with their eyes fixed on the red ball of fire slowly sinking down out
of sight below the Atlantic horizon. And in their hearts and in their
very souls was the sacred promise that whether or not they ever saw
that sun again they would exert every effort and make every sacrifice
to accomplish successfully whatever the mission was that lay ahead of
them.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
_Death in the Dark_
"This is a good place," Air Marshal Manners said when the trio had
reached a stretch of sandy beach about half a mile from the Base field.
"Let's sit down here, and act as though we're tired. Frankly, that's no
lie as far as I'm concerned."
The three seated themselves on the sand and for a moment or so Manners
stared thoughtfully out over the Atlantic as though carefully choosing
the words he was about to speak. Dave and Freddy waited, but not
patiently. Inwardly both were seething with excitement and curiosity.
Neither, however, made so much as the beginning of an attempt to
get the Air Marshal started. They knew that this was the last time
he would force them to wait, so they grimly sat tight and let the
torturing seconds tick by.
Suddenly Manners raised his right hand and pointed toward the west.
"Out there some eight or nine hundred miles," he said, "is a convoy of
thirty-five British ships. The most valuable convoy ever to set sail
for a British port. Its cargo contains tons and tons of war materials
most vital to our immediate needs. Food stuffs, raw materials, medical
supplies, guns of all kinds, a thousand crated airplanes made in the
United States and Canada, oil, gasoline ... everything that we need so
badly. I don't need to tell you the staggering losses that Nazi U-boats
and surface raiders have already inflicted upon England's merchant
marine. The whole world knows the great toll that has been taken.
And the whole world knows also that England cannot hope to survive
if such losses continue. And better than any country, save our own,
Adolf Hitler realizes that truth. For that reason he is going all out,
regardless of the cost to his own forces, to force England to her knees
and then crush her with no more emotion or pity than he would crush a
fly."
The Air Marshal stopped talking, lighted a cigarette but immediately
flung it away after a single puff.
"What that convoy is bringing to England," he continued eventually,
"is not vital to our needs six months or a year from now. We need it
and need it so terribly much _this week_ ... the very _day_ it can be
unloaded at the docks. It is a large convoy, yes. And a beautiful prize
for the Nazis to go after. That is true, too. And we are not fools
enough to believe they have no knowledge that it is on the high seas
and on its way. Naturally, the ships left different ports on the other
side of the Atlantic, and at different times. Every precaution was
taken to keep secret their dates of departure, the course each ship was
to sail, and the rendezvous point far at sea. We have done everything
save circle it with the ships of the entire British Navy. But that we
could not do. Yes, every possible precaution has been taken to get that
convoy through safely. But we know that every possible precaution is
not enough. We know that the Nazis will bide their time and fall upon
it when least expected. And so, it is up to us to beat the Nazis at
their own game!"
The Chief of the Emergency Command paused again and in turn looked each
youth straight in the eye.
"It was my Heaven sent prayer that we would accomplish that very thing
this morning!" he suddenly got out harshly. "For several days we have
known that the Nazis' fastest and most heavily armed raider, and their
most daring and skilled wolf pack of U-boats, was being assembled for
an attack on that convoy almost within sight of England's shores.
Possessing that knowledge, and also knowing the location of their
rendezvous area, we planned a trap for them. A trap with jaws made
of British naval vessels and planes. You two were assigned to act as
bait and to draw our boats and planes straight to the exact rendezvous
point in that same two hundred square mile area. We know now that all
our well laid plans went up in smoke. That the Nazis fooled us, and we
failed to spring the trap."
Air Marshal Manners stopped once more, and Dave looking at him seemed
to see the shadow of increased years steal across the man's face. The
Yank wanted to reach out a hand and touch Manners as though to say
that he too shared the bitterness of defeat that was in his heart.
He checked the urge, however, and waited for the senior officer to
continue.
"Yes, we failed miserably," the Air Marshal spoke again. "But even as
we were failing, the gods were kind to us. They gave us the opportunity
to make a second try. Those code books found in von Khole's flat
near Golder's Green. Not until this morning did I have the chance to
examine those books. Not until after you had taken off did I realize
that a second chance would be ours in case we failed in the first.
