_Nazi Intrigue_
With a helpful snack of food safely tucked away, Dave and Freddy were
in the mess lounge thumbing through some magazines and papers when the
squadron office orderly found them.
"The C.O. wants to see you two officers at once," he said.
"You wouldn't have any idea, eh, Sergeant?" Dave asked and gave him a
searching look.
"Did he look mad, or anything like that, when he sent you after us?"
Freddy Farmer wanted to know.
The Sergeant grinned and shook his head.
"I don't think so, sir," he said. Then gravely, "Fact is, sir, he
struck me as looking a bit worried, if you know what I mean. Like as if
something had upset him. But, no, he didn't look mad."
"Well, thank goodness for that!" Dave breathed and looked at Freddy.
"I guess it doesn't mean bombers for you yet, pal. Thanks, Sergeant.
We're on our way right now. Pull in your stomach, Freddy, and let's go."
"Some day I'll die laughing at your silly jokes!" the English youth
growled, but he impulsively pulled in his stomach and pushed back his
shoulders as he dropped into step.
A couple of minutes later they entered the Squadron Office. Markham was
there, and so were Colonel Trevor, and Group Captain Ball. They started
to salute but Group Captain Ball stopped them with a wave of his hand.
"We'll forget formality for the time being, Gentlemen," he said with a
smile. "Make yourselves comfortable. We want to talk to you two for a
spell. There, that's the idea."
The Group Captain nodded as the two boys seated themselves, then
glanced at Markham.
"You want me to do the talking, Markham, or would you rather?" he asked.
The Squadron Leader instantly shook his head.
"You, of course, sir," he said. "You naturally know all the details
better than I do."
"As you wish, then," Group Captain Ball grunted, and looked back at
Dave and Freddy. "Well, what with the Balkans already in this blasted
war, and a Nazi attack on Russia almost certain within a month or so,
old Adolf is going to need all the troops he can get."
The Air Ministry official stopped short and smiled at the surprised
look on the boys' faces. He chuckled, and nodded.
"Oh, quite!" he said. "We've known for some time that Hitler was going
to strike at Russia. When he does it will of course be quite a surprise
to the rest of the world. Particularly to your civilian military
experts back in America, Dawson. They've been having a jolly fine time
on the radio and in the newspapers solving the Stalin riddle. Yes, I
fancy they'll be the most surprised of the lot. And they'll be very
annoyed at Adolf for not playing the game according to their views.
However, be that as it may, we know definitely that Hitler _is_ going
to make war on Russia, and soon!"
The Group Captain paused and plucked at his lower lip as though
deciding upon his next words.
"Tremendous in size as the German army is," he said presently, "it is
not big enough for Hitler to wage intensive warfare on two fronts.
He has not enough men, or enough material. It will be absolutely
essential for him to withdraw a certain number of his forces from the
occupied countries. And, when I say forces, I mean the Luftwaffe
forces in particular. Now, if Hitler were to withdraw a large portion
of his ground and air forces from the occupied countries what, in your
opinion, would be the result, eh?"
The Group Captain happened to be looking straight at Dave, so it was
the Yank born R.A.F. ace who answered.
"It would present a perfect opportunity for a British invasion of the
Continent, sir," he said after a moment's thought.
"And you, Farmer?" the Group Captain asked, turning to the English
youth.
Freddy flushed and looked slightly embarrassed, but he nodded his head.
"I say the same as Dawson, sir," he replied. "It would be a perfect
opportunity for us to invade the Continent ... _provided_ we have
sufficient troops, guns, and planes for the job."
"And do you believe we have, Farmer?" the Air Ministry official shot at
him.
Freddy opened his mouth to speak, then closed it and shrugged.
"I don't know, sir," he said after a short moment of hesitation.
"Frankly, I have not the knowledge whether we are well enough equipped,
or not."
