The English youth groaned, swayed on his feet, and would have fallen
if Dave had not grabbed him. The little exhaustion act fooled the
German colonel completely. He spat out a few words in angry annoyance,
and then ordered the corporal to help Dave and Freddy to chairs just
inside the tent, and to give them water. The boys gestured thanks with
movements of their hands, and accepted the water canteen from the
corporal. The two officers watched them in keen-eyed silence and waited
until they appeared to revive a bit.
"Yes, I speak English," the colonel presently said, and surprisingly
enough, without the slightest trace of an accent. "Where is your unit?
I see from your uniform badges you are from the Sixth London Regiment."
"We don't know, sir," Dave mumbled as he lowered the water canteen from
his lips. "We are lost. Two hours ago we saw this camp. We thought this
was our regiment's post."
"How did you get lost?" the colonel demanded. "How long ago?"
"Four days, sir," Freddy spoke up. "We were on advance patrol and--"
"It was more than four days, Freddy," Dave interrupted. "It was six. I
have kept count of them."
"Four or six, let him finish!" the colonel snarled, and then looked at
Freddy. "Yes? You were on patrol? Where?"
Freddy hesitated and scowled.
"Is that necessary?" he asked. "Would you reveal valuable information
if you were captured and taken prisoner, sir?"
The blunt question startled the two Germans. They exchanged swift
glances; then the colonel bent his slitted eyes on Freddy again.
"I would not be captured and taken prisoner!" he said harshly. "If you
do not wish to speak, that is your privilege. But--"
The German paused and waved a hand toward the surrounding desert.
"But you look as though you know what the desert can do to a man," he
finished suddenly.
The two boys flinched visibly. Then Dave spoke quickly.
"My comrade got a touch of the sun, sir," he said. "We possess no
valuable information we could reveal. We were simply on advance patrol.
A sand storm came up and we became separated from the main body. We
have been trying to locate it ever since. That is all of our story,
sir."
Dave held his breath as he finished, and prayed inwardly. The prayer
was answered. The very fact he had said they possessed no valuable
information had instantly convinced the German colonel that they were
lying. That was as it should be. When the enemy _thinks_ you know
something, he will hold your life as valuable as his own until he has
found out. The longer you keep him guessing, the longer you have to
find out things yourself, and perhaps eventually beat him at his own
game.
"I do not believe you!" the colonel suddenly snapped, thus confirming
Dave's belief. "Listen to me! I have no time to waste. We have taken
you prisoner. We have given you water. Later you will receive food.
But we do not _have_ to do those things. Understand that! You are
completely helpless. I have only to give the order and you will be
kicked out onto the desert to shift for yourselves. Or I can even give
the order and have you shot. It is up to you whether you wish to be
wise, or foolish."
The two boys didn't say anything. They simply sat motionless and stared
unhappily off into space. Suddenly the German major spoke, and it was
all Dave could do to stop from starting violently.
"I suggest you question them about that plane we sighted early this
morning, _Herr_ Colonel," he said in his native tongue. "The one we
sighted and informed Tripoli about by radio."
There was a moment's silence after the major had spoken, and during
that moment a hundred and one thoughts leaped and danced across Dave
Dawson's brain. So this unit had sighted the Skua? This unit had
radioed Tripoli, and attack planes had been sent out? Then it was not
just by chance that those six planes had come slicing down out of the
sun. On the contrary, their pilots had known exactly what to look
for, and the location. They had climbed up into the sun on purpose.
True, that maneuver had availed them nothing but the loss of four of
their number. Nevertheless, the realization that hostile eyes had been
watching them all the time sent little shivers rippling up and down
Dave's spine. And at the same time it made his heart sink. When he and
Freddy did not make their rendezvous contact with the Victory, another
flying team would be drawn and sent out. They, too, would be sighted as
they cruised about over what looked like nothing but limitless desert.
And when Axis planes swooped down on them--perhaps they would not be so
lucky as he and Freddy had been.
Lucky? The word was like a taunting laugh in Dave's brain. Were he and
Freddy as lucky as they hoped? Had they perhaps walked knowingly into a
trap from which there was no possible escape? Was this the end of the
war for them? Was this perhaps the end of--everything?
At that moment the colonel's voice roused him from the depths of his
bitter reverie.
