_A Chance in a Million_
Dave Dawson sat on an old oil soaked workbench beside Freddy Farmer
and absently rubbed his left arm where it still ached from the steel
fingered grip of Colonel Comstadt. That was a good hour ago, but he
could only tell that by looking at the radium painted dial of his wrist
watch. It had been light right up to the moment the Gestapo man had
more or less hurled them inside the old repair hut. Then when he had
slammed the heavy door shut darkness had enveloped them. As von Peiplow
had said, there were no windows. And the only door fitted too snug all
around for any light to come through the cracks. And so they had groped
about for a place to sit, found the workbench and climbed up on it for
no other reason than to get off the cold damp dirt floor. Once settled,
each had been content to remain silent and battle with his own thoughts.
"Powered gliders loaded with explosives?" Dave broke the silence as
he mumbled the words aloud. "That doesn't make sense to me. It.... In
fact, Freddy, something you said still doesn't make sense to me. What
was all that stuff about Bristol, and the English being more advanced
than the Nazis, and stuff? I thought for a while you were just giving
him double-talk, or something. But doggone if you both didn't seem to
know what it was all about. What...?"
"If you'd just let that tongue of yours run down, I'd tell you!" the
English youth interrupted. "Certainly we both knew what the other was
talking about. I thought you had guessed it, too, Dave. The stuff I
said to General von Peiplow was just to see if I had the right idea.
And what he said to me was proof that I had. Blast the Nazis, anyway.
Trust them, the cunning devils, to be the first to adopt a new weapon!"
"Pardon me, old thing!" Dave grated at him. "Would you like me to leave
so you can go on having a nice little conversation with yourself? Snap
out of it, Freddy! Stop talking riddles! You're driving me bats. What
the heck are you driving at, anyway?"
"Those gliders, you idiot!" Freddy hissed at him. "Didn't you see with
your own eyes, Dave? Don't you know, _now_, how those Lockheed Hudson
bombers were so mysteriously destroyed last Tuesday night?"
Dave took a deep breath, and slowly counted up to ten.
"No," he finally said with forced patience. "I don't catch on to a
thing. Now, for cat's sake stop beating around the bush, and put it in
words I can understand!"
"Very well, then," Freddy said. "Be quiet and listen. Each of those
gliders, or soaring planes, is powered with a small auxiliary engine,
and enough gas to take it up to very high altitudes. Instead of a pilot
the glider is loaded with high explosives. When the thing reaches
maximum altitude the engine cuts out, and from then on the glider is
radio controlled. Understand, now, Dave? _Radio controlled!_ Every air
force in the world has been working on that for years, and it looks
like the Nazis have been able to make it work on gliding, or soaring
planes. And they've got hundreds of the things in those underground
hangars. This area, here, is the testing and experimental ground for
radio controlled auxiliary powered gliders. You see?"
Dave sucked air into his lungs and sat perfectly motionless. His brain
was whirling, and drops of cold sweat oozed out of his face.
"Sweet tripe!" he suddenly ejaculated. "Am I dumb, and are you one
bright lad, Freddy, to catch on so fast! Gosh! They can fill the air
with those things, and...."
"Exactly!" the English youth interrupted excitedly. "Fill the air
with hundreds and thousands of the things the factories can turn out
like hot-cakes. Each glider carries a load of sudden destruction for
anything that bumps into it, and the whole lot can be maneuvered from
a radio control plane in the air, or from the ground. Right from von
Peiplow's office, too, I fancy. I've fiddled around quite a bit, and,
although I'm years and years from being an expert, I knew at once that
all those gadgets in von Peiplow's office had to do with the radio
control of planes, or something."
"Those Lockheed bombers of flare picture patrol last Tuesday night!"
Dave breathed softly. "The Nazis heard them coming. Maybe they can even
spot and locate planes at night by radio, just like we can in England.
Maybe they have a hush-hush radio plane locator just like we have.
Anyway, they spotted those Lockheeds and sent up a flock of their TNT
gliders. It is a million times better than a balloon blockade, or wire
nets, and that sort of stuff. A wall of TNT loaded gliders swinging
around in the night sky in solid formation. All of them controlled by
radio. The Lockheed boys probably never saw them. Flew right into them
and were blown to bits. That's the terrific explosion you must have
seen, Freddy!"
"I'm sure of it!" the English youth said through clenched teeth.
"Hitler's new weapon is a radio controlled glider loaded with TNT, or
some other high explosive. They cost little to make, and they can be
turned out in great quantities in almost no time at all. No need to
train pilots. No costly guns and instruments, and the like. No worry
how many of them are destroyed. Always hundreds and hundreds coming off
the factory line to fill up the gaps. And, Dave!"
"What?" the Yank asked as Freddy stopped short.
"Perhaps von Peiplow's experiments here on this glider business, mean
much more than simply holding control of the air over the Occupied
Countries!" the English youth said in a strained voice. "Think, Dave!
Think of thousands and thousands of those gliders being directed
across the Channel to England! It would be like trying to shoot down a
swarm of bees. Every time you got one there'd be three more to fill its
place. Dave! That can't happen. It _mustn't_ happen!"
