Dave cut the ignition of the left outboard engine, leveled off just over the sand, and then let the plane sink down to one of the finest landings he had ever made in his flying career. When he had braked the plane to a stop, he sank back in in the seat and sighed heavily.
"And I'd go and waste a nice landing like that way out here!" he grunted. "Well, I guess—Hey! Hey, Freddy! Look over there! That cloud of sand. What in thunder is it?"
To the right and far ahead, a cloud of swirling sand was moving swiftly toward them. Both boys stared wide-eyed as the approaching cloud seemed to grow bigger and bigger and spread up to the sides. Then suddenly they saw dull colored objects under the cloud and moving over the sand. Freddy found his tongue first.
"Tanks or armored cars heading for us!" he cried. "Blast them, I'm jolly well going to make them pay for taking us prisoners. I won't just walk into their waiting arms this time!"
As the English youth shouted the words, he stood up in the pit and swung his mounted guns around to bear on the rapidly approaching cloud of sand. Dave reached back and grabbed him by the arm.
"Hold it, Freddy!" he cried. "That would be just plain dumb. We've got more than just ourselves to think about. It would be just plain foolish to fight it out. They can blow us right out of the desert without half trying. Then where'd we be? Keep your shirt on, and just keep thinking of the maps and papers you've got stuffed under it."
The English youth's eyes blazed with anger, and he hesitated a moment before he slowly dropped his hands away from the guns.
"Yes, of course you're right," he mumbled. "Getting ourselves killed would simply spoil everything. But, good grief, what I wouldn't give to—"
"Freddy, shut up, and look!" Dave interrupted in a wild voice. "They're armored cars, but they're not German! Take a look! See? See the type? Those are from a British unit. They're English! For cat's sake start waving your arm before they start pegging bullets at us. This is a Nazi plane, you know. And maybe those guys don't feel like taking prisoners today!"
Freddy Farmer didn't bother wasting breath agreeing. He had seen for himself. He popped up onto his feet, as did Dave also. And together they started waving their arms at the most comforting sight they had seen for many long hours—British made and British manned armored cars of the desert!