fifteen thousand men. They will be men and officers from every branch of
the services--air, land, and sea. The objectives to be aimed at total
three times the number aimed at, and reached, in the combined Dieppe
raid a short time ago. As a matter of fact, it has been all that's
happened since the Dieppe raid that prompts us to launch this biggest
one of all. The Dieppe raid scared Hitler silly, and his Generals, too.
Shortly after the Dieppe raid large reenforcements were withdrawn from
other active fronts and rushed to the French coast area. Naturally,
United Nations Intelligence here and in France has given us complete
details on the moves Hitler has made since Dieppe. One move is proof
positive of how the Dieppe raid really affected him. Field Marshal von
Staube, of the Army, and Luftwaffe Marshal von Gault, of the Air Force,
are now in complete charge of operations in the Occupied France coastal
zones."
The senior officer paused again, and Dave caught his breath in
astonishment at the news. Von Staube and von Gault? If there were two
men in all the Third Reich responsible for Adolf Hitler's blood-shedding
successes across bowed Europe, those two were the ones. Von Staube and
von Gault! The former the brains of the Army. The latter the brains of
the Luftwaffe. Oh yes, and quite true! Their names seldom appeared in
newsprint, or over the Berlin radio. Other names were featured. Other
figureheads such as "Uncle" Goering received the publicity, and the
praise for every triumph, big or small. But it was von Staube and von
Gault who had made everything possible. And if they had been transferred
to France--
"Then Hitler sure is worried, plenty worried!" Dave heard himself speak
the thought aloud.
"No doubt about it!" Freddy Farmer echoed. Then, addressing the Major,
he asked, "There is absolute proof of this, sir?"
"Absolute proof!" the senior officer replied emphatically, and picked up
a small photo off the desk top and held it out. "Take a look. Taken the
day before yesterday, and smuggled across to us. The uniforms will tell
you which is which, in case you've never seen their pictures before."
It was a picture of two high ranking German officers standing beside the
running board of a German Staff car, and obviously in deep conversation.
The picture was not any too clear, because it had been taken at a
distance with a long range lens. But it was clear enough for Dave and
Freddy to recognize, from other pictures they had seen, the thin, cruel,
hawkish face of Luftwaffe Marshal von Gault, and the beefy, moon-faced,
thick-necked figure of Field Marshal von Staube. Dave handed the photo
back without comment. But Freddy had another question.
"It was taken in Occupied France, sir?" he asked.
The Major held the photo up and pointed out the spire of a church that
was faintly visible in the background. Part of it was missing as the
result of an exploding shell.
"That's the church in the little village of Evaux," he said, "across the
Seine River from Rouen. I recognize it, because I've been there many
times since that shell struck. Matter of fact, I happened to see that
shell do its work. It was a week before Dunkirk. No, don't worry. That
picture was taken in Occupied France. And those buildings in back of
them, but on this side of the church, are their combined Headquarters."
The Major nodded slightly for emphasis, and dropped the photo on the
desk.
"A force of fifteen thousand men," he said a moment later. "Navy men,
army men, and airmen. The time schedule has been worked out to the last
split second. And the schedule has been checked and rechecked, I might
add. At the first show of darkness tomorrow evening, navy vessels will
take aboard the ground forces, at designated points along the south
coast here. At the right moment the ships will put out into the Channel
and proceed toward the French coast. At a designated time bomber flights
will go over and blast all strong points for a thirty-five mile radius
about the French coastal city of Le Havre. Le Havre will be the pivoting
point of the entire raid. All operations will fan out north, south, and
east from Le Havre.
"Fighter squadrons, of course, will go across to keep a protective cover
over the bombers against Nazi night fighters--if any are able to get off
and come up at them. Fighter squadrons will also protect transport
planes filled with Commando Para-troops. Needless to say, each unit in
the attack has its own time schedule, that dovetails in with the general
schedule for the raid. And each unit, whether land, sea, or air, has its
own individual objective to take and hold, or, as in many cases, to take
and completely destroy. Clockwork is the keynote to the whole thing.
Every man knows just what he is supposed to do, and what he's supposed
_not_ to do, incidentally. There will be losses, heavy losses, probably.
But our losses will be nothing to what the Nazis will lose in man power,
war materials--and morale!"
The Major paused for breath, and to think over his next words. It was
all Dave could do to stop from squirming about on the edge of his chair.