"What have you seen since dawn?" the colonel asked.
"Since dawn?" Dave echoed vaguely, and then looked questioningly at
Freddy.
The English youth rose to the occasion at once.
"Don't you remember, Dave?" he asked. "Or has the sun dulled your
memory, too? We saw an air battle. We saw the planes fall. Don't you
remember?"
"Oh, that?" Dave echoed with a shrug. "What was important about that?"
"So you saw the air battle, eh?" the German colonel asked quickly. "You
saw the planes fall, perhaps?"
Both Freddy and Dave hesitated. Both had the same sudden feeling that
the German was trying to lead them into some kind of a word trap. Just
what they replied to his questions might make all the difference in the
world as to their own safety. Finally Dave spoke.
"Yes, we saw the planes fall," he said.
The two Germans leaned forward slightly, and suppressed excitement
showed on their faces.
"How many?" the colonel asked.
"Five," Dave answered promptly. "Three Nazi, one Italian, and one of
ours."
"That British plane," the German major spoke up suddenly. "You say you
saw it fall to the ground? What happened to the pilot and observer?
They jumped with their parachutes, eh?"
Dave shook his head.
"No," Freddy said for them both. "They did not jump. They glided the
plane down and crashed when they tried to land. The plane caught fire.
It was about a mile away from where we were standing. When we reached
it, it was too late to do anything."
"It is as I told you, _Herr_ Colonel," the major said to his senior
officer in German. "If those British aviators saw anything, they
died before they could take the information back to their base. Yes,
undoubtedly they were simply sent out to hunt for these two standing
before us."
Dave kept a dumb, blank look on his face, as though he didn't
understand a single word the German was saying. Inwardly, though,
he was smiling happily to himself. Thank goodness he had made the
suggestion to Freddy that they act as though they didn't speak German.
And thank goodness, too, they had decided to wear infantry uniforms,
and to admit readily they had seen a British plane crash and burn up,
in the event they were captured. It was all working out perfectly.
A moment later, though, when the colonel replied in the same tongue,
the smile died in Dave, and little fingers of worry and fear began to
clutch at his heart.
"Perhaps," the senior officer grunted. "Then again, perhaps not. These
two young swine puzzle me. I feel sure their story is made up of lies.
Four, six days in this cursed desert? I doubt that very much. Yes, very
much, indeed."
"But just look at them, _Herr_ Colonel!" the major protested. "Both are
ready to collapse at any moment. They are completely exhausted. I agree
that perhaps they lie a little. But I think they speak the truth about
wandering about the desert."
"For six days?" the colonel echoed harshly, and gave him a scornful
look. "It is evident you have had no experience with the desert. I have
spent a lot of my life in this part of the world, _Herr_ Major. Look at
their boots! Six days of sand and sun would do more than that to a pair
of boots."
It was all Dave and Freddy could do to refrain from looking down at
their boots. Boots! The one item that hadn't even occurred to them. Of
course the German colonel was right. Six days, or even four days of
tramping across the desert would unquestionably wear their boots paper
thin unless they had taken special care of them such as rubbing them
with grease or oil to stop the leather from drying up and cracking, and
mending each little crack or cut before it was too late. Their boots
showed none of that kind of care, however. And the fact they had no
packs was proof they hadn't had any shoe oil or grease in the first
place.
"You're right, _Herr_ Colonel," the major said as he scowled down at
the boys' boots. "They do not look very much the worse for wear, at
that."
"That doesn't prove anything, however," the German colonel grunted, and
Dave's heart started sliding back down out of his throat. "We shall
see, however. I have thoughts about these two, and I will find out soon
enough if my thoughts are true ones. Meantime we will get as much out
of them as we can."
"You mean, in case they do speak the truth?" the major murmured.
"Exactly that!" the colonel replied with a curt nod. "I doubt if there
are any British forces within two hundred and fifty miles. Still, we
must make sure. The success of this surprise smash against the British
means much to me. It means everything. I wish to be removed from this
cursed part of the world. I am sick of the sun, and the sand, and the
flies and other insects. Soon, in case you have not been told, things
will happen in the Balkans. That fat, stupid fool, Mussolini, has made
a mess of things in Greece and Albania. It will soon be necessary for
the _Fuehrer_ to go to his aid, and pull him out of the fire. I hope to
have a division command when the Leader marches down into Greece. If I
smash the British out of Libya, and annihilate them so they cannot even
escape to their Egyptian strongholds, I shall be given the command of a
division of tanks for the asking. And I shall have it, never fear!"