It's funny, in a way, when you study the situation. The Germans don't
know where our fleet is, whether it's with the convoy or not, but they
can probably find out. We don't know where the raider and her U-boats
are, but _now_ we can find out. The winner of this deadly game will
be the one who discovers _first_ the locality of the other's prize.
And whether England wins or loses depends upon the skill, daring, and
enduring courage of you two!"
Silence settled over the sands. There was not a sound save the soft
hiss of the waves lapping the shore. Dave stared at them and in an
abstract crazy sort of way felt that the sound was countless unseen
demons of war and death jeering at Manners' spoken words. He took his
gaze off the waves and looked at the Air Marshal.
"I can think of no greater reward, sir, than the chance to play my part
no matter what it is, or costs," he said solemnly.
"And I can think of no better way of expressing my own thoughts too,
sir," Freddy Farmer said in his quiet, steady voice.
The Air Ministry official smiled, and for a brief moment something
seemed to glisten in each eye. Then his face was grave and his eyes
stern.
"It may cost you everything!" he said in a hard tone. "But above all
you must not fail. I demand it. England demands it. The whole civilized
part of this world demands that you be successful. And now, here is
the actual part you are to play. Down there somewhere off the coast of
France is that raider and her under-sea wolf pack. Sometime tonight she
will probably put to sea to maneuver into position to make her surprise
attack upon the convoy just before dawn when the light is bad and the
convoy's lookouts are staring into a rising sun. Between midnight and
dawn you will make contact with that raider and her pack, locate her,
and lure her into the waiting arms of British warships. That in a few
words is _what_ you will do, and here is _how_ you will do it!"
Air Marshal Manners paused again to get his breath and to clear his
throat.
"You remember that Catalina flying boat I pointed out to you when we
were with Wing Commander Otis?" he said presently. "Well, that is the
plane you are going to use. What I said about it is true. It's the
fastest and best weather flying boat in the whole Coastal Command. It
is completely equipped and ready for flight right this minute. The guns
are loaded, bombs are in their racks, and food and supplies are all
aboard. I happen to know that because it is a policy of this Station to
have all planes ready for action whether they are scheduled for patrol
or not. In other words, any one of the flying boats in the basin is
all set to take the air, but that particular Catalina is the best of
the lot. Sometime tonight you two will sneak out to it in one of the
tenders moored to the edge of the basin and get into the air and away
as fast as you can."
"Steal it right from under the noses of the guards, sir?" Freddy gasped.
"Just that," Air Marshal Manners said with a short nod. "But that won't
be hard. If you noticed, that particular Catalina is farther out toward
open water than any of the others. Also, the guards here are stationed
at the enemy aircraft detectors instead of being stationed about the
basin. You won't need to worry about them. Your toughest job will be to
get up anchor, start the engines, taxi out to open water, and get off
without a light showing. Searchlights, of course, will go after you,
and maybe a couple of land planes or so. However, that will take time,
and if you do your job well you'll be completely lost and headed for
Lord knows where before any of them can pick you up."
"It's going to be close, darn close," Dave murmured softly.
"Exactly why I'm glad you two are tackling the job," the Air Marshal
grunted with a faint gesture. "Yes, it will be close, and beginning
with the moment you get her into the air you will be hunted high and
low by every plane and flying boat the Station can spare. And by planes
and boats from other squadrons, too. I say that because it is instantly
going to become known that you are two of Germany's cleverest espionage
agents who hoodwinked us completely by posing as French aeronautical
experts recently escaped from the occupied zone on the other side of
the Channel."
"But, sir!" Freddy objected and then stopped short as the senior
officer made a sharp motion with one hand.
"Questions later!" Manners snapped. "Let me finish first. Don't
worry; complete information about you will go out over the air to all
listening stations. I'll see to that. However, the real reason your
daring escape will go out over the air is because we want German radio
stations to be sure and pick it up. And most of all, that raider's
radio. We want the Nazis to swallow the story, and we think they will.
