Fifteen minutes, fifteen weeks, or was it fifteen years since Freddy and he had left the old repair shop and entered the woods? Dave couldn't tell, and he didn't bother to guess. Every muscle and bone in his body ached from bumping into tree trunks and huge boulders that loomed up without warning in the darkness. And his face and hands were scratched from bramble thickets that tried to hold him back and pin him helpless.

How long had they been groping blindly through these darn woods? He had no idea. Perhaps the woods were endless. Perhaps ... and the sudden thought chilled him to the core ... they had simply been wandering about in a circle, and didn't know it. However, there was at least one tiny thing for which to be thankful. They had not bumped headlong into any Nazi patrols. As a matter of fact they had not heard a thing nor seen a thing to make their hearts loop over with fright. It was as though this section of Occupied France had gone sound asleep.

For that possibility Dave was thankful. Yet, at the same time it caused his worry to mount. In the back of his head was the faint hope that they might be able to steal that Messerschmitt One-Ten they had seen sliding down to a landing, and escape back to England. That von Peiplow had said it was a radio control plane made things that much better. No doubt British radio engineers would like very much to examine German radio control equipment. Yet, escape was not what Dave wanted most. Escape would save Freddy's life, and his own, but, it would mean leaving this area, the Nazis' testing ground for their newest weapon of war, untouched. True, a swarm of British bombers could be sent over to blast it off the map. But could they? What if swarms of TNT loaded gliders, and soaring planes, were sent aloft to bar the way? To not only bar the way, but be radio directed right into the R.A.F. bombers before they could be shot out of the skies by the British gunners? But, more likely than that, supposing before the British bombers could come over von Peiplow moved all his gliders, soaring planes, and equipment elsewhere? What then? The job would have to be done all over again. Von Peiplow's new hide-out would have to be found ... and there would still be the terrible danger of not being able to wipe it from the face of the earth. Still the danger that von Peiplow's new weapons would prove their full worth and destroy all British aircraft sent against them. True, perhaps von Peiplow's experiments and tests were far from being completed. Perhaps there was much more he had to do before this new deadly weapon was ready for continued active service. However, what happened to those Lockheeds last Tuesday night proved that the new weapon was far enough along to spread doom throughout war torn skies. It was....

Dave cut short his rambling thoughts as Freddy Farmer suddenly checked his forward movement and pulled him down onto the ground.

"What, Freddy?" he whispered excitedly. "See anything? Hear anything?"

"Shut up!" the English youth hissed in his ear. "We're practically on top of the spot. Look ahead, and just a shade to the right. See the glow of light between those trees? That's a tarmac oil-pot flare. And a light means somebody's there keeping guard. And...."

The English youth stopped short and squeezed Dave's hand hard in his mounting excitement.

"Look, Dave!" he whispered again. "See them? A half a dozen planes, pulled up under the trees! They look like Messerschmitt One-Nines to me, but I can't say for sure!"

"Boy, what eyes you've got!" Dave breathed and blinked hard. "So help me I can't see a thing but shadows. I.... Hold it! Yeah, I can see a faint glow of light, but nothing else. Looks about fifty yards from here. What do you say?"

"Yes, just about that," Freddy replied. "We'd better keep down on all fours, now. Here, better let me lead the way. But don't go crawling up my back, old thing. And for Pete's sake, don't make any noise!"

"I promise not to bust out singing!" Dave growled. "Get going, you old Eagle Eye."

Making far less sound than a jungle panther stalking its prey the two R.A.F. pilots wormed their way forward, inching under bramble branches, sliding around tree trunks, and gliding past huge hunks of rock that stuck up out of the ground. Dave didn't dare raise his head once to glance ahead. He spent every instant of the time sticking so close to Freddy Farmer's heels that his nose almost touched.

As a matter of fact, after a thousand years or so his nose did touch Freddy's boots. He bumped his whole face smack into them as the English youth came to a sudden stop. Dave swallowed the groan of pain that came to his lips, and lifted his head. Freddy had come to a halt directly in back of a clump of thick bushes. But they were not too thick for Dave to see what was beyond. The sight set his heart to pounding, and the blood to surging through his veins.

Not fifteen yards away was the first of a row of six Messerschmitt One-Nine single seater fighting planes. They were hauled back partly under the overhanging branches of some trees, and in the faint glow cast by a small oil-pot flare set out in front of them in the middle of the row the craft looked like prehistoric vultures crouched and ready to spring into the air. Dave gave them but a single glance. What caught and held his attention was the figure of an armed Nazi Air Force mechanic comfortably slumped in a canvas chair to one side of the oil-pot flare. He was smoking a cigarette and seemingly staring up at the night skies. Propped against an arm of the chair, and within split seconds reach was a high powered German Mauser rifle. And as Dave strained his eyes he saw the usual half dozen or so hand grenades hooked to the German's belt. That the German was armed with both rifle and hand grenades made it obvious that General von Peiplow was taking no chances of loyal French peasants in the area committing any acts of sabotage.

Dave took another good look at that rifle and hand grenades, and groaned softly.

"Think we can sneak up on him, Freddy?" he breathed softly.

"We won't have to," came the startling reply. "I can take care of that chap. What makes me mad is about that Messerschmitt One-Ten. Look, Dave, it's way around in back of the One-Nines. We couldn't hope to get it out in front where we could take off without waking up half of France. Blast it! I was hoping we could get that bus back to England!"

Dave stared at the shadowy shape of the three place Nazi plane completely blocked off by the row of single seaters. He started to nod his head in bitter agreement, and then cut it off short.

"Nuts to the three seater, Freddy!" he whispered excitedly. "I've got it!"

"Got what?" Freddy demanded.

"The solution to the whole works!" Dave said. "It all depends on nailing down that Nazi mechanic before he can let out a peep. Darn! If we only had a gun!"

"We have," was Freddy Farmer's startling reply. "I thought you saw me, Dave. Before we left Ox Face I took his Luger out of its holster. Here it is, now, right in my hand."

Dave touched the smooth metal gun Freddy thrust at him, and chuckled inwardly.

"Pal, do you think of everything!" he breathed. "What would I do without you!"

"Make a blasted mess of things, no doubt!" Freddy hissed in his ear. "But, what's your plan? What were you going to say?"

"Two Messerschmitt One-Nines, and those hand grenades that guy has!" Dave said. "We gag and tie up that Nazi. Then we take off in a One-Nine apiece. Then we tear for those camouflaged glider hangars and let fly with the hand grenades. Their explosions will touch off that TNT, and the whole works will go sky high."

"Us, too, I fancy," Freddy Farmer murmured.

Dave swallowed hard and nodded.

"Yeah, probably, Freddy," he said and pressed