"Both blokes!" Dawson gulped. "You mean—?"
"A second chap popped up from the rear just as you shot that Hans," Freddy said. "I took care of him without using bullets. Afraid I broke the blighter's neck. Serves him right for trying to interfere. Fancy, though, meeting that Hans again. Small world as you often say, what? But don't sit there listening to my chatter, Dave! Take her up, or—or do something. My nerves won't stand for much more of this thing!"
A nervous and sort of crazy laugh spilled off Dawson's lips as he turned front.
"Release the wheel brakes, while I gun her, Freddy!" he said in a voice that he hardly recognized as his own. "Here we go—somewhere!"
By the time the last had left his lips the four engines of the Flying Fortress were singing a loud song of power, and the huge craft was moving over the ground and off toward the left so that it cleared the Liberator just in front. The roar of the engines was loud in Dawson's ears, but the roar didn't seem half as loud as the mighty pounding of his heart. Cold sweat formed on his forehead and trickled down his face. His hands gripping the controls became clammy, and his mouth was so full of "sawdust" that he could hardly breathe.
In the next couple of seconds it seemed as though everybody on the field carrying a flashlight froze stiff for a brief instant, and then turned the beam of his light toward that trundling Fortress. To Dave's strained nerves those barbs of light looked like machine gun, or aerial cannon flashes, and had a burst of sudden death, in the form of fatal bullets, come crashing through the windshield or window glass he wouldn't have been in the least surprised. Inside of him a voice was screaming wildly that he and Freddy Farmer were doing something that just couldn't possibly be done. They were suicidal fools to so much as try it. If die they must, then let them feed the four engines every drop of high test they would take and taxi the Flying Fortress straight into the center of that curved line of heavy bombers. But try to get it in the air? Never! It just couldn't be done!
"Maybe not!" Dawson heard his own voice echo back to him. "Maybe not! But, by heaven, we're going to give it a try, and how!"
"Dave, look!" Freddy Farmer's voice suddenly screamed wildly in his ear. "They know something's wrong. Up there at the front of the line. Troops with machine guns, and they're racing our way. They're going to try and block the way!"
But Dawson had seen the running troops at the same time as Freddy Farmer. His lips went back flat against his teeth, and he swerved the Fortress more to the left, and eased all four throttles forward a bit more.
"Let them try!" he shouted wildly. "The rats can get out of the way or be run down, guns and all. We're non-stop until something really stops us. Hey, Freddy, what about our load? Did you get time for a look? Ye gods! Wouldn't it be a fine mess if we're not—"