CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

_Thundering Revenge_

“OVER THERE! HURRY! The swine will get to the beach! Fire your machine gun, Fritz! Perhaps our bullets will reach them through these cursed trees. _Goot!_ They are like two shafts of lightning, only faster!”

The words were screamed in German, and seemed inches from Dave’s ringing ears. They, of course, came from the mouth of one of the guards who stood not three feet from Dave’s body hugging the ground underneath heavy undergrowth. He could even see the booted foot of one guard, and his heart seemed to jam up his throat as he waited in fear that the guard would turn and step right on him. Hugging the ground though he was, and completely covered by undergrowth, he felt as though he were standing right in the middle of a glass house. And with every ticking second he expected to hear one of the machine guns snarl, and feel the white hot bullets biting into his body.

Then suddenly the guards started plunging off through the thick tropical growth. They called out to one another in the bad light, and a few seconds later there were other voices. Other Nazis had taken up the chase.

“Dear God! Don’t let them get Freddy. Protect him, dear God! Please!”

Dave didn’t speak the words. His heart spoke them as he slid up onto his hands and knees. He crouched there for an instant and listened to the sounds that now seemed far away because of the thickness of the island growth that blanketed all sound. Then he got up to his feet, sucked air into his aching lungs, and shot off in the opposite direction, body bent and head held well down. He traveled through the growth in a straight line for perhaps fifty yards. Then when he saw that he was well beyond the rim of the group of huts at the head of the double runway, he veered off to the right, and stole close to the nearest hut. It was one that served as living quarters, but there was no one there. He turned slightly and started forward again, but dived forward instead!

One of the bull-necked mechanics had come running around the far corner of the hut. He saw Dave, but a split second too late. Dave had taken Commando training in England, and he thanked God for that training in this moment. The top of his head hit the Nazi’s chin a terrific crack. At practically the same instant Dave’s iron hard fists slammed deep into the Nazi’s stomach. No man could take that kind of punishment, and the bull-necked mechanic was no exception to the rule. He grunted just once and went toppling over backward. If he needed a further knockout blow he got it when Dawson’s body came crashing down on top of him.

As Dave scrambled up onto his feet he took a quick look down at the prostrate mechanic and grinned, tight-lipped. The slob of a Nazi would be hearing the birdies for several hours to come. Dave started forward again, but checked himself long enough to snap a hand down and jerk free the Luger the German carried stuck in his belt.

“Seeing as how you’ll not be using it for a while!” he murmured, and went darting forward again.

In just two minutes by anybody’s clock he was hidden in the undergrowth that backed the radio hut. He strained his ears for sounds from within, but if there were any he couldn’t hear them because of the distant roar of sound that came from German throats hot in pursuit of the still (thank God!) elusive Freddy Farmer.

“Keep him safe, dear God!” Dave whispered softly, and crawled around the rear corner of the hut on his hands and knees. “Keep him safe!”

Another few seconds and he was at the front door. He hesitated a fraction of an instant and shot a sharp look around. He thought he saw a moving figure over on the other side of the runways, but he couldn’t tell for sure because of the bad light. Above the treetops there was still blue sky and sunshine, but down under the trees the light was fading fast.

Anyway, there was no time to bother about moving shadows, and so, clutching the Luger butt tighter, Dave took one quick step forward, then whirled and went inside the hut in a single leap. A figure bent over the radio started up and spun around as Dave entered. It was the former check-in officer at Albuquerque Base. Stark fear registered on the youth’s face for an instant. Then it became flooded with blazing anger and hatred.

“Swine dog! I’ll--”

“Shut up, and hold everything, rat!” Dave grated.

But the young Luftwaffe pilot was too engulfed in his own rage. He swung around, yanked open a table drawer and started to snatch out a gun that was inside. Maybe his fingers touched it, but maybe they didn’t. Dawson didn’t wait to see. He leaped forward and swung his own gun. There was the _crunch_ that metal makes when it strikes jaw bone. And the Luftwaffe pilot simply folded up like a weary army cot and sank silently down onto the floor.

