on his shoulder. He does not even expect the
courtesy of being captured as a spy, in fact. He fully expects to be
shot in the back the moment the Nazis realize who he is. But that
constant danger does not stop him fighting for one single instant. He
loves Belgium, the real Belgium, and he will gladly give his life to
help England free Belgium of the Nazi chains of indescribable tyranny. I
could talk all day of the things that man has already done for England's
cause, but I won't. Just let me say that he has done enough to win the
Victoria Cross a dozen times over."
The colonel took a moment to light his pipe, which had gone out. He
puffed smoke toward the ceiling, and smiled faintly.
"That man has gathered more valuable information for me," he said, "than
the whole British Intelligence Service put together. And, strange as it
may sound, I have never met him personally. I hope some day to have that
great honor, but somehow I rather doubt that I will. Anyway, he is the
one man who can tell us when the invasion attempt will be made. Now,
wait! I can tell from the expression that just this instant came into
your faces, that you're wondering why he hasn't sent the information
along to me. Well, he has tried to, several times. The last time was
only last week. However, though I hate the very thought of the Nazis, I
do not consider them as blind, stupid fools. They are ruthless and
barbaric, but they are also very brainy, and are cunning and fiendishly
clever beyond words. Naturally, they wish to keep their invasion attempt
date a secret just as much as we wish to find it out. And so they are
leaving no stone unturned to see that it remains a secret. To give it to
you straight from the shoulder, five of my best agents have contacted
this Belgian, but not one of them has returned to England alive. Every
one has been caught in the invisible web the Nazis have thrown about
Europe."
A cold lump suddenly formed in Dave's stomach, but he sat perfectly
motionless and kept his eyes on Colonel Fraser's face. After a moment
the cold lump gradually disappeared. He could guess now why he and
Freddy had been summoned to Air Vice-Marshal Saunders' office. There was
a job to be done--a job with danger and death constantly hovering about.
But after the first start the truth had given him, he no longer felt
fright or even slight uneasiness. He felt only the desire to serve
humanity and civilization to the last ounce of his strength, and to the
last drop of his blood. If the world and civilization went down under
Hitler's heel, then life would not be worth the living. He felt that way
as he returned the colonel's steady gaze. And the quiet rigidity of
Freddy sitting in the chair next to his told him that his English pal
felt exactly the same way.
"I can see you two are getting the point," Colonel Fraser suddenly shot
at them. "I want to be fair with you, so I ask you this question. Do
you want me to continue, or would you rather return to active duty at
your squadron?"
"We want you to continue, sir," Dave said, speaking for himself and
Freddy.
"Yes, quite," Freddy added. "What can we do to serve, sir?"
The Intelligence officer smiled briefly; then his face became hard and
stern, and there was a ringing note in his voice as he spoke.
"There is only one way in and out of Europe, today," he said. "That's by
air. This Belgian I spoke of lives in Antwerp. The address is Sixteen
Rue Chartres. That street is down by the docks on the right bank of the
Scheldt River. He was a marine engineer in his day, and the last I knew
he was working for the Germans occupying the city, doing the odd jobs
his age would permit. He is close to seventy. He is blind in one eye,
and he is not over five feet six inches tall. His hair is grey, of
course, and he has a beard. All this I'm saying I'll repeat in detail
later. I'm just running over it briefly, now, to give you some picture
of the man I hope you can find. Not only hope, but _pray_ you will find.
"But to get on with this: I am convinced that it is sheer suicide for
any of my agents to try and contact this Belgian. Antwerp, like every
other occupied city of importance, is policed day and night by the
Gestapo and German counter-espionage agents. Therefore a man would
create suspicion no matter how well he might be established in the city.
And remember, I said the only way in _and_ out is by air. This highly
important job has got to be tackled by one or more pilots. Now--and
don't take offense, you chaps--a couple of _Belgian peasant boys_ would
be less likely to be noticed by the Germans than grown men. And if those
two Belgian peasant boys could _fly a plane_, then so much the better.
You follow me, eh?"
"Right with you, sir!" Dave blurted out enthusiastically. "And Freddy
and I both happen to speak the languages, too."
Colonel Fraser laughed.
"Don't worry," he chuckled, "I had checked on _that_ little detail
before I asked the air vice-marshal, here, to send for you. Yes, you
both are boys--though doing the job of men, believe me--and you both are
pilots, and you both speak the languages that will be necessary. And,
perhaps the most important thing, you have the courage and the spirit
that will keep you going until the job is done. Let me say right here,
though, I can't spread the danger angle too thick. It _is_ a mighty
dangerous job. To give it to you from the shoulder again, everything
will be in the Germans' favor, not in yours. If either of you is
caught--well, no power on earth will be able to save you. The Nazis will
shoot too quickly for that."
The Intelligence officer stopped speaking in order to let the true
meaning of his words sink home.
"We know how to shoot a bit ourselves, sir," Freddy spoke up in a steady
voice. "So I guess you might say that evens things up some, you know."
"We'll take our chances against any Nazi with itching trigger fingers,"
Dave said grimly. "But I suppose you've got a definite plan of action
for us, sir? I mean--"
Dave cut himself off as the Intelligence officer nodded his head
abruptly.
