For thirty minutes, now, Freddy and he had been hugging the ground out of sight of prying eyes and silently studying the layout before them. And their thoughts were far from happy ones. Somewhere over on the other side of the field, in one of the buildings—and they had a pretty fair idea which one it was—Field Marshal von Staube and Luftwaffe Marshal von Gault were receiving reports at the rate of about one every five minutes on the progress of the United Nations Commando raid on the Le Havre area. How that raid was making out, neither Dave nor Freddy could tell. They could hear the distant roar of coastal batteries, the crash of exploding bombs, and the terrific thunder of ammo dumps blowing up. And every once in a while they caught the echo of savage fighting in the air. But what had been accomplished, and what hadn't been accomplished, were two things beyond their knowledge at the moment.
"Thought up any plan yet, Dave?"
Freddy's quietly spoken question caused Dave to start a little. He chewed on his lower lip for a moment, and then shook his head.
"Not even close to an idea!" he grated. "At least not one that would give us even a Chinaman's chance. How about you?"
"Mind a blasted blank!" the English youth sighed. "Getting von Staube and von Gault away from that crowd over there would be as easy as getting Hitler out of his precious Berlin bomb shelter during an R.A.F. raid. I haven't even seen either of them poke their noses outside yet. And blast it! It'll be daylight soon."
Dave nodded soberly, turned slightly and stared toward the east. He was not looking for the dawn, however. He was looking at the very first thing he had noticed when Freddy and he had arrived at the edge of this field. It was the Dornier Do. Seventeen light bomber resting peacefully on the edge of the east side of the field. There were a couple of Messerschmitt One-Tens, and a single One-Nine, too, but Dave hardly gave them a glance. He stared longingly at the Dornier, and his pounding heart wept bitter tears.
If only Jones had not met his Fate! If only the man had lived, and been able to play his part in this life and death, victory and defeat struggle. If only—But what was the use of thinking about what might have been? The key man was gone. The one main link to success was gone. Whether they won out or failed depended solely upon Freddy Farmer and himself. But what could Freddy and he do now? What possible chance did they have against such overwhelming odds? How in the world could they be expected to perform the absolutely impossible? They were only human. They weren't miracle men who could simply snap their fingers, and, presto, magic was done. They—
For an instant his eyes strayed to one of the Messerschmitt One-Tens. There was an avenue of escape for Freddy and himself. Just a couple of guards watching over those planes over there. They could be taken care of in short order, and Freddy and he could get one of those One-Tens in the air and be on their way back to England before the others realized what was taking place. Sure they could! And they could explain to Major Barber how they'd found Jones dead, how they had been chased all night by Nazi soldiers, and how it would have simply been asking for certain death to attempt to kidnap von Staube and von Gault under such impossible circumstances. Darned right! They'd tell Major Barber—
Dave clamped down hard on his whirling thoughts, and his whole body grew hot with shame. A fine soldier he was! Just about as much courage as a new born rabbit. Just a quitter. Afraid he might get hurt? Afraid he might get killed? My, my, what a pity! Well, never mind. Just go on home, and Major Barber would pat him sympathetically on the back, and say not to worry, and that it was really too much to have asked of any man. Yes, yes. Just go to sleep, my little man. And sweet dreams! Maybe some day somebody else will grab von Staube and von Gault, and then everything will be just dandy!
"Dave! What in the world's the matter with you? Your face is as red as a beet! Don't you feel all right?"