You see, a couple of weeks ago, Intelligence did pick up two notorious
German spies. They don't publicize feats like that, and for an obvious
reason. When you don't tell the enemy you have one of their agents they
naturally assume that the agent is still operating. At least for a
certain length of time. Fact is, often when we pick up an enemy agent
we send a few useless bits of information through to the Germans in
such a way they believe he is still serving them. And oftentimes we get
messages in return that lead us to other agents we did not even know
existed. It's a tricky game, Intelligence, and dangerous, too. But I
don't need to tell you chaps about Intelligence work!"[2]
[Footnote 2: _Dave Dawson with the R.A.F._]
Air Marshal Manners paused to light another cigarette and to cast a
casual glance about to make sure they were not being observed.
"Anyway," he continued at length, "to the English, and to the Germans
we most certainly hope and pray, you will be regarded as those two
German spies. The fact that you stole a Catalina from this Base will
excite the Germans all the more. Particularly the raider's commander,
if he picks up our SOS broadcasts, which he undoubtedly will. The
Germans, of course know that this Base is in touch with that convoy.
Also that planes from this Base will be sent out to meet it at a
certain point and escort it in. Therefore they will assume that, having
stolen the Catalina from here, you of course must know all the secrets
about that convoy. And so, when you contact the raider its commander
should fairly leap at the bait ... and, please God, sail right into the
arms of the British Navy!"
"You're supplying us with copies of the codes to use, sir?" Dave asked.
"Of course!" the other replied. "I have them right here in my pocket.
I'll also give you the exact locations of the various units of the
Fleet now at sea. Once you have made contact with the raider and her
wolf pack you will feed her as many lies as possible and bit by bit
lead her into the arms of one of the Fleet units. But, here is the
important thing, and pay strict attention. The Nazis will of course
have their own planes out hunting for that convoy, so it will be up
to you to contact the raider _first_, and establish definitely in
her commander's mind that _you know where the convoy is_! Mind you!
Nazi aircraft will also pick up your signals, and they will all come
a-running to that locality. I don't know how much lee-way in time
you'll have but during that time, however, you've got to lead the
raider and her U-boats close enough to the British Fleet units for them
to jump and finish the business. Well, there it is, lads. The toughest
assignment I ever gave to any one. Frankly, you've one chance in a
hundred of leading that raider into the range of British guns. And,
frankly, you've got about one chance in a billion of coming through
alive. It's only fair that I should tell you that. The instant you've
betrayed the raider, and perhaps even before then, you'll have half the
Nazi over-water Air Force on your neck. And that's not to mention the
British lads who'll be looking for you right from the start. The only
bit of advice I can give you is, _keep clear of all aircraft and hide
in clouds as much as you can_! Oh yes, one more thing. Try first the
regular code signals I'll give you, and if you get no response switch
immediately to the emergency code. It is possible that von Khole's loss
of his code books has been made known to the raider. It's possible but
not likely because of the short period of time. Now, any questions?"
"It's really a suggestion, sir," Dave said slowly after a moment's deep
thought.
"Then let's have it!" Manners exclaimed impatiently. "After all, it's
your necks, you know. What is it?"
"It's about making sure the Fleet units learn the exact location of the
raider once we sight her, and are perhaps jumped by enemy aircraft too
darn soon," Dave said. "There's a second radio on every Catalina, so
why don't we tune it to the directional finder wave-length the instant
we spot the raider. Then if anything does happen to us the Fleet units
will know her location and be able to circle her before she can head
for the convoy in case a real Nazi scouting plane sends her the true
location of the convoy."
"That's a good suggestion," Manners said with a frown, "except that...."
"I know what you're going to say, sir," Dave cut in hurriedly. "Except
that we're supposed to have stolen a plane, and even the British are
hunting us? Well, here's a way to get around that. You, through ways
you know best, inform the commander of each Fleet unit tonight that
they are to keep their sets open for that directional finder signal and
to act the instant they hear it and plot our position. They don't need
to know that it's coming from the supposedly stolen plane. Just let
them think that you've got real scouting planes out after that raider.
In short, the same idea as we tried to work this morning. It's simply
to make doubly sure of nailing that raider and her wolf-pack in case
Freddy and I run into bad trouble we can't lick."
"I doubt you two not being able to lick anything," the Air Marshal
grunted and grinned. "But that is a darn good suggestion, Dawson. I'll
do it, don't worry. I'll get word to those Fleet unit commanders in
plenty of time. Well, Farmer, have you any suggestions to offer?"
Freddy shook his head and shot a side glance at Dave.