The German colonel emphasized what he had just said by giving a savage
nod of his head, and banging one huge clenched fist down on the table.
Then he turned his glittering, half closed eyes upon the two boys.
"So you have been lost for four or even six days, eh?" he shot out.
"Very well, then. Look closely at this map. Put your finger where you
were when you started out of this advance patrol."
As the German spoke, he unfolded a military map and spread it out on
the tables. Hope zoomed up in Dave. Perhaps the map would tell them
about the plans of the expected attack against the British forces
from Bengazi eastward to the Egyptian frontier. It might even show the
location of the other Nazi units he was sure must be operating under
the command of this headquarters colonel.
If he expected all that, however, or even a small part of it, he was
doomed to disappointment. The instant he glanced at the map he saw that
it was completely unmarked. He studied it for a moment as a stall for
time. He didn't dare point out a spot too close to where he judged to
be their present position. A short scouting trip by the Germans could
prove them liars in no time at all. Yet at the same time he didn't
want to indicate a point miles and miles away. It was obvious that the
colonel suspected them, and to state they had wandered some two or
three hundred miles across the desert would simply add to the German's
suspicions. You don't walk that far in the desert in that short space
of time. You don't even walk a small fraction of it--and live. Ten or
fifteen miles in the cool of the night is about the limit.
Suddenly Freddy spoke up--Freddy, of the keen, sharp brain that had
helped them avoid more than one enemy trap in the past.
"This map is printed in German, sir," he said. "I can guess at the
spelling of some of the places, but I am not sure. The place where
our patrol started from was called Amarir. Yes, I think that was the
name. It was fifty miles southwest of El Siwa. One of the tanks broke
down, and it was necessary to repair it at once. This officer and I
went ahead on foot to reconnoiter the area beyond an escarpment. It was
there the sand storm caught us."
Freddy paused, gave a little puzzled shake of his head, and scowled
down at the map.
"I'm sure my brother officer is mistaken," he said presently. "It was
not six days ago. No. Perhaps it was not even four. I have lost track
of the days completely. But where are we now, sir? Are we very far from
El Siwa? Or perhaps Amarir?"
The German colonel didn't reply. He gave Freddy a shrewd glance and
then looked down at the map. Presently he raised his eyes.
"It is of no importance to you where you are," he said pointedly. "You
are prisoners. Be content with that fact. You were lucky you were not
shot on sight. I--"
The colonel cut himself off short as a tank captain appeared at the
entrance of the tent and saluted.
"All is ready, _Herr_ Colonel," he said. "Shall I give orders for the
column to proceed? As _Herr_ Colonel can see, it is practically dark
now."
"Give the order, then," the senior officer said with a curt nod. "But,
as usual, have the armored cars and one truck remain for a time. Also
their crews, of course. They can strike these tents in a few minutes.
That is all."
The colonel waited until the tank captain had saluted and made a hasty
exit. Then he turned to the major at his side and spoke again in their
native tongue.
"Perhaps a little rest will help the memory of these two," he said with
a faint smirking twist of his lips. "Anyway, I haven't any more time to
waste on them right now. You will take charge of them, and take them
in your car. Try to get something out of them if you want to. However,
they will probably fall asleep on you. Tomorrow I will spring my little
surprise. Then we shall see what we shall see. Curse that British plane
we sighted this morning! It is the first we have seen so far, and it
worries me a little. If we were not so far away, I'd--"
The German let his voice trail off and sat staring moodily down at his
fingertips drumming on the table top. After a moment or so he jerked
his head up and shrugged.
"Perhaps I will, even now," he said as though talking to himself.
"Anyway, take these two away. Give them food and water and take them
along in your car. That's all. Now get out. I'll see you later."
The colonel dismissed them with a nod and immediately started stuffing
papers and maps into a black dispatch case. The major got to his feet
and looked at the two boys.
"You will come with me," he said in halting English. "Please remember I
have this Luger here at my belt. It may help you to remember that if I
tell you I am one of the best shots in the German army. You understand?"