"You're telling me?" Dave grated and clenched his fists in helpless
rage. "You're darn right it mustn't happen. We've got to do something,
Freddy. We've got to do something that will make all of von Peiplow's
tests and experiments go up in smoke. And.... Hey! That's it! The whole
works go up in smoke!"
Dave had lowered his voice to a whisper as he spoke the last. Freddy
Farmer leaned close to him and whispered back in the darkness.
"Are you crazy?" he hissed. "What in the world are you talking about?
It's impossible!"
"Nuts it's impossible!" Dave shot back. "Von Peiplow let the cat out
of the bag, only I'm just realizing it. Remember his bawling out that
scared pink captain? Remember his saying it was a break that crashed
glider didn't hit the hangars? How there was enough stuff there to blow
the works right off the face of the earth? That's all we've got to do,
Freddy. Blow this whole place right clean out of sight. Von Peiplow, Ox
Face, the hired help, and all the radio equipment, and stuff, going
sky high, and not coming back. That's it, Freddy!"
"Oh, quite!" the English youth groaned. "Sounds so terribly easy, too!
What would you suggest we do first? Walk out of here and bash Colonel
Comstadt over the head? I'm sure he must be fast asleep, and we'd have
no trouble."
"Go sell it up the next street, and shut up!" Dave growled. "Give a guy
a chance to think. I'll figure something."
"Take all the time you want, little man," Freddy grunted. "There's no
hurry. Seriously, though, Dave, if we only could think of some way.
If.... What's the matter?"
Dave had reached out in the darkness and gripped Freddy's arm.
"Just keep talking," he whispered. "Talk about anything. Tell me a
story. Anything, but just keep talking. A half baked idea is beginning
to buzz in the old dome. I'm going to prowl around a bit, and...."
"Dave, you madman!" Freddy hissed. "You can't get outside. You're no
match for that big devil. He'll...!"
"Keep your shirt on!" Dave choked him off. "I'm not going outside. I'm
going to prowl around inside, and try to find something. You just keep
talking, pal. Ox Face can hear through that door, so I want your voice
to cover up any sounds I make. Okay. Start talking!"
Dave gave Freddy a reassuring pat on the knee and glided away in the
darkness. He heard the English youth start telling about an experience
he had when he was learning to fly, and then Freddy's voice became no
more than a constant murmur in Dave's ears. He was down on all fours
and creeping around on the dirt floor and concentrating every bit of
his attention on his task. Seconds ticked by to form a minute. Then two
minutes, three, four, and on up to ten.
By then Dave had explored every square inch of the dirt floor with
his hands, one side wall, and the rear wall. A cloud of bitter defeat
was crowding into his heart, and it was all he could do to stop from
pulling a clip of matches from his pocket and striking one into light.
There had to be something he could use in this deserted repair shed.
There _had_ to be something! An old rusty wrench, or a length of stout
timber. Something he could use as a club. Even a rock would do the
trick. But his hands touched nothing that wasn't nailed or bolted fast.
The dirt floor was smooth as glass, and entirely unbroken by a corner
of rock jutting up.
More agonizing minutes ticked by and hope began to fade in Dave's
heart. Then, suddenly, when he had reached a point but a few feet
from the workbench upon which Freddy sat, his groping hands touched
something that electrified him with wild joy. The something was an
eighteen inch length of lead pipe that stuck out from the side of the
repair shop. He explored it with his fingers and hope leaped even
higher. The length of pipe, which he guessed had served as a conduit
for electric wires, was not screwed tight in the connecting joint set
flush with the shop wall. After several twists with his hands he had
the thing free. He hefted the pipe in one hand and grinned happily in
the darkness.
"Lady Luck, give me just one whack!" he breathed softly. "Just one
whack, that's all!"
With a nod for emphasis he got to his feet and moved over to Freddy.
The English youth cut his monologue off short as Dave touched him on
the arm.
"What is it, Dave?" he whispered. "Good grief! What's that? It feels
like lead pipe."
"It is," the Yank whispered back. "Now, listen, Freddy. I've got a
hunch. I'll bet you anything you like, part of Ox Face's job outside
is to listen to us ... in case we spill something talking to each
other. Von Peiplow is worried, plenty worried. If he wasn't, he would
have put bullets in us long ago. And, if you ask me, one reason he is
worried is because Barker _did get through_!"
"You think so, Dave?" Freddy questioned eagerly.
"I've got a strong hunch he did," Dave replied. "Anyway, von Peiplow
is in a spin, or I miss my guess. He's darn sure we know something he
wants to know. So he's keeping us on ice here to break us down with
fear of what Ox Face would do to us, if von Peiplow should give him the
green light. Also, it's a good bet von Peiplow is playing a hunch that
you and I will get talking and spill something for Comstadt's ears.
Okay, now. Here's my plan.
"You and I are going to talk, see? We're going to have a sweet
argument. I'm going to be in favor of spilling what we know, and saving
our skins. You're to be against that, and get real sore, see? Give me
the works, and shout that you'd kill me before you'd let me say a word.
