CHAPTER NINETEEN
_Headaches for Hitler_
Dawson glanced impulsively over at Freddy Farmer, and quickly realizedthat the English youth had spotted the approaching storm clouds, too,and obviously had the same thoughts. Because even as their eyes metFreddy nodded violently, and banked around, and stuck his nose down inthe general direction of the eastern side of the village of Tobolsk,just out of sight over the horizon.
"Well, there's one thing, anyway," Dawson grunted as he quickly followedsuit with his own plane. "The darker it gets, the better the chances ofNazi eyes not spotting us. Yeah, sure! But if that storm beats us to it,there'll be a ground wind that will knock _our_ chances higher than akite! And I don't mean maybe!"
That last most unpleasant consideration was uppermost in Dawson's brainas he and Freddy Farmer went tearing all out toward the southeast. Andwith every foot his Messerschmitt cut through the air, doubt and dreadbuilt itself up higher and higher within him. It was almost as thoughthe gods of good fortune, and Lady Luck, had decided that they had doneenough to help, and had quit cold on the job. Though Dawson'sMesserschmitt was rocketing down across the shadowy sky, the stormclouds seemed to possess twice his speed. And with each rushing towardthe other, the distance between them just shriveled away like snow in ablast furnace.
Eyes grim, and jaw set at a determined angle, Dawson hunched forwardover the controls and searched the ground ahead and below. The bouncinglead came back to the pit of his stomach with a gleeful vengeance, forthe ground was now almost lost in the swirling shadows of theapproaching storm. It was almost impossible to pick out Tobolsk itself,to say nothing of the location of Nina's house in the Y of the twointersecting roads.
Suddenly, though, a voice seemed to cry out at him from nowhere; cry outto look down and to the left. Just exactly what urged him to do that, hedidn't know. But he obeyed the sudden impulse, and his heart startedpounding with wild hope again. Down there to the left he saw the Yformed by the two roads. He even saw Nina's house, if that pile oftimber and stone could be called a house. And he was able to catch afleeting glimpse of the small but apparently smooth field just to theleft of the Y. Just a fleeting glimpse of the field before a movingsheet of rain cut across his vision. The advance guard of the storm hadarrived. The race had turned out a tie, which to those two fightingeagles up in the air was just about the same as losing the race.
"But down we go!" Dawson roared out aloud. "Down we go, just the same.And, please, God, we've _got_ to make it!"
As he gulped out the prayerful plea, he peered over at Freddy Farmer,who was still hugging close to his right wing tip, storm or no storm. Atthe same instant the English youth turned his own head Dawson's way, andthen nodded it violently as though he had read the Yank's thoughts. Davenodded back, lifted one hand in brief salute, then turned his faceforward again, and gave every ounce of his undivided attention to hisMesserschmitt.
An hour, a day, or it could have been a year passed before he hadpractically pushed the Messerschmitt down and around so that it washeading for the long way of the field, and into the snarling wind. Hedidn't know, and he didn't care, he was too busy working his throttle tomaintain forward speed, and prevent the Messerschmitt from stalling. Attimes his forward speed matched the speed of the wind, and his planealmost stood still in the air just off the surface of the ground. Andthen suddenly his wheels touched. The plane bounced wildly, but hegoosed the engine, and checked a disastrous second meeting with thewind-swept ground. When the wheels touched again, the Messerschmittstayed down, and Dawson taxied it at a fast clip straight ahead and thenoff to the side to get out of the way of Freddy Farmer right behind him.
As a matter of fact, he had no sooner killed the engine, and leaped tothe ground, while the Messerschmitt still trundled forward, than he sawthe English youth's plane settle. Settle? It started to do just that,but a savage cross-wind caught it, and the aircraft came down like fivetons of brick dumped off a high building. A wild cry of alarm rose up inDawson's throat, but his zooming heart won the race to his mouth andchoked it off. For a lifetime, it seemed, he could only stand rootedhelplessly to the ground while Freddy Farmer's Messerschmitt jumped andleaped crazily about like a chip of wood on the crest of a raging sea. Adozen times the aircraft seemed to start over on its back, but somehowthe English youth managed to keep it top side up. True, it skiddedaround in half-circles, first one way and then the other. But the wingtip didn't quite catch and grab on the ground to pile up the whole worksin a heap. And then suddenly something seemed to shoot right out of thecockpit of the bouncing and dancing plane and down onto the ground.