"Exactly!" Group Captain Ball cried and poked the air with his finger
for emphasis. "You do not know, and neither do thousands and thousands
of others. Only a mere handful of men know the true strength of
Britain's armed forces today. And Adolf Hitler _is not one of that
group_. In other words, Hitler does _not know_ whether or not we would
strike at him with an invasion of the Continent once he removes the
bulk of his forces from the occupied countries. At the same time,
though, Hitler is not such a fool ... insane as the man is ... as to
leave himself wide open for an attack from our side of the Channel."
"But if he withdraws the troops, and...?" Dave began and stopped short.
"He will withdraw his troops," Group Captain Ball interrupted. "Never
fear. The beggar has to, or run the risk of possible defeat on the
eastern front. But how can he withdraw the major portion of his forces
from the occupied countries, and still feel safe from attack by
England? That has been the problem we have been struggling with for the
past five weeks. Ever since his bandits marched into Yugoslavia. And we
think we've got an inkling of the correct answer."
The Group Captain paused and looked at Colonel Trevor.
"I think you'd better carry on from there, Colonel," he said. "You've
been in charge of that end of the thing."
The Intelligence officer nodded, studied his fingernails for a moment,
and then looked up. The glint of worry, or sadness, was still in his
eyes, but in them also was the glitter of hard boiled determination.
"Some three weeks ago," he began, "British Intelligence received word
from one of its members who has been in Germany since long before the
start of the war. This communication received was the first that had
come through from this agent in some four months. He had been recorded
in our files as missing or dead. So it was a great joy to all concerned
to learn that he was still alive and operating."
Colonel Trevor paused to crush out the cigarette he was smoking, and
clear his throat.
"That agent was my brother," he continued presently. "The dead man
you saw thrown out of that Messerschmitt, Dawson. Today ... today was
the first time he had been in England for four years! All that time
he was in Germany, serving England. He actually became a member of
their cursed Gestapo, and as such obtained much information about
Hitler's plans that was of inestimable value to us. However, in those
days we did not have a government in power that believed Adolf Hitler
was nothing but a liar and a dirty murderer. Consequently practically
all of my brother's reports were shelved, and ignored completely. He
stuck at his job, however, and after we once got into the war ... and
there was a fighting Prime Minister at Number Ten Downing Street ... my
brother's efforts began to help us no end. But never mind that, now.
It's all past history. It's events since receiving that communication
about three weeks ago that we're interested in right now."
The Intelligence officer stopped talking again. Questions hovered on
Dave's lips, but he had sense enough to keep his mouth shut. He waited
outwardly calm, but inwardly on fire, for the Colonel to continue.
"In that first communication," the Intelligence officer presently took
up the thread of his talk, "we learned for the first time of Hitler's
plan to attack Russia, and of his intention to withdraw a large portion
of his forces from the occupied countries. But, also, my brother
included a sharp warning that an attempt by us to invade the Continent
would be a risky venture with a very small chance of succeeding in our
favor. Naturally, we in Intelligence wondered why our chances would be
so slim. Assuming, of course, that we had the guns, planes, and men
to tackle the job. However, there was no reason given in my brother's
first communication. Only a sharp warning not to attempt the invasion,
and a hint that there would be a second message coming through in a
short time.
"Well, it was five days before the second communication came through.
And as luck would have it, it didn't help us very much. There was a
repeat warning against an invasion attempt, but no concrete reason
other than a veiled implication that the Nazis had devised a means of
defeating invasion attempts regardless of the number of troops, guns,
and planes they had transferred to the eastern fronts. My brother could
give us no facts, as he apparently was not in possession of any facts,
himself. High up as he was in Nazi inner circles, the Nazis' secret of
how they would hold onto occupied countries and still wage war on two
other fronts was still a mystery to him. However, it was clear that
he hoped to learn that secret soon. In the meantime he was warning us
against any hasty action."
The Intelligence officer paused to gesture with a hand.
"High Command followed his warning for the plain reason we are not
_yet_ prepared to launch any kind of an invasion of the Continent," he
said bluntly. "Not by sea or land, at any rate. And then, a week ago
we received a third communication from him. He spoke of a new secret
weapon of _defense_ developed by the Nazis. He did not give details,
or any kind of a description. He stated only that it was a weapon that
guarded the entire coast of France, Belgium, and the Netherlands. He
said that one General Paul von Peiplow had been placed in complete
charge of this secret defense of the occupied countries. He also stated
that in his next message he would supply us with complete details of
this weapon, and complete information on how to combat and overcome it."
