Dave Dawson with the Eighth Air Force

by Robert Sidney Bowen

It blinded him for a moment, even though he was lying down face to the car floor and away from the light. But as soon as he could adjust his eyes to the sudden change he turned his head and looked at Freddy Farmer. Freddy was a little pale around the edges, and there was a tiny trickle of blood from his nose, but the hard, glittering look in his eyes indicated that his feelings had been hurt far, far more than his cracked nose and clipped head.

"Atta boy, Freddy!" Dave whispered softly. "Just hold it that way, but hold it!"

Young Farmer had only the chance to nod slightly. Before he could whisper in reply the heavy booted feet were removed from the small of Dawson's back, and harshly spoken German words filled their ears.

"Get up, and get out, swine! Herr Baron is waiting! Get up, dogs—or must I help you?"

An altogether fitting comment hovered on Dawson's lips, but he did not permit himself the satisfaction of saying it. Instead he pushed up onto his hands and knees, and then up onto his feet and stepped out through the car door that a pale, thin-faced man was holding open with one hand. In his other hand was a small but wicked-looking Luger automatic, the muzzle of which was trained dead on the Yank air ace. And when Dawson stepped down onto the cement floor of the garage and started to turn around and give Freddy Farmer a helping hand the man snarled and jammed the muzzle of the gun against him.

"Step back, swine. Your little comrade is all right. He can get out by himself!"

Dawson backed up and watched Freddy Farmer get out. There was nothing about the English youth to indicate that he didn't feel any too steady on his feet, save his unnatural pallor. His chin was up, and his eyes set and unflinching as he stepped out of the car. The thin-faced man gave him a sneering smirk, and motioned him over to stand beside Dawson. And when the two youths were standing shoulder to shoulder a bullet-headed, thick-set man came around from the other side of the car. His small, close-set eyes seemed to glitter like those of a deadly snake about to strike.

"Well, well!" he growled. "Herr Karl Stoltz, and Herr Paul von Heimmer! You stupid fools. So you thought that we would not remember, eh? That we would not try to find you? Gott! So you would be swine traitors to the Fuehrer? But Herr Baron will teach you about that. Hans! Lead the way. I will be right behind the dogs!"

The thin-faced man called Hans nodded, turned and pushed open a door. Dawson saw a lighted stairway leading up, and then a clenched fist struck him in the back and sent him stumbling toward it. He heard Freddy Farmer gasp sharply, and then his pal was stumbling into him. He managed to keep his balance and follow the thin-faced man up the stairs. At the top the man did not pause. He walked along a narrow hallway and went up a second flight of stairs. As a matter of fact he did not come to a stop until he had mounted four flights of stairs.

Just at the top of the fourth flight he stopped in front of a door, fished a key from his pocket, and put it in the lock. When the door was opened there was darkness beyond. But the thin-faced man flicked a switch, and Dawson found himself staring into the foyer of an apartment. The thick-set man herded Freddy and him inside, through the foyer, and into a well appointed living room that was heavy with the smell of stale tobacco smoke and cooking.