"Go find the two officers mentioned, and bring them here at once. Just
that, mind you! Bring them here, and keep your mouth shut!"
"At once, _Herr_ Field Marshal!" the Captain gasped, and went out the
door as though he had been kicked.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
_Steel Nerves_
When the German Captain slammed shut the door behind him, and there were
sounds of his footsteps along the hall outside, Dave slowly let locked
air from his lungs and stole another glance at Freddy Farmer. The
English-born air ace still stood at rigid attention, but there was not
even a flicker of fear in his face. His expression was one of perfect
coolness and calmness. It was as though he went through this sort of
thing every day in the week, and doing it again were just a wee bit
boring.
The two German high rankers stared at Freddy in sullen anger. But it was
plain to see that neither of them had the desire to exert their supreme
authority at the moment. In fact, it was a perfect picture of the Nazi
system. The Army Staff vs the Gestapo. And the Gestapo was holding the
whip hand because of events which had taken place in the past. Perhaps
some day, when the Army Staff was sitting in the saddle, and was Adolf
Hitler's favorite for the moment, Gestapo heads would drop like apples
shaken from the tree. Right now, though, the Gestapo was the so-called
power behind the throne. And so von Staube and von Gault were feeling
their way--cautiously.
However, nuts to the German Army Staff! And likewise, nuts to the
Gestapo! What was Freddy Farmer's game? What crazy insane goal did he
think he was shooting at, anyway? Darn him for not giving out a single
hint, or a tip-off. The least Freddy could do would be to shoot him a
quick look that would tell him a little something. But, no! Freddy was
acting as though he didn't know that Dave existed.
Worry and anger boiled around in the Yank-born air ace. Past friendship
and experience told him, or at least tried to tell him, that Freddy
hadn't suddenly blown his top; that he wasn't crazy, and knew exactly
what he was doing. But if Dave only had some idea, then he would know
how to play his part. But this waiting, this nerve-tingling silence!
Dave wondered a little if he weren't going crazy himself. He swallowed
and pressed his wrist comfortingly against the small gun in his pocket.
And he pressed the upper half of his other arm against the hardness of
his sheathed Commando knife hanging from his shoulder under his German
tunic. If worse came to worse, he--
At that moment Freddy Farmer suddenly had a fit of coughing. He bent
over a little and put one hand to his mouth. The two Germans looked at
him in a sort of cold delight. But Dave didn't notice their looks. His
gaze was fixed on Freddy. And suddenly his heart gave a great leap, and
tingling warmth shot through him. Freddy had turned his head slightly,
and for the fraction of a second their eyes met. But it was long enough
for Dave to catch the quick half wink; to see the second and third
fingers of Freddy's other hand quickly cross and uncross.
True, it told Dave nothing of his pal's game. But that didn't matter too
much, now. At least he knew for sure that Freddy was playing a wild
game, and that he was not completely crazy. There was method in his
apparent madness, and he had signalled to Dave to be ready for anything,
and to pray hard for a bit of luck.
Freddy had gained control of his coughing when the door opened and the
Captain came in with the two Luftwaffe pilots. They were both young, and
not bad-looking--for Germans. They clicked their heels and practically
jerked themselves apart saluting von Staube and von Gault.
The Nazi Field Marshal simply answered with a grunt, and then fixed his
angry eyes on Freddy's face.
"Captain Kohle, and Lieutenant von Stebbins," he said in a voice that
was mostly a snarl. "Ask them your questions, but be quick about it. We
_soldiers_ have still a battle to fight!"
Freddy nodded stiffly, then backed up a few steps to a point where he
could get a better look at the two new arrivals. As a matter of fact, he
backed up to a point where he commanded an unobstructed view of the
entire room. And _also_ a point that put him not two feet from Dave's
side.
"Ready, Dave! Gun and knife!"
Had Freddy spoken? Or was it a trick of his imagination? The thought
question flashed through Dave's brain. And then he saw the
lightning-like movements of Freddy Farmer's hands. A gun appeared in the
English youth's right hand, and his Commando knife appeared in his left,
perfectly gripped and balanced to be shot forward like a flash of light.
In the next instant Dave had his own gun and Commando knife out, and he
was listening to Freddy's even voice tossing words at the dumbfounded,
stunned quintet of Nazis.
