CHAPTER FOURTEEN
_Success or Suicide?_
Senior Lieutenant Petrovski reached across from the co-pilot's seat totouch Dawson's arm, and then point a finger.
"That black smudge ahead, and to the left, Captain!" she called out."That is Urbakh. There is a good broad field on the west side."
Dawson squinted ahead, and nodded absently. He knew that he was about tohit Urbakh on the nose almost any minute now, because Freddy had beendoing the navigating since leaving Moscow. And when Freddy did thenavigating you just naturally always hit your objective on the nose.However, he didn't mention that fact to the sharp-eyed Russian girl. Hesimply nodded, half smiled, and took a glance at the instrument panel.
The fact is, he was still just a little bit in what you might call asurprised trance. There just didn't seem to be anything that theRussians couldn't pull out of the hat with a snap of the fingers. Takethis latest bit of Russian magic, for instance. Frankly, he had wonderedabout the type of plane that they were to use on the last legs of theirmission. He realized that it would have to be a medium-sized bomber atleast, in order to carry the number of passengers to be brought back.But he had half figured that the plane would be a Russian job. And hehad hoped that he'd be able to get the feel of it in time to be able tomake the tricky landing behind the Nazi Front. Also, to get it off againfor the return trip.
But leave it to the Russians! They knew all the answers before you evenasked the questions. And a lot of answers to a lot of questions thatdidn't even occur to you, too!
Five minutes after Senior Lieutenant Petrovski had returned to thatfront room in her mother's house, she had led Dawson and Freddy Farmerout into the night, and across a mile of wooded countryside to abilliard table smooth clearing. Presto! Russian aircraft mechanics hadpractically pushed up out of the ground. Presto! At an order from SeniorLieutenant Petrovski they had darted in under the branches of thebordering trees and hauled out a medium-sized bomber onto the smoothopen ground. And presto! It was not a Russian plane. It was a Yank-madeNorth American B-Twenty-Five medium bomber! A Yank lease-lend bomberthat had not been converted over to Russian Air Force use.
The surprise had stunned both Dawson and Farmer speechless. In fact,like two youths living out a crazy dream, they had climbed aboard withthe Senior Lieutenant to find Yank-made parachute packs, Yank-madeoxygen tanks, and everything else strictly Yank from propeller hubsclear back to the twin rudders on the tail. To slide into the pilot'sseat of that B-Twenty-Five was like a ten ton weight being lifted fromDawson's shoulders. Heck! With a B-Twenty-Five he could practically landinside that cellar of Ivan Nikolsk's war-blasted farm house, if he hadto. Yes, and how! Just leave it to the Russians. They knew the answersbefore you could even think up the questions!
"I say, want me to land it, old thing?"
Dawson snapped out of his thought trance to glance back over hisshoulder at Freddy Farmer's happy grin. He shook his head violently.
"Not this time!" he snapped. "At least I want it to go into the recordthat we _arrived_ safely at Urbakh."
"Just as you wish," the English youth chuckled. Then his face turnedgrave as he added, "Speaking of arriving at Urbakh safely, I wonder ifwe can still go on hoping for Agent Jones?"
"For me, I answer yes!" Senior Lieutenant Petrovski spoke up quickly,and touched a fingertip to a spot over her heart. "In here I thinkabsolutely yes. No, do not laugh. When I think something inside, it isalways so. This Agent Jones, he will be with us soon. He will be with usbecause Russia needs him to be with us. And what Russia needs, she musthave. Yes! You will see."
"Okay by me!" Dawson said. "But I wasn't laughing, Senior Lieutenant. Iguess that's just the way my face looks. And no cracks, Farmer! But,anyway, Senior Lieutenant, we both sure hope that you're right. ThisIvan Nikolsk sure sounds like a queer guy. I've a hunch that withoutAgent Jones along the three of us are going to have trouble with IvanNikolsk, when we find him."
"We will find him!" the Russian girl said grimly. "And if there istrouble--But what is war but bad trouble, eh?"
