_Wings of Doom_
DAVE DAWSON’S thoughts were like so many rats gnawing away at his brain.
His whole body was filled with icy shivers, and his stomach felt full of
lumps of cold lead. But it was not fear that caused that conglomeration
of emotion. On the contrary it was the sense of defeat, and of seemingly
utter helplessness and hopelessness, that caused him to feel as he did.
He was sitting with Freddy Farmer on the rough board floor of one of the
frontless huts under the trees. From there he could look out and see
everything that was going on; look out and see many things that were
like white hot knives turning in his heart. He watched bombs being
fitted to some of the Vultees, and aerial torpedoes being fitted to the
others. And watching over the efforts of the bull-necked mechanics were
nine Luftwaffe pilots, and von Stutgardt.
Yes, both he and Freddy could look out and see all that was taking
place, but neither of them could do anything about it, that is, unless
they wanted to die instantly. Stationed some ten yards in front of the
hut, and each a little to one side, were two Nazi guards. Each guard was
armed with the deadly Nazi portable machine gun. And both guns were
trained dead on them. So were the eyes of the two guards. They watched
unwinking, like a couple of cobras waiting to strike, Dave told himself.
Sure, they could look out and see all that was taking place. They could
even get up and _try_ to go closer for a better look--if they wanted to!
Von Stutgardt had not had them bound up. Their legs and their arms were
free of ropes, or anything like that. It was strictly up to them whether
they wished to live a little longer--or die at once.
“That dirty blighter who was at the Albuquerque Base!” Freddy Farmer
suddenly broke a five minute silence between them. “I think I could
almost die happy, if I could only give that beggar what he deserves
first. We’ve certainly made a mess of things, Dave. But goodness knows,
we had little enough to go on.”
Dave nodded absently and stared out beyond the group of planes at an
eleventh plane partly hidden by the tree growth beyond. It was a
seaplane, a Nazi Arado. In other words, the same seaplane Freddy and he
had lost in that flock of fluffy clouds high in the air. Not over half
an hour ago he had heard it come down to a landing. And he had seen it
taxi up a small inlet of water and come to a stop where it now rested,
completely hidden from any patrolling eyes above. As he stared at it the
gnawing ache in his heart increased. The Nazis were so darn cunning, so
confoundedly clever and thorough. They left nothing to chance. Not they!
This secret base here was a perfect example of Nazi war technique.
Everything built out of sight. An expert job of camouflaging. U.S.
planes could patrol the skies above, and U.S. Navy ships could control
the waters all about--and nobody would even begin to suspect that the
Nazis had this powerful air unit secretly based within a two hundred and
fifty mile striking distance of the so very vital Panama Canal!
The Panama Canal! Dave groaned and shivered again as the name flashed
through his brain. He could only guess, of course, but he was positive
he could guess the right answers. Von Stutgardt’s plans were as simple
as they were terrifyingly disastrous in extent. One swift devastating
blow that would completely fool the Canal Zone defense until it was too
late--
Dave shook his head savagely and refused to complete the horrible
thought picture. He looked at Freddy and saw that the English youth was
watching him closely. Freddy smiled and winked.
“Chin up, old thing,” Freddy murmured. “I seem to recall we’ve been in
one or two tight spots before. At least the blighter hasn’t shot us yet.
That’s something. Wants to crow over us, of course. Nazi vanity when he
believes he’s on top. More satisfying than food and drink to those
rotters. Perhaps something--”
Freddy gestured the last, and Dave returned his smile.
“Perhaps something will!” he said grimly. “It’s got to. The old brain is
spinning pretty much right now. But one of us has got to come up with
something. And I don’t think we’ve got much time to work the think box,
either. Boy! What I wouldn’t give for three minutes in that hut over
there!”
Freddy looked in the direction of Dave’s pointed finger, and then back
at him.
“Why that hut?” he asked. “Personally, I’d choose that one still half
filled with bombs. I could make a beautiful noise, and have things
knocked about no end, if I could be left alone in that hut for a bit.”
“I’ll still take my hut,” Dave grunted. “It happens to be their radio
shack. Give me three minutes and I’d have a couple of hundred bombers
and ground fighters on their way out here. Just three minutes at the
mike, or the key. Maybe two would be all I’d need.”
“In that case,” Freddy murmured, and stared across at the hut indicated,
“we’ll have to see if we can’t arrange something along that line.”
“Yes, sure,” Dave sighed. “We might ask von Stutgardt, even. Here he
comes over to start that crowing you were talking about. Boy! Wouldn’t I
love to push him right in that ugly face of his. The majority of Nazis
certainly were behind the door when the good looks were passed out,
weren’t they?”
“Down in the cellar, no doubt,” Freddy grunted, “plotting fresh carnage
and chaos. Well, here he comes, anyway.”
Von Stutgardt strode up to their hut with a smirking smile on his face
that stretched from ear to ear. He came to a halt a little distance away
so that he was not in line with either of the guards’ guns, and stood
there staring at them for a moment.
“You are perfectly comfortable?” he suddenly spoke in his mocking voice.
“Sorry I can’t let you move about at will. But that might prove a little
dangerous. Of course, now that you have had the chance to observe
things, you realize what is about to take place, eh?”
“Sure!” Dave shot at him. “We’ve guessed what you _think_ is about to
take place. But that’s a different kind of cheese, von Stutgardt. Plenty
different!”
The German looked at him, and laughed.
“Stop trying to bolster up your courage, Captain Dawson,” he jeered.
“There is nothing that can stop us, keep us from our great triumph, now.
Yes, I will admit that a few days ago, when you two were receiving your
orders from Colonel Welsh, I was a little worried about just how much
you knew. And the other day when another one of your stupid agents came
poking his nose about here, I wondered if my well laid plans were really
in danger. I tricked him down, the same way I tricked you. He was a
fool, and put up a fight. Naturally, I was forced to kill him, and have
him buried.”
