Dave Dawson with the Eighth Air Force

by Robert Sidney Bowen

"Yes, he did," Herr Baron said slowly. "He had a saber scar on his right arm. Near the elbow. Let me see your right arm. Come, swine traitor! Show me your right arm, at once!"

Herr Baron barked out the last because Dawson had hesitated, and started to shake his head. But his actions were simply to hold the attention of the three Nazis while he once again pressed his knee against Freddy Farmer's. Then he shrugged and stood up, and reached over with his left hand to shove up the right sleeve of his tunic.

"All right," he said, and looked Herr Baron straight in the eyes. "Take a good look, and see if you see any saber scar!"

Dawson drew back his right arm slightly as he pushed up his tunic sleeve. Then when he saw Herr Baron's eyes drop from his face to his arm, he lashed out with his clenched right fist, took a quick half step forward and brought up his right knee. His fist caught Herr Baron a savage blow on the side of the neck, and his knee went deep into the man's groin. It was Commando stuff for keeps, and Dawson didn't stop there, either. He let momentum carry him forward and down. His feet left the floor, and like a projectile his body shot through the air toward the wide-eyed, sagging-mouthed Hans.

The thin-faced Nazi probably didn't know what had actually happened until Dawson's charging body slammed into him and sent him crashing backwards against the wall. The Yank caught him in the chest with his left shoulder, and as the two of them went crashing back and down, Dawson grabbed hold of the Nazi's gun and twisted it free. His ears rang with the scream of pain, and he felt Hans' trigger finger break as it got caught in the trigger guard. But neither bothered Dawson in the slightest. He had learned from blood and fire experience the Commando's code. And no part of it is to feel anything but hatred for the man you're after.[2]

The instant he had the gun in his own possession Dawson heaved himself up onto his hands and knees and chopped down hard with the gun barrel on the side of Hans' head. Hans was reaching for Dawson's throat with clawing fingers, white pain and seething rage showing in his face. But the gun smash on the side of the head nipped everything in the bud. The Nazi made hoarse gurgling sounds in his throat, and instantly went as limp as a wet dishrag.

But Dawson hadn't waited to see the effect of his blow. Out the corner of his eye he had seen the thick-set figure of Erich charging at him. Black murder was in the Nazi's eyes, and he was tugging a Luger out of his jacket pocket. Dawson tried to spin around and pull his trigger before the Nazi pulled him. But he half tripped over the limp Hans' body, and the muzzle of Erich's gun seemed to loom up right in front of his eyes like the black mouth of a tunnel.

Then suddenly there was a shot! Dawson flinched instinctively, but his eyes saw no flame stab from the mouth of that Luger, and no white hot spear of flame cut into his body. What his eyes did see was the blank, slightly stupid look that spread over Erich's face. Then, as though invisible strings holding him up had been cut, Erich fell in a heap on his face.

"Well, thanks for letting me in on the show a little, at least!" the words filtered into Dawson's spinning brain.

He gaped for a second at the prostrate Erich, and then turned his head to see Freddy Farmer standing a few feet away with a still smoking Luger in his hand. The English-born air ace was smiling, but there was nothing but grimness in his steady eyes.