"A man would be a fool to go out there," Freddy said quietly, and
pointed toward the desert.
"A first class screw-ball," Dave, grunted, and watched the German
colonel cram things into the brief case.
The senior officer heard him and looked up sharply.
"So you are not English, eh?" he asked with a frown. "You are an
American."
Dave didn't say anything. He simply returned the man's stare.
"An American?" the colonel repeated as though he were rolling the word
around in his brain and observing it from all angles. "So you left
your country and came over here to fight for the British? That is
interesting. That is _very_ interesting, indeed!"
A sly smile that curled the German's lips, and a sudden odd gleam that
showed in his half closed eyes, made Dave's heart grow chilly and cold,
and caused the back of his neck to tingle with that all too familiar
warning sensation. He shrugged it off after a moment and obeyed the
major's order to fall into step with Freddy and be marched away.
CHAPTER TWELVE
_The Colonel's Trap_
Dull pain shot through Dave Dawson's left shoulder and crawled up the
side of his neck and into his head. It came at regular intervals like
the ticking of a clock, and no matter which way he moved he could not
seem to get away from it. From a long, long way off he heard the murmur
of sound, but it held no meaning for him. His brain was too befuddled
to grasp the meaning of anything. All about was darkness. Darkness, the
shocks of dull pain, and the distant murmur of voices.
"I say, can't you just shake him? Do you have to punch his blessed head
off? Let him alone, I say!"
The sound of Freddy Farmer's voice suddenly cleared Dave's head and
revived his senses. He awoke from a groggy sleep to find himself in the
back seat of one of the armored cars. The German major was bending over
him and punching him on the shoulder and snarling in his ear.
"Wake up, you American swine! Wake up, do you hear me? Wake up!"
At the other end of the seat Freddy Farmer was protesting angrily,
helpless to do anything else but that. A German soldier standing by
the side of the car was holding a Mauser muzzle against the English
youth's chest. For a split instant Dave was tempted to pretend he was
still asleep and lash out at the German major's chin, and apologize
afterward. On second thought, though, he decided that might not be so
good. So, instead, he groaned and sat up so that the German missed his
next blow and struck the back of the seat.
"Hey, what's the matter?" Dave cried sleepily.
The German stopped punching and swore softly in German through clenched
teeth. Dave could just see him vaguely, as it was dark all around,
although there was the first grey streak of a new dawn in the east. It
was then he realized that the murmur of sound he had heard in his sleep
was caused by intense activity about him. The German mechanized column
had completed its night march and was now "bedding down" for a new day.
Trucks, tanks, and armored cars alike were being covered with strips
of camouflage canvas that would render them invisible to aircraft
above. Headquarters tents were being set up, and off to his right a
couple of rolling kitchens were being made ready for the preparing of
the early dawn mess for the officers and troops. The commands that flew
back and forth were spoken in low tones, and every soldier seemed to
know exactly what to do. It was a display of military efficiency plus,
and once again Dave had to admit admiration for Nazi war technique.
At that moment he received a final blow from the German major.
"This is no sightseeing trip!" the officer barked at him. "Get out of
this car, and come along with me. No wonder the British are losing the
war. You seem to do nothing but sleep. Get out of this car, at once."
A blazing retort rose to Dave's lips, but he choked it back and climbed
stiff-legged out of the car and down onto the sand. Freddy was pushed
out beside him. He looked at his pal and grinned in the bad light.
"That shut-eye sure helped," he said to Freddy. "Anything happen? I
think I must have popped off the instant we got under way."
"You did," Freddy replied. "Phew, you could sleep through a
bombardment, I fancy. His Nibs didn't like it at all. He was full of
conversation, and--"
Freddy suddenly received a blow in the middle of his back that sent him
pitching headlong down onto the sand. Dave instantly leaped forward and
helped him to his feet. The German major glared at the English youth
and fingered his holstered Luger.
"Another insult and you'll get a bullet, British swine!" he hissed.
"You forget I speak your filthy language."
"Do you?" Freddy echoed with icy calmness. "I hadn't noticed it, you
know."
Dave set himself to leap in front of his pal in case the officer struck
again. However, the German seemed to think better of it. Perhaps it was
because the colonel came striding up at that moment. The commandant of
the mechanized desert column ignored the major and peered at Dave and
Freddy. Presently his flat moon-shaped face relaxed into a brief smile,
and he nodded.