"He does all the talking for us, sir," he said. "He can't help it. A
habit he can't break. However, I agree with him completely this time."
"The miracle has come to pass!" Dave chuckled. "The little man agrees
with me! The best omen of good luck possible. We can't lose, now!"
Air Marshal Manners smiled, but in his eyes there was the glow of warm
and frank admiration. And his heart was bursting with pride. Here
indeed was the true expression of the unbeatable spirit of the Royal
Air Force. With death awaiting them out over the Atlantic these two
youths, with the minds, and skill, and courage of full grown men, were
enjoying themselves in a bit of horse-play. Manners swallowed hard,
then drew some papers from his tunic pocket and slid them across the
sand.
"The codes and the locations of the Fleet units," he said as Dave
closed his hand over them. "Well, I guess we'd better be starting back.
It's close to mess time. Continue your act, and after mess ease outside
whenever you think the time best. Play sleepy and heading for your
quarters if you like. You probably won't be noticed, and most certainly
not missed. Except by me. And my prayers will be with you every single
second of the time. And.... God bless you!"
The Air Marshal's voice was heavy and husky as he finished. He looked
the boys straight in the eye for a brief moment, then shook himself
slightly and got briskly up onto his feet.
CHAPTER TWELVE
_The Midnight Phantom_
The dark of night had come again to war besieged England, and from the
northern most tip of Scotland clear south to the Isle of Wight British
eyes and ears were on the alert for any and all surprise moves by
Hitler's devilish hordes on the other side of the English Channel and
the North Sea. Men stood waiting at their searchlight batteries. Others
stood ready at their anti-aircraft guns. And the night flying pilots
of the Royal Air Force stood within jumping distance of their swift,
deadly fighter planes. A whole nation of some forty five millions of
people ready and waiting for the next trick Adolf "Death" would pull
out of his bag.
At Lands End Base, however, there were two who were not waiting for
"Satan," with his trick mustache and ever drooping lock of greasy hair,
to make the next move. On the contrary they were waiting for the right
time to make a move themselves. They were blended in with the darkness
within a hand's touch of a light small tender tied up at the southwest
side of the flying boat basin. They had been there for a good half hour
virtually holding their breath every instant of the time, straining
their ears for the slightest sound close by, and raking the darkness
with their eyes.
"What say, shall we go?" Freddy Farmer presently breathed in Dave
Dawson's ear. "There's nobody within a quarter of a mile, and that wind
that's freshening may swing the Cat on her mooring line so's we'll have
the devil's own job heading out toward open water."
"Okay it is," Dave breathed back and gripped Freddy's arm. "Down on
your belly, pal, and into the tender. I've got her free. I'll feather
paddle her out Indian style. Right! Here we go!"
Cautiously the two youths wormed inch by inch down over the lip of
the basin wall toward the small tender. And then suddenly there came
a sound that froze them stiff and turned the blood in their veins to
ice. It was the muffled crack of a rifle shot. The muffled bark from
a rifle obviously fitted with a silencer. And ages before the echo was
gone an angry metal hornet buzzed squarely between them and buried
itself in the wall.
In an infinitesimal period of time a million heart shredding thoughts
leaped and raced through Dave's brain. The basin guard! They had not
fooled the ever watchful guard at all! They had been spotted and a
warning shot had been fired right between them. The next shot would
find warm human flesh. What to do? Go on and be shot at like a helpless
clay pigeon? Go on in the tender and suddenly have every searchlight in
the place played squarely on them, and be riddled with British bullets
before they could so much as fling up their hands in surrender? Or
should they give up, now? Give up and reveal their true identities?
Should...?
"No! No, we can't. We've got to carry on. There's everything at stake.
We've got to carry on. We promised. We vowed to Manners, to England,
and to God. We can't give up now. _We can't!_"
Dave did not speak the words aloud, but they boomed through his brain
with all the roaring thunder of heavy cannon fire. Hardly realizing he
was doing so he reached out and touched Freddy's arm.
"Never mind the tender!" he breathed. "We've got to get to that plane
by swimming for it. Slide down into the water and swim under water as
long as you can. Keep heading straight for the Cat-boat."
"Right!" came the hushed reply. "It's only sixty yards, anyway. But
watch the slash going in."
