instant and he shot a scowling glance at the radio panel. That glance
made Dave's heart loop over. Was the radio the reason why von Khole was
hesitating in pulling the Luger's trigger, and waiting? If so, why?
Dave wracked his brain for an answer to that one, but there was none to
be found.
"How the heck did you know we were going to use this Catalina?" he
asked quickly as a sudden look of anger leaped into the Nazi's eyes.
"And as far as that goes, how in thunder did you know we were at Lands
End Base? Of course you were in that Messerschmitt that tried to trail
us?"
"Yes, I was in that plane," von Khole said absently.
"But that was a Nazi plane!" Freddy exclaimed. "And.... Wait! I get
it! You flew that Fairey Swordfish to occupied France and returned in
a Messerschmitt to trail Air Marshal Manners down from London. You had
got word he was heading for Plymouth?"
"Correct!" von Khole snapped. "I am informed of everything as soon as
it happens. We intercepted your aircraft carrier's message to Manners
saying that you two had been picked up. I decided to remove the real
menace to my future plans, Air Marshal Manners! However, he reached
Plymouth before I could meet him in the air. Too bad. However, there
is tomorrow, and the next day, and lots of days after that. I have
promised myself that Air Marshal Manners shall feel my bullets cutting
into his swine hide. And I do not break, a promise to myself!"
"But I lost you cold as we were returning to London!" Dave said with
a puzzled frown. "And, Mister, we darn near washed each other out
in those clouds. Another foot the wrong way and it would have been
curtains for the lot of us. Parachutes wouldn't have done any of us
any good with those two ships smacking each other at that speed. But
it wasn't until _after_ that that Manners ordered me to head for Lands
End. I said you maybe had cat's eyes, and you certainly must have had
them then. Did you actually trail us to Lands End Base?"
The sudden beam of vanity that lighted up von Khole's face sent a warm
glow of new hope surging through Dave. If he could only keep the Nazi
talking for a little longer. If he only could! A wild, crazy plan had
come into his head all of a sudden. There was just about one chance
in six billion that he could carry it out successfully. But the odds
against him didn't matter. It was a chance, and that was the all
important thing. But he must keep von Khole talking on. Praise the
dirty rat. Flatter him! Do anything just to keep him talking!
"No kidding?" Dave pressed his question in an awed tone. "Did you
really and truly trail us down to Lands End Base?"
The German laughed softly and shook his head and gestured with his free
hand, palm upward.
"No, because I didn't have to," he said. "I have brains, and so I
simply used them. I realized that Manners must know I was in the
Messerschmitt. I realized that he would of course change his course,
and not head for London. Then where would he head? Back to Plymouth?
No. Then where? It was obvious that he would head for another Coastal
Command Base. That he would head in the opposite direction from London.
And that would be? Toward Southampton, of course. So I flew in that
direction, myself, and circled about until I saw your plane. And when I
saw that you were heading west, the answer was simple. Where else but
Lands End? So I went to Lands End, myself!"
"In a Nazi Messerschmitt?" Freddy Farmer gasped before he could check
himself.
Von Khole gave him a reproachful look, and shook his head sadly from
side to side.
"You stupid English!" he groaned. "You do not have the imagination
of a fly. But of course not. I stayed in the clouds for a bit longer
and worked back over land between Southampton and Lands End. Then I
pointed my plane northward with the controls set for level flight, and
jumped with my parachute. By the time I reached earth the Messerschmitt
was many miles away. And a time bomb in it eventually blew it into
a million pieces so that it would never be recognized for what it
really was. Soldiers rushed me when I landed, but of course I carry
identification papers that nobody would ever question. I told them that
my plane had caught fire in the air and that I had been forced to jump.
I even told them I was on a special courier mission, and...."
The German paused to laugh heartily.
"What stupid swine, the English!" he cried. "Be polite, be the
gentleman, and they will believe anything you say. The soldiers took
me to their commanding officer where I repeated my story. He believed
me, also. And he actually loaned me his car in which to continue my
journey. _Himmel!_ After the war I shall write a book on the English.
It will be the funniest thing ever written. Anyway, I abandoned the
car just before I reached Lands End, and made the rest of the way on
foot. The field guards saluted me as I walked past them, and that was
all there was to it. And now...."
