Dave Dawson on the Russian Front
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
_Aces Don't Wait_
As though the gods of good fortune, and Lady Luck, were well informed ofwhat was to take place in the Tobolsk area, and wished to add their bitof help, dull grey clouds began to form in the western sky shortly afternoon. And by three o'clock the sun was hidden completely, and shadowy,misty light filled the heavens, and covered the earth like a thinshroud.
Hugging the ground under a mass of leafy bushes, Dave Dawson and FreddyFarmer breathed silent prayers of thanks for the helpful change in theweather, and in between prayers asked only that four Nazi airplanemechanics might complete their routine chores, and go elsewhere out ofsight. The four Nazi mechanics were no more than sixty yards from wherethe two boys hugged the damp ground, and they were giving theirattention to three Messerschmitt One-Nines, and half a dozenMesserschmitt One-Tens lined up under a wide spread of overhanging treebranches that hid them completely from the air. Just beyond the planes,and to the right, rose a squat, flat-topped hill. Even from where theboys hugged the ground the hill looked just like that--squat, andflat-topped. But they knew different. Not only because of what they hadguessed, and heard from Senior Lieutenant Petrovski's lips, but alsofrom what they had seen with their own eyes!
Just one hour previously they had reached this spot and crouched down tostudy the scene, and wait for their big opportunity--if and when itcame. Up until an hour ago they had covered a considerable area ofNazi-occupied Russian ground. A portion of it, because of the necessityof changing course to avoid personal contact with Nazi patrols, orgroups of Luftwaffe pilots out stretching their legs after a flight overthe front, and for a few other less important reasons. But a certainportion of it they had covered on purpose, mainly to have a look at theguarded B-Twenty-Five bomber. But that look had not added to their peaceof mind, or to their hopes.
They had learned that not only was a heavy guard posted close to thebomber--which, incidentally, was inspected practically every fiveminutes by a new group of Luftwaffe pilots--but a ring of guards hadalso been thrown out about the bomber at a considerable distance. Inother words, the Nazis were taking no chances on a surprise rushingattack. Those whom they were obviously expecting would be forced tobreak through two rings of defense to reach the aircraft. No, a goodlook from a safe distance at the B-Twenty-Five had not given them causeto so much as murmur with happiness. If that guard was _not_ reduced,and by two thirds at the most, they were slated to have one terrific jobon their hands. One terrific job, and a very hopeless one, too.
However, time alone would reveal what was to be, and what wasn't to be.So they had left the picture just as it was, and gone on about their"travels." And now they hugged the ground, and kept their eyes fixed onfour Nazi mechanics, and by the very intensity of their stares tried tomake the four square-heads stop fiddling around with the Messerschmittsand go away.
"Almost as though they knew we were here," Freddy Farmer muttered underhis breath, "and were purposely taking as long as they could. Blastthem, anyway!"
"I can think of a lot of other things to call those tramps!" Dawsongrated softly. "And if you want the truth, I'm having a tough timefighting down the yen to tear into them, anyway. They don't look likethey're armed."
"But no doubt each one of the blighters has a Luger in his coverallpocket," Freddy Farmer murmured. "I fancy the Nazis have learned not togo around unarmed _any_ place in Russia. Quite!"
Dawson started to nod and echo that very truthful surmise, but at thatmoment he heard one of the mechanics shout something, and his heartstarted pounding furiously against his ribs. He didn't catch the words,but he didn't have to. Actions told him all he needed to know. Theactions of the four mechanics who promptly quit work, and went walkingover toward the base of the squat, flat-topped hill. A moment or twolater Dawson and Freddy Farmer witnessed for the second time in an houra bit of Nazi-made ingenuity. For the second time in an hour, theywitnessed what Senior Lieutenant Nasha Petrovski had told them about.
In short, they watched the four mechanics walk to the base of the hill,watched a section of "hill" swing outward and upward a little way, andthe four mechanics walk into the hill, and then saw the camouflagescreening drop back into place again. A sudden and quite insane desireto have a look at all that was inside that hill surged through Dawson.But, naturally, he killed the urge even as it was born, and simplypromised himself that if he lived through the war, he would come backfor a real inspection of this spot after it was all over.