Dawson blinked twice before he realized that that something was FreddyFarmer in the flesh, and that the English youth had raced over to wherehe stood, while the storm wind gleefully picked up the Messerschmitt andcarried it the rest of the way down the field and smacked it up againstsome trees.
"Too bad, even if it is a Nazi plane!" Dawson heard Farmer's gaspingvoice. "But I couldn't nurse-maid the blasted thing forever. I had tolet it go. Well, that must be the house, what?"
Dawson didn't bother to reply. Freddy had pulled another miracle out ofthe hat, and that part of the show was over. He just nodded quickly,then spun around on his heel, and went dashing over toward the lonehouse with Freddy Farmer at his heels. No lights were showing, butDawson didn't even bother to knock. When he reached the front door hejust grabbed hold of the knob, twisted it, shoved open the door andbarged right inside. And both Freddy and he just managed to skid to ahalt as they saw a small, thin figure come at them, and saw the glint ofa gun barrel in the pale glow shed by a single lighted candle on anearby table.
"Hey! Hold everything!" Dawson heard his own voice pant.
The last half of it, though, was drowned out by an even sharper cry inRussian. And before the echo was gone Senior Lieutenant Petrovski hadappeared out of nowhere and leaped between Dawson and the advancing thinshadow. And a second or so later Dawson saw the tattered clothing, thewrinkled face, and the snow white hair of the thin "shadow." And thenthe Senior Lieutenant was talking to him.
"That was not wise, Captain!" she was saying sharply. "It is lucky Icried out in time, or Nina might have used that gun."
"Yeah, my error," Dawson grunted. "I was dumb. But in this storm Ididn't figure that our knock would be heard. Besides, Farmer and I werein a hurry. Look, Senior Lieutenant! From here on we've got to stay inhigh gear. I mean, we've got to get going, and keep going. No tellingwhen Lady Luck may quit on us. I don't think there's much of a guard onour bomber now. And this storm doesn't exactly hurt the situation,either. Where're Jones, and Nikolsk? The five of us have got to maketracks. You lead the way to the bomber, and we'll be right behind youwith Nikolsk. I--Hey! The look on your face! Nikolsk isn't--he isn't--?"
"No, he is not dead, yet," the girl told him quickly. "He was evenconscious for a little bit. And he did recognize Agent Jones. He evenspoke of things a little. But not one millionth enough. And now he isunconscious again. I have great fear. He may never be conscious again.But what about the bomber? There is a chance to get him to a Moscowhospital?"
"What we're going to do!" Dawson told her firmly. "So let's do thetalking later. Lead us to Nikolsk, and let's get going!"
The Russian girl didn't bother with any more words. She nodded for Daveand Freddy to follow, and led the way through a door to a rear room. Thesmell of Death itself seemed to hang in the air, and when Dawson glanceddown at the thin, almost fleshless, and war-ravaged face of the figurewrapped tightly in blankets, his heart seemed to stop and turn into achunk of ice. Ivan Nikolsk looked like a man who had died years before.
"Good grief, you two? Splendid! Thought all the racket was Gestapo ladsbreaking in. Now, what do we--?"
"We go!" Dawson broke into the middle of the question, and grinned intoAgent Jones' strained and haggard face. "In the B-Twenty-Five, if luckis still pitching for our team. Never mind the questions, though. Savethem until we get to Moscow. And we _will_ get there! Okay, SeniorLieute
nant! Please tell your Nina that we will never forget what she hasdone, and--But, hey! Do you think she'd like to try and make the tripwith us?"