"Check and double check," Dawson echoed with a nod. Then, "Well, holdyour hats, boys and girls. Here--Sorry, Senior Lieutenant. That's justan American expression. Anyway, here we go down for the stop-over atUrbakh."
"And I jolly well hope it will be a short one!" Freddy Farmer added, asDawson throttled back the twin Wright "cyclones," and sent theB-Twenty-Five sliding down toward the large square-shaped field on thewestern edge of Urbakh.
The arrival at Urbakh of the B-Twenty-Five from Moscow was, of course,expected. And so, when Dawson landed and taxied over to the protectionof some trees on the lee side of the field, a small group of Russianofficers, led by an infantry Major, came out to greet them. They allseemed to know Senior Lieutenant Petrovski, and it was instantly evidentthat the frank admiration in their eyes and the military snappiness oftheir salutes was not simply because she was a pretty girl. To them shewas a soldier's hero, and their every action proved it.
She introduced Dawson and Freddy to them all, but it was Major Saratovwho finally accompanied them over to a house on the edge of the village.He was commander of the Russian garrison there in Urbakh, and the smallhouse served as his headquarters. He ushered them in, and barked arequest at an orderly who appeared. The orderly nodded, and beamed hispleasure, and promptly disappeared again. But only for five minutes orso. Then he returned with food and something warm to drink for them.
Up to that moment nothing but pleasantries had been spoken by anybody.But as Senior Lieutenant Petrovski picked up her warm drink, she lookedacross the cup at the Major.
"There is still no word from the south?" she asked quietly.
"No word at all, Senior Lieutenant," the Major said with a frown. "AtBaku they are keeping constant watch, and a few planes have been sentout on the hunt, but--but so far, there has been nothing to report. Itis most sad, and unfortunate."
The Russian Major bobbed his head, and stared silently at his own cupfor a moment. Then he quickly raised his eyes to Nasha Petrovski's face.
"And your orders, may I ask, Senior Lieutenant?" he put the question."You will remain here--until there is news, perhaps?"
The girl member of Soviet Intelligence gave a vigorous shake of herhead.
"No, Major," she said shortly. "We have reached our own decision. Eachday that passes may make it more difficult to find the person for whomwe search. And too many days have gone by as it is. No. Your mechanicswill look over the aircraft, and see that the tanks are full, and thateverything is in readiness. And--"
The girl paused to lean over and peer up through a nearby window at thesky. A thin overcast was stealing across the surface of the coldgrey-blue. She straightened up and nodded.
"Tonight there will be clouds, and no moon," she said. "It will be asgood tonight for what we want as it will be any night. Yes, tonight wewill cross over the enemy front to Tobolsk. And--But forgive me, CaptainDawson. You and Captain Farmer agree, yes?"
She addressed the last to Dave, who grinned and nodded.
"Absolutely, Senior Lieutenant," he said. "You're leading this parade,and what you say goes."
As the Russian girl looked just a trifle puzzled, Freddy Farmer spokeup.
"Translated into English, Senior Lieutenant," he said, "my friend meansthat you are in command, and that we will gladly follow your orders."
"And I'll personally see that _he_ does, Senior Lieutenant!" Dawsonadded his bit quickly.
The Russian girl caught the byplay, and her smile flashed.
"I am honored," she said, "but this mission has three commanders, has itnot? But of course. Very well, then. At midnight tonight we will takeoff. And now, if the Major Saratov will be so good as to produce thephotographic maps that have been prepared, we will spend the rest of thetime studying them, and deciding where best to land, and how to hide ouraircraft from any Nazi eyes. Major?"
The Russian officer came up on his feet in nothing flat.
"At once, Senior Lieutenant," he
said, and turned. "The photographicmaps show every blade of grass, almost. Just to look at them is likeflying over the area on a clear sunshiny day. Two seconds, SeniorLieutenant."