There was no need for a second blow, and Dave didn’t waste a single split second delivering one for good measure. He simply shoved the limp figure aside with his foot and dropped into the chair. There were both mike and wireless key in front of him. The switch for the key set was thrown shut. He opened it, however, and closed the radio switch because he could talk faster than he could send by key. A second later the room was filled with the hum of the generators. Another few seconds and the tubes were warm enough for transmitting. Dave hooked the earphones over his head, and put his lips to the mike.

“SOS Colon Base!” he barked. “Emergency, Colon! Dispatch attack force at once to southern Albuquerque Cays. Nazi secret plane base here. Preparing to strike at Canal at--”

_Crack!_

The sound of the gun’s bark, and the shower of hissing blue sparks in Dave Dawson’s face, seemed to come almost simultaneously. For an instant he was completely blinded by the radio panel that had virtually exploded in his face. He kicked his chair and blindly reached for the Luger he had placed on the panel table close to his hand. But in that instant there was a second shot, and the Luger he saw through smarting eyes seemed to take off like an airplane and go falling down onto the floor.

“The third shot will be for you, of course!”

Shock fled, and common sense returned to Dave. The radio episode was finished--that is, as far as the set itself was concerned. The first bullet had smashed the main tube, and the whole panel was now giving off dirty blue smoke. He turned slowly and stared into the brittle, deadly eyes of Captain Karl von Stutgardt, who stood framed in the hut doorway. The Nazi’s lips were pulled back over his teeth in a vicious snarl, but his shoulders were shaking a little. It was as though he were silently chuckling to himself. He was, for it suddenly rose to a harsh laugh.

“Too bad, Captain Dawson!” he cried. “That was a noble effort. But I couldn’t allow you to complete your little broadcast, you know. That’s a very low powered transmitter, and your voice couldn’t possibly have been heard in Colon. You should have used the key wireless. But of course it’s too late for that now. In fact, it is too late for everything, as far as you’re concerned, Captain Dawson!”

Dave only half listened to the words. He knew that he was not going to die this very instant. Maybe in a minute or two, but not right now. Von Stutgardt’s vanity had to be satisfied first. The rat from Berlin had to enjoy his crowing before he continued with his job of murder. And murder it would be. Dave knew that he stood as near death as he ever would. The Nazi’s Luger was pointed straight at his heart, and the man had just proved that he was an expert shot.

But what about Freddy Farmer? That was the thought that raced and circled about in Dave’s brain as he stood there tensed in front of von Stutgardt’s Luger. Had they caught Freddy finally? Had they chased him clear across the island to the beach on the other side and then shot him down as one would shoot down a mad dog? He couldn’t hear any sounds of voices calling out, nor the sound of gun fire either. Freddy! Freddy, old man! I’ve failed you. Failed you completely. Have you paid for it with your life? Have I brought certain death--to us both? Oh, dear God!

Dawson’s agonizing thoughts were as spoken words in his brain. They came from all sides to haunt and to taunt him. He felt the blood seem to drain out of his body, leaving only the seething flames of berserk anger within him. Unconsciously he let his eyes meet von Stutgardt’s again, and he saw that the Nazi was chuckling.

“Your swine English friend?” the Nazi echoed, as though he had read Dave’s thoughts. “You can forget about him. I can promise you that he is dead, or soon will be. This is not a large island, you know. As a matter of fact, that is why I gave you as much freedom as I did, why I didn’t tie you hand and foot. Knowing your record of stupid deeds in the past, I thought you might try some foolish move like this. So I simply waited. Why? To give us a little sport, of course. A little sport before our great day tomorrow. It is good for one’s nerves when they are too tight, you know, a nice little man hunt. We Germans enjoy man hunts, you know.”

“Sure!” Dave flung at him. “If the man you’re hunting is unarmed. Well, I’m unarmed, von Stutgardt. Why don’t you shoot? Go ahead and get your big thrill. There’ll _still_ be X-62 left, you know.”

Dave spoke the last on the spur of the moment, just to see how von Stutgardt’s expression would change. He was disappointed. The German just stood there with his sneering smile on his face. Dave looked past him and out at the first of the Vultees at the head of the double runway.

“So you had trouble getting those planes, von Stutgardt?” he said just to keep the German talking. “I don’t think it was much trouble. I saw how you got ours. You got the others the same way, didn’t you?”