Before the girl Soviet Intelligence officer could speak, the small,thin, aged Russian woman appeared in the doorway.
"No, gallant ones," she said in halting English. "Here I have been, andhere I stay. The Nazis do not bother with an old hag, as I am. So here Iremain, and perhaps do more for my beloved Russia. No, go, gallant ones.And the arms of the Blessed Mother be about you!"
Dawson looked at her, and then, hardly realizing that he was doing so,he stepped quickly forward and took the old woman in his arms and kissedher reverently on the forehead. Then, face flaming red, he turned andwent over to the bedside of Ivan Nikolsk.
"Put a part of the blanket over his face, Jones!" he said gruffly."Blowing like blazes outside. And put your service automatic where youcan grab it in a hurry. We may bump into trouble, and we may not. Okay!Take his legs, and I'll take his shoulders and head. Okay, SeniorLieutenant! This time we are going. And God love you, Nina!"
Dawson didn't realize he had flung the last at the aged Russian womanuntil he was outside in the cold driving rain and, with Agent Jones, waslugging the dying Nikolsk along in the wake of Freddy Farmer and theRussian girl. And when he did realize it he told himself that he hadmeant it with all his heart. Nina was but one of thousands of unknownheroes and heroines suffering under the steel heel of Hitlerism. Nomedals for those such as she. No statues, no anything. But God knew ofeach and every one of them, and the complete reward for their servicesto mankind would be theirs thricefold some day.
However, Dawson was actually only thinking those things in one tinycorner of his brain. The rest of his brain was busy with the task ofordering his legs and muscles to keep going, and keep close to FreddyFarmer and the Russian girl. But it was like stumbling through the verybottom of a long forgotten coal mine. Maybe Nasha Petrovski had the eyesof a cat, and so could see each tree trunk and ditch and stone that cameup out of the rain slashed darkness. But Dawson didn't, and neither didAgent Jones. And so they stumbled and reeled and lurched forward,fighting every inch of the way to keep hold of their precious burden.
Twice during the long, long "years" that dragged by, Freddy Farmerdropped back and insisted on relieving either Dawson or Jones, but bothof them refused the offer.
"Stick with her, Freddy!" Dave panted. "If there's trouble ahead, youtwo eagle eyes will spot it sooner. Thanks just the same, pal."
And so it continued on--forever and ever--and seemingly without end. Athousand times the cold fear that the Russian girl had lost her wayclutched at Dawson's heart. As for himself, he had no idea where in theworld they were. The black of night closed in from all sides. Thewind-driven rain cut and slashed down into his face with the sting ofwhite hot needle points. And the howl of the storm in his ears was likesome invisible force trying to pry off the top of his head. He wanted tocry out to the others to stop and rest a moment, but the words justwouldn't come. And each time he felt that urge he was both relieved andashamed when it was gone.
And then suddenly the little party groping cross-country through theblack, stormy night did come to a halt. It was the Russian girl whobrought them to a halt. And her voice came to them through the howl ofthe storm almost like a whisper.
"The edge of the woods is but a step ahead!" she said. "Beyond it, thebomber. I do not think there are many guards, but there must be some.This, then, is a task for me. Remain motionless, please. But when youhear three quick shots from my revolver, come as though the entireGerman army were right behind you. It will not be long. This is what Ido gladly for my Russia."
A sharp bark of protest came up into Dawson's mouth, but there it diedin silence, for the spot of rain-swept darkness that had held theRussian girl was only a spot of rain-swept darkness now. She had gone ina flash, and the three youths could only hold up Ivan Nikolsk as gentlyas they could--and wait--each with his own thoughts.
However, there didn't seem to be any waiting period at all--at least notover thirty seconds at the most. Suddenly, from out of the wind-howlingdarkness ahead, came three distinct shots from a revolver! Nobody saidanything. Nobody so much as let out a shout of joy. Dawson, Agent Jones,and Freddy Farmer simply hoisted Ivan Nikolsk up to a more comfortableposition, and went plunging forward through the black stormy night. Andin practically no time at all there was level ground under their feet,and they were running over toward the darker blur that was theB-Twenty-Five bomber.