"Not a move, if any of you want to live! We're Commandos! There are
others outside. This whole area is surrounded by Commandos. If you want
to resist, go ahead. We've been training a long time for _this_ little
occasion. You! Don't move!"
The last was because the German Staff Captain had half jerked up one
arm. It was probably an impulsive gesture of terror. If it wasn't,
terror was most certainly on his face a split instant later. Freddy
Farmer's left hand shot forward with a twisting, whipping motion. And
the Commando knife wasn't there any more. It was a streak of light that
went across the room and pinned the sleeve of the German Captain's tunic
to the wall. The Nazi looked at it, and almost fainted. The other four
gasped in terror.
"_Commandos!_"
Field Marshal von Staube half choked and half sobbed out the words.
Freddy gave him a cold hard stare, then calmly walked around in back of
Dave, so as not to block off his Yank pal, and went over to the German
Captain and jerked his knife free.
"Yes, Commandos!" he barked at the Field Marshal. "With a job to do, one
way _or_ the other. Which way is up to you. Dave! There're two of these
beggars we don't need. This Captain and the young pilot Lieutenant. Take
care of them, will you, while I keep an eye on the others?"
Freddy didn't look at Dave as he quietly spoke the words in English. But
he didn't have to. Dave knew exactly what was needed of him. And whether
it made sense didn't matter. It was still Freddy Farmer's party, and he
had gone through too many war experiences with his English pal to bother
asking questions until afterward. And so, careful not to get into
Freddy's line of fire, he quickly circled about the room to the German
Captain. The Nazi's eyes were glazed with terror, and then they were
closing shut as he folded silently to the floor. Dave's swift, neat clip
behind the ear with the barrel of his gun would have brought words of
praise from any Commando. But Dave wasn't expecting praise, or even
thinking about it. He took another step and repeated the little maneuver
on the Luftwaffe Lieutenant. As he pulled wire and gags from his pocket,
and started to bend down, Freddy stopped him.
"We might need that chap's tunic, Dave. Strip it off, first."
Dave did that little thing. And then, in less time than it takes to tell
about it, he bound and gagged both unconscious Germans, and rolled them
over against the wall.
"Who's next, Doctor?" he asked, straightening up and grinning at Freddy.
"What next?"
The English youth didn't answer. His gaze was riveted on the two German
high rankers, and the youthful Luftwaffe Captain. The latter seemed on
the point of dropping into a dead faint. Freddy Farmer's little Commando
knife trick had obviously drained every drop of courage from his body.
It was not so, however, with von Staube and von Gault. True, they were
not moving a single muscle, and there was a marked trace of fear in
their eyes. Just the same they were trained and seasoned soldiers. They
were not completely cowards in the face of death. As Dave snapped a
glance their way, his heart turned over, and his mouth went a bit bone
dry. The two high rankers seemed to be silently gauging their chances.
They seemed to be deciding just what move to make first. Dave gripped
his gun tighter, and beat back the revolting thoughts that tried to
crowd into his brain. If it was to be cold-blooded murder, then so be
it. He and Freddy were Commandos now. And Commandos give no quarter, and
ask none. The job is the thing. The method of performing it is
secondary!
"You will not leave here alive! You realize that, don't you, you swine
Commandos?"
It was von Staube who spoke, but Dave instantly noticed that the Nazi
high ranker was careful not to speak in his natural booming voice. He
wanted to be brave, but he wanted _less_--to die.
"Of course we realize it!" Freddy Farmer told him quietly. "We realized
that before we even started across tonight. But let me point out
something, _Herr_ Field Marshal, and _Herr_ Luftwaffe Marshal. You are
both seasoned soldiers, so you will understand about men obeying orders.
We were ordered to capture you two, and deliver you to our commanding
officer who waits not half a mile from this spot. We were ordered to
capture and deliver you, or--or to deliver _evidence_ that you would no
longer be of any use to your _Fuehrer_!"
Silence settled over the room as Freddy finished. The muscles of each
German's face twitched, but Dave was quick to see that they weren't
quite completely impressed. He saw a part he could play, and he was
quick to take advantage of it while the two Nazi Marshals were on the
uneasy seat. He stepped forward quickly, and whipped down with his
Commando knife. It twanged into the desk top between the third and
fourth fingers of von Gault's left hand that happened to be resting
motionless on the desk. The Luftwaffe Marshal gasped, but swallowed the
cry of fright as Dave's gun came within ten inches of his thin, hawkish
nose.
