Dave Dawson on the Russian Front

  CHAPTER NINE

  _TNT Twins_

  For five long seconds the whole world seemed to cease revolving, as theman addressed as Bixby went white as a sheet and struggled franticallyfor the use of his tongue. His eyes went mad with fear, and sweat poureddown his face. He had his own gun in his hand; but he seemed not torealize that fact. His fear-streaked, glassy eyes were fixed upon Stohlas though the Nazi were some kind of a powerful magnet that he could notresist.

  And then without warning the half screamed words came out with all theturbulent fury of flood waters rushing through a broken dam.

  "No, no! Please don't shoot me! Don't shoot me, _Herr_ Stohl! I am notlike him. I want to stay. I want to help. I swear it to you. Do notshoot me, for Heaven's sake!"

  The Nazi gave him a long, hard stare, and then smirked broadly.

  "Good, then!" he rasped. "But see that your tongue does not make thesame mistake as did that dead fool's. Now, what about this H-Sixty-Four?And what about something on its way to Aberdeen?"

  Fear still had the man named Bixby by the throat, and the words he spokesounded like small stones sliding down a tin roof.

  "I know nothing about it but what he said," he finally choked out, witha gesture toward the dead man. "I don't know what it all means. Thosetwo, there, can perhaps tell you. I do not know."

  The Nazi scowled for a moment, as though he were debating whether tobelieve Bixby or not. Then he muttered something under his breath, andhalf swung around to Dawson and Freddy Farmer.

  "Very well, then!" he rasped out. "You will tell me what it was allabout, eh?"

  Dave hesitated a moment to give Freddy Farmer a chance to say what hemight have to say. But the English youth remained silent. Dave glancedat him out of the corner of his eye, and saw that Freddy seemed not tohave heard the question. The English-born air ace sat half slumped inthe chair, with his eyes fixed on the oil lamp of the table, and acompletely uninterested and almost vacant look on his sun andwind-bronzed face.

  "Can't you guess?" Dave snapped, switching his gaze to the Nazi's face."Do you think United Nations Intelligence is as dumb as your Gestapo?Figure it out for yourself. It's simple!"

  The Nazi didn't like that, and the savage, animal look that leaped intohis eyes made Dave just a little bit sorry that he had been so flip withhis reply. This Nazi was obviously the kind of snake who could take somuch, and then would go off the deep end, regardless of the consequencesof his hair trigger temper. However, the German held his boiling rageunder control, and did no more than take a bead with his silencer fittedrevolver on a point squarely between Dawson's eyes.

  "Your tongue is begging for your death!" he said in a voice tremblingwith suppressed rage. "Speak again that way, and it will be granted!Now, take your choice!"

  Dave Dawson looked straight into the muzzle of certain death, and at thesame time forced a grin to his lips.

  "Maybe it's _you_ who has the choice, _Herr_ Stohl," he said slowly anddeliberately. "Your agents have letters and numbers to identify them,don't they? Well, so do our agents. And if that doesn't mean anything toyou, here's the tip-off. What you want, my pal and I _were not carryingon us_. H-Sixty-Four had it, see, Stohl? _But_ if anything happened tous, H-Sixty-Four was to pass it on to a _fourth_ person on that train,and come to our rescue. That's right! I said _rescue_! In case you don'tknow, British Intelligence thinks there are too many of your kind onthis island. They are doing something about it. And so--"

  Dawson didn't finish the rest. He had the sudden fear that he had spokentoo much nonsense already. So he left the rest hanging in thin air. TheNazi bored him with his eyes, and in those eyes Dawson saw clearly theshadows of worry, doubt, and frank disbelief. And as frank disbeliefgradually blotted out the other two Dawson realized that death wascoming closer and closer. This Stohl was no fool. What Dawson had saidhad worried him at first, but now he was beginning to see through it andrecognize it as just so many useless words. Which it was.

  "A very good try, _Herr_ Captain Dawson!" the German suddenly barked."Yes, of course I know you, and your swine comrade, too. In fact, _I_know everything. You fools--to think you can keep secrets from theGestapo! I know that you were on your way to Aberdeen. I know that atAberdeen a British bomber is awaiting you. And I also know that thebomber is waiting there to fly you to Moscow. But neither you nor yourswine comrade will ever reach Moscow!"