Got it? Raise the roof!"
"Yes, but why?" Freddy whispered. "What do you hope to happen?"
"I'm hoping that Ox Face will come barging in here to break it up,"
Dave said. "And the instant he sticks his head in through that door he
gets this lead pipe, but good! Then we beat it."
"To where?" Freddy wanted to know. "What do you expect to do? Throw a
firecracker at those hangars and blow up the TNT loaded gliders?"
"Certainly!" Dave snapped in sarcastic tone. "Didn't you know I always
carry a pocketful of firecrackers around with me? No, you dope! We head
for the landing field on the other side of these woods. Where we saw
that Messerschmitt One-Ten go down."
"Then what?" the cautious English youth wanted to know.
"For cat's sake, how do I know?" Dave groaned. "We'll blow up that
bridge when we come to it. The main thing is to put Ox Face bye-bye,
and get out of here. Are you with me, or not?"
"What a blasted silly question!" Freddy growled. "Of course, Dave! I
simply wanted to know what we were to do afterward, that's all."
"Well, that's one I can't answer, yet," Dave grunted. "The instant
we're out of here just hang onto my coat tails, pal! We'll be going
places, and fast. Now, hold everything for a second or two, then play
right up to what I say. And, luck, little man!"
Freddy didn't say anything. He simply reached out quickly and pressed
Dave's arm hard. The Yank pulled his arm free and moved over to a point
a foot or so to the right of the door. There he stopped, turned toward
Freddy and cupped his hands to his lips to make his voice sound as
though it came from the rear of the repair shop.
"But you're nuts, Freddy!" he said in a loud voice. "What's it going
to get us? A bullet in the head, after that big baboon gets through
tearing us apart. Well, nix on that for me! I say, tell von Peiplow
what we know, and at least go on living. Heck...."
"Never, Dawson!" Freddy Farmer shouted back angrily. "And I thought you
had courage, and were ready to die for England? Why...!"
"Not this way!" Dave snarled. "Not in a rotten dump like this. Okay, so
you're an Englishman. Well, go ahead and get your own head beaten off.
I'm not going to. I'm going to tell von Peiplow, and that's final!"
"No, you're not!" Freddy bellowed. "You may have been my best friend,
Dawson, but I'll kill you before I'll let you say a word to von
Peiplow. I warn you!"
Dave sensed rather than heard movement just outside the door. His heart
was trying to burst out through his ribs, and the blood racing through
his veins was like liquid fire.
"Yeah?" he yelled back at Freddy. "You and who else? You dumb dope,
what good is it for us to be dead? None! We're sunk, I tell you! Von
Peiplow has us both right behind the eight ball, and.... Easy, Farmer!
Stand back, I'm telling you! Lay a hand on me and I'll belt you right
through that wall!"
"Then go ahead and belt, you yellow coward, you traitor!" Freddy
screamed. "I'll shut your mouth, if it's the last thing I do! I'll...."
The English youth screamed other things but Dave didn't bother
listening. He heard the sound of the bolt outside being snapped back.
A second later the door handle rattled, and the door was pushed open.
A shaft of light from a flash in Colonel Comstadt's big hand cut the
darkness and started sweeping the interior.
"Stop it, both of you!" the Gestapo man's voice roared. "What is
all...?"
At that exact instant Dave brought the lead pipe down on the big
head that had moved past the edge of the door. Every ounce of Dave's
strength was in the blow, and when he connected the jolt almost tore
the length of lead pipe from his grasp. Colonel Comstadt didn't so
much as let out a tired sigh. He folded to the floor in a heap of
motionless bones, flesh, and fat. Dave bent over quickly, snapped off
the flashlight, and wrenched it from the Nazi's stiff fingered grip.
"Phew, you hit him a terrible one!" Freddy Farmer breathed in Dave's
ear.
"I hope to kiss an alligator, I did!" Dave panted. "It even bent the
pipe. Come on! Help me haul the rest of him inside. Then we lock him up
for the night, and get going. Boy! Would I like to do that over again
half a dozen times, the big lug!"
In the matter of a few seconds later the two boys had hauled the
unconscious Gestapo man all the way inside the deserted repair shop,
and bolted the door on the outside. For a moment more they crouched
there motionless in the darkness of night straining their eyes and
ears. They saw nothing but a couple of faint lights in the distance
that probably came from General von Peiplow's office. And they heard
nothing but the distant throbbing note of night flying Nazi planes far,
far to the north. Then Dave reached out and took hold of Freddy's hand.
"To the right around this hut, Freddy!" he whispered. "Then straight
through the woods to that landing field. And pray hard we have some
luck when we get there!"
"Right you are!" the English youth whispered back. "And I'm jolly well
afraid we're going to need a lot of it!"
Dave didn't make any comment to that. There was nothing he could say.
They were free men, but that was only the beginning. With every step
they took they might be moving a step nearer to final failure, and
certain death. No well laid plans and preparations, now. Everything
that happened from this instant on, was in the laps of the gods!