"Here, to your left!" the voice of Senior Lieutenant Petrovski suddenlyspoke in Dawson's ear. "Here is the bomber door. And watch out for thosedead ones on the ground. There were five, and as I suspected they wereinside the bomber to be out of the storm. They were surprised, and thenthey were dead. But here--give me your place. You must get in and startthe engines. The three of us will manage. And may it be His wish thatIvan Nikolsk still lives!"
"And keeps living. Amen!" Dawson echoed as he shifted his share of theburden to the Russian girl's strong arms. "But how in the world didyou--?"
"A knife makes no noise!" she cut him off almost harshly. "And theknives of Russia are very sharp!"
That's all Dawson wanted to know. He leaped past the girl, stumbled overthe feet of some dead Nazi guard, and then ducked through the bomber'sdoor, and made his way forward to the pilots' compartment. It seemedthat he had hardly dropped into the seat, and was shooting out his handfor the switches, when Freddy Farmer dropped into the co-pilot's seatalongside.
"The chap's regaining consciousness again, Dave!" the English youthcried wildly. "Agent Jones is back there with him, with his notebook.Get us off, old thing, in a hurry. Blast if we're not going to grab thisone out of thin air, too. What a girl, that Senior Lieutenant!"
"You mean, what an army!" Dawson shouted at him as he jabbed the starterbuttons. "She's a whole doggone army, all by herself. And, boy, can shethink way out in front of a guy, too! She's--"
The most welcome sound in all the world drowned out Dawson's voice atthat moment: the powerful, thunderous roar of the B-Twenty-Five's twinWright Cyclones coming to life. For a few precious seconds Dawson letthem roar so that they would warm up as fast as possible. But at the endof that time he saw spitting flame off to the left and ahead, and theleft side window of the pilots' compartment seemed to blow in on him ina shower of splintered glass.
"Get going, Dave!" Freddy Farmer cried excitedly.
"Get, nothing!" Dawson roared back. "We're _gone_!"
And even as the first word spilled off his lips he had kicked off thewheel brakes, forked the throttles wide open and was booting theB-Twenty-Five around the necessary half-turn to get it headed toward thefar end of the field. And then as the bomber went forward, picking upspeed with every powerful revolution of its propellers, orange, red, andyellow flame sparked and stabbed the darkness on both sides. Dawson feltbullets smash into the bomber, and even heard some of them twang offthe engine cowlings, but the twin Cyclones did not miss a single beat,and the B-Twenty-Five went thundering forward until the wings could gettheir teeth in the air, and Dawson was able to lift the ship clear andnose it upward into the stormy night.
When no more than a couple of thousand feet were under his wings, heleveled off, checked with the automatic compass, and then swung theB-Twenty-Five around toward the north.
"Back to your job of navigating, Freddy, old sock!" he shouted at hispal. "Moscow next stop, and we're in a hurry. So you see to it that wehit it on the nose, hey, kid?"
"Have I ever missed?" Freddy snapped at him.
"Well, anyway," Dawson grinned back at him, "see that you don't make_this_ the first time!"
Clear, brilliant sunshine flooded the length and breadth of Moscow. Fourwonderful days Dawson, Agent Jones, and Freddy Farmer had spent in thefascinating Soviet city. Four swell days of sight-seeing, and banquetsfor heroes--themselves. Though the three of them had insisted that themajor share of the glory belonged to Senior Lieutenant Petrovski, whohad as quickly disappeared
out of their lives as she had come into them.
As a matter of fact, five minutes after Dawson had landed theB-Twenty-Five on the Moscow military airport, the pretty-looking Russiangirl was gone, just like that. And Colonel General Vladimir, who was atthe airport to greet them, had explained in a few words, with ameaningful smile.
"When the war is won, her work will be done," he said. "But the war isnot won, yet. And there are still many things to be done."
