_Satan's Brother_
A distant throbbing beat bored its way into Dave's head and jacked him
back to consciousness. He opened his eyes and stared blankly up at
ceiling beams. A musty smell was in his nose. A musty smell mingled
with the aroma of horses long since departed. As he stared blankly
at the ceiling beams a small part of his brain began functioning. It
told him that he was stretched out on some straw. In a deserted stable
probably. And when he started to push up to a sitting position stabbing
pain in his head and neck told him to take things easy for a little
longer.
"Does it hurt much, Dave? I'm awfully sorry. I didn't mean it to work
quite that way."
Dave steeled himself against the pain and gingerly turned his head to
see Freddy Farmer stretched out on the straw a couple of feet from him.
There was a spot of dried blood on the English youth's pale face. His
eyes were steady, however. And a grin covered up any aftermath pain he
might be feeling. Dave made his own lips grin back.
"What happened?" he grunted. "Were we on a ship and got torpedoed?
No, wait! I remember, now. You got that guy mad, and he slugged you.
I tried to slug him but darn near broke my hand. He slugged me right
back, and broke my head, I think. It feels that way. Does it look
broken?"
"Not from here, Dave," Freddy said. "You've got a bit of a cut on
your jaw, but outside of that you look fit enough. I'm awfully sorry,
though, Dave. It seemed rather a bright idea at the time."
Dave slowly pushed himself up to a sitting position, and then held his
head with his hands until things stopped whirling around. When they
stopped he saw that he was in an old unused stable. There was a window
on both sides, but too high for him to look out without standing on
something. The heavy doors in front had been rolled shut.
"There's an armed guard outside," Freddy Farmer cautioned. "So you'd
better not try to open the doors."
"Where are we, anyway?" Dave asked. "I guess you weren't out cold as
long as I've been. What time is it...? Holy smoke! Is that red glow a
sunset?"
Without waiting for Freddy to answer Dave looked at his wrist watch.
The hands said fifteen minutes after five. In the evening, or morning?
"Evening," Freddy said, guessing his thoughts. "We've been here all
day. I regained consciousness for a moment as they were throwing us
inside, here. That's when I saw the armed guard. Then everything went
black again. I woke up just a few seconds before you did, I guess. Hear
those plane engines? We must be pretty close to a Nazi airfield."
Dave cocked his ear to the sound of engines being warmed up, and smiled
sadly at Freddy Farmer.
"Now I know what they mean when they say, so near yet so far away,"
he grunted. "But look, Freddy! What was all that crazy business about
General von Peiplow, anyway?"
The English youth shrugged and sighed heavily.
"I got to thinking," he said after a moment or so. "I mean, there was
no telling what that madman might do next. And he is mad, Dave!"
"You're telling me?" the Yank grunted. "You could almost see the bats
flying out of his belfry! He's crazy as a coot, and dangerous as a
bushel basket of cobras."
"Exactly!" Freddy agreed. "And I was afraid you were going to sting him
into losing his temper completely. So...."
"Me sting him?" Dave echoed with a short laugh. "Little man, you
weren't exactly complimenting the guy, you know. He didn't like that
great big ox crack even a little bit."
"That was stupid of me, wasn't it!" Freddy grunted with a nod. "But
it just popped off my lips. As I said, though, I got to thinking.
Realizing that he'd been up there in the air and had made no effort to
slaughter us ... that is, until you pulled that stunt to help Barker
and me escape ... it struck me that he must have had a good reason. And
it struck me right after that, that he must have been under orders to
capture us alive. It was a wild guess, of course. So I spoke of General
von Peiplow as I did. I thought that might stop him from going haywire,
and killing us in his rage. I think it did stop him, Dave. The look I
saw in his eyes seemed to me to say that I had struck the nail on the
head. I mean, that he really was under orders to deliver us to von
Peiplow alive."
Dave grunted and gingerly fingered his aching jaw.
