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?"
The End
* * * * *
_DAVE DAWSON
WAR ADVENTURE BOOKS_
Here are some of the exciting, up-to-the-minute, true-to-fact adventures
of American Dave Dawson and his English friend Freddy Farmer.
In various volumes, the boys get into the war at Dunkirk! They are
dropped into Belgium by parachute! They scout the Libyan desert! They
foil an Axis submarine wolf-pack! They destroy a mysterious Nazi weapon!
They pose as Gestapo agents in Singapore! They ferret out Axis spies
operating in the Pacific! They balk a plot to blast the Panama Canal to
bits! They are Commandos and kidnap two German High Command officers!
READ about these high-flying, clean-living, hard-fighting boys!
ASK your dealer for
DAVE DAWSON
WAR ADVENTURE BOOKS
_THE
SAALFIELD PUBLISHING
COMPANY_
_Akron, Ohio_
* * * * *
THE AUTHOR
R. Sidney Bowen, the youngest member of the Royal Flying Corps and the
R.A.F. in World War I, was born in Boston and went to school there. He
left high school to drive an ambulance for the French Army, but was soon
sent home because he was under age. He lied about his age and enlisted
in the R. F. C. The famous Vernon Castle was his instructor. Back in
France as a scout pilot, he shot down a number of German planes and
balloons. During and after the War, he saw service in England, France,
Belgium, Germany, Italy, Egypt, India, and British Somaliland.
Then he became a newspaperman, test pilot, editor of an aviation
magazine, and finally a famous writer of flying, sport, and action
stories.
He holds the World's Schoolboy Record for the 1000-yard run.
He has 2675 flying hours in his logbook.
He is an expert in aviation, technical, and military matters.
_DAVE DAWSON WAR ADVENTURE BOOKS_
End of Project Gutenberg's Dave Dawson with the R.A.F, by R. Sidney Bowen