And then suddenly the little party groping cross-country through the black, stormy night did come to a halt. It was the Russian girl who brought them to a halt. And her voice came to them through the howl of the storm almost like a whisper.
"The edge of the woods is but a step ahead!" she said. "Beyond it, the bomber. I do not think there are many guards, but there must be some. This, then, is a task for me. Remain motionless, please. But when you hear three quick shots from my revolver, come as though the entire German army were right behind you. It will not be long. This is what I do gladly for my Russia."
A sharp bark of protest came up into Dawson's mouth, but there it died in silence, for the spot of rain-swept darkness that had held the Russian girl was only a spot of rain-swept darkness now. She had gone in a flash, and the three youths could only hold up Ivan Nikolsk as gently as they could—and wait—each with his own thoughts.
However, there didn't seem to be any waiting period at all—at least not over thirty seconds at the most. Suddenly, from out of the wind-howling darkness ahead, came three distinct shots from a revolver! Nobody said anything. Nobody so much as let out a shout of joy. Dawson, Agent Jones, and Freddy Farmer simply hoisted Ivan Nikolsk up to a more comfortable position, and went plunging forward through the black stormy night. And in practically no time at all there was level ground under their feet, and they were running over toward the darker blur that was the B-Twenty-Five bomber.
"Here, to your left!" the voice of Senior Lieutenant Petrovski suddenly spoke in Dawson's ear. "Here is the bomber door. And watch out for those dead ones on the ground. There were five, and as I suspected they were inside the bomber to be out of the storm. They were surprised, and then they were dead. But here—give me your place. You must get in and start the engines. The three of us will manage. And may it be His wish that Ivan Nikolsk still lives!"
"And keeps living. Amen!" Dawson echoed as he shifted his share of the burden to the Russian girl's strong arms. "But how in the world did you—?"
"A knife makes no noise!" she cut him off almost harshly. "And the knives of Russia are very sharp!"
That's all Dawson wanted to know. He leaped past the girl, stumbled over the feet of some dead Nazi guard, and then ducked through the bomber's door, and made his way forward to the pilots' compartment. It seemed that he had hardly dropped into the seat, and was shooting out his hand for the switches, when Freddy Farmer dropped into the co-pilot's seat alongside.
"The chap's regaining consciousness again, Dave!" the English youth cried wildly. "Agent Jones is back there with him, with his notebook. Get us off, old thing, in a hurry. Blast if we're not going to grab this one out of thin air, too. What a girl, that Senior Lieutenant!"
"You mean, what an army!" Dawson shouted at him as he jabbed the starter buttons. "She's a whole doggone army, all by herself. And, boy, can she think way out in front of a guy, too! She's—"