“Poor Marble,” Freddy Farmer murmured. “Then he _did_ know something.”
“Yes, that was his name,” von Stutgardt grunted. “We knew he was working
with an agent named Tracey, in the Canal Zone. I had Marble watched,
while I trailed Tracey northward. Tell me something! Why did he make
that trip north so suddenly? I have wondered a lot about that
since--since I ordered his finish.”
The question was directed at Dawson, but the Yank ace didn’t reply at
once. He wondered, too. But what did it matter now? Tracey was dead, and
his real reason for making that sudden trip northward to contact Colonel
Welsh would remain another of the war’s unrevealed secrets. Perhaps it
was to arrange for a small force attack on this secret Nazi base, or,
perhaps for some other reason. Who could tell? And what did it matter?
Tracey was dead--and von Stutgardt was about to strike his Panama Canal
paralyzing blow. But Dave didn’t let any of that show in his face as he
returned the Nazi’s look.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he grunted. “Well, don’t worry! You’ll find
out soon enough!”
“Quite!” Freddy Farmer exclaimed quickly, picking up Dawson’s lead. “And
no doubt you’ll find out sooner than you think.”
But it all seemed to have no visible effect on Captain Karl von
Stutgardt. He continued to sneer, and there was haughty disdain in his
glittering eyes.
“Very amusing,” he said. “But I, too, am very well acquainted with the
art of bluffing. You little fools! Have I not had you watched every
minute of the time? Have I not been able practically to read your
thoughts? Bah! If it had not been necessary to get rid of you so that
the U-boat contact plane could land and give me my final orders from
Berlin, I would have let you fly back to your Colon Base--and die with
the others there. But I had to let that contact plane land. And also--I
could not find it in my heart to let you two die without having found
out _anything_. That is one of my weak points. The Fuehrer has often
told me that I am too generous to my enemies. But it will all be over
soon, so I can afford to be a little generous. Of course, not _too_
generous, you understand?”
The German thought that was a great joke, and threw back his head and
laughed loudly. Dave measured the distance between them with his eyes,
but savagely fought down the almost berserk urge for action. This wasn’t
the time for action. At this moment von Stutgardt held all the cards,
and he was playing them close to his chest. Later, please God! But not
right at this moment.
“Okay, have it your way, von Stutgardt,” he said, and shrugged. “You’re
a pilot, I suppose? You’re going to lead this sneak bomb and aerial
torpedo raid, in American planes, on the Canal?”
“Of course I am!” the German cried wildly. “And how your swine American
comrades there will be surprised! They will see us come over, believe us
to be from their Ninety-Sixth Attack Squadron, and before they realize
what has happened--!”
The German paused and gestured a series of mighty explosions with his
two hands.
“So!” he shouted. “There will be no more Panama Canal. We will return
here as soon as possible, and there will be U-boats waiting to take us
away to other fields of battle. But I have neglected to mention the part
you two will play.”
The Nazi paused again and leered at them, his two eyes like burning
coals of hatred.
“I will arrange for you two to be able to make a complete report to the
dear Colonel Welsh, when you three meet again _after death_!” the man
suddenly cried. “You will be able to tell him everything, _then_. All
the details on how the Canal was destroyed. An eye witness account it
shall be, because you two are going to see it all with your eyes. Yes,
as my personal guests.”
Von Stutgardt had another laughing spell, and it was a couple of moments
before he continued.
“That is very good, my personal guests!” he chuckled. “In a Vultee there
is room for three--a pilot, a radio man, and the rear gunner. So I shall
take you two along with me. And when it is all over, when you have seen
all there is to see, I will dump you out over Ninety-Six’s field. Or
course you will not be wearing parachutes, and you will be bound hand
and foot. But you will reach the ground, of course, and there should be
enough of you left to be identified. You know, I wonder if dear Colonel
Welsh will weep very much when he finds out. You have failed him
miserably this time, you know.”
“This time isn’t over yet, you dirty rotter!” Freddy Farmer blurted out.
“But continue with your little speech. We are amused, too. Very much
_indeed_. Go ahead, you blasted murderer! Have your sport _while you
may_!”
Von Stutgardt’s eyes seemed to shoot off sparks as he glared at Freddy.
For a moment Dave feared the Nazi was going to use his Luger, and he got
set to hurl himself at the man. Von Stutgardt’s face was white with
rage, and his upper lip was trembling. But he did not use the Luger he
clutched in his right hand. With a tremendous effort he gained mastery
over his emotions. He slowly lowered the Luger and twitched one corner
of his mouth in what was supposed to be a mocking smile.
“I will dump you out last, my swine English friend!” he bit off at
Freddy. “That will add to my pleasure, to watch you die last. But I
waste too much time here. Ask the guards for anything you like. You
won’t get it, of course. Sweet dreams, then, you two stupid little
fools--until tomorrow at dawn!”
With a curt nod for each of them, and a parting smirk, von Stutgardt
swung around on his heel and walked rapidly away.
“So it’s tomorrow at dawn, eh?” Freddy Farmer murmured, and stared
squint-eyed off into space. “Nasty beggar, what?”
“A low-down bum of the first water,” Dave grunted. “But I’ve got the
feeling that he’s not as happy as he’d like to be. That bird is worried,
Freddy. He tried to cover up with his tough words, but he’s worried. We
got under his skin, and he doesn’t feel so good.”
“No doubt,” Freddy said with a sigh and a wry smile. “But I could name
two others who don’t feel so good about things, either.”
“Don’t bother!” Dawson groaned. “I can get it on the first guess!”
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