  Dawson's heart was a solid lump of ice in his chest. He wanted tobelieve that he hadn't heard a single word spoken. He wanted to believethat it would have been absolutely impossible for Gestapo agents inLondon to learn even that much of Freddy's and his mission. He wanted tobelieve that he was simply thinking of those things in his mind, and soshouldn't take the words as having come from the lips of the Nazi,Stohl.

  Sure! He _wanted_ to believe all that. But he couldn't! More than oncein the past had he been in situations where the Nazi Gestapo had learnedthings that were believed to be cast iron secrets. More than once had asupposedly loyal Englishman, or American, in an important post, turnedout to be nothing but a black-hearted Nazi. And so to hear those wordsfrom Stohl's lips did not shock him so much as sicken him and stir upthe bitterness of war within him. What pair of ears in Air Ministry hadheard of this part of the plan, he would probably never know. But thatmade little difference now. That is, save for one terrible possibility.That a Nazi pair of ears had heard _all_ of the plan. That even nowJones was a prisoner, and--

  "But no, you dope!" his brain screamed at him. "Catch hold of something,and stop going haywire. If the Nazis knew _all_, why should they botherabout Farmer and you? They wouldn't! Agent Jones would be their man,because Agent Jones is the one key to the success of this whole thing.He alone is the one to contact Ivan Nikolsk. So snap out of it, and justlet this Nazi go on fishing!"

  His thoughts boosted his spirits, and gave him some encouragement andhope--but not a terrible lot. The fear still lingered that the Nazis_did_ know all about the Tobolsk business. Yes, the fear that possiblythe Nazi plan was to put Freddy and him out of the picture, just incase. Right! Just to make _sure_!

  Brushing the taunting thoughts from his mind, Dawson eyed the Nazicoolly.

  "All right, have it your way," he said evenly. "So we don't see Moscow.But _that_ doesn't matter, _now_. Like you, _Herr_ Stohl, we play thepart assigned to us, and let _others_ do the rest. I'm not denying athing. You win this round. My pal and I seem to have been put out of thepicture. Okay. In war a man has to take his chances--and trust to luck."

  As Dawson finished speaking he half shrugged and made a faint gesturewith one of his hands. But inwardly he was praying hard, and as hestudied the Nazi's face he had the feeling that his prayers were beinganswered a little. His complete about-face wasn't setting so well with_Herr_ Stohl. The German obviously hadn't expected so sudden anadmission of defeat, and it puzzled him not a little. He searchedDawson's face for some hidden answer, and unconsciously let his gun saguntil it was pointed toward the floor.

  That was the moment for which Dave was waiting, to stake all on oneswift lightning-like bit of action. However, the Yank-born air ace, inhis own eagerness to befuddle Stohl slightly and get him off guard forthe moment, had forgotten one very important item. And that itemhappened to be Freddy Farmer, in the flesh. Freddy was playing his ownkind of game, too. And even as Dave coiled his muscles for a divingleap at _Herr_ Stohl's legs, Freddy Farmer was way out ahead of him.

  From a man half slouched, down in a chair, the English youth became aroaring tornado of savage action in nothing flat. Dave had just a splitsecond in which to see Freddy's arm move like a striking cobra; to seesomething sail out of his hand. And then the oil lamp on the table wentcrashing off and down onto the floor. Just what else Freddy Farmer did,Dawson didn't have time to see. He didn't, for the simple reason thatputting his own Commando training and actual experience to good userequired all of his attention.

  Like a shot from the mouth of a gun, he hurled himself up onto his feet,and off the floor, to sail straight forward a
nd low down. He heard Stohlcry out in alarm and rage. Then Dave's shoulder crashed into his knees,and the German went over backward and down like a felled ox. But even asDave crashed into the Nazi, he kicked outward with his left foot. It wasa case of nailing two birds with one stone, so to speak. And hesucceeded. His booted left foot caught the half stunned Bixby in thestomach, and doubled him over with pain split seconds before he couldsnap out of his trance and make use of the gun he held in his hand.

