_The Gods Laugh_
Fifteen minutes, fifteen weeks, or was it fifteen years since Freddy
and he had left the old repair shop and entered the woods? Dave
couldn't tell, and he didn't bother to guess. Every muscle and bone in
his body ached from bumping into tree trunks and huge boulders that
loomed up without warning in the darkness. And his face and hands were
scratched from bramble thickets that tried to hold him back and pin him
helpless.
How long had they been groping blindly through these darn woods? He had
no idea. Perhaps the woods were endless. Perhaps ... and the sudden
thought chilled him to the core ... they had simply been wandering
about in a circle, and didn't know it. However, there was at least one
tiny thing for which to be thankful. They had not bumped headlong into
any Nazi patrols. As a matter of fact they had not heard a thing nor
seen a thing to make their hearts loop over with fright. It was as
though this section of Occupied France had gone sound asleep.
For that possibility Dave was thankful. Yet, at the same time it caused
his worry to mount. In the back of his head was the faint hope that
they might be able to steal that Messerschmitt One-Ten they had seen
sliding down to a landing, and escape back to England. That von Peiplow
had said it was a radio control plane made things that much better. No
doubt British radio engineers would like very much to examine German
radio control equipment. Yet, escape was not what Dave wanted most.
Escape would save Freddy's life, and his own, but, it would mean
leaving this area, the Nazis' testing ground for their newest weapon of
war, untouched. True, a swarm of British bombers could be sent over to
blast it off the map. But _could_ they? What if swarms of TNT loaded
gliders, and soaring planes, were sent aloft to bar the way? To not
only bar the way, but be radio directed right into the R.A.F. bombers
before they could be shot out of the skies by the British gunners? But,
more likely than that, supposing before the British bombers could come
over von Peiplow moved all his gliders, soaring planes, and equipment
elsewhere? What then? The job would have to be done all over again.
Von Peiplow's new hide-out would have to be found ... and there would
still be the terrible danger of not being able to wipe it from the face
of the earth. Still the danger that von Peiplow's new weapons would
prove their full worth and destroy all British aircraft sent against
them. True, perhaps von Peiplow's experiments and tests were far from
being completed. Perhaps there was much more he had to do before this
new deadly weapon was ready for continued active service. However, what
happened to those Lockheeds last Tuesday night proved that the new
weapon was far enough along to spread doom throughout war torn skies.
It was....
Dave cut short his rambling thoughts as Freddy Farmer suddenly checked
his forward movement and pulled him down onto the ground.
"What, Freddy?" he whispered excitedly. "See anything? Hear anything?"
"Shut up!" the English youth hissed in his ear. "We're practically on
top of the spot. Look ahead, and just a shade to the right. See the
glow of light between those trees? That's a tarmac oil-pot flare. And
a light means somebody's there keeping guard. And...."
The English youth stopped short and squeezed Dave's hand hard in his
mounting excitement.
"Look, Dave!" he whispered again. "See them? A half a dozen planes,
pulled up under the trees! They look like Messerschmitt One-Nines to
me, but I can't say for sure!"
"Boy, what eyes you've got!" Dave breathed and blinked hard. "So help
me I can't see a thing but shadows. I.... Hold it! Yeah, I can see a
faint glow of light, but nothing else. Looks about fifty yards from
here. What do you say?"
"Yes, just about that," Freddy replied. "We'd better keep down on all
fours, now. Here, better let me lead the way. But don't go crawling up
my back, old thing. And for Pete's sake, don't make any noise!"
"I promise not to bust out singing!" Dave growled. "Get going, you old
Eagle Eye."
Making far less sound than a jungle panther stalking its prey the two
R.A.F. pilots wormed their way forward, inching under bramble branches,
sliding around tree trunks, and gliding past huge hunks of rock that
stuck up out of the ground. Dave didn't dare raise his head once to
glance ahead. He spent every instant of the time sticking so close to
Freddy Farmer's heels that his nose almost touched.