"Certainly," he said. "As you know, the Bomber Command is making raids
deep into Germany night after night. Well, tonight you two will go along
in one of our bombers, as passengers, you might say. It will be in a
bomber of a formation heading for Berlin. They will head for Berlin on a
flight route that will take them close to Antwerp. At a certain point
you and Farmer will bail out. You'll be dressed as refugee peasant lads,
of course, but as the plane will pass over high, you'll have oxygen
masks and chest tanks for the parachute drop. When you land you will
bury your parachutes and masks, and make your way to Sixteen Rue
Chartres."
Colonel Fraser shrugged and gestured with his pipe, which had long since
gone out again.
"That ends the first part of the plan," he continued. "The instant you
bail out, you will be on your own. You may even lose touch with each
other coming down in the darkness. But _Sixteen Rue Chartres_ is your
goal. And the man you are to get in touch with is known as Pierre
Deschaud. He will give you the information we must have. He knows the
date, I'll--I'll stake my life on that. He will give you the
information, and he will do what he can to help you get back to England.
There are several air fields at Antwerp. That we know, of course, from
daily photos we have taken. We also know that two or three squadrons of
the German _Luftwaffe_ are stationed there. Pierre Deschaud will help
you steal one of the planes for your flight back to England."
Colonel Fraser stopped abruptly, got out of his chair and began to pace
the room. Suddenly he stopped in front of them.
"Any questions?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," Freddy spoke up before Dave could open his mouth. "There was
one thing you didn't mention. We may know who Pierre Deschaud is when we
meet him, but how is he to know who _we_ are? Isn't there some code word
or sign he would recognize? After all, we could be anybody, as far as
he's concerned, perhaps even Nazis trying to smoke him out."
The stern look suddenly left Colonel Fraser's face. Beaming, he leaned
over and patted Freddy's back.
"Good lad!" he said with sincere feeling. "That's just the question I
wanted you to ask. Didn't tell you because I wanted to see if you'd
think of bringing it up. Yes, there is a code word. It is Houyet.
Remember that. _Houyet!_ That's the name of the little village in which
Deschaud was born almost seventy years ago. When he hears you say that,
he'll know that you come from me. And now, I've said enough for a while.
We'll meet again before tonight and go over every little item in detail.
I do, however, want to say this. I am a colonel, and chief of British
Intelligence, but it is chaps like you, chaps with your courage, and
your will to fight against no matter what odds, who will win this war
for England and the rest of the decent part of the world. I salute you
for accepting this dangerous mission, and I also salute you because I
know in my heart that you will win through. And so, until later in the
day, gentlemen."
A minute more and Colonel Fraser had taken his departure. Dave and
Freddy stood silently staring at each other; grimly reading each other's
thoughts--two separate thoughts that really blended into one. Here was a
real chance to serve, and they would not flinch or falter for a single
instant.
"Well, Dawson and Farmer," Air Vice-Marshal Saunders suddenly broke the
few moments of silence, "England is counting on you again. And like
Colonel Fraser, I, too, know that you will come through. I, too, salute
you."
Dave's heart looped over with pride as the vice-marshal clicked his
heels and saluted smartly. Dave and Freddy solemnly returned the salute,
and their hearts were close to bursting with the thrilling joy of that
moment.
"And now," the air vice-marshal said as he lowered his hand, "I want to
tell you something that may help if the going should get hard. It's
something that proves the trust and belief that Colonel Fraser has in
you--something that will make you come through, if only for his sake.
You recall he spoke of almost receiving that information last week? Of
how the man flying it back to England was trapped and shot down by a
Messerschmitt pilot?"
"Yes, sir," Freddy said as Dave nodded.
"That man was only twenty years old," Air Vice-Marshal Saunders said,
"just a few years older than you chaps. He could fly a plane, but he
couldn't serve in the R.A.F., or in any of the active fighting branches
of the service, because of physical reasons. He was part cripple. He
tried to serve England as an Intelligence agent. He did valuable work
for which his memory will long be honored. He gave all he had, his life,
for England. His name was Richard Fraser. He was Colonel Fraser's only
son. For his sake, as well as for England, you must succeed."
Dave had to swallow the lump in his throat before he could speak.
"Dick Fraser," he murmured more to himself. "That's a swell name, and I
bet he was a swell fellow, too. You bet we'll succeed, sir. If it's the
last thing we do, we'll find this Pierre Deschaud and come back with the
information England needs."
Freddy Farmer cleared his own throat and nodded vigorously.
"You have our word on that, sir," he said evenly. "We won't let you
down. We won't let England down!"
"Amen!" Air Vice-Marshal Saunders whispered softly.
CHAPTER SEVEN
_Brave Wings Fly Eastward_
Night had come again to England--black night and the throbbing drone of
Nazi planes winging inland from the shoreline of the Channel; swarm
after swarm of Goering's vultures who would blast helpless men, women,
and children with their deadly loads of bombs, and then return to their
bases and report the great number of hits they had scored upon strictly
military objectives.