"Well, don't look right now," he breathed softly, and pushed up onto hishands and knees, "but I think it's time for us to part company for aspell. Freddy, old pal, you hop for that first crate, and I'll hop forthe one right next to it. Meet you in the air, kid. And don't wait toask permission to take off, see? You won't get it!"
"Not likely!" the English-born air ace grinned back at him,tight-lipped. "And keep your mind on your own knitting, old thing. AOne-Nine is a bit of all right, but a tricky beggar, you know."
"Yeah, I once read that in a book!" Dave growled. Then, throwing Farmera wink, "This is it, pal. And don't spare the horses!"
And that was that. No handclasp, and no last words of planning. Therewas no need for either. Each knew exactly how the other felt. And eachknew exactly what the other planned to do, and would do--unless Deathstopped him.
And so, like a couple of bolts of lightning ripping out from the centerof a thunderhead, the two boys ripped up out from under the shelteringbushes, and went streaking straight across sixty yards of open ground.To anybody watching them it must have seemed that their feet didn't eventouch the ground; that they were just a couple of cannon shells enroute. And as Dave reached the side of the cockpit of his MesserschmittOne-Nine, it became instantly evident that somebody had been watchingthem, or at least had suddenly spotted Freddy and himself, because therewas the sound of a muffled shout of wild alarm, followed almostinstantly by the heart-chilling chatter of a machine gun. However, Davedidn't hear the whine of bullets, and he didn't bother to wait to see ifa second burst would come closer. His feet just up and left the ground,and he practically shot down through the cockpit hatch opening to theseat.
Even as he landed, hard, his hands were in furious motion. In what waslittle more than the continuation of a single movement he whipped up theignition switch, snapped on the booster magneto, and punched thestarter button as he rammed the throttle open. One--two--three horribleseconds dragged by, and then the Daimler-Benz engine in the nose caughtin a mighty thunder of sound. And as it did so he kicked off the wheelbrakes and opened the throttle wide, breathing a prayer of gratitude tothe four mechanics for having tested the engine and thus warmed it upfor him.
Like a race horse leaving the barrier, Dawson's Messerschmitt wentstreaking out from under the cover of overhanging branches and down theflat strip of valley. Out the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse ofFreddy Farmer also in motion in the other plane. A song of joy burst outin his heart, and he impulsively lifted a hand in a derisive gesture atthe machine guns yammering savagely behind him.
"Didn't realize you were guarding the wrong aircraft, did you, tramps?"he shouted aloud, and pulled the Messerschmitt clear of the ground."Well, now, isn't that just too bad! But we'll wait for you, if youwant, hey, Freddy, old kid?"
Of course, the English youth couldn't hear the words, but it wasn'tnecessary. As planned, both youths throttled slightly, once they gotthe planes up out of range of the machine gun fire. They did so to givethe Nazis plenty of time to race out of the hill hangar and over to theline of planes. Looking back, Dawson saw them, and a happy grinstretched his lips. So far, so good! Now to keep just enough ahead ofthose bums, and then lose them when well over the Russian front.
"And then Freddy and I will really go to work!" Dawson grunted grimly,and veered around toward the north. "Wonder what tomorrow will be like?Yeah! And _if_ I'll see it!"
With a shrug, and a shake of his head, he knocked the thought intooblivion, and, after glancing over at Freddy on his right, fixed
hisgaze on the northern horizon.
A little under an hour later a conglomeration of emotions was surgingthrough Dawson. Russian-held ground was under his wings now. Russianground, and he had only to throttle his Daimler-Benz and slide down tocomplete safety. But, of course, that thought didn't even cut a tinycorner in his brain. It wasn't even born, for the very simple reasonthat the job wasn't even half finished. True, they were over Russianground, and a couple of minutes before the pursuing Nazis had given upthe chase as a lost cause and swung all the way around to the south, tobe speedily lost to view in the ever approaching shadows of nightfall.Yes, all that was water under the bridge so far. But half the job, andthe most dangerous half was still waiting to be accomplished.
