"And it's going to be the way we want, kid!" Dawson whispered as they stepped out from behind the shrubs, and started walking along the rim of the field. "I've got the old hunch."
To that Freddy Farmer groaned, crossed two fingers of his left hand, because he was carrying his gun in his right, and kept on walking.
[CHAPTER EIGHTEEN]
Something For Hitler!
Twenty yards. Sixty feet. Just seven hundred and twenty inches. That was the distance Dave Dawson and Freddy Farmer finally were from the Flying Fortress at the rear end of that half-circle of bombers. Twenty yards more to go, but there were two Luftwaffe mechanics between them and the plane. And at that distance a blind man could see that each of the mechanics carried a holstered Luger. A Luger that was in a holster and not in the man's hand. And it was the realization of that that made Dawson breathe a faint prayer of thanks, and then suddenly snap on the beam of his flashlight, and walk the last twenty yards at a rapid pace.
As one the two mechanics spun around, blinked at the light that hit them in the eyes, and started to open their mouths. But Dave didn't give them a chance to say anything. He took a page out of Freddy Farmer's book, and played it for all that it was worth.
"We're Gestapo, sleeping swine!" he snarled at them, fairly throwing the words in their flat moon-shaped faces. "Is this the way to guard a plane? We could have killed you both minutes ago, and with ease. What have you to say, fools?"
One of them opened his mouth again, but Dawson quickly spun him around and pushed him into the shadow cast by the body of the Flying Fortress.
"Silence, swine!" he rasped, and practically shoved his flashlight into the mechanic's face. "Stand motionless!"
As Dawson spoke the last he half turned his head to see that Freddy Farmer was carrying out his end. Freddy had spun the other mechanic, and was shoving him up against the side of the Fortress.