As a matter of fact, after a thousand years or so his nose did touch
Freddy's boots. He bumped his whole face smack into them as the English
youth came to a sudden stop. Dave swallowed the groan of pain that came
to his lips, and lifted his head. Freddy had come to a halt directly in
back of a clump of thick bushes. But they were not too thick for Dave
to see what was beyond. The sight set his heart to pounding, and the
blood to surging through his veins.
Not fifteen yards away was the first of a row of six Messerschmitt
One-Nine single seater fighting planes. They were hauled back partly
under the overhanging branches of some trees, and in the faint glow
cast by a small oil-pot flare set out in front of them in the middle
of the row the craft looked like prehistoric vultures crouched and
ready to spring into the air. Dave gave them but a single glance. What
caught and held his attention was the figure of an armed Nazi Air
Force mechanic comfortably slumped in a canvas chair to one side of
the oil-pot flare. He was smoking a cigarette and seemingly staring
up at the night skies. Propped against an arm of the chair, and within
split seconds reach was a high powered German Mauser rifle. And as
Dave strained his eyes he saw the usual half dozen or so hand grenades
hooked to the German's belt. That the German was armed with both rifle
and hand grenades made it obvious that General von Peiplow was taking
no chances of loyal French peasants in the area committing any acts of
sabotage.
Dave took another good look at that rifle and hand grenades, and
groaned softly.
"Think we can sneak up on him, Freddy?" he breathed softly.
"We won't have to," came the startling reply. "I can take care of that
chap. What makes me mad is about that Messerschmitt One-Ten. Look,
Dave, it's way around in back of the One-Nines. We couldn't hope to
get it out in front where we could take off without waking up half of
France. Blast it! I was hoping we could get that bus back to England!"
Dave stared at the shadowy shape of the three place Nazi plane
completely blocked off by the row of single seaters. He started to nod
his head in bitter agreement, and then cut it off short.
"Nuts to the three seater, Freddy!" he whispered excitedly. "I've got
it!"
"Got what?" Freddy demanded.
"The solution to the whole works!" Dave said. "It all depends on
nailing down that Nazi mechanic before he can let out a peep. Darn! If
we only had a gun!"
"We have," was Freddy Farmer's startling reply. "I thought you saw me,
Dave. Before we left Ox Face I took his Luger out of its holster. Here
it is, now, right in my hand."
Dave touched the smooth metal gun Freddy thrust at him, and chuckled
inwardly.
"Pal, do you think of everything!" he breathed. "What would I do
without you!"
"Make a blasted mess of things, no doubt!" Freddy hissed in his ear.
"But, what's your plan? What were you going to say?"
"Two Messerschmitt One-Nines, and those hand grenades that guy has!"
Dave said. "We gag and tie up that Nazi. Then we take off in a One-Nine
apiece. Then we tear for those camouflaged glider hangars and let fly
with the hand grenades. Their explosions will touch off that TNT, and
the whole works will go sky high."
"Us, too, I fancy," Freddy Farmer murmured.
Dave swallowed hard and nodded.
"Yeah, probably, Freddy," he said and pressed the other's arm. "We'll
have plenty of company, though, so what the heck? But wait, Freddy! I
got a better idea. We don't have to fly too low over that drained swamp
to toss the grenades overboard. First we get plenty of altitude, and
then let the things go. A couple of them are bound to hit, and two will
be plenty. That's a pretty fair sized area, and hard to miss."
"No, getting altitude won't do!" Freddy Farmer objected. "The instant
we start those engines and take off the whole place will be alive with
Nazis. In case you didn't notice they've got a lot of anti-aircraft
guns around here. I saw them from the air. And, Dave, another thing.
Once we're in the air von Peiplow will be able to spot us with his
radio plane locator. He has equipment to do that just as we have to
locate Nazi bombers coming in off the Channel. In less than a minute,
Dave, they'd know exactly where we were in the air, and where we were
headed. Our only hope is to skim back over the trees and let those
gliders have the hand grenades from fifty feet. And that will finish
things for us, of course."