  Then down on top of _Herr_ Stohl crashed Dawson. He tried to protecthimself as much as possible, but his momentum was terrific, and new andbrighter stars began to whirl about as his forehead slammed down on theboards. Every nerve and muscle in him went limp and jelly-like. He wassure he heard the faint _pop_ of the Nazi's revolver, and thought hefelt a white hot spear of flame cut across the top of his shoulder. Buthe was too stunned to be sure of anything, save the fact that the wholewide world was now a glowing red, and that acrid smoke was driving everyounce of air out of his lungs, and burning their walls to a crisp.

  In a vague, abstract sort of way he realized that the oil lamp crashingdown onto the floor had sprayed burning oil in all directions, and thatthe floor was fast becoming a seething sea of fire. He realized allthat, and even saw it with his own dazed eyes, but his whole body seemedto be clamped fast in a gigantic vise, so that he couldn't move an inch.

  Then suddenly some great weight crashed down on top of him. In the sameinstant a gun roared out sound. The weight dropped down on his back,went limp, and rolled off him onto the floor. The sudden bit ofmysterious action seemed to release a hidden spring within him. Strengthrushed back into his body, and his muscles ceased to be limp any more.Hardly realizing that he had done so, he scrambled up onto his feet, andleaped back from a tongue of flame. He crashed into Freddy Farmer, butthe English youth grabbed hold of him and checked him from tumbling downonto the floor again.

  "This way, Dave!" he heard Freddy shout. "Nice work, old chap. I'm surehe was dead before he even fired his gun. Broken neck, you know. Andgood riddance. Come along, pal!"

  The words made little sense to Dave, but his aching lungs were too emptyof air to make questions possible. Besides, Freddy Farmer had him by thearm and was dragging him over to the door of the shack. He had just timeenough to glance back and see the still form of Bixby, with a bullethole square in the middle of his forehead, the still, motionless figureof Stohl with his head twisted around in a horrible position, and theseething, hissing pool of burning oil that was lapping its way acrossthe floor boards. Then Freddy Farmer yanked open the shack door, andthey both leaped through and out into the dark night.

  "Keep going!" the English youth barked sharply as Dave started to pullup to a halt. "That whole blasted thing is going to be a torch of flamein no time at all. And we haven't time to answer questions for a lot ofAir Raid Wardens and Auxiliary Police chaps. We want to get away fromhere fast!"

  Dave didn't bother to question that because it had all made good senseon his spinning brain. So he simply gulped night air into his achinglungs and raced along through the night at Freddy's side. No less than athousand times, it seemed, they tripped over tree roots, rocks, andshrubs, and almost went flat. But somehow they both managed to keeptheir feet, and presently they broke through some shrubbery and out ontothe smoothness of a well paved road. There they pulled up to a halt bysilent mutual agreement. And by the same kind of agreement they slumpeddown by the side of the road and fought to regain their breath.

  Finally Freddy Farmer was able to talk without wheezing out the words.

  "Well, that's a score for our team, what?" he said. "A bit risky whileit lasted, though. Anyway, those three dirty blighters will have no moreto do with this war, thank heaven!"

  "Me, I say, thank _you_!" Dave corrected. "Sweet tripe! You sure arelearning fast, pal. You were way ahead of me that time. Fact is, I'mstill not sure just what did happen. What about what broken neck? Andwho shot that Bixby?"

  "Guilty," Freddy Farmer said grimly. "He was just about to have a go atyou when I put an end to his dirty work. I guess you must have stunnedyourself going down on that Stohl. But what a beautiful tackle, Dave!Don't ever try it on me, even in fun. I wouldn't want my neck broken theway his was. Just as I got hold of the gun, and was turning around, Isaw him fire. But I'll swear he was stone dead at the time. Well, itlooks like we both had the same thought at the same time, eh? I'd beenplaying doggo for what seemed like hours, waiting to have a go at thatoil lamp."

  "With what, I want to know?" Dave asked. "I thought I saw something flyout of your hand. What was it?"