"Not quite all, von Khole," Dave spoke up quickly. "There's still the
most mysterious part of it all that I can't figure. I mean, how in heck
did you find out that Farmer and I were going to steal this plane? Or
maybe you just watched us, and guessed, huh? That sure was a bit of
smart guessing, is all I can say."
"Quite!" Freddy echoed. "It's almost unbelievable!"
The Nazi spy snorted in scorn.
"Guess?" he said sharply. "Of course not. I saw Manners talking to you
on that strip of sandy beach. I simply listened to what he told you,
and learned everything."
"You listened?" Dave cried. "Hey! Don't try to stuff that one down my
throat. There wasn't anybody within two hundred yards of us. And don't
say that Manners bellowed at us through a megaphone, because that's
out, too. What do you mean, listened?"
"Not with my ears, with my eyes, my simple one!" the Nazi clipped at
him. "For years I have been an expert lip reader. I hid in the shore
grass a good quarter of a mile from where you sat, trained a powerful
pair of binoculars on Manners' face and read every word he spoke to
you. After that I simply watched you two every instant of the time.
_Himmel!_ It was child's play compared to lots of other tasks I have
accomplished for my Fatherland."
"Well, I'll be cow-kicked!" Dave breathed in frank admiration.
"Lip-read every word Air Marshal spoke! Boy oh boy! Did we have two
strikes on us before we even got started!"
"What?" von Khole echoed with a puzzled frown. "Two strikes? You speak
of labor trouble in the United States?"
"No," Dave said. Then with a grin, "Brooklyn Dodger trouble when Ernie
White of the St. Louis Cards is pitching against them. But skip it.
What happened to your face? Did you run into a door that wasn't shut?"
Baron von Khole scowled and impulsively reached up and touched his cut
cheek with his free hand. It was not until then that Dave saw that the
German had a beautiful goose egg on the left side of his head.
"I can thank you for that!" the German said sharply. "You and this
cursed plane that bucks like a wild horse. About two hours after your
take-off a movement of the plane hurled me out of my hiding place aft
and I struck my head on one of the bracing girders, and a bolt end cut
my cheek. But it is nothing."
A glimmer of truth suddenly flashed through Dave's brain.
"Yes, I remember that tough air pocket we smacked into," he said with
an understanding nod. "It bounced Farmer and me around plenty, too. It
was just before we sighted those signal lights of some craft down on
the water."
The German seemed to look blank for the tiniest part of a split second.
Then he nodded his head vigorously.
"Yes, it was shortly before then," he said. "But it's nothing. And now,
my little boys, we have done enough talking, you and I. There is more
for me to do, and unfortunately for you, you are in my way. I cannot
waste any more time. What happens, must happen."
Dave looked blank, but his brain was clicking over at lightning like
speed. The truth, and he was sure it was the truth, was as clear as
high noon in his brain. Yes, he knew, now, why von Khole had hesitated
using the Luger, and had waited, casting expectant glances at the
radio every now and then. The reason was because the Nazi was worried.
Worried about what messages Dave and Freddy had sent and received
_while Baron von Khole was out cold from the crack he received on his
head_. And the man _had_ been knocked unconscious. Dave knew that for a
certainty. He knew it, because he had lied about sighting signal lights
from a boat below them. _There hadn't been any signal lights!_ They
hadn't even sighted a boat!
Yes, von Khole had delayed action because he was worried. Ten to one
the man had only gained consciousness when the Catalina was climbing
up out of the storm to make eye contact with the raider. He didn't
know what had happened during the hours he was unconscious. He knew,
of course, that radio contact had been made with the raider, but who
else had Freddy contacted over the ether waves? British planes? British
Navy ships? The Nazi didn't know. He had no way of knowing. So he had
delayed and waited, hoping that the radio might start crackling, and he
could snatch the phones from Freddy Farmer and perhaps gain an inkling
of what had transpired during his unconscious hours.
However, the radio had remained silent, and the Nazi did not dare wait
any longer. Whatever his next move was in his devilish game, he had to
get on with it, and soon!
The blood began to pound at Dave's temples, and for one awful instant
every muscle and nerve in his body seemed to turn into water. He
wanted to look at Freddy, but he didn't dare take his eyes off Baron
von Khole's face. Gone was the smirk, the scorn, and the look of
delighted triumph from the German's face. It had become set, hard and
cruel, and the light of a born killer glowed in his eyes. Dave knew
that it was only a matter of split seconds. Perhaps not even that
length of time. He tried to speak, but the horrible moment froze his
tongue to the roof of his mouth. Then with desperate effort he tore
his eyes from von Khole's face and shot a quick glance out the side
compartment window.