"Your left hand, and his, too!" Dave grated, and jerked his knife free.
"You each wear a Nazi Staff ring. Your left hands, still wearing the
ring, and the insignia from your tunics, will be evidence enough to
convince our commanding officer that we have fulfilled our mission."
"Quite!" Freddy added in a brittle voice. "True, we may be killed as we
race to reach our unit hiding in the woods. But that's the chance we
take. _They_ will reach our dead bodies, at least. And our commanding
officer will see the severed hands, and the Staff rings, and the
insignia from your tunics. He will know that we _have_ performed our
assignment."
"Why waste time?" Dave suddenly asked impatiently, and gestured with his
Commando knife. "These two don't fear death that much. They'd never
agree to the _other_ way."
Dave was only making blind shots in the dark, but he prayed that Freddy
wouldn't speak. And his prayer was answered. Freddy didn't say a word.
He simply kept staring at the Germans and let the torment of silence do
its stuff. And it did, right up to the hilt. Dave could almost look
inside the skulls of the two Germans, and see the wheels spinning over.
It was a case of the shoe being on the other foot, for those two.
Hideous slaughter, and death, were part of their training. But it was
something that _they_ ordered, or performed. To torture and maim beyond
the point of human endurance was fun for them. They loved it. It was a
major part of their rotten lives; their vile existence on earth.
But the shoe was on the other foot _now_. They were to be on the
receiving end of their own type of work. They weren't up against trained
soldiers who killed, or captured, and sent their prisoners to a war
camp. They were up against a new kind of enemy in this war. The
Commando! The Commando trained to fight them at their own kind of
battle, but with far, far more devastating effect. The Commando! The
very name struck terror these days to any German's heart. Motionless
shadows in the night who killed you before you could part your lips to
cry out. Black phantoms who came and went like flashes of lightning.
Tough men, hard as nails, who pressed triggers and _then_ took a look to
see what they'd bagged. And a good many times they didn't even bother to
look. The Commando! The warrior who carried death in either hand, and
could let it fly from any angle, and in any spot!
That's what Dave saw those two German high rankers thinking. He saw the
fear mount in them. The first signs were a faint twitching of the lips,
then throat muscles swallowing, and then fingers quivering slightly. And
lastly, beads of sweat becoming too heavy, and trickling downward over
the skin of their faces. Yes, the Germans were trained soldiers. They
could not be classed as rank cowards. They did have a courage of their
own. But this? The shoe was on the other foot, _this_ time!
"What is the other way?" von Staube suddenly croaked at Dave.
The Yank let him stew a little longer, and then spoke to Freddy without
turning his head.
"You tell him," he said. "You're in command here."
"Quite a simple way," Dave heard his English pal say. "You can come with
us, if you don't wish us to _take_ the evidence with us."
Both Germans smiled. They were suddenly very relieved and happy. Dave
had a funny feeling in the middle of his stomach, but Freddy spoke
again, and the funny feeling went away.
"Pleases you, eh?" the English youth murmured. "Sorry, but it won't work
out quite that way. No one will see us leave. That is, I hope not, for
your sakes. This rear door--we're leaving that way. If we meet anybody,
you will be wise to do nothing. Not a sign or a look. We will be with
you, very close. You see these Commando knives? We spent hours
sharpening them. Quite a scientific process, you know. And so effective.
The blade goes in and up at a slant, just missing the backbone. The
needle tip punctures the heart. Not too much, of course. They trained us
thoroughly, you know. And--But why should I explain to you two? You know
all about that sort of thing, of course. Death comes so slowly--and so
frightfully painfully. Worse than a bullet in the stomach, they say. Of
course, if that _has_ to happen, then my comrade and I will have to
shoot whoever is in our way--collect our bits of evidence as quickly as
we can--and run for it. I fancy we'll make it close enough to the woods
to be reached by the others. I hope your other chaps will give us a
decent funeral. We're Christians, you know. We're--"
"Enough, enough!" von Staube got out in a strangled voice. "You do not
need to paint the picture, you swine. We will do as you say. We are your
prisoners. _Ja! Ja!_ Is not that plain enough?"