Colonel Trevor stopped short and both Dave and Freddy saw the
bitterness and sorrow that flooded his face.
"No other communication was received!" he said in a heavy voice.
"And ... and you two know what happened today."
A sense of eager expectation fizzled out in Dave. He felt cheated
and disappointed. He looked at Colonel Trevor and waited for the man
to continue talking. However, the Intelligence officer was evidently
finished. He slowly drew a cigarette from his pocket case and touched a
match to it.
"Then you have no idea, sir?" Dave finally ventured the question. "No
idea at all what this new secret weapon might be?"
"None," Colonel Trevor replied without looking at him. "We have no idea
at all."
Dave bit his lips in thoughtful silence, then started to speak but
changed his mind and remained silent. Group Captain Ball, watching him,
leaned forward.
"What were you going to say, Dawson?" he asked. "Don't be shy, my lad.
Anything may be a help, now."
Dave hesitated and then shrugged.
"I was thinking of this von Peiplow, sir," he said.
"Well, what about him?" the Group Captain pressed.
"Well, I assume he's still connected with the Luftwaffe, isn't he?"
Dave inquired.
"Most certainly, and definitely!" the Air Ministry official replied.
"Von Peiplow is as close to Goering's job as any Nazi will ever get.
So, what about it?"
"Nothing, sir," Dave said slowly, "except that it gives me the hunch
that the secret weapon must have something to do with aircraft, being
as how von Peiplow is in full charge."
A second of silence hit the group and then Ball broke it by slapping a
hand down on his knee.
"By the gods, yes!" he cried. "Yes, I believe you're right, Dawson.
It's quite logical, of course, Colonel! What do you think?"
The Intelligence officer had straightened up a bit in his chair and
was staring at Dave with an entirely new light in his eyes. There was
a gleam of admiration where there had originally been a sort of bored
patience. He smiled slightly and gave a little side twist of his head.
"I think Dawson has done more correct figuring in the last seven
seconds," he said, "then we of Intelligence have done in the last seven
days. But that's the way it is at times in this game. A bloke is so
busy digging up the mysterious that the obvious passes him right by.
Yes, I believe Dawson has got hold of something. And that brings us up
to the work you've been doing, Group Captain. Does Dawson's remark
change anything?"
The Air Ministry official scratched the side of his jaw and squinted
off into space for a moment or so before giving voice to his thoughts.
"I don't know," he said, "but I doubt if it does. I've studied those
photos until I know every dot and shadow on them by heart. True, we
weren't looking for any signs of aeronautical activity, and for that
reason perhaps something slipped past us. I doubt it, though. However,
the point is, Colonel, as we both agreed, that as of the Twenty-Fifth
all photos of Zone K Dash Twenty-Four are obsolete. So I think we can
just plain forget them."
Colonel Trevor nodded, and said nothing. Dave waited for perhaps three
seconds, and then he couldn't stand being in the dark any longer.
"What photos, Group Captain Ball?" he blurted out. "And where is Zone K
Dash Twenty-Four located? I don't believe I've ever heard of that zone,
sir?"
The Air Ministry official grunted and settled himself more comfortably
in his chair.
"Well, you're going to hear about it now," he said with a quick side
glance at Squadron Leader Markham. "Through a slight mistake a certain
order of mine was sent to this Squadron instead of the Squadron for
which it was originally intended. However, I regard that as a bit of
good fortune, rather than bad, because when Squadron Leader Markham
told me of the mistake over the phone I suddenly realized that I would
much rather have this Squadron tackle the job. Just a minute, now,
while I light my pipe."
As the Air Ministry official produced pipe, tobacco, and matches, Dave
noticed that Squadron Leader Markham looked far from happy. As a matter
of fact, the O.C. of Eighty-Four looked downright annoyed at Group
Captain Ball. However, he said nothing and watched in silence while the
senior officer lighted up his hand carved "stove."