"Planes coming!" he cried in a hoarse voice.
Von Khole stiffened and half turned his head. In that infinitesimal
split second of time Dave Dawson staked his life, Freddy's life,
and the success or complete failure of their mission, on a single
lightning-like action. With every ounce of his strength he shoved
forward the foot he had eased up to rest against the control column of
the plane. The mighty effort rammed the column forward, and sent the
craft lurching down by the nose. As a result the tail surged upward and
the cat-walk practically fell away from under von Khole's feet.
The German half toppled over backwards and then seemed to rise right
straight up in the air. A horrible curse of rage spilled from his lips,
and the Luger in his hand barked three times. His backward movement
however had tilted the gun barrel upward and all three bullets ripped
harmlessly through the roof of the compartment. Then the German crashed
the top of his head against the strong cross brace girder of the top
section of the fuselage. Even above the howl of the engines Dave heard
the sickening crunching sound. Baron von Khole's eyes went glassy. Then
they closed shut, and he tumbled down on the cat-walk, limp and still
as a wet dish rag.
"At him, Freddy!" Dave screamed and hurled himself backward out of his
seat.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
_Atlantic Madness_
Dave's cry to Freddy Farmer was just a waste of breath, for the English
youth was already out of his seat with all the speed of a bullet
leaving the muzzle of a gun. And it was also a waste of effort for
either of them to dive down on the limp Baron von Khole. The German was
completely unconscious and the deep bleeding cut in the top of his head
made by contact with the fuselage girder was proof positive that he
would remain unconscious for a long, long time to come. Just the same,
the two fighting aces of the Royal Air Force took no chances. They took
the Luger from von Khole's limp fingers, and then trussed him up tight
with a length of spare mooring line.
"Beautiful, Dave!" Freddy panted as they got to their feet. "I never
dreamed you had that in mind. I saw you inching your foot up but it
didn't even dawn on me that you were trying to get it braced against
the control column so that you could shove the nose down and spill him
off his feet."
"Thank goodness it didn't even dawn on von Khole, what I was up to,"
Dave said with a big sigh. "But just a tap would have laid him out
cold. He was still a bit punch drunk from that other crack he got on
his dome."
"And to think he's been aboard and hiding aft all the time we've been
in the air!" Freddy said in a slightly shaky voice. "Good grief, it
gives a chap the creeps! I...."
"Let it ride, and stop thinking about it!" Dave snapped and vaulted
back into the pilot's seat. "Get going on that radio, and see if we can
get that raider to change her course. If we can't, then there's just
one thing left for us to do."
Freddy Farmer didn't bother to ask what that was. He leaped into the
co-pilot's seat and went hammer and tongs at the radio. Dave hauled the
Catalina out of the dive into which he had kicked her with his foot,
and climbed her up and around in the direction of the steaming raider
and her flock of U-boats. Every second the raider kept on steaming
northward he was filled with a great desire to yell at Freddy for
speed, and more speed. But he knew that the English youth was doing his
level best to reestablish contact by radio.
And then, when perhaps a year or two had dragged by, Dave suddenly
looked out the window on Freddy's side of the compartment, sat up
straight and yelled.
"Too late, now, Freddy!" he bellowed and rapped his pal on the arm with
his free hand. "She won't listen to us, now. There's planes coming, and
they're Nazis. Get aft to the tail gun. Action coming up, and coming up
fast!"
Freddy Farmer jerked up his head, tore off the earphones and shot a
look out the window. In practically a continuation of the general
movement he started scrambling out of the seat.
"It's going to be hot, Dave!" he shouted, but there was no note of fear
in his voice. "Hot as blazes. But what about the raider? We can't let
her get away from us! Blast von Khole from breaking into our party. The
Fleet planes and...."
"Skip it!" Dave barked. "Too late for that stuff, now. It's up to us,
Freddy. Keep them off our tail as long as you can. I'm going down and
dump our eggs on that raider. If we can't sink her maybe we can at
least cripple her. Get aft, pal, and give the bums jumping blue blazes
for the good old Royal Air Force!"
Freddy Farmer hesitated a moment, snapped a quick glance at the raider
they were now fast overhauling, and then gripped Dave hard on the arm.