Freddy didn't answer. He gave them some more of the silence treatment.
So Dave played another random shot.
"I don't know." He spoke in German out of the corner of his mouth at
Freddy. "I don't trust _any_ German. Why run the additional risks?
Besides, taking them back to England simply means that our side will
have to feed them. That's wasting good food. I'm all for--"
"No! Not that! We are your prisoners. We throw ourselves upon your
mercy!"
The last tiny shred of courage in von Gault had been melted away. The
Luftwaffe Marshal was half insane with terror. He was trembling like a
leaf, and at the same time striving frantically to still his muscles for
fear that he might be maimed and slain on the spot.
"Very well," Freddy Farmer spoke up. "You come with us, then. Watch them
a minute, Dave. I have a small job to do. Hands behind your backs, you
too. Quick about it!"
The high ranking Nazis instantly obeyed. Freddy Farmer slipped behind
them, and as Dave stood guard the English youth bound their wrists with
the wire he took from his own tunic pocket. He straightened up and moved
close to the Luftwaffe Captain, who had been silent as a tomb and
scared stiff as a post all the while. Freddy made a little motion with
his gun and Commando knife.
"Come out into the hall with me," he told the quaking German. "In front
of me. I'll be right behind. I say, Dave, just keep an eye on those two,
will you? Be back in a minute, or less."
And with a quick look, and a wink for Dave, Freddy Farmer herded the
Luftwaffe Captain through the door and out into the hallway.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
_The Gods Laugh_
Although Dave kept his face grim, and his eyes fixed steadfastly upon
von Staube and von Gault, that did not mean he was all calm and
collected inside. Indeed, he was far from that. Out of a clear blue sky
Freddy Farmer had popped up with something else that didn't make sense
at first glance. What in thunder did Freddy want with that Luftwaffe
pilot out in the hall? Matter of fact, why had Freddy spared the youth a
crack behind the ear in the first place? Did Freddy--?
Dave caught his breath as a sudden thought came to him. Did this bit of
crazy business have something to do with the Messerschmitts and the
Dornier Seventeen over at the east end of the field? But just what, and
how? True, Dave realized now that it was Freddy's plan to herd their two
important prisoners out the back way, and make a dash for the Dornier.
But why fool around with the Luftwaffe pilot? Why not just slug him and
get going with the prisoners? Why wait? The dawn sky was getting
brighter by the minute. Their only hope of making this crazy venture
come out right was to do it while there was still some darkness of night
on their side. Sure! The instant they got von Staube and von Gault out
the back way, they would slug them into peaceful unconsciousness, and
carry them like sacks of wheat over to the Dornier--hoping against hope
that the bad light would shield them from the other Germans about the
field.
But what a bold, brazen, and perfectly executed stunt Freddy Farmer had
pulled off so far. Like reaching into a hat and producing miracles. It
had taken cold courage for Freddy to go through with his wildcat idea.
But it had worked. The very fact that any sane brain would have
considered it absolutely impossible had been the one great thing in
Freddy's favor. A magnificent bluff so expertly acted out that it had
been much too late to do anything by the time its victims had seen
through it. If Freddy Farmer never did another single thing in this war,
he would still have set an all time high for steel nerves and brazen
bravery. That confounded Luftwaffe Captain, though! Where in thunder did
he come into the picture? Why get two of them over here, and put only
one of them out of the action? It didn't--
A muffled shouting and other sounds in the hall outside the door curled
fingers of ice about Dave's heart. He started to turn, but checked
himself in the same split second as he saw von Staube and von Gault
stiffen.
"Relax!" he told them in their own tongue. "Just hold everything--or
else!"
He bounced the Commando knife in the palm of his left hand, and that was
all the two Germans needed to kill any sudden decision they might have
made. It was more than enough. Dave's gun they didn't mind staring at.
But his Commando knife seemed like a swaying cobra's head before their
eyes. They couldn't take it, and didn't make another move.
One--two--three minutes dragged by, like a fly crawling through
molasses. Dave's nerves strained and twanged inside of him. His heart
came up into his throat and stayed there. He watched his two prisoners
with one eye, and kept the other on the hallway door. What had happened?
Did Freddy need help? Should he leave these two and race out to Freddy's
assistance? After all, their luck must be at the snapping point.