And it didn't take the Russian much more time than that to duck intoanother room, and return with a huge detail mosaic aerial map. One lookat it and Dave's admiration of Russian magic went up another tenpoints. Major Saratov had certainly called the turn in his descriptionof the map. It certainly was like flying over the Tobolsk area andlooking down.
"So!" Senior Lieutenant Petrovski murmured as the map was placed on atable, and they all gathered around it. "If I may have your attention,Captains?"
She got it instantly, and for the next couple of hours bombs could haveexploded just outside the window, and those inside would not havenoticed, so engrossed were they in their study of the mosaic aerial map.Dave and Freddy had plenty of questions to ask, and they asked them. AndSenior Lieutenant Petrovski had the correct answer for each question,plus a little bit of additional knowledge. In fact, by the time twohours had passed Dawson almost felt as though he'd known every littledetail of the Tobolsk area all his life. It was almost as though atmidnight he would make a flight back to his old home town. RussianIntelligence, plus the co-operation of Russian Aviation, had notoverlooked a single thing, or passed up a single bet.
"Good grief!" Freddy Farmer gulped impulsively when they all finallystraightened up from their study of the map. "There's only one blessedthing that it doesn't show. And perhaps we'll even see that if we lookhard enough!"
"There is something missing, Captain?" Major Saratov asked in a hurt,disappointed tone.
"Oh, quite!" the English youth told him with a chuckle. "I fail to seeIvan Nikolsk crouching in his hiding place. But certainly everythingelse is clear enough."
The Russian Major let out a sound of profound relief, and laughedheartily.
"A thousand apologies for not also including that photograph, too,Captain," he said, showing his strong white teeth. "But if you socommand, I will send more photograph planes over within the hour, andperhaps they will catch this Nikolsk out in an open field, eh?"
"I wouldn't bet that they wouldn't!" Dave cut in with a chuckle."Jeepers! And to think I was a little worried about having to make alanding there in the dark. Gosh! After studying that map I could slidein there with both eyes shut."
"But please don't!" Freddy Farmer clipped at him with a broad grin."Because I've seen some landings you've made in broad daylight with botheyes _open_!"
Dawson glanced at Major Saratov and gestured with one hand.
"Don't mind him, sir," he said in a serious tone. "He goes back into themonkey cage as soon as we return to London. Well, how about a shortrecess from the war, eh? And we'll get together later for a finalhuddle."
"Discussion of plans, he means," Freddy Farmer explained in a patientvoice. "Yes, a recess might do us all good, what?"
Everybody nodded, and stood up. And then, as though invisible stringsattached to each head had been pulled at the same time, each one of themturned and looked out the window facing south. And the same thought wasin every mind. Agent Jones! Was he alive, or was he dead?
Several hours later all that could be seen of the sun behind the everthickening overcast was balanced like a pale yellow ball on the westernedge of the world. And even as Dawson and Farmer paused in a ramblingstroll about the field, and stood still to stare at it, the bottom halfof the pale yellow ball was sliced off. And then three quarters of it.And finally it wasn't there any more. There was just a faint shimmer ofyellow that was quickly blotted out by the mounting overcast.
"And that's that!" Dawson grunted, more to himself than to Freddy. "Ifand when we see that sun again, I don't think we'll be here, anyway."
"It would be nice to think that we'll be back in Moscow, or even London,then," the English youth murmured. "But of course, that's down-rightsilly, what? Well, I'm afraid that Senior Lieutenant Petrovski's secretinner feeling is a bit of a lost cause."
"Kind of think so myself," Dawson grunted, and turned to stare south."Guess Agent Jones won't be with us. A tough break for him. He seemedlike a swell guy at that luncheon when we met him. But anybody who wentthrough what he did is automatically a swell guy. Did anything about himstrike you, Freddy?"
"Eh? Why, certainly. That he was a very splendid sort of chap. Blast! Ihate to think of him dead, and out of this. Seems so unfair, you know."
"And how!" Dawson echoed. "But that wasn't what I meant. It was abouthis face, his looks."