"So get on with it, as Freddy would say," Dawson grunted, and waggledhis wings just before he banked around toward the south.
The English youth swung around right after him, and in wing-tipformation they headed toward the southeast. For some five long minutesthey droned along. And then, just as they were passing over the last ofthe Russian advance positions on that section of the front, Dawson satup stiff and straight in the seat. His eyes had spotted a moving dotsilhouetted against the bleak, cheerless sky of coming night. It grewbigger and bigger, and finally took on the shape and outline of aMesserschmitt!
Dawson squinted at it for a second or so longer, and then when the Nazicraft suddenly veered off to the west, and headed up toward the clouds,he took a quick look over at Freddy, and started to bark out a signalburst from his guns.
There was no need for that, however. The English youth had alreadyspotted the plane, and was hauling his ship around and up after it.Dawson grinned, and yanked his own One-Nine around and up in Freddy'swake.
"Leave it to you, Eagle Eyes!" he shouted. "Okay, pal. He sure is ourbaby. Hanging around so he can learn things, maybe, and then go tearingback to tell them all about it. Well, not today, eh, Freddy?"
With a grim nod for emphasis, Dawson jammed the heel of his palm againstthe already wide open throttle, and kept his gaze fixed on the thirdNazi plane streaking upward for the clouds. For what seemed like alleternity the lumps of cold lead bounced around in Dawson's stomach. Ifthey lost that Nazi there was no telling what might happen. Maybe he wasjust some pilot up on a test flight, but his sudden dash for theseclusion of the clouds didn't bear that out. No. More likely he hadbeen left aloft to keep watch, and to see if those who had escaped madeany attempt to return. Sure, and maybe that was a very cockeyed view forDawson to take, too. However, there was no way of telling one way or theother. So that left only one thing to do. To knock off that Nazi just incase he was aloft for no good purpose.
"But in this bum light?" Dawson grated. "Not so good! If he reachesthose clouds, we'll never find him. Five minutes more, and night will behere in earnest. And we'll--"
He never finished the rest. He didn't because at that moment it was hisprivilege to witness something that few war pilots ever see in theirlifetime--in short, a perfect long range shot smacking home. Once inmaybe a billion times a burst of aerial machine gun bullets hit theirmark at the extreme end of their range. All the other times they flywide, or spend themselves downward toward earth.
But this was one of those once in a billion times, and the burst ofbullets came from the guns on Freddy Farmer's Messerschmitt. Dawsonhadn't even rested his thumb on his trigger trip because of theseemingly hopeless distance to the target. However, Freddy Farmer hadtaken a bead, and his bit of perfect aerial shooting proved to be in aclass all by itself. The "target" lurched off to the left, as though ithad been sliding along an invisible greased pole, and had slid off. Itdropped right down to the vertical, and then suddenly smoke and lividred flame belched out and up from its nose. Hardly daring to believe hiseyes, Dawson watched the bit of blazing doom clear down to where itdisappeared from view behind a ridge. And a split second later, afountain of flashing orange and red told him that the plane had struckearth.
"Nope, it didn't happen!" he told himself in a dazed voice. "Things likethat just don't happen. You only read about them in stories. Sweettripe! How I love that guy, Freddy Farmer. Compared to him, am I a bum!"
With a vigorous nod for emphasis, he veered over closer to the Englishyouth's plane and lifted his clasped hands high above his head in thegesture of a boxer saluting the crowd.
"You for me, sweetheart!" he shouted into the roar of his engine. "Now,let's go and pull off the last of the miracles!"
The words had no more than left his lips, however, when he happened tostare toward the east--and swallowed hard. Pitch black storm clouds werehurtling up out of the east, and swiftly blotting out the last fadingtints of day much as a descending blanket blots out the flickering flameof a candle. In a matter of minutes, now, Freddy and he wouldn't be ableto spot Nina's house in the darkness, much less make safe landings closeby!