_Eagle Lightning_
THE TROPICAL sun was still a way above the western lip of the world, but
because of the canopy of dense trees and other growth that covered the
island the light on the ground was pale and silverish, and long slender
shadows crisscrossed each other. Slumped down on the rough wood floor
beside Freddy Farmer, Dave closed his eyes tight for the umpty-umpth
time, and searched his tortured brain for a possible way out of this
tightest of all traps that had ever caught him between its jaws.
But once again his aching brain was unable to conjure up anything that
wouldn’t result in practically instant death. It was just no use, it
seemed, even to try to think, for the stone wall was ever there in his
brain. On the other hand, though, it was impossible not to think, and so
the countless soul-stabbing thoughts went around and around in a vicious
circle.
Hardly realizing that he was doing so, he went back in memory and
retraced every step of this mad, fruitless journey that had begun in
Colonel Welsh’s office in San Francisco. What had happened to the agent
who was supposed to follow Freddy and him to Albuquerque? Had he perhaps
had engine trouble, and been unable to get off in time? And had it been
accidental trouble? But why wonder about that small item? What good
would it do him now to know? None at all. But he hoped Colonel Welsh’s
agent came out of it all right.
And that fake message the Colonel had sent to Washington as a means of
baiting the trap for whoever had tapped the phone lines. Had it worried
those listening in? He thought it had. And he was certain that Captain
Karl von Stutgardt was still worried. That was one thing Colonel Welsh
had figured wrong, however. Seven-Eleven _had_ been in the States all
that time. And how bitter to realize now that he had been the pilot of
that Taylor Cub! If Freddy and he had only known! What a terrible menace
to the civilized world they could have removed right then and there. But
why think of that now, either?
And that supposedly Second Lieutenant Miller who had served as check-in
officer at Albuquerque! He had fired at Freddy from that rifle range. He
had that Sergeant take over his post and slipped over there. And it had
been Miller, of course, who had hidden that pencil incendiary bomb
aboard the Flying Fortress. Easy for him to have done that, for he had
the run of the Base. Nobody would have wondered about the movements of a
check-in officer. Second Lieutenant Miller? More likely it was
_Oberleutnant Meuller_, of the Nazi Luftwaffe!
And now this place! A secret base of the most hated nation in the
history of the world. A secret base within easy striking distance of the
Panama Canal. How simple it all would be for von Stutgardt and his nine
other vultures. Their planes would of course be taken for Ninety-Six
aircraft returning from patrol. Then before anybody realized the truth
of things, these devil men would strike. Their bombs and their aerial
torpedoes would go hurtling down, and in one blinding flash every lock
from Colon to Balboa would be destroyed, and the Canal put out of use
for months and months to come--and maybe for all time!
Dave groaned in spite of himself and hitched up on one elbow. He stared
at the two armed guards, and they stared back unwinkingly at him. Just
looking at them made him see red, and caused a wild, completely insane
recklessness to steal through his body. He forced himself to look the
other way. He twisted around a bit and absently stared at the back of
the hut. There were two windows, but only the frames. Neither glass nor
netting had been put in as yet. Beyond the windows he could see the
tangle of untouched tropical growth. It was bathed in weird light and
grotesque shadows. He stared at it, and the reckless spirit within him
grew stronger and started his heart to thumping against his ribs.
He glanced at Freddy, but the English youth sat with his arms folded on
his knees, and his bent head resting on his folded arms. He might be
asleep, but Dave knew that wasn’t so. Freddy was simply sitting there
suffering the tortures of the doomed, too. Dave took a deep breath and
then slowly got up onto his feet.
“Got to stretch my legs,” he said. “They feel ready to snap off any
second.”
He spoke the words with a smile, but he was watching the two guards
closely out of the corner of one eye. They stiffened to the alert as he
stood up, and he could almost see their hands tighten on their
sub-machine guns. But he paid them no visible attention, however. He
stretched both hands above his head, and yawned loudly. His heart was
well up in his throat by now. Were the guards going to do something, or
weren’t they? He looked down at Freddy again, shrugged for the benefit
of the ever watching guards, and then jammed his hands in his pockets
and started to saunter about the limited amount of floor space. He
walked with his head bent and his eyes fixed on the floor boards, as
though he were fed up with everything, and just didn’t care a hoot what
happened next.
As a matter of fact, though, he kept darting glances in all directions,
particularly out the two rear windows. He saw then for sure that there
was nothing but heavy jungle growth to the rear of the hut. And because
of the heavy growth the shadows out there were deepening more and more
by the minute. His heartbeat was hitting full speed when presently he
sauntered back to Freddy and slumped down on the floor.
