Dave Dawson at Casablanca

by Robert Sidney Bowen

The major general reached out a hand and tapped a finger on the navigator's chart on the desk.

"That plane and its crew were deliberately sacrificed so that the others could get away," he said. "It happened yesterday morning. A Lockheed Lightning pilot happened to be in the air, and he sighted the Snoopers off shore. He requested permission by radio to give chase and engage them. That permission was granted. The Snoopers had a good start on him, however, and there were a lot of clouds, so the Lockheed pilot was unable to catch up until the chase had gone a good two hundred miles inland. When he started to close in, the pilot reported later, one of the bombers dropped out of formation, turned back, and gave battle. It put up a good fight, and by the time the Lockheed pilot had downed it, the others had disappeared completely. Just before turning back to fight, the German pilot dumped his full load of bombs, and they exploded in the wilderness below. That didn't help him any. Well, the bomber crashed, and no one bailed out! That struck the Lockheed pilot as being queer and as there was some smooth ground close by, he landed to take a look at his victim. He said it was not a pretty sight. But there were only three aboard, whereas a Junkers Ju-88 usually has a crew of at least six. Not one of those three had made any attempt to leave the plane as it fell earthward. Do you know why?"

The senior officer paused and seemed to wait.

"No, sir," Freddy Farmer spoke up impulsively. "Why, sir?"

"Because there were no parachute packs aboard the plane!" the other replied at once. "In fact, the plane was stripped bare of everything that was not absolutely essential to flying and fighting. There were no identification papers on any of the crew, though the Lockheed pilot could tell from decoration ribbons that all were veteran airmen. There was nothing except this navigation chart. The Lockheed pilot said that one of the men was holding it as though he had been about to destroy it, but was stopped by the crash. By that I mean, in one hand he clutched the chart and in the other a cigarette lighter. Anyway, the Lockheed pilot brought the map back to me, and as soon as I took one look at it I knew the reason for the constant patrolling of those Nazi bombers. I know exactly what they are."

"It sounds like a suicide outfit to me," Dawson murmured as the major general paused. "They must be waiting for the President and his party to arrive. Then they'll let go with the whole works, to say nothing of their own lives."

"There's no doubt about it!" Major General Hawker agreed grimly. "I'm as convinced of that as though they had come and told me so. If they know when the President and Mr. Churchill will arrive, I don't know. Perhaps they will receive that signal from somebody right here in Casablanca. The way they have let convoys alone and have avoided air battle, at the deliberate sacrifice of one of their own, is proof positive that they are waiting for the one big opportunity. And even though the President's life, and Mr. Churchill's life, were spared, the loss of other lives would be almost as disastrous to the Allied cause. In short, so long as that German suicide squadron remains in existence, a terrible danger hangs over the entire civilized world. No matter how many planes we have protecting the President and his party, some of those bombers would be bound to get through."

"But their base, sir, wherever it is?" Dawson spoke up as the other paused. "If you could only find it, and—"

"Exactly the point!" the major general interrupted. "If we could only find it! The only thing I've got here that could out-fly the Junkers Ju-88 is a Lightning. But the main difficulty is that I have no pilots I can order out on such a mission. I mean, should they find the base and radio its position, they wouldn't have fuel enough left to return. They'd force land in the mountain wilderness and eventually die of starvation or the heat. We've got to destroy those planes—and within the next thirty-six hours!"

"Thirty-six hours, sir?" Dawson echoed, as his heart started to pound against his ribs.