"Well, maybe so," he said. "Maybe you stopped him from going the limit
on us. But, boy, he went plenty far enough for me, I can tell you. If
he'd belted me twice, I.... But maybe he did. I sure feel as if I were
still bouncing."
"Well, I really am sorry for egging him on too much," Freddy said. "But
at least it got us rid of him."
"Or him rid of us!" Dave grunted. "But look, Freddy. Think you can get
up on your feet and navigate?"
"I can manage it, yes," the English youth said and got slowly up on his
feet. "But where do you expect to navigate to?"
"To that old saw-horse in the corner for one thing," Dave said,
pointing. "We'll carry it over under the window, there, and take a look
outside. I'm curious to get a look at the scenery around here."
"Wait, Dave!" Freddy cried as the Yank started over toward the
saw-horse in the corner. "Are you crazy?"
Dave stopped and turned to look at his pal.
"No more than usual," he said. "What's eating you, though?"
"Never trust a Nazi!" Freddy said sharply. "Good grief, haven't you
learned that, yet?"
"Huh?" Dave echoed with a frown. "Hey, what the heck are you going to
do? Pole vault through the window? It's too small, fellow. You'd never
make it."
Freddy Farmer had picked up a weather rusted old pitch fork on the
stable floor. He pulled off his helmet and hung it over the prongs of
the fork. Then as Dave stared wide eyed he walked over to the window
and pushed the helmet up above the window sill level. A split second
later there came the crack of a high powered rifle from somewhere
outside, and a metallic wasp whined in through the window opening and
went _plunk_ into a sturdy wall stud on the far side of the stable.
Freddy lowered the pitch fork and looked silently at Dave. The Yank
swallowed hard and grinned sheepishly.
"Like I've always said," he murmured, "you're the one guy I like to
have around all the time. Thanks, pal. That makes me the dumb bunny."
"I fancy you'll learn, if the war lasts long enough!" Freddy grunted.
"Not that you would have been shot. Only to scare you, and stop you
from trying to escape through the windows. However, I don't trust
Nazis. Particularly their marksmanship. So sit down and rest, Dave. All
we can do is wait."
The two youths dropped back on the straw and stared gloomily off into
space. Eventually Freddy broke the silence that had settled over them.
"Do you think that's true about Barker, Dave?" he asked. "I mean, what
Comstadt said?"
"I don't know, Freddy," Dave replied with a frown. "Maybe he was lying
when he said Barker was dead. Maybe he wasn't. The last look I had at
Barker he was out in the clear and well on his way. Of course, though,
he might have run into some other Nazi ships that I didn't see. There's
one thing, though, that we've got to face, Freddy. Or have you thought
of it, too?"
"Barker's pictures not telling British Intelligence anything they want
to know?" the English youth replied. "Yes, I've thought of that. And
I'm just a little afraid, Dave, that it may be true, even if he does
get back to England. I didn't see anything with my own eyes that
made any sense. To tell you the truth, I think we could take pictures
of this area all day long and not snap a blessed thing except their
blasted camouflage stuff."
"That's the way I figure it, too," Dave said in a dejected voice. "So,
whether or not Barker got back ... and I sure hope like everything that
he did ... I don't think it will make any difference. I mean, it looks
like it's up to us, Freddy. You and me, and nobody to help us."
"Yes, I fancy you're right," Freddy murmured. "You don't happen to have
an idea what we do next, do you?"
"No," Dave groaned. "The old brain's a blank. I guess we've just got to
sit here, and.... No! The heck we have! I'll get us some attention, and
I'll get it in a hurry, too. Get over by those rolling doors, Freddy. I
got a bright idea."
"You tell it to me, first!" Freddy said and didn't move. "Your last
bright idea wasn't so bright, you know."
"But this one is!" Dave cried and pulled a clip of matches from his
pocket. "Look! We're not dead, are we? No. They didn't shoot us, did
they? No. They just put us on ice in here until they get darn good and
ready to do something about it. Well, I'm going to make them get good
and ready in a hurry. I'm going to set this straw on fire, pal. You
wait. They'll come for us in a hurry."