“You’re a lazy bum, pal!” he said with a laugh. “Why don’t you stretch
your legs? Just sitting there moping won’t change a thing. The party’s
all over as far as we’re concerned.”
Freddy lifted his head and shot him a hard glance. Dave slowly winked
the eye that the watching guards couldn’t see. Then, leaning forward, he
balanced both elbows on his knees and put his two hands up to his face
with the fingers spread apart. He could look out between the spread
fingers, but his two palms completely concealed his mouth. He stared
vacantly off into space for a long time, until he saw the guards relax a
bit, though they did not remove their steadfast, unwinking gaze.
“There’s just one play we can make, Freddy,” he then whispered into his
two palms held in front of his mouth. “Just one play. It may fall flat
and get us nailed deader than frozen fish. But, Freddy, we’ve just got
to do _something_! We just can’t sit here and let von Stutgardt dish it
out at dawn! Right?”
He heard Freddy groan and roll over on his stomach. The English youth’s
movement brought his head close to Dave’s knees. Freddy rested his
forehead on his two palms so that he was looking down between his
forearms at the floor boards.
“Right!” Dave presently heard the faint whisper. “I’m willing to try
anything, and blast the cost to us. I’ll even charge those two blighters
out there, if you think that’s best. But have you any idea, Dave?
Anything that offers a little bit of a chance?”
“Just an idea, that’s about all,” Dave breathed into his palms. “And
we’ve got to play it soon, while they’re still keeping us here. When it
gets dark they’ll probably truss us up for the business at dawn. Freddy!
The two rear windows. We’ve got to dive through them before those guards
can pull their triggers. We can try it, this way.”
Dave paused and took away one of his hands to scratch the top of his
head. He yawned and stretched both arms, and then braced his spread
fingers against the upper part of his face again. The guards still
watched him, but there was no suspicion or uneasiness in their pig-like
eyes.
“This way, Freddy,” he whispered again. “We get up to stretch our legs.
I tried it, and the guards didn’t seem to mind. We act tired and fed up,
and not caring what happens next. We slouch around for a good ten
minutes, enough time to get the guards used to us moving around. Then
when you’re in front of one window, and I’m in front of the other, I’ll
sneeze. That’ll be the go signal. Freddy. When I sneeze, we both dive
head first through a window in nothing flat. Got that?”
“Got it.” The two words just barely reached Dave’s ears. “And then
what?”
“Then it’s up to you, pal,” Dave breathed. “That radio hut, I mean. Our
first hope is to radio to Colon and get bombers out here on the jump.
You know the usual SOS signal. Get word to Colon Base. And maybe some
Navy ships close by will pick it up, too. Now, I’ll cover for you so
that you can sneak around back and get into that radio hut. As soon as
we land outside the window I’ll turn sharp left and make a lot of noise
getting away. You hug the ground until they’re in full flight after me.
And then--then do your stuff, Freddy. And good luck to you. Okay?”
“Definitely not!” came the instant reply. “I’ll do the covering up--if
we escape the guards’ bullets. The radio idea was yours in the first
place. Besides, I can’t operate those gadgets the way you can. No, Dave!
You work the SOS business. I’ll draw the blighters away from you. No
arguments, please. I honestly can do that best, Dave. I’d stand a much
better chance of throwing them off and circling back to joining you than
you would. You know that’s true, too.”
Dave didn’t reply for a moment. He realized full well that Freddy Farmer
did speak the truth. He knew it from experience in the past. English
though he was, Freddy Farmer was almost the equal of an American Indian
scout when it came to moving about in woods and heavy undergrowth. His
movements were those of a shadow, and twice as silent. Yes, Freddy could
do better drawing off the pursuers. And, too, he wasn’t so hot at the
radio business, particularly a key wireless. But drawing off the
pursuers was the most dangerous job. He stood about one chance in a
hundred of not being spotted and brought to earth by gun fire. Still--
“It must be that way, Dave!” came the whisper. “I insist! We’ve got to
do it my way. Blast it, Dave! It’s the only way possible. This is no
time to think of each other. Don’t you see?”
Dave bit his lips, but the absolute truth of Freddy’s words was too much
for him. After all, what mattered most was the fate of the Panama Canal.
“Okay,” he finally said. “But if anything happens to you, pal, I’ll--”
He couldn’t finish. Then he felt Freddy’s head pressing lightly against
his left knee, and he knew that Freddy understood without being told.
Dave swallowed hard and wondered if the guards could see tears showing
in his eyes. For a crazy moment he was tempted to call it all off.