And so, just like that, the pretty Russian girl had stepped right out oftheir lives, and they had been more or less forced to accept her shareof the glory. But it was not so much the glory as it was the unspokenprayers of thankfulness in their hearts that really blotted blackmemories from their minds, and let them enjoy their short stay inMoscow. A thankfulness that God had not let Ivan Nikolsk die, but hadshielded his frail body from that final blast of Nazi death as Dawsonhad taken that bomber off the Tobolsk field. Shielded Nikolsk's body.And done even more. Had let him live so that he reached the Moscowhospital. And given him the strength to tell all of his share of thesecret to Agent Jones, _and_ to no less than Premier Joseph Stalinhimself!
Neither Dawson nor Freddy Farmer had been present. Their part of the jobhad been done. Besides, they had no real desire to hear a ghost of a mangasp out words that must first be fitted in with other words alreadyknown to United Nations Intelligence to make any sense. But later, whenAgent Jones had joined them at their suite in the International Hotel,one look at his face had told them that more than a battlefield victoryhad been won. Important, invaluable information about enemy intentionshad been gained. And in war, knowledge of what the enemy plans to do isa victory already won. So they had been content to keep questions offtheir tongues. Besides, Agent Jones' final job was to make his secretreport to his superior, Air Vice-Marshal Leman, and to no one else.
However, as the three youths sat lounging about in their suite, restingbefore the final banquet in their honor--for they would leave forEngland on the morrow--Dawson stared hard at Agent Jones' good-lookingface for a long minute, and could no longer hold back the question thathad been in his mind ever since that luncheon in Simpson's.
"Your name isn't Jones, but Leman--right?" he practically blurted out.
Agent Jones stiffened and gave him a startled look. Then he grinnedslowly, and sighed.
"A chap can't keep a thing from you, can he?" he said.
"Not when he's got a face as good-looking as his Dad's, who's an AirVice-Marshal," Dave replied with a chuckle. "And, boy, _I_ was the guywho told your Dad that you were probably imagining things, such as beingfollowed, and your room searched, and stuff! No wonder he practicallyblew me down with a look!"
"Oh, so that's why you asked me if something about this chap didn'tstrike me, eh?" Freddy Farmer spoke up. "Good gosh! I thought you knewthat for certain. Why, it was obvious, old thing. Anybody--"
"Come off it, pal!" Dawson cried threateningly, and picked up a book."Don't give me that. _You_ didn't even guess, until Jones admitted itjust now."
Freddy Farmer made a face, and walked over to the door.
"Rubbish!" he snorted. "We English chaps just keep things like that toourselves. Not nosy, like _some_ chaps I know. Well, I'll leave you twofor a spell. A bit of shopping I must do. But I say, Jones--I mean,Leman--?"
Freddy opened the door, half turned, and grinned wickedly.
"I leave you, Leman, old thing, in honored company, you know," hechuckled. "Oh, quite! _A gallant soldier all Russia must admire!_"
And then Freddy Farmer leaped out into the hall as the book Dawson hadbeen holding smacked against the inside of the door where FreddyFarmer's head had been just a moment before!
THE END
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_Page from_
DAVE DAWSON WITH THE FLYING TIGERS
The music was soft and soothing; like no other music ever heard on earthbefore. And all about was beauty far beyond the power of words todepict, or the brush of an artist. Everything was so wonderful, soperfect, and so--
But through Dawson's throbbing, pounding head slipped a tiny inkling ofthe stark, naked truth. There was no soft, soothing music, there was nobreath-taking beauty, and nothing was wonderful, or even approachingperfection. All was Death. Horrible, lingering, painful death that comesto a man lost, and unarmed, in the steaming lush jungle of north Burma.
Yes, it was just his brain, and all of his senses playing him tricksoriginated by the Devil. Tricks to make him let go, and just relax--anddie. But he wouldn't let go. He wouldn't die. He couldn't. There was toomuch to--
The whine of engines pulled his head up out of the mud and slime. Herolled half over, gritted his teeth against the pain, and peered upthrough the twisted canopy of jungle growth.
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