"But maybe they won't!" the English youth protested. "And, besides,
this straw is pretty old and damp."
"So much the better," Dave said, and struck a match. "There'll be a lot
of smoke, and no fire. Get over by the doors and down low where you
won't have any trouble breathing. Heck, Freddy! Somebody's got to start
the ball rolling. Why not us? We can't wait here until the darn war's
over. Even if it's only Pumpkin Face Comstadt who comes, that'll be
better than waiting here chewing our nails off. Stand back, pal! Here
goes the match!"
Dave stuck the lighted match down under some straw that looked fairly
dry. The flame came down to heat up his fingers, but the straw didn't
catch. He dropped the burnt stub and struck three or four matches at
the same time. The larger flame did the trick. The straw caught on fire
and got going well enough to keep going when it reached the damp straw.
Smoke started curling upward, and by the time Dave had joined Freddy
over by the door a good cloud of the stuff was beginning to pour out
the window on the right.
"Perfect!" Dave chuckled. "There's enough wind coming in the opposite
window to keep it going. There! Hear that yelling outside? They've seen
the smoke. And, listen! Here they come! What did I tell you, pal?"
"Oh, I expected them to come!" Freddy grunted. "It's when they _get
here_ that I'm wondering about. I...."
The rest was cut off short as the doors were rolled back and a figure
came rushing inside. The figure tripped over the crouching boys,
bawled out a frightened curse, and fell flat on his face. A rifle went
sailing from his hands to crash against the stable wall. Dave saw it
and his first impulse was to leap for it. The impulse died instantly,
however, as a group of figures threw its shadow across him. He looked
up into a ring of flat faces, and hostile eyes. That is, all save one
man. He wore the uniform of a General in the Luftwaffe. He was tall
and straight as a steel rod. He was very good looking, and he had soft
brown eyes that seemed to twinkle with merriment. Dave knew without
asking that he was looking at General von Peiplow, of Dunkirk "fame."
The high ranking Luftwaffe officer suddenly chuckled out loud, and made
a gesture with the riding crop he carried in his black gloved hand for
the two boys to get up.
"You got tired of waiting, eh?" he spoke in English. "So sorry to have
kept you waiting so long. A novel way of attracting our attention,
however. Supposing, though, we had not come to investigate?"
"But you did," Dave said. "That's what we figured you'd do."
"You are Dawson?" the General asked. Then pointing his riding crop at
Freddy, "And this is the English boy, Farmer? Ah! I see that you both
have been promoted in rank. My congratulations!"
"Thanks," Dave grunted. And then not being able to choke off the
question, "But how come you knew we'd been promoted?"
General von Peiplow chuckled and slowly closed one eye.
"It is my business to know everything," he said. "And let me compliment
you two by saying that the names, Dawson and Farmer, are well known in
the German Luftwaffe. Frankly, I am very pleased to be able to meet you
at last."
The Nazi smiled as he spoke but there was a chill in Dave's heart. It
was almost as though he suddenly saw the real man behind that kind
smile and that good looking face. Colonel Comstadt was ugly, and
animal from the top of his big head to the bottom of his big feet. His
brutality, and his murderous instincts were all on the surface for
the whole world to see. But not so, General von Peiplow. He was the
polished Nazi. The educated and well mannered type of Hitler henchman.
In reality, though, he was three times as deadly and dangerous
as the lumpy Comstadt. The Gestapo man slaughtered with his bare
hands. General von Peiplow, however, killed men with his brains, his
treachery, and his diabolical cunning.
"Didn't figure we were that famous," Dave presently said. "So what?"
"So what?" the German murmured and arched an eyebrow. "So, I think it
would be splendid if we all had a little talk, don't you?"
A quiver of excitement shot through Dave but he kept his face a blank.
"Suits us," he said with a shrug. "But I don't know what there is for
us to talk about."
"Oh, there are lots of things," General von Peiplow smiled. Then
gesturing with his riding crop, "Come along with me where it will be
more comfortable. Ah, your pardon, Gentlemen! You are perhaps a bit
hungry, eh?"