“That’s right,” the German said, and beamed. “The trouble was to get pilots from the Colon Base on solo patrol to come this far north. But we managed it, after a fashion.”

“And their pilots?” Dave asked, and stared the Nazi straight in the eye.

“We wanted the planes, not the pilots!” von Stutgardt snarled back. “You think we play at war like children? Like you Americans, and the swine British? The life of an enemy to us? Nothing! I spared your life, and that dog Britisher’s, simply because I wished to amuse myself, and to let you see how stupid you were in your efforts to trap me, the greatest secret agent of them all. But--”

The German paused and made a little gesture with the hand that did not hold the Luger.

“But now that I have had my little sport, and one of you is already dead, or is dying at this very moment, I tire of it all,” the German said presently. “You are mere children, and we Germans have a man’s work to do. So--so give my best wishes to your dear Colonel Welsh when you meet him, Captain Dawson. And you will be meeting him soon--for that dog is the next on my list.”

Dave saw the Luger in von Stutgardt’s hand come up an inch. He saw the Nazi’s grip on the butt tighten. He thought he saw the knuckle of the trigger finger go white as the man started to shoot. But he didn’t hear the shot, though there was a shot. He didn’t hear it because it came from outside the hut, and there was a ringing in his ears that drowned out all distant sounds. He simply saw von Stutgardt twist around as though spun by giant invisible hands. He saw the man’s Luger drop from his limp fingers. And he saw the spurt of blood on von Stutgardt’s neck as the Nazi agent fell in through the doorway and down onto the floor.

And in the next split second he saw a figure garbed in the work uniform of a German mechanic come leaping in over the fallen von Stutgardt.

“Phew, Dave! I was afraid that he had already shot you! You sure you’re all right?”

It was three long seconds before Dave could snap himself out of his stunned trance, and pry words out of his mouth.

“Freddy!” he gasped. “Freddy Farmer? You got away from them?”

“Of course not!” Freddy panted. “This is my twin brother! Certainly I got away. Those beggars couldn’t find anything unless it was stuck on the end of their big noses. I got up close to one stupid ox, and bashed him silent, and took his uniform and gun. After that it was as easy as pie. I was trying to sneak up on this blighter when I saw him raise his gun. So I had to shoot. I hope he bleeds to death. I--Good grief! The radio! Dave, did you--?”

“I didn’t!” Dave groaned. “Not powerful enough. I was halfway through when he came in and shot the thing into flames right in front of my face. But let’s cut this gab. I’ll bless you and give you a big kiss later, pal, for saving my hide. Right now we’ve got a job to do all alone.”

“What I’ve been trying to explain!” Freddy snapped, and spun around. “They’re all down at the other end hunting for me in the grass. That first Vultee, eh, Dave? What say?”

“Stop asking questions!” Dave barked. “Just pick up your feet, and get going with me. Gee, Freddy! What a sweetheart and a honey you always are in the clutches!”

The English youth didn’t make any comment to that. He was too busy picking up his feet, as Dave had suggested, and laying them down again. Shoulder to shoulder the two air aces raced out the door and across the clearing to the first of the bomb-loaded Vultees. Without wasting words talking it over, Dave leaped into the forward pit, and Freddy leaped into the rear pit and unhooked the swivel guns. As soon as his pants hit the seat Dave rapped open the throttle, and punched the starter button with his other hand. For a couple of seconds the starter made a grinding sound and the steel-bladed propeller rotated in a series of slow jerks. Then it caught in a rush of power and the dimly lighted clearing seemed to tremble and shake in the thunderous roar of the Wright Cyclone in the nose.

“Hang on, and be ready with those guns, Freddy!” Dave bellowed at the top of his voice, and rammed the throttle wide open.

As though the word guns had been some sort of a signal for which the unseen gods of war were waiting, the savage yammer of gunfire suddenly broke out to the left rear of the Vultee now lunging forward. Dave jerked his head around in time to see von Stutgardt coming reeling out through the radio hut door clutching a machine gun in his hands. He blazed away at the Vultee, and countless hornets of death whined by Dave’s head. Then von Stutgardt stumbled and fell, and his gun stopped spitting out flame and sound.