"So you got some sleep, eh?" he grunted. "That is good. Perhaps you
will remember things a little bit better today. First, though, we must
eat. Ninety-five miles is a long way, even in the cool of the night.
Yes, we will all eat first."
The German nodded and turned to his major.
"Put them in one of the tents, and post a guard," he ordered. "Then
report to me."
Without waiting for the junior officer to acknowledge the order, the
colonel swung around on his heel and walked off. Dave still kept his
muscles coiled and ready for action, but it proved unnecessary. The
major's anger had cooled off. At any rate, the sudden appearance of the
commanding officer had caused him to change his mind. He simply glared
at Freddy for an instant and then gave a jerk of his head.
"Follow me!" he grated. Then to the guard who hovered close, "Walk
behind them and use the muzzle of that gun if you have to."
A few moments later the two R.A.F. pilots were seated on the sand floor
of a tent that had been set up on the eastern fringe of the camp. The
front flap was left open, and they could look out at the guard pacing
up and down in front of the tent and at most of the camp beyond. Dawn
was coming fast, but the camouflage work had been completed, and the
entire column was ready for another day of hiding from any patrolling
British aircraft.
"They sure know their stuff!" Dave breathed softly. "Here we are right
in the doggone camp, and we can hardly tell those covered over tanks
from the sand. They must have been preparing for this a long time, what
I mean!"
"I don't doubt it a bit," Freddy grunted moodily. "Thoroughness is a
by-word with the Germans. Listen, Dave, what do you think--?"
Dave suddenly reached over and touched his arm.
"Take a look at that guard," Dave said in a loud voice. "Did you ever
see such a funny-looking face in your life? And look at the way the
slob carries his rifle. I bet he hasn't been in service over a couple
of weeks. Bet he couldn't hit the back side of a barn door. What an
awful-looking dope! Holy smoke! He's got a face even funnier looking
than that dizzy boss of his, Hitler. Hey, Guard! You're all out of
step, you fathead!"
"Dave, for cat's sake!" Freddy gasped.
The guard turned toward them, looked blank, then shrugged and continued
his slow pacing up and down.
"Are you mad, Dave?" Freddy choked out. "You want a gun butt or a boot
heel in your face?"
"Who, me?" Dave echoed, and grinned at him. "Of course not. I just
wanted to see if the guy understands English. He doesn't. Now, what
were you going to say?"
Freddy whistled softly and gave a little shake of his head.
"You certainly find out things a strange way!" he breathed. "Lucky for
you he _didn't_ understand English. He would have bashed you a good one
for those insults, have no fear. What was I going to say? Blast it,
I've forgotten. No! Wait a minute. What do you think of that colonel,
Dave?"
"Dumb like a fox," Dave said slowly. "He had the wheels in his head
working all the time. He's not even close to being satisfied about us.
Yeah! I sure wish I were a mind reader. I'd like to know what this
surprise he was hinting about is."
"I have an idea it is some kind of a trap," Freddy murmured with a
frown. "He's jolly well up to something."
"Speaking of traps," Dave said, "thanks for not letting me step into
that one he set when he pulled out that map. I was just about to point
out some town. That would have let him know we understood German. You
sure gave him a good line. By the way, where the heck are the Libyan
towns of Amarir and El Siwa, anyway? Never heard of them."
"Me either," Freddy said, and grinned. "Just made them up. I think it
worried him a bit, too. Out this way there're lots of little spots you
don't hear mentioned once in a hundred years. Like all those islands in
the South Pacific, the names seldom appear on maps because the places
are too small. Yes, I think that German colonel spent a lot of time
last night studying his maps and looking for Amarir and El Siwa."
"It sure was fast thinking, pal," Dave said. "My hat's off to you.
We're in a jam, though, Freddy, and you and I've got to work fast. I
can only guess where we are, but my guess is that we're not far from
British-occupied ground. That means the surprise attack is going to be
pulled pretty soon."
"I agree with you," Freddy said with a nod. "By the way, did you see
that dispatch case of his? Those maps and papers? I have a feeling they
could tell us all we want to know."
"I'll bet my shirt on it!" Dave said excitedly. "If we could only get
hold of that dispatch case, and get us a plane, we'd--"