"A very good-looking face," Freddy replied. "Good grief! His good looksmake you jealous, old thing? You, with the face you've got?"
"Skip it, pal!" Dawson growled. "If you missed it, then maybe I waswrong. Come on. Let's go give the crate another look-see. Boy! Am Itickled it's a Yank plane. These Russians are for my money any day inthe week!"
"Wonderful people," the English youth agreed as he dropped into step."But what did you mean by 'skip it?' What's on your mind?"
"We'll still skip it," Dawson replied stubbornly. "If it is a secret,maybe it's better to keep it that way. I don't know."
"Now, see here, my man!" Freddy Farmer snapped, and took hold of Dawsonby the arm. "You--!"
But that's as far as Freddy got. At that exact moment both of them heardthe roar of aircraft engines in the distance. The sound came from thesouth. And both, from long experience, knew instantly that British-madeengines were making the noise. As one man they both froze stiff, breathlocked in their lungs, and eyes frantically searched the overcast sky tothe south. As usual, Freddy Farmer's eagle sharp eyes picked out thetiny moving dot sliding downward.
"There!" he cried, and flung up a pointing finger. "Just over thatcorner of the field. It's an R.A.F. Bristol Blenheim. Dave! Maybeit's--!"
The English youth stopped short as though not daring to speak the rest.Dawson nodded, but he too held his tongue. Together they watched theBritish bomber come sliding down lower and lower until it was clearlyvisible in every detail. And still almost not daring to breathe, theywatched the twin-engined plane settle down in a beautiful landing on thefield, and taxi slowly over to the North American B-Twenty-Five.
The Blenheim's wheels touching the ground seemed automatically torelease hidden springs in the two boys. Together they hot-footed it overto the lee side of the field, and arrived there just as theBritish-marked plane was wheel braked to a stop, and the powerful twinengines cut off dead. With a wild eagerness and expectancy that madethem seem like a couple of kids waiting for Santa Claus to come down thechimney, they stood there with bated breath, and saucer eyes fixed onthe fuselage door. It was swung open in a moment, and a thin,good-looking fellow in oil and grease-smeared flying garb leaped lightlydown on the ground and came toward them, grinning broadly.
"Greetings, you chaps!" he called out. "Been waiting for me long? I hopenot."
Dawson recovered the use of his feet and his tongue first.
"Jones!" he cried, and leaped forward, hand outstretched. "Are wetickled pink to see you! Holy smokes! Look at the grey hairs we've got!We'd just about given you up for keeps. What happened? What took you solong?"
"Quite!" Freddy Farmer chipped in happily. "Dawson and I will never bethe same again, I swear. Yes! What on earth happened to you?"
"Weather!" Agent Jones said with a violent nod. "Most beastly stuff thatever hit any part of the world. Right over the middle of Iran it broke.Quick! Just like that. For a spell we all thought we were goners, forsure. Jackson, he's the pilot, knew his Blenheims, though. Put us downin the middle of nowhere. And there we stayed for three days, expectingthe blasted wind to turn the aircraft upside down most any minute. Afterthe storm blew past us, it took another day to get sand and stuff out ofthe engine. We managed to get off early this morning. Being late, wedecided not to stop at Baku. But our radio wasn't working, so wecouldn't buzz Baku to tell them. We just came on, and--well, here I am."
"And a sight for sore eyes!" Dawson cried as he stared hard at theIntelligence officer's face
. "But you're in time, just in time. So comealong and meet the commander of this outfit. A pretty Russian girl,believe it or not!"
"Eh, what say?" Agent Jones gasped.
"Absolutely!" Freddy Farmer spoke up. "And quite a person, too. She haskilled no less than three hundred and six Nazis!"
"Good Gosh!" Jones choked out. "What a bloodthirsty damsel!"
"Not at all!" Dawson corrected him with a chuckle. "Senior LieutenantNasha Petrovski just doesn't like Nazis, that's all!"