A hundred questions quivered on the tip of his tongue. But he had just
enough sense to remain silent and bide his time. Soon enough the Major
would tell Freddy and him what fighter flight they were to fly in. As a
matter of fact, that bit of information was the next thing that came
from the Yank Commando Chief's lips.
"You will go over with the squadron with which you are now stationed,"
he said. "The Two Hundred and Third Fighters, with Squadron Leader
Parkinson in charge. That unit will go over as part of the cover for the
Commando Para-troops. Parkinson will be supplied with his own time
schedule, and will, of course, acquaint you with all those details
later. Well, there you are. That's the general picture of the little
surprise we'll have for Adolf Hitler tomorrow night. And if it comes off
as we have planned, and as it _must_ come off, this world will be a much
better place to live in much sooner than most people expect. The Nazi
high lords, in particular!"
As Major Barber seemed to pause for the last time, and leaned back in
his chair, Dave was thrilling to the thought of so gigantic a raid, and
such a devastating blow against the barbaric forces striving to conquer
the civilized world. At the same time there was a certain feeling of
frustration within him, a feeling of keen disappointment. It was as
though he had been built up for a terrific let-down. He sneaked a
glance at Freddy's face and could instantly tell from the expression he
saw there that Freddy was not exactly one hundred per cent pleased
himself. Dave hesitated a moment, and then took the bull by the horns.
"It should be something, and how, sir!" he said enthusiastically. "But
back in New York, you mentioned something about a little extra job for
Freddy and me. You still have one?"
Major Barber grinned and leaned forward again.
"I was wondering if you had forgotten that bit," he said with a chuckle.
"Yes, there's still a little extra job for you two. But _little_ is
hardly the word. Your fighter plane unit will go as far inland as the
village of Salernes, just north of Rouen. That's where your bunch of
Commando Para-troops will step off, and go down. But you will not return
to this side with the Two Hundred and Third Spitfires. You two will bear
south and across the Seine to Evaux."
"Evaux?" Dave echoed, and gulped. "And when we get there?"
There was no grin on the Major's lips now. Neither was there a smile in
his eyes.
"When you get there," he said in a calm, steady voice, "you will kidnap
von Staube and von Gault and fly them back here to England. _That_ is
the little extra job that has been selected for you two to carry out.
Think you'll like it, eh?"
For all the gold in the world Dave couldn't have spoken a single word at
that moment. His head had seemed to fly up off his shoulders and go
floating away. The rest of him was frozen to his chair as solid as
Arctic ice. It was impossible for him to move, and doubly so for him to
think. Kidnap Field Marshal von Staube, and Luftwaffe Marshal von
Gault?
CHAPTER NINE
_Orders For Eagles_
It seemed a lifetime to Dave before the ability to think fully returned,
and three times as long before the power of speech was once again his.
He turned his head slowly and stared at Freddy Farmer. The English youth
was sitting like a statue of stone, eyes fixed on Major Barber, and
blank amazement spread all over his face. In an abstract crazy sort of
way the picture he saw made Dave think of somebody socked by a five
pound blackjack loaded with buckshot. Freddy Farmer wasn't exactly out
cold. But he might just as well have been.
"Did you hear what I heard, pal?" Dave finally compelled his lips to
say.
Freddy jumped a little as though stuck with a pin, and turned to look at
him.
"I don't know," he said in a rather vacant tone. "I could be mistaken.
This could be just some crazy nightmare."
"It is," Dave grunted, and switched his gaze to Major Barber. "Only the
nightmare part hasn't arrived yet. You're--you're not kidding, sir?"
Major Barber grinned and shook his head.
"No, Dawson," he said. "That was straight from the shoulder. But I don't
blame you for going into a tail spin. I'll admit it's quite an order to
hand out."
"Quite an order, he says!" Dave mumbled, and shook his head. "You
wouldn't want us to pick up Adolf Hitler for good measure, would you,
Major?"
The senior officer laughed and gestured with his two hands, palms
upward.
"That would be nice," he said, "but I doubt that Adolf would ever get
that close to possible activity. After all, he has to save himself for
the future, you know. If little Yellow Belly, of the trick mustache,
should get himself killed, what would become of the world? And he got
wounded in the last war, you know. It's in the official German records.
