"I didn't," Dave grunted. "I elected myself. When I go down, start down after me as though for protection. But don't put yourself in a jam to help me."
"That depends," Freddy said.
"Depends, nothing!" Dave barked. "Them's orders, Mister! Keep your own eye on the ball. It's pictures we want, no matter who gets them. Fake all you want to, but don't get behind the eight-ball so's you can't take your own pictures. And one more thing."
"Good heavens!" Barker groaned over the radio. "Hasn't everything been decided?"
"Not this item," Dave replied. "If things get hot, each of us is to hike for home the instant he's used up all his film. Get that? Never mind what's happening to the other two! As soon as you've run out your film, head for home, and in a hurry."
"Cheerful beggar, isn't he!" Barker said. "Right you are, though, Dawson! Home it is when the photo job's finished. And, here they come! In a bit of a hurry, too!"
Dave jerked his head around to see the four German Messerschmitt One-Nines prop-clawing through the air at top speed. The Nazi craft were a good three thousand feet higher up, and as the seconds ticked by Dave expected to see the four planes drop noses and come down in a gun chattering attack.
No such thing happened, however, and a disagreeable empty sort of feeling came to his stomach. Both hands gripping the stick, and every nerve tingling for action, he watched the Nazi ships roar right up to them, but still keeping their superior altitude. Not even when they were directly above did any of them wing over and come streaking down. Instead, the flight of four ships banked slightly and started circling around in the air as though they were riding escort on a flight of their own bombers.
"Come down, you bums!" Dave grated through clenched teeth. "Come down and let's get going!"
It was just a waste of breath, however. The Nazi planes stayed right where they were, neither gaining or losing altitude. The empty feeling in Dave's stomach started to spread throughout his body. And he felt the familiar eerie tingle at the back of his neck. In a crazy sort of way he imagined the Nazi pilots just sitting up there aloft and laughing at him. Laughing at him while he helplessly awaited the attack that would make it possible for him to spin down low and get close up shots of the mystery terrain below.