All that Dave and Freddy saw out of the corners of their eyes as they raced zigzagging toward the rear of the headquarters tent. They actually passed German troops rushing toward the fire, but not one of the enemy soldiers so much as gave them a glance. All eyes were riveted on the towering column of flame and smoke.
In less time than it takes to tell about it, Dave and Freddy had darted and twisted around tanks and armored cars and reached the rear of the headquarters tent. There they halted and strained their ears for any sounds inside. It was impossible to tell if there was anybody inside, however, because of the terrific din that rolled across the desert camp in ever increasing waves of sound.
Dave nodded to Freddy, gripped the Luger tightly, dropped to his knees in the sand and whipped up the bottom edge of the tent canvas. One look and wild joy flooded his face. Freddy saw that look and didn't bother to ask questions. Seconds later both were inside the empty tent and stuffing maps and papers inside their shirts. Another few seconds and they started to turn around and skin out the way they had entered. At that exact instant, however, a blurred figure came racing into the tent. Dave saw the flash of a gun coming up and let his body drop. At the same time he shoved Freddy with his free hand, and swung his Luger and pulled the trigger with the other.
Two shots blended together as one. Death hissed past an inch from Dave's nose and bored a hole in the rear wall of the tent. The blurred figure screamed with pain, dropped his gun and clutched wildly for his right shoulder. It was not until then Dave recognized the pain-twisted face of the German major.
"For the two punching bags you made out of us!" Dave barked at him in German, and then practically slid out under the rear tent flap on his stomach.
Leaping to his feet, he paused long enough to give Freddy a hand up, and then led the way at top speed toward the extreme rear of the camp. Once he reached it, he swerved sharply to the right and ran along behind a line of parked troop trucks. Presently he pulled up to a panting halt beside the last truck. The burning fuel truck was now far to his right and to his front. Directly in front of him, though, and not fifty yards away, was the Messerschmitt One-Ten. There wasn't a soul near it. Every jack man in the camp was busy fighting tooth and nail to stop the blaze of the fuel truck from spreading. Dave reached back and gripped Freddy's arm.
"I'll dive for the controls," he said, talking fast, "You dive for the rear pit and the guns. They've stopped the engines, but I'll kick them into life, and taxi away from here. You hold them back with your guns in case they start after us. Can't taxi too fast because of the sand. And I don't dare take off at once. Want to give the engines a little time to get turning over sweet. Okay?"
"Okay!" Freddy breathed. "And you'll get the Victoria Cross for this, if I've got anything to say about it."
"Just the flight deck of the Victory will be okay by me," Dave said grimly. "Right! Here we go!"