"Quite, Dave!" Freddy whispered. "I was just talking for their benefit, inside there, you know. Not unless—"
"Okay, okay, we're decided on that point!" Dave cut in. "Now, look! The way to that Dornier has got to be made clear. That yelling pack of wolves has got to be drawn off in the other direction. They've got to be made to think they've got a small sized war on their hands. I think I can arrange that part. You stick here, and see that these two don't let out a peep. If they so much as take a loud breath, crown them. I won't be gone more than ten minutes at the most. Then we'll carry them piggy back the rest of the way to the Dornier. But, hey! The Dornier! You did fix it to be revved up?"
"No, my little Commando knife," Freddy replied. "I made that Jerry pilot stick his head out the door and yell to one of his mechanics out there to start up the Dornier's engines. He was too scared to do anything else. Then I pulled him inside, locked the door for good luck, and bashed him into sleep, along with the dispatch rider who had come popping through. But, Dave! You can't!—"
"I can, and will!" Dave snapped angrily. "Look! It's my turn to have a hand in this party. You've done plenty, pal. I've just been playing the outfield with a no hit pitcher in the box. Nix! My turn, now. You stay put with these two. I'll be back in ten minutes, or less."
Dave turned to streak off among the shadows, but turned back to Freddy Farmer once more.
"Give me ten minutes, Freddy," he whispered. "If I don't show up, I'll have at least dragged them off in the other direction. That'll be that much of a break for you. Then you'll have to lug these two one at a time over to the planes, and take care of the guards there. But you've got a gun, and know how to use it. One thing, though. I'd stuff these two in the rear pit of one of those Messerschmitt One-Tens, if I were you. You can kick those babies into life and get off quicker than you can in a Dornier. Quite an order to fill, pal. I hope you don't have to fill it, and that I'll be back. Luck, pal!"
Dave squeezed Freddy's shoulder hard, and without giving his pal so much as a chance to open his mouth, whirled away from the half grown over shell crater and went speeding silently back through the woods toward their starting point. But he didn't go all the way to the starting point. He didn't even leave the woods. He kept well under their shadows until he was almost abreast of the Headquarters building and not a dozen yards from German officers and soldiers milling about in the pale light.
He pulled up to a halt and froze against a tree trunk. It had been his original intention to make for the west end of the field. He had spotted some drums of oil and gasoline there when walking by the spot with Freddy Farmer. But now sight of the Nazis dashing about like so many bewildered chickens was too much to resist. Here was the perfect chance for a trained Commando to do his stuff. Surprise attack, a lightning blow, and an even faster retreat!
He moved slowly away from the tree trunk and toward a slightly hunched over German soldier with a sub-machine gun in his hands who was examining some piled up rubbish in back of the Headquarters building. Dave moved slowly for a moment, and then sprang forward with the speed of a pouncing tiger. The Commando knife he carried in his left hand went home dead true. His other hand chopped down on the sub-machine gun and yanked it from the falling German's hands. So swift and so deadly accurate had the Yank's actions been that he was spraying machine gun bullets to right and left, and in front of him, before any of those Germans near by knew what had happened.
For many the truth came too late. They went over like ten pins and fell sprawling to the ground. The others just leaped forward regardless of what was in front of them. They crashed into each other, into the rear of the building, or just into thin air—and kept going at top speed. A wild blast of concentrated fire in three directions, and then Dave jerked his finger off the trigger and sprinted back under the trees.