[CHAPTER TWELVE]
The Voice of Death
Colonel Comstadt, and the three other pilots of his four plane group, walked up to within a few yards of the two boys. There the big man halted, rested his big hands on his hips and stared at them out of eyes that were like two smouldering coals of fire. Then suddenly his thick lips curled back over his teeth in a sneer.
"Two little boys!" he boomed out in his native tongue. "Himmel! Just two little boys. I thought England had men in her army!"
"She has!" Dave shot back at him. "Try to invade England any time, and you'll find out!"
Thunder heads showed in the German's face for a moment. Then he laughed harshly and jabbed a big finger at Dave.
"American, eh?" he roared. "Ah, yes! You must be this Dawson swine I've heard tell about. Am I right?"
"Take five points for it," Dave said. "Who cares?"
"What?" the Luftwaffe morale builder bellowed. "What kind of talk is that?"
"I give up," Dave said. "What kind?"