CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Thundering Revenge
“Over there! Hurry! The swine will get to the beach! Fire your machine gun, Fritz! Perhaps our bullets will reach them through these cursed trees. Goot! They are like two shafts of lightning, only faster!”
The words were screamed in German, and seemed inches from Dave’s ringing ears. They, of course, came from the mouth of one of the guards who stood not three feet from Dave’s body hugging the ground underneath heavy undergrowth. He could even see the booted foot of one guard, and his heart seemed to jam up his throat as he waited in fear that the guard would turn and step right on him. Hugging the ground though he was, and completely covered by undergrowth, he felt as though he were standing right in the middle of a glass house. And with every ticking second he expected to hear one of the machine guns snarl, and feel the white hot bullets biting into his body.
Then suddenly the guards started plunging off through the thick tropical growth. They called out to one another in the bad light, and a few seconds later there were other voices. Other Nazis had taken up the chase.
“Dear God! Don’t let them get Freddy. Protect him, dear God! Please!”
Dave didn’t speak the words. His heart spoke them as he slid up onto his hands and knees. He crouched there for an instant and listened to the sounds that now seemed far away because of the thickness of the island growth that blanketed all sound. Then he got up to his feet, sucked air into his aching lungs, and shot off in the opposite direction, body bent and head held well down. He traveled through the growth in a straight line for perhaps fifty yards. Then when he saw that he was well beyond the rim of the group of huts at the head of the double runway, he veered off to the right, and stole close to the nearest hut. It was one that served as living quarters, but there was no one there. He turned slightly and started forward again, but dived forward instead!
One of the bull-necked mechanics had come running around the far corner of the hut. He saw Dave, but a split second too late. Dave had taken Commando training in England, and he thanked God for that training in this moment. The top of his head hit the Nazi’s chin a terrific crack. At practically the same instant Dave’s iron hard fists slammed deep into the Nazi’s stomach. No man could take that kind of punishment, and the bull-necked mechanic was no exception to the rule. He grunted just once and went toppling over backward. If he needed a further knockout blow he got it when Dawson’s body came crashing down on top of him.
As Dave scrambled up onto his feet he took a quick look down at the prostrate mechanic and grinned, tight-lipped. The slob of a Nazi would be hearing the birdies for several hours to come. Dave started forward again, but checked himself long enough to snap a hand down and jerk free the Luger the German carried stuck in his belt.
“Seeing as how you’ll not be using it for a while!” he murmured, and went darting forward again.