The English youth paused and sighed faintly.
"Oh, well," he murmured. "There'll always be an England!"
"Hey, cut out that stuff!" Dave growled and affectionately patted
Freddy on the arm. "Don't be so anxious to die, pal. I've got an idea.
Look, they can't locate a plane with that new radio stuff when the
engine's off, can they?"
"No, at least not anywhere near as accurately," Freddy replied. "It's
sort of tuning in on the engine's ignition that really does the trick.
But what do you plan to do? Fly without an engine?"
"That's it, little man!" Dave whispered. "Look, Freddy. The second we
get off the ground we climb like the dickens in the general direction
of the English Channel, see? Go up just as steep as one of those
Messerschmitt One-Nines will take you. The Nazis when they tune in on
us, or whatever it is that they do, will think that we're legging it
for England and safety. _But_, we won't be doing that little thing!"
"No?" Freddy Farmer echoed.
"No," Dave said. "When you and I reach an altitude of eighteen thousand
feet, we level off from the climb, and cut out the engine dead. Then
you swing around to the north in a glide, and I'll swing around toward
the south. Hold her in an easy shallow dive. From eighteen thousand it
will be a cinch to glide back over this area and not lose more than
ten or twelve thousand feet. Then at the right moment, we cut in our
engines, power dive down another thousand feet, let the grenades go
over the side, and pull up and away and thus not be right over the
place when comes the explosion, see?"
"I think I do," Freddy whispered and nervously fingered the Luger he
held in his hand. "But it sounds a little difficult. For one thing,
what about the right moment? How am I going to know if you're down low
enough? And how are you going to know that I'm over the target and
down low enough? If we're to stand any chance we should toss the hand
grenades over at the same time."
"Sure, and it can be done," Dave said. "Radio, pal! It's a cinch
there's radio in those One-Nines. And this won't be the first time you
and I have worked a German radio. See? As for being over the target.
You can't miss it from under ten thousand feet because that bend in
the river stands out like a sore thumb even at night. And we both
know those underground hangars are just east of the bend in the Lille
River. Okay! Set your plane's radio, Freddy, at a sixteen hundred and
twenty-five wave length reading. I'll set mine at the same reading.
When you reach a point seven thousand feet over the target give me a
signal over the radio. I've got it! Yell, '_Ox Face_.' That ought to
make any Jerries listening in on that wave-length wonder what the heck.
Yell, Ox Face, and hold as near as you can to your altitude until I
yell, Ox Face, back at you. Then dive and open up your engine. I'll do
the same, and the exhaust plumes from our engines will show each of us
where the other is so's we won't go bumping into each other. Okay?"
"Okay, fine, Dave!" Freddy whispered eagerly. Then, "But hadn't we
better get as much altitude as possible before we turn to glide back?"
"Too risky," Dave replied. "Eighteen thousand is safe enough. Any
higher might not be so good. We haven't got our helmets, or oxygen
masks. Von Peiplow, and his bums, must have swiped them for souvenirs
when they searched us. Or would you like to go back and ask them for
them, huh?"
"I'm laughing my head off at your funny remarks!" Freddy growled. "All
right, eighteen thousand feet it will be. Now, let's not waste any
more time. First thing you know, it'll be morning. We've got to get
busy."
"Just one more thing, Freddy," Dave breathed. "The instant you let go
with your hand grenades ... and don't forget to yank the string that
will make them explode when they hit ... climb like the dickens and
head home for England. I'll do the same. Now, just how do you figure to
take care of our little friend over there having a smoke?"
"Easy!" Freddy whispered. "Just follow me, and keep your mouth shut.
This is something I _can_ do, without any suggestions. This is one
thing I can do on my own. Now, shut up, and follow me!"
"You bet, pal!" Dave chuckled. "But don't flop it, for cat's sake. This
guy's only the beginning of things!"
Freddy Farmer grunted scornfully, and then started to worm along the
ground to the left, and around in back of the parked planes.