"Right you are, old thing!" he shouted. "You plaster her, and I'll
jolly well plaster them! See you sometime, somewhere!"
"I'll be there, pal!" Dave cried as Freddy ducked aft.
Jerking his head front Dave fastened his gaze on the raider, shoved
the control column forward and sent the Catalina thundering down in a
long dive. Even before he had lost a couple of hundred feet of altitude
he heard the savage ear splitting chatter of many aerial machine guns
going into action. Their sound told him they were German guns. Then
an instant later he heard the sharper and louder chatter of Freddy
Farmer's guns giving answer.
"With Freddy back there picking them off, we're as safe as in church!"
he muttered through set lips. "There isn't a guy in the whole Royal Air
Force who can shoot like Freddy. He...."
_Br-r-r-r-at!_
The smack of a burst of bullets slapping against one of the compartment
windows cut off Dave's sentence as though with a knife. He swallowed
and instinctively ducked.
"And there's some lug flying for Hitler who isn't so bad himself!" he
breathed and ruddered sharply to get out of the line of fire.
As the movement took him around slightly he caught sight of the raging
ball of fire tumbling down out of the air toward the sea. He couldn't
tell the exact type of the plane, but he knew that it was German.
Freddy Farmer had scored first blood.
"And that's only the beginning, you tramps!" he howled and ruddered
back toward the raider. "So why don't you guys get wise and go on home?
Freddy...."
For the second time in as many minutes sound choked off the rest of
what Dave was about to say. This time it was not the crack or slap of
German aerial machine gun bullets. It was louder, and deeper, like the
earth trembling bark of a gigantic dog. And even as the thunderous
sound came to his ears he caught sight of the flame centered globs of
ugly black smoke that appeared just off the right wing. And a snap,
glance downward at the raider and her U-boats told him what he already
knew. The German boats had broken out their anti-aircraft guns and were
trying desperately to finish what the attacking long range German sea
raiding planes had started.
The sky raking fire from below blasted Dave's last hope that they might
still be able to fool the raider. A slim, crazy hope in view of the
fact that those aboard the raider could most certainly see him roaring
down at them. However, he had clung to that hope, crazy as it was.
But now it was gone. Now it was a fight to the finish. German planes,
U-boats, and a heavily armed sea raider against a lone R.A.F. Catalina
flying boat of the Coastal Command manned by two stout hearted,
do-or-die youths still in their teens.
"Okay, you've got the idea!" Dave shouted at the raider. "So here we
come with the old one-two punch."
As the words rushed off his lips, Dave steepened his wing howling dive
slightly, then took one hand from the Dep control wheel and grabbed the
bomb release toggles especially fitted to the side of the compartment
so that the pilot could still release eggs in case the bombing officer
was killed during an action. One hand gripping the Dep wheel, and
the other gripping the bomb release toggles, he sent the Catalina
rocketing down lower and lower, straight through a sea of bursting,
roaring flame that rose up from the guns of the raider and the U-boats.
Split seconds whipped by. He felt the Catalina buck and tremble as bits
of archie shell crashed into her. He heard the steady chatter of Freddy
Farmer's guns aft, and he saw two more balls of flame go tumbling
seaward off to his right. And then it seemed as though the hull nose
of the Catalina was going to smash right down into the black smoke
belching funnel of the raider. He was so close he could see the white
faces of the raider's crew crouched behind their guns and frantically
striving to bring their weapons to bear right on him. He even saw some
members of the crew banging away at him with machine guns, and even
rifles.
He heard and saw all those things as in a dream. Then in the last
split second to spare he hauled the nose of the Catalina up out of
its mad dive. The instant it came up level and was rocketing forward
at terrific speed he yanked back a brace of bomb release toggles. No
sooner had he dropped his eggs than he pulled back on the Dep wheel
control, dropped the right wing slightly and went careening around and
up toward the sun flooded heavens.
No sooner had he started up than his sharp eyes caught the flash of
German wings cutting in at him from an angle. His free hand flew to the
forward machine gun trigger button on the stick. He booted the Catalina
around a bit more at the same time, and then let go with his forward
guns. Through a blur he saw that the German craft was a Junkers Ju
88, one of the most deadly type of raiders Hitler was sending against
British convoys. It had both bomb power and great fire power as well.
