"Okay!" he murmured. "That's one more idea than I've got. Lead on. Freddy!"
[CHAPTER SEVENTEEN]
Satan's Wings
Slipping the car out of gear, Dawson braked it to a final stop, and automatically switched off the ignition. The moving flashlight beams were not more than twenty yards ahead now, and even through the rumble of many aircraft engines beyond the hills he could hear harsh German voices ordering unseen figures to get out of the cars in front and show their papers. A great sense of bitter defeat welled up within him, and he impulsively turned to Freddy. But young Farmer was already getting out of the car on the roadside and violently motioning to Dawson to follow him.
"Leave it to me, Dave!" he whispered. "You've got to, old chap!"
There wasn't anything else for Dawson to do but just that. Throat dry, and heart pounding, but with a sort of reckless, devil-take-the-hind-most spirit welling up in him, he got quickly out of the car and took his place beside Freddy. Young Farmer seemed to pause and breathe deeply. Then he nudged Dave with his elbow.
"Start running with me, but don't say a word!" he breathed fiercely. "I'll do all the talking. Let anybody that we meet see that you've got a gun. And try and get a very nasty Gestapo look on that face of yours. Right-o! Here we go!"
The comment that Freddy had obviously gone stark, raving nuts rose up to Dawson's lips. But he didn't have time to speak it, even if he had wanted to. Freddy had broken into a run, had snapped on his flashlight beam, and was sweeping it back and forth across the road in front of him. In three swift strides Dawson caught up with his pal, and shoulder to shoulder they ran straight for a group of shadowy figures standing in the middle of the road.
At the sound of their approach a couple of flashlight beams were turned their way, and Dawson's heart seemed to stand still in his chest as the order rang out in German:
"Halt!"