Perhaps there was some other way out. Perhaps at dawn he could add to
von Stutgardt’s obvious worries, and get the Nazi to postpone striking
his terrible blow. Maybe that crack about X-62 could be used again. Of
course, Dave didn’t know of anybody who was known as X-62. But
mentioning that, as von Stutgardt herded them up from the beach, had
made worried lights flash in the Nazi’s eyes. The Nazi didn’t know the
truth about X-62, and maybe--just maybe--
Dave let the rest slide as Freddy Farmer groaned again and rolled over
on his back, and then up to a sitting position.
“Did stretching your legs help any?” the English youth asked in a loud
voice. “Very well, I’ll try it. But, frankly, I think it’s silly to
worry about our health now. It’s all over for us. We two are finished,
blast it!”
Freddy spoke the last in distinct German, and openly glared at the two
guards. If they didn’t understand the English words they most certainly
understood the German words, and Freddy’s glare. They both grinned
wolfishly and nodded their heads slightly. Freddy glared at them for a
bit longer, then coldly turned his back on them and started slouching
about the hut floor. Dave glanced at the guards, saw them chuckling in
amusement at Freddy’s obvious discomfort of body and mind, and hoped he
could put on as good an act as his pal.
He remained where he was for a couple of minutes, a perfect picture of
dejected defeat and misery. Then he sighed and got slowly up on his own
feet. But he didn’t start walking immediately. He just stood there a
moment absently rubbing his two hands up and down the sides of his face,
and staring sad-eyed out past the guards. When he could tell that they
were no more on the alert than usual, he stopped rubbing his face,
jammed his hands in his pockets, grunted, and started shuffling about
the place in a circle.
One minute--two minutes--three minutes ticked slowly by, and it was all
that Dave could do to stop from screaming at the top of his voice. Every
nerve and muscle in him was drawn tight, close to the snapping point.
Each second had seemed an hour longer, and each minute a whole eternity.
With every step he took he was seized with the wild desire to sneeze the
signal and dive headlong through one of the windows. Anything,
_anything_ to break this torturing suspense. Anything so long as it
meant action. That was all he craved, now, and nuts to the results.
He maintained a steely grip on himself, however. Three minutes weren’t
half enough to soothe away any sneaking suspicions that the two guards
might have. Every time he snapped a glance their way from up under his
brows he saw that they were tensed and watching Freddy and him as two
cats might watch a couple of mice. Not time, yet, for the do or die
effort. Not until the guards got used to their shuffling around and
relaxed a little. They were still on the alert too much. Their trigger
fingers were still too itchy and ready.
Four minutes--five--six--seven! When had he started this slouching
around to get exercise? Had it been yesterday, or last week, or last
year? He didn’t dare look at Freddy for fear the guards would see his
look and take it for some kind of a signal. It was only seven minutes.
_Only_ seven? That was all the minutes there were in the world, wasn’t
it?
Eight minutes--nine! Praise be to Allah! The guards were relaxing a
little. One of them had shifted his feet to a more comfortable stance.
And his sub-machine gun was pointing a little more toward the ground.
The other guard, too, was seemingly getting just a little bored with the
prisoner parade. He let go of his gun with one hand to slap at a fly
buzzing around his face. It was making him wink for the first time.
Ten minutes--eleven! Dave saw Freddy close to one of the windows--real
close. He took a quick side step that took him to within two feet of his
window. He shot a quick glance at the two guards--and sneezed!
In the next couple of seconds a hundred different things seemed to
happen at the same time. His whole body seemed to explode like many
firecrackers as his coiled spring muscles let go, and his feet left the
floor and he dived headlong through the window. He misjudged the opening
by a hair and felt sharp pain as his shoulder cracked against the jamb.
He caught a flash glimpse of Freddy going out the other window like a
flying fish above the crest of a wave. Then there was a roaring blast of
noise in back of him. It was as though the three-sided hut were crashing
down about his ears. And his head was suddenly filled with the whistle
and zinging of many unseen bullets. Slivers of wood flew past him, and
then--and then he was landing like a cat on all fours on the ground
below the window, and heavy tropical growth was clutching out at him.
For a brief instant there was no air in his lungs, and there were
dancing lights before his eyes. Then somebody grabbed his arm. It was
Freddy Farmer, and the English youth’s voice was in his ears.
“Good luck, old man! I’ll take care of the blighters!”
And in the next flash second Freddy Farmer was gone. He wasn’t there any
more. There was just heavy tangy-smelling tropical island undergrowth.
And from a good distance away came the calling voice.
“Over here, Dave! Run! There’s a path...!”
The last was drowned out by the thunderous roar of gunfire--gunfire that
seemed to come right out of the top of Dave’s head!
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