  "A rung of the chair they'd pushed me into," Freddy said quietly."Rickety old thing, it was. Blessed wonder it held me up. The two ofthem were so interested in you, old chap, they didn't even see me workit loose. Well, they're done with, and we've got to be getting along.When the Flying Scotsman arrives at Aberdeen without us--"

  "It will, anyway," Dave said, and grabbed hold of Farmer's arm, "so onemore question won't change anything. About the gun you said you got holdof--what one?"

  "This one," the English youth, replied and held out a small boreautomatic. "It's that conductor beggar's, of course. When he fell to thefloor this slid out of his hand. Nobody paid any attention to it. But Idid. Oh, quite! That's what I had my eye on all the time. It, and thatoil lamp on the table. And thanks to your bit with _Herr_ Stohl, I hadthe chance to dive for it and get it in time. Good gosh! Did you think Isimply planned to fight my way out of that mess with my bare hands?"

  Dave Dawson chuckled, gave him a friendly slap on the back, and got uponto his feet.

  "Darned if you couldn't have done that, too, pal," he said. "Like Ialways say, just the guy to have along when you get into a jam. And,Freddy, that _was_ a jam! A tough one. Remind me next time, same which Ihope there won't ever be. Because next time it'll be my turn to be thefair-haired hero. Yes sir, Freddy! You're something. And I don't meanmaybe!"

  "Rot!" the English youth snorted, but his face beamed with pleasure."After all, it took the two of us to get the two of us out of it. And,frankly, I didn't think much of our chances for a while. That--thatdouble talk of ours didn't make any impression on that Stohl. He's nofool."

  "Was no fool," Dave corrected, and drank in the night air. Then, halfturning, "Boy! See the reflection of those flames. Ugh! A horrible endfor rats, even if they were rats. Let's get going. But heck! Which way?I haven't the faintest idea where we are."

  "I think I know," Freddy Farmer spoke up, and pointed along the road tohis left. "Ahead, there, is a town called Leadburn, unless I'mcompletely mistaken. This is the Old North Road, anyway. I'm positive ofthat. But let's go off here to the left. It's toward the north, anyway.We'll hunt up the Military Commandant of the first town we come to, andget him to loan us a car."

  "What a sweet hope!" Dave grunted. "We just ask him and he agreesto ..."

  "Of course not, stupid!" Freddy Farmer snapped. "I say, you _must_ havegot quite a blow on your head, to think I'd try anything that silly."

  "Okay," Dave sighed as he dropped into step. "Just what kind of magic doyou intend pulling to get a Military Commandant to loan a car to acouple of strangers with dirty uniforms, and dirtier faces, too? And inwar time?"

  "You just don't know me, that's all," Freddy commented with a chuckle.

  "Know you?" Dave snorted. "If _I_ don't, then _who_ does?"

  "You!" the English youth shot right back at him. "But don't throw thatbrain of yours out of gear wondering, my good fellow. I'll explain. Itwill be all very simple. The telephone, see? A telephone call to the AirMinistry. And if the Air Ministry doesn't clear the fog of doubt andsuspicion over us--why then--"

  "Why then we walk to Aberdeen," Dawson interrupted. "But take a bow,son. You've really got something there, at that. My error."

  "Granted," Freddy Farmer said sweetly. Then with profound relief echoingin every word, he said, "Well, anyway, they took good hold of the bait.And what's more, we landed them right into the boat. Now we shouldn'tbump i
nto any more trouble until we leave Moscow for Urbakh, andTobolsk. If even then."

  "Yeah, sure," Dawson said absently. "But me, I've learned never to counton even a sure bet in this crazy war. Three Gestapo rats are dead andgone out of the picture for us. But there are lots and lots of otherGestapo rats still alive and kicking. And between you, me, and this townI hope we reach darn soon, I've a hunch that we've only seen a little ofthe _beginning_ of trouble on this cockeyed mission."

  And as the echo of Dawson's comment died away, the gods of war in theirhigh places of hiding nudged each other, grinned wickedly, and noddedtheir heads in complete and absolute agreement with all that had comeoff Dave Dawson's lips!