It was nothing to fool around with, and Dave didn't waste time fooling.
He plastered the nose of the craft, and forced the pilot to turn away.
That was the German's fatal mistake. It gave Dave a belly shot, and he
took full advantage of the opportunity. He gave the Junkers everything.
And a split second later it was all over for the plane and its crew.
It exploded in a billion flaming pieces that seemed to go arching out
toward the four horizons.
"My regards to Satan!" Dave howled at the top of his voice. "You'll be
seeing him before I do, and how!"
That off his chest, Dave hauled the nose even higher and plowed
straight for a long range Focke-Wulf 187 twin engined job that was
trying to cut down under Freddy Farmer's withering fire from the tail
turret of the Catalina. That too was a bad maneuver on the part of
another one of Goering's little boys. Dave's slashing burst practically
cut the Focke-Wulf in two. It stopped dead in midair as though it had
smacked straight into an invisible brick wall. Then it buckled in the
middle, and started slowly spinning seaward.
"Cheating on you, Freddy!" Dave shouted. "But the shot was too good to
pass up. I...."
Dave stopped short as the whole sky seemed to suddenly turn into a
sea of blinding red, and orange, and yellow. The Catalina shook and
trembled as a thunderous blast of sound rushed in upon it from all
sides. For one horrible heart stopping second Dave thought that an
anti-aircraft shell from the raider or one of the U-boats below had
scored a direct hit on them and that the Catalina was going up in
flame. In the next instant he saw the truth; saw the mighty sheet
of flame off to the left that was sliding straight down to the sea
leaving behind a towering column of oily black smoke and flaming bits
of debris. A second look at it and his heart burst with pride. Freddy
hadn't even been paying any attention to the Focke-Wulf trying to get
in at him. Instead he had ignored it for bigger game. The largest and
most powerful of Hitler's aerial sea raiders. A mighty four engined
Focke-Wulf "Kurier." The so-called Flying Fortress of the Nazi Air
Force with tremendous bomb, and cannon, and machine gun fire power.
And Freddy Farmer had brought it down. Sent it hurtling down in flames
never to fly again in this war, or in this world.
In spite of the showers of death that were still whining and howling
about the Catalina as it prop-clawed up for altitude, Dave threw back
his head and laughed.
"And I thought _I_ was taking a Nazi away from under your nose,
Freddy!" he shouted aloud. "Heck! I should have realized that you
couldn't be bothered with small fry. What a man, what a man!"
Nodding his head in vigorous emphasis, Dave cut out of his zoom, curved
around on wingtip to throw off the aim of another Focke-Wulf trying
to cut in at him, and snapped a glance down at the water. What he saw
brought a yell of wild joy to his lips. Flame and smoke were belching
up out of the raider's vitals amidships. And a bit astern of her two
U-boats were lunging helplessly in a whirlpool of frothy water. But his
joy was short lived. Though the raider had been hit, and was obviously
afire, her engines were still doing their work. She was still cutting
through the foam flecked rollers at top speed. Even as Dave realized
the truth the belching smoke and flame diminished considerably. The
raider's crew had got the bomb fire under control, and the raider was
still hurling tons of anti-aircraft steel skyward.
At that moment Dave felt rather than saw movement at his side. He
snapped his head around a bit to see Freddy Farmer scramble over and
into the co-pilot's seat. The English youth's face was paper white but
there was a wild determined look in his eyes.
"Rear gun ammo all gone!" he shouted before Dave could ask the
question. "There wasn't half enough aboard! What did they think we
might have to fight? A few training planes? It's up to you, Dave! You
hit her once. Now hit her again and finish the blighter, and be-darned
to these Jerry buzzards whizzing around us. Go on, Dave! Go on down and
get her good this time. It's our last chance. You'll never have time to
make a third bomb dive on her!"
"Last chance!" Dave echoed and shoved the Catalina's nose almost down
to the vertical. "Last chance! And we'll make it final for that baby,
too!"
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
_Wings of Victory_
As though the very air were greased the Catalina flying boat went
streaking down at the raider. Dave felt her tremble and vibrate from
hull nose to tail, and from wingtip to wingtip. He felt parts of
the plane let go. A brace girder or perhaps a strip of her fuselage
covering, but he didn't give it a second thought. This was the last
dive on the raider. This time he would release every bomb in the
special hull racks. This time it was the raider, or the Catalina, and
maybe both.