Faint movement told Dave that Freddy was already on his way. He waited
a few brief seconds until the English youth slid into the water without
causing a ripple and disappeared. Then Dave slid down in with all the
silence and swiftness of an eel. Yet a split second before the chilly
water closed over him he once more heard the muffled bark of a silencer
fitted gun, and a tiny twinge of pain rippled across the instep of
his left foot. It was so brief and short in duration that he hardly
felt it. Then he was underwater, air locked tightly in his lungs, and
swimming straight out from the wall with every ounce of his strength.
With every stroke he took a hundred more maddening thoughts came to
torture his brain. Was he heading for the Cat-boat? Where was Freddy?
Was he all right? Was Freddy keeping true direction? Would they lose
each other, lose the Cat-boat, and flounder about in the dark until
they were spotted from shore and shot? Thoughts, thoughts, and more
thoughts. And each one like the white hot blade of a knife cutting away
a part of his brain.
Seconds dragged by, hours, weeks, and years. Finally, his burning lungs
were on the point of bursting right out through his ribs. Blinding
light danced before his closed eyes, and in his whirling head was the
mighty roar of a world coming to an end. With a final desperate effort
he pushed his way up toward the surface and got his head above water.
For a few precious seconds he was forced to rest there slowly treading
water until the blinding light passed away, and the roaring thunder
faded down into silence.
Finally, his bulging eyes were back in their sockets and he could see.
Dead ahead was nothing but water, and beyond the horizon marked by
a few faint glimmering stars. He looked to the right and saw a huge
darker shadow looming up. Then suddenly his straining eyes picked out
a small object that seemed to be floating motionless on the surface
of the basin. It was not five feet away and it was all he could do to
refrain from letting out a wild yell. He curbed the urge and faintly
breathed the name.
"Freddy?"
The small object on the water moved slightly and a whisper came
stealing back to him.
"Right-o! What took you so long? This is it!"
Dave didn't answer. Instead he glided through the water until he was at
Freddy Farmer's side. The English youth raised a hand and pointed above
and ahead.
"Hull door, it's open," he whispered. "Manners must have slipped out
and done that to make it easier for us."
"Well, thanks to whoever did it, anyway," Dave breathed back. "And I
guess we've fooled those guards. Boy, does it give you a chill to be
popped at by your own kind. Gosh, I...!"
"Tell me later!" Freddy hissed. "This water is what's giving _me_ a
chill. Come on, in we go. For goodness' sake, don't lose your hold and
fall back into the water. It'll rouse the whole Station!"
"Okay!" Dave growled and pushed Freddy toward the flying boat's hull.
"Don't you be greasy fingers either!"
Perhaps it was a minute, or perhaps it was two before the two youths
were inside the Catalina flying boat, had the hull door shut and were
up forward. Dave slid into the pilot's seat and reached for the engine
switches, and starter buttons. He was about to snap and press them when
a terrible thought crashed through his brain.
"Man, oh, man, are we starting off fine!" he choked out. "The mooring
line, Freddy! Hop down and cast us free!"
"Well, can you beat that?" Freddy gasped and instantly ducked down out
of sight and went forward to the gunner's nook in the nose of the hull.
A couple of moments later Dave felt the flying boat ride free. And an
instant after that Freddy was back in the seat at his side. He reached
for the switches and starter buttons again.
"If you've led a good life, pray hard, Freddy!" he said. "If you
haven't, pray hard, anyway!"
No sooner had the last slipped off his lips than Dave whipped up the
switches and jabbed the starter buttons. There was an eternity of
silence. Then the silence was shattered by the whining grind of the
starter gears. Then the port engine roared into life, and a split
second later the starboard engine thundered into action. Fingers flying
about in the dark, Dave adjusted fuel pressure, oil, propeller pitch
and engine synchronization. And at the same time he applied the sea
rudder and swung the huge craft a quarter turn and headed out toward
open sea beyond the basin breakwater.
All that took but a matter of split seconds, yet to Dave and Freddy
a thousand years seemed to drag by. It seemed to them as though the
Catalina was not moving an inch seaward; as though invisible hands were
holding it back. And all the time the thunder of the powerful engines
was enough to wake up the dead in China.