A gashed finger opening a can of beans, I think it was. No, we can skip
Hitler. I'm not expecting too much of you fellows."
"Thanks," Dave grinned. "For a moment, I thought it was something that
was really going to be tough. One question, though. I take it that von
Staube and von Gault have agreed? They won't put up any objections when
Freddy and I pop into their H.Q. and say, 'Let's go, boys'?"
Major Barber started fishing through his pockets. He finally sighed,
stopped, and looked annoyed.
"Darned if I didn't lose that wire I got from them, okaying the whole
business!" he said in mock seriousness. "I guess you'll just have to
take my word for it that everything is all arranged. All this kidding
aside, though, if you two fellows think--"
"Just a minute, sir!" Freddy spoke up sharply. "That's just the point.
I'm not yet back where I _can_ think. But if you're imagining that we're
refusing this _little_ extra job, please dismiss it from your mind at
once. Personally, I wouldn't miss it for anything in the world."
"And you can say that again for me, pal!" Dave echoed. Then, looking at
the Major, "You just simply threw a curve when we were expecting a high,
hard one. Heck, sir! We're all for the idea. Freddy and I have a little
motto we try to stick to. It's: We'll try anything once, and maybe
twice. So forget it. Count us in. I've heard of tougher assignments,
though I don't just remember where, or when!"
The senior officer chuckled and gave them both a look of frank
admiration that was almost as satisfying as receiving the Congressional
Medal of Honor, or the Victoria Cross.
"Don't worry," he presently said quietly. "I didn't have half a doubt
for even a second. I was simply getting a kick out of the way you two
received my little bombshell. However, I must be deadly serious about
this. It isn't an everyday assignment. You stand one chance of bringing
back those two, and nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred
and ninety-nine chances of not living to see the next sun rise. There is
one big thing in your favor, though, as regards pulling off this stunt
successfully. It's that nobody but a wild-brained chap like me would
ever think of trying it. In other words, the fact that it is practically
impossible makes it just that much more possible. If you get what I
mean?"
"Close enough, I guess," Dave grunted. "In other words, if and when we
do show up at their H.Q., neither of them will think its strictly on the
level. And while they are mentally fanning the air trying to get the
picture, we'll have the perfect chance to grab them."
"Exactly," Major Barber said emphatically. "You could go in there
dressed as Santa Claus and they wouldn't disbelieve you any less.
However, I don't plan for you to pop in dressed up as a couple of Saint
Nicks."
"Well, that's good news, anyway!" Freddy Farmer got out with a sigh of
relief. "To get down to cases, though, sir, just what do you plan for us
to do? Perhaps it would be better if we got on with that part of the
business."
"Good old Freddy Farmer!" Dave chuckled. "Always has to find out things.
Just can't wait."
"Well, I guess there's no sense in his waiting any longer," Major Barber
grunted with a grin. "Or you either, Dawson. Yes, I have plans for you.
Every move worked out in detail. Before I explain them, let me say this,
though."
The Commando Chief paused, and all signs of merriment left his face. It
became set and firm, and his eyes grave.
"The old saying about 'the best laid plans of mice and men,' and so
forth, applies here very much," he went on presently. "I've plotted out
every move you are to make, taking in, I hope, every little thing that
might happen to the contrary. But that's exactly the point. I mean,
something that I haven't even dreamed of _may_ happen. And _if_ it does,
the chances are that your operating schedule will be knocked forty ways
from Sunday, and you'll be strictly on your own, and in the keeping of
God."
"That sort of thing has happened before, and we're still here," Freddy
Farmer murmured, but with not the slightest trace or hint of boasting in
his voice.
"And how!" Dave breathed softly, as for the instant his brain raced
backward in memory. "Fact is, nothing has ever worked out exactly as we
planned and expected. And I don't think it ever does."
"I'm making that thought unanimous!" Major Barber said grimly. "But we
can always hope there'll be a first time. And I'm hoping this will be
it. Now, edge up closer to this desk so's you can get a good look at
this mosaic reconnaissance map of the area that concerns you two."
The Major waited while the two air aces hitched their chairs closer.
Then he picked up a pencil and touched the tip of the sharpened point to
the mosaic map.