Dave didn’t wait to watch the German go sprawling. He had snapped his head front, and was biting down hard on his lower lip. The Vultee was a comet roaring along the runway now. But more guns were shooting at it from the heavy undergrowth on either side. And directly ahead was the camouflage screening for the opening out onto the beach. Dave had forgotten all about that until this moment. How strong was the screen? Would it crack them up? Would it catch on the prop blades, and bind about them, and slow up the Vultee’s speed so that the plane wouldn’t take off until it was down the beach and in the water? Would it--?

But there wasn’t any time to answer any of those questions, much less do anything about them. Like a streak of greased lightning the whirling prop of the Vultee slashed into the netting. Things flew off in all directions for a brief instant, and then there was clear air and sunshine ahead, and Dave was hauling the plane up over the blue surface of the Caribbean.

“Like razor blades through a hair net!” Dave shouted joyfully as the aircraft mounted higher. “Always did say these Vultees were the toughest thing with wings. I--”

“Never mind the talk!” came Freddy Farmer’s scream in his ears. “We got a bomb or two to drop. And there’s a couple of the blighters coming up after us. It’s our turn, now, Dave! And for the love of Saint George, let’s get going!”

“And how!” Dave shouted, and hauled the Vultee off its climb and over and around in a dive. “And how! You keep those Nazi mosquitoes off our necks, Freddy, and I’ll dump the eggs where they’ll do the most good. A secret base, huh? Well, not for long. _Not for long!_”

As Dave roared out the last he pointed the Vultee’s nose straight for the spot of lush green on the island that hid the far end of the runways, and the little cluster of huts. Two Vultees came ripping out of the opening as he went rocketing down, but he didn’t waste any time dropping his nose more and bringing them into his forward gun sights. Freddy would take care of those Vultees. He had a job of his own to do!

So, holding the attack bomber steady, he took it earthward at terrific speed, leveled off in the last split second allowed, and went streaking forward just off the tops of the trees. At the right instant he yanked back the bomb release lever and sent the one thousand pounds of death and doom hurtling downward. No sooner did he release the bomb than he banked sharply to the right and hauled the Vultee’s nose up toward heaven.

For some strange reason everything seemed to become deathly still for a moment. It was the pressure in his ears, of course, from the violent bank and steep climb. But in a crazy sort of way it struck him as though heaven and earth had suddenly stood still, and were waiting for that bomb to hit.

Well, heaven and earth, and Dave Dawson, didn’t have to wait long. Suddenly invisible giants’ hands seemed to grab hold of the belly of the Vultee and fling it far out across the sky. Then came the roar of sound. It was as though the very earth had split apart in two sections and belched up all the fire and seething lava in their depths. For a moment red and white balls of light spun around before Dave’s eyes, and when he could see, it was a tremendous effort to turn his head and look back down.

When he did, though, his breath caught in his throat, and cold shivers of horror shook his body from head to foot. There was no more lush green and brown on the Albuquerque Cay. There was nothing but a small ocean of seething flame and mountain clouds of yellow white smoke, edged all around by the blue of the Caribbean. A bull’s-eye shot with a bomb, if there ever had been one! Dave didn’t even need one guess to know that his one thousand pounder had unquestionably smacked right down on that hut that housed all the other high explosives. No, not just a thousand pound bomb exploding, but _tons_ of high explosives, and not a few aerial torpedoes for good measure. That horrible flaming chaos down there was just a picture of what the Nazis had been holding in store for the Panama Canal.

“There won’t be a blade of grass, even, left alive down there!” Dave heard his own lips mutter in awe. “And as for von Stutgardt, and his vulture brood, they’ll never murder another--”

He didn’t finish the rest. At that moment the yammer of aerial machine guns cut through his whirling thoughts. He jerked around in the seat and saw the two escaped Vultees curving up toward him with all guns blazing. He also saw Freddy Farmer snap out of his obvious trance and stop gaping down at the horrible sight below.

“Get to work and earn your pay!” Dave roared, and threw the Vultee into a snap roll. “I’ve done my part. Now you do yours, kid!”

The English youth didn’t reply, that is, not with his lips. Instead, he spoke with his two swivel mounted machine guns. Though almost upside down, and practically standing on his ear as Dave whipped the Vultee over and down, Freddy drilled one of the Nazi flown planes dead center. It seemed to fly straight into an invisible rubber wall in the sky. It hit it and actually bounced back. Then as flames belched out and engulfed it, the plane went tumbling down into the Caribbean.

