"Anyway, when you spot this German soldier walk up to him and say, 'Tell me the time, my watch is broken.' He will answer, 'But mine is broken, too.' By that answer you will definitely know that you have met the right man. He is to be known to you as Jones. So if you call him by any name, call him Jones. Anyway, he'll give you a picture of how things stand. He'll tell you exactly where the two Nazi big shots are at the moment. In which building of their H.Q., I mean. He'll tell you how many others are about. And he'll put before you a plan how to pull the others away so that you can make your little surprise visit on von Staube and von Gault. Most important of all, though, he will know the exact location of a Nazi Dornier Do. Seventeen that you two can use to cart your prisoners back here to England. Naturally, there is a small flying field close to the Evaux H.Q. that both von Staube and von Gault use, but not the whole Luftwaffe in general. Jones will have all the dope on that, and of course, he'll do everything he can to make your job easier. He has been groomed for his part to the nth degree. So have no worries that anything will slip up at his end. Once you have nailed von Staube and von Gault—and I suggest right here that you slug them good, and bind them right up with wire you'll be carrying—Jones will run the interference for you. That's a football expression, Farmer. You get what I mean?"
"Yes, sir," Freddy grinned. "Dawson, here, made me go to some of the games when we were in the States. In hot weather, too!"
"They weren't regular games, as I told you," Dave said with a laugh. "Just spring practice and scrimmages. But he knows what you mean, sir."
"Good," Major Barber grunted. "Well, I guess that's about all the points. We'll go over them later, of course. Several times, until you have each little detail down pat. One last thing, though, about arriving back here in England. Try to make Two Hundred and Three's airdrome. There'll be certain parties there to take over your prisoners. And of course, when you cross over English ground be sure and put on all your navigation lights. And keep flashing the letter M with your signal light. That'll stop any anti-aircraft shells from coming up to greet you. Well, I guess that's about it. Are there any questions? Any part of the plan that strikes you as not measuring up to snuff?"
Neither Dave nor Freddy said anything. For the moment they were too busy with their own thoughts to ask any questions. And their thoughts were indeed in high gear. To Dave the whole thing looked easy as apple pie. Every step they would take had been carefully thought out and considered from every angle. It would almost be like acting out a book they had read; knowing exactly what to do next, and how it would all come out in the end.
Yes, it seemed a cinch. But that was exactly the point. Cold, hard common sense, and the memory of experience, told him that it wasn't going to be any cinch. Far, far from it. The eerie tingling sensation that rippled through the back of his neck was all the proof of that statement he needed. Plan, and plan, and plan. It made no difference how much, or how long, you planned. There was always that unknown something, that unexpected something, lingering in the background. It would pop up at you, as sure as man is a foot high. And when it popped—
Dave didn't bother finishing the rest of that thought. He drove it from his mind, and glanced at Freddy Farmer. He could see that their thoughts were very mutual indeed.
"Got anything you want to ask, Freddy?" he said.
The English-born air ace frowned, and then shook his head.
"No, can't think of a question at the moment," he murmured. "It's all expertly cut and dried. All we have to do is follow the instructions. No, I haven't any questions."