Everything had gone off too smoothly, too easily. That wasn't the usual
way of things in war. Something was bound to crack, and always did. The
gods had to have their little laugh. Should he go outside to give Freddy
a hand?
Those and hundreds of other questions flew through Dave's brain. He
hesitated in soul-searing indecision, and then suddenly the hall door
opened and Freddy Farmer came leaping into the room. His face was just a
little pale, but there was a brittle gleam in his eyes. He waved a
sealed envelope at the two high ranking Germans.
"A dispatch just arrived," he said. "I took it from the chap for you.
Sorry, but we've no time for this sort of thing."
And with that Freddy tore the sealed envelope in half, and tossed the
two halves on the floor.
"Freddy, that pilot!" Dave asked. "What--"
"Sleeping," the English youth cut him off. "No use for him, now. The
dispatch chap is keeping him company. Front door locked, so no one will
come in that way."
"Then for the love of Mike let's get going!" Dave cried. "You're
wonderful, pal, but don't force your luck. Boy! Will you be snowed under
with medals!"
Freddy didn't say anything for a moment. It was as though he hadn't
even heard Dave's words. He stood with feet planted apart, and his
weight thrown forward on his toes, and his head cocked to one side.
Anger blazed up in Dave. He was about to speak again when he thought he
heard the sound of aircraft engines. He wasn't sure, and in the next
instant he had forgotten all about it. Freddy Farmer had snapped out of
his trance and was getting into motion.
"Right-o, Dave!" he said, and advanced on the two Germans. "Take von
Gault, Dave. I'll handle the other. Up, you two! Time to move. And
remember! A Commando means exactly what he says--or promises. It's a
sort of an oath, you know!"
Freddy had slid around in back of von Staube and pricked the back of the
Field Marshal's neck with the needle point of his Commando knife. The
German felt the pain, and gasped.
"_Ja, ja!_" he babbled out. "I do as you say. We do as you order. We are
your prisoners."
"Quite!" Freddy reminded him in a grating voice. "Now, come along.
Through this rear door. If we meet anybody, tell him to return to his
office. Only that, remember! He won't see my knife, but you'll feel it,
my good man! Never fear! Let's go, Dave!"
Walking on the Field Marshal's right, and a respectful half step to the
rear, so that he could keep the point of his knife pressed against the
back of the Nazi's tunic, and not have it seen from in front, the
English youth guided his prisoner over to the rear door of the room, and
opened it. Dave took the same position with his prisoner and sent him
forward at Freddy's heels. With nobody saying a word, the party passed
through the door, across a room that had once been the kitchen of the
house, and out through the outside rear door.
With every step Dave took he was filled with the nerve-tingling
sensation that he was walking on TNT charges with the fuses already
lighted. With every passing second he felt sure that he and Freddy were
just acting out some dream, a crazy nightmare that would explode in a
roar of sound at any moment. He told himself that he wasn't afraid to
die. That wasn't why he was shivering inwardly, and beads of hot sweat
were trickling down his ribs. No, it wasn't fear of death. It was a fear
that this really was _only_ a nightmare. That it was only a miracle that
had never actually happened. You just didn't walk into a Nazi
Headquarters and walk out with two of their biggest big shots. You
simply didn't do that sort of thing! It just didn't ever happen, not
even in those wild blood and thunder war magazines. In fact, you were a
little nuts even to _dream_ about such things!
Yet, all that to the contrary, it was true! It was taking place. They
were out in the dawn air now. There was a lot of light to the east. Some
shadows of spent night still lingered, but not many. There were some
trees in back, on the other side of a seventy foot open space. If they
could cross to those trees! They'd be in the shadows, then. They could
follow along under the trees and circle around to the east end of the
small drome where the Dornier was. They could steal upon the guards,
and--
It was then that Dave suddenly was conscious of the fact that there were
sounds of revving aircraft engines. He could tell by the throbbing note
that they were German engines. German airplanes on the ground. German
airplanes at the _east end of the little flying field_!
He started slightly, and his knife accidentally went forward a fraction
of an inch. It slid through the cloth of von Gault's tunic, and through
the clothes he wore underneath. It went all the way through and into his
flesh a little. He gasped out a stifled sob.
"_Please! No! I beg you!_" he moaned. "Please, I am your helpless
prisoner! I make no move to escape!"