"Your fighter squadron will cross over the French coast here, at Cany,"
he began. "It will proceed as transport plane escort, as I said, as far
as Salernes on the northern fringe of Rouen. There the Para-troops will
bail out and float down to take and destroy an objective assigned to
them. Incidentally, it happens to be one of the largest airplane fuel
depots in all of Occupied France. Anyway, when the Para-troops have gone
down, the transport planes will turn and start back to England, with
Parkinson's squadron still acting as escort. You two, however, will pull
out and head south across Rouen, and on over the river to Evaux, here."
The Commando Chief put the pencil point on the location of the small
French town, and then lifted his eyes to look at Dave and Freddy.
"One point I'd better mention," he said. "Squadron Leader Parkinson has
no idea of what's been cooked up for you. Therefore you'll have to use
your heads as to how you quit the squadron. You could go down as though
shot, and keep radio silence in case he buzzes you as to what has
happened. However, it'll still be pretty dark by then, so maybe you can
just drop out, and that'll be that."
"We'll manage that part okay," Dave grunted. "Don't worry about that."
"I'm not," Major Barber said. "Too many other tricky things to worry
about. Now, when you have crossed to the southern side of Evaux--here,
where the Seine makes its biggest loop southward--you will both step
out, and head down by parachute. Of course, searchlights may be probing
around for you by then. And no doubt there'll be anti-aircraft stuff
whizzing up at you. However, it'll be your job to get out of the
searchlights and bail out. Before you leave, though, there'll be a
little lever in each of your planes that you are to pull. Pulling that
lever will touch off a fire bomb that will fire your plane exactly sixty
seconds later."
"I get it!" Dave murmured. "So the anti-aircraft gunners will think
they've made a couple of direct hits?"
"Right!" Major Barber told him. "Also, that you two have been instantly
killed. As soon as your planes burst into flame the searchlights will
swing that way, of course. But no pilots bailing out by parachute will
be seen. So they'll believe what we want them to believe. Now comes the
tricky part, and look closely at this mosaic map. You two should touch
ground fairly close together. Ditch your parachutes, of course, check
your directions by the compass each of you will carry, and make your way
to this cluster of shell-shattered farm barns that you can see right
here."
The Major paused while the two youths bent closer and had a good look at
the cluster of shell-battered farm barns clearly pictured in the mosaic
map.
"That shouldn't be hard, I don't fancy," Freddy Farmer said. "They're
right in the center of the U formed by the Seine."
"That's it," Major Barber said with a nod. And then he continued, "When
you meet, you will proceed due north for no more than two miles. At the
end of two miles you will come to a dirt road. See it pictured there?
And see that pile of rubble there? That was once a church until a Nazi
Stuka came along in June of Nineteen Forty. There you will meet a German
guard."
"And give him the works!" Dave said eagerly, as he thought of those five
weeks of intensive Commando training.
"No, don't!" Major Barber caught him up sharply. "That German guard will
be an American Intelligence officer posing as a Nazi. He's been in that
area for over a month now. That's how long ago we started working out
this little job for tomorrow night. He's your connecting link with all
that happens from then on. Confound it! I skipped one of the most
important items!"
The Commando Chief paused and snapped his finger in vexation.
"I forgot all about mentioning that stowed in your cockpits will be a
Nazi uniform with all the insignia and markings of a German regiment
stationed in that area," he went on. "Don't forget to take them with you
when you bail out. And put them on when you touch ground. They're
_Ober-Leutnant_ uniforms, by the way. It'll be better for you to pose as
a couple of officers so's you'll have the jump on any rank and file you
might possibly bump into.
"Anyway, when you spot this German soldier walk up to him and say, 'Tell
me the time, my watch is broken.' He will answer, 'But mine is broken,
too.' By that answer you will definitely know that you have met the
right man. He is to be known to you as Jones. So if you call him by any
name, call him Jones. Anyway, he'll give you a picture of how things
stand. He'll tell you exactly where the two Nazi big shots are at the
moment. In which building of their H.Q., I mean. He'll tell you how many
others are about. And he'll put before you a plan how to pull the others
away so that you can make your little surprise visit on von Staube and
von Gault. Most important of all, though, he will know the exact
location of a Nazi Dornier Do. Seventeen that you two can use to cart
your prisoners back here to England. Naturally, there is a small flying
field close to the Evaux H.Q. that both von Staube and von Gault use,
but not the whole Luftwaffe in general. Jones will have all the dope on
that, and of course, he'll do everything he can to make your job easier.