“Nice shooting!” Dave shouted, and cut the Vultee around in the opposite direction.

The remaining Nazi pilot saw him coming and tried to get out of the way. When he saw that he was trapped, he simply fired his guns blindly and then went down into a steep dive. Dave dropped down after him, but there was no need for either Freddy or him to shoot. The fear of the devil must have been in that diving Nazi’s heart, because he never pulled out of his dive. He hit the surface of the Caribbean like three tons of flying brick. There was a great splash of water, but when the foam of the froth had disappeared there wasn’t a sign of the plane. It, too, had disappeared, straight down.

Hauling out of his dive, Dave took one last look back at the still seething sea of flame and smoke that had been lush green, and brown, and silvery strips of beach, just a short time ago. Then with a slight shudder he turned front and put the Vultee on a crow flight course for the Air Corps Base at Colon. Then he twisted in the seat and grinned back at Freddy Farmer.

“Well, Lady Luck is still our sweetheart, Freddy!” he called out. “Your courage, and my dumb luck made it turn out swell.”

“It was luck all the way!” the English youth called back. “We came much, much too close to missing this time. Fact is, I’m wondering just how we’ll be able to explain things to Colonel Welsh, and make it appear we did use our heads a little.”

“Who cares?” Dave laughed. “We’ll just say we did it with mirrors, or--”

Dave paused as he became conscious of a bruise ache on his right chest. He glanced down and then went pop-eyed when he saw that the right top pocket of his tunic had been ripped open. He stuck his finger in through the tear and felt a piece of metal. He pulled it out and gulped. It was the silver-filled copper disc. But it wasn’t flat and smooth now. And there was more than just a pen knife scratch in the copper. The disc was bent double, and there was a big gash where the bullet had struck and ricocheted away. From von Stutgardt’s gun, or one of those Nazi Vultee pilots? Dave didn’t know, and he didn’t care. He put the bent disc to his lips and kissed it.

“And I said you were no luck charm?” he grunted. “Brother! I’m carrying you around for the duration. And I don’t mean maybe!”

----THE END----

See next page.

_A Page from_

DAVE DAWSON WITH THE COMMANDOS

A FAINT SOUND broke the silence of the black night. Was it the wind in the trees? Was it a night animal stalking his next meal? Or was it one of Adolf Hitler’s uniformed killers?

Dave didn’t know. Perhaps it was just his imagination. Perhaps it was just his taut nerves snapping, and his brain playing him tricks. According to the report he had received he shouldn’t run into any of the enemy for another twenty minutes at least. Just to make sure he pressed himself close to the ground, turned his cork-blackened face toward his left wrist, and with his right hand inched up the cuff of his sleeve so that he could see his radium dial wrist watch that circled his forearm halfway to the elbow.

Twenty minutes? His watch must be wrong! It must have gained two hours in the last ten minutes, for he was certain that it was only ten minutes ago when he had looked at it. Yet the watch said it was exactly five minutes of the hour. Twenty minutes? No, not twenty. There were only three minutes left! So that faint sound

Transcriber’s Notes

Obvious spelling errors and missing punctuation have been corrected. Some printer inconsistencies have been silently corrected.

Italic text in the original is delimited by underscores.

p. 32 He [know] that this pilot--changed to [knew] p. 38 they instinctively [glaced] up at the--changed to [glanced] p. 102 a glittering [bronz] disc--changed to [bronze] p. 105 it by two [ofter] one--changed to [after] p. 117 Will that be [okey]--changed to [okay] p. 121 along the Atlantic seaboard, and in the [Carribbean]--changed to [Caribbean] p. 127 How do you feel[]--inserted [?] p. 127 A ricochet[]--inserted [!] p. 157 if there was a secret[]--inserted [.] p. 203 the beach and the blue [Carribbean]--changed to [Caribbean] p. 220 [Had] had that Sergeant take--changed to [He:] p. 235 As Dave [scrambed] up onto--changed to [scrambled] p. 250 three [ton] of flying brick--changed to [tons]

End of Project Gutenberg's Dave Dawson with the Air Corps, by R. Sidney Bowen