Dave heard Freddy speak, but he could hardly believe his ears.
"Not at all, thank you," the English youth said politely but coldly.
"We're not hungry a bit."
Dave gaped at his pal, then looked at von Peiplow.
"You've got a doctor around here, General?" he grunted.
"Why, yes," the German replied quickly. "You need medical attention?"
"I don't," Dave said. "Just wanted to make sure, in case. Strange
things might happen. _Ouch!_"
"What's the matter?" von Peiplow asked sharply as Dave bent down and
rubbed his ankle.
"Fell over my own big feet!" Dave growled, and shot a withering glance
at Freddy Farmer's innocent face. "Well, let's have that talk, if you
want."
"By all means," the Luftwaffe officer said. "Come with me."
With a nod at the group of younger officers with him, which said plain
as day for them to keep a sharp eye on the two prisoners, General von
Peiplow turned and led the way across a strip of open ground to a group
of one story buildings set well back under the protection of some
woods. Dave took one quick look at those buildings and woods, and knew
at once it was one of the spots marked on Colonel Trevor's map.
He cast his eyes quickly about and instantly spotted the bend in the
Lille River, the hill range and the stretch of swamp ground. He was
suddenly relieved to know that their captors had not taken them away
from the mysterious area during their unconscious hours. And then as
he heard sound, and saw movement over by the stretch of supposedly
swamp ground, he stopped dead in his tracks and gasped in bewildered
amazement.
His guess up in the air had been correct. The swamp had been drained,
and the camouflage covering concealed a nest of partial underground
hangars. They were not hangars for planes, however. Underneath the
propped up camouflage covering were hundreds of _gliders_! Hundreds of
gliders with no cockpit as far as he could see. And in the nose of
each was fitted a small auxiliary two cylinder engine of perhaps ten or
twelve horsepower.
Even as he stared a group of mechanics released a pair of the auxiliary
powered gliders. They went skipping along a strip of open ground no
wider than a city sidewalk and arced gracefully up and into the air.
Noses tilted upward close to the stalling point, the gliders climbed up
in the sunset flooded heavens until they were no more than a couple of
specks in the sky.
"Jumping cat-fish!" Dave blurted out. "Gliders. Auxiliary powered
gliders! Well, what do you know!"
"Ah?" General von Peiplow echoed. "A surprise, eh? Then perhaps our
talk will be short and sweet, as they say in your country, Flight
Lieutenant Dawson!"
Dave looked at the faint light gleaming in the German's eyes, and would
gladly have given an arm and a couple of legs to take back what he had
said. It was now plain as day that von Peiplow was worried about just
how much Freddy and he knew. To blurt out in amazement at seeing the
powered gliders was the same as telling the German they didn't know
very much.
The Yank bit his tongue in silent rage. Then suddenly an idea popped
into his head. He turned toward Freddy and held out his hand.
"Want to pay it to me, now, or just owe it to me?" he said. "Take a
look at those powered gliders. That proves the message wasn't a fake,
doesn't it?"
Freddy Farmer looked blank, then caught Dave's quick half wink. He
shrugged and made a face.
"I'll owe it to you," he said. "It wasn't a fair bet, though. You know
what else the message said."
It was Dave's turn to look blank. He had the sudden feeling that
Freddy's last words had been some kind of a tip. That the English youth
was trying to call his attention to something else. He took a quick
look over at the nest of gliders, but before he could spot anything of
additional interest von Peiplow's voice interrupted him.
"A message, eh?" the German murmured. "Very interesting. Well, here we
are. Inside, please. Take chairs, and make yourselves comfortable."
Von Peiplow had stopped in front of the door of a square, earth
camouflaged building. Its flat roof was covered with cut boughs, even
though tree branches were like a tent above it. A few other buildings
of the same design close by were also protected in a like manner. It
was obvious that the Germans had taken extra precautions that the group
of buildings would not be spotted from the air.
"Or by the lens of a camera," Dave said to himself, and stepped in
through the door.