He has been groomed for his part to the nth degree. So have no worries
that anything will slip up at his end. Once you have nailed von Staube
and von Gault--and I suggest right here that you slug them good, and
bind them right up with wire you'll be carrying--Jones will run the
interference for you. That's a football expression, Farmer. You get what
I mean?"
"Yes, sir," Freddy grinned. "Dawson, here, made me go to some of the
games when we were in the States. In hot weather, too!"
"They weren't regular games, as I told you," Dave said with a laugh.
"Just spring practice and scrimmages. But he knows what you mean, sir."
"Good," Major Barber grunted. "Well, I guess that's about all the
points. We'll go over them later, of course. Several times, until you
have each little detail down pat. One last thing, though, about arriving
back here in England. Try to make Two Hundred and Three's airdrome.
There'll be certain parties there to take over your prisoners. And of
course, when you cross over English ground be sure and put on all your
navigation lights. And keep flashing the letter M with your signal
light. That'll stop any anti-aircraft shells from coming up to greet
you. Well, I guess that's about it. Are there any questions? Any part of
the plan that strikes you as not measuring up to snuff?"
Neither Dave nor Freddy said anything. For the moment they were too busy
with their own thoughts to ask any questions. And their thoughts were
indeed in high gear. To Dave the whole thing looked easy as apple pie.
Every step they would take had been carefully thought out and considered
from every angle. It would almost be like acting out a book they had
read; knowing exactly what to do next, and how it would all come out in
the end.
Yes, it seemed a cinch. But that was exactly the point. Cold, hard
common sense, and the memory of experience, told him that it wasn't
going to be any cinch. Far, far from it. The eerie tingling sensation
that rippled through the back of his neck was all the proof of that
statement he needed. Plan, and plan, and plan. It made no difference how
much, or how long, you planned. There was always that unknown something,
that unexpected something, lingering in the background. It would pop up
at you, as sure as man is a foot high. And when it popped--
Dave didn't bother finishing the rest of that thought. He drove it from
his mind, and glanced at Freddy Farmer. He could see that their
thoughts were very mutual indeed.
"Got anything you want to ask, Freddy?" he said.
The English-born air ace frowned, and then shook his head.
"No, can't think of a question at the moment," he murmured. "It's all
expertly cut and dried. All we have to do is follow the instructions.
No, I haven't any questions."
"That goes for me, too, sir," Dave grinned at the Commando Chief. "The
only thing left, now, is to pull it off. And of course, we'll both pitch
our arms off to do just that."
"And, please God, may your arms hold out!" the Major said fervently.
CHAPTER TEN
_Victory Wings_
Black night hung like a velvet curtain over the southeast coast of
England. As though even the gods had decided to give the United Nations
forces a break, not a single star was showing. Sullen dark overcast
stretched from horizon to horizon, and just off the coast a thin
protective fog hovered above the waters of the Channel. On the drome of
the Two Hundred and Third R.A.F. fighters, twenty-one Merlin-powered
Spitfires, Mark Fives, stood waiting to be streaked aloft into the night
sky. From prop to trimmer flap on the rudder, every plane had been
checked and rechecked by skilled mechanics as well as the pilots
themselves. Not a nut, bolt, or strand of bracing wire had been
overlooked, or taken for granted. Upon those Spitfires, and the
steady-eyed eagles who would fly them, depended the lives of many brave
men. The Commando Para-troops who would be taken over by transport
plane, and then dumped off to go down and do their job of destruction,
and later fight their way back to the seacoast and the British Navy
boats waiting to take them back to England. In many wars, and before
many battles, had elaborate and detailed plans and preparations been
made. Never, though, in the history of all the world, had any military
operation been as minutely arranged and prepared for as this
morale-jolting raid about to be launched against Hitler's blood-letting
forces in Occupied France.
For a while Dave and Freddy had gathered together with the other pilots
of Two Hundred and Three and hashed and rehashed the part that the
squadron was to play in this lightning bolt blow against the two-legged
forces of all things dirty and evil in Europe. In time, though, they
drifted away from the general gathering and started wandering alone and
aimlessly about the field faintly marked out by tiny flares. They had
covered quite a bit of ground before Freddy finally broke the silence.
"Gives a chap a bit of a spooky feeling, all this, doesn't it?" he said.
"Like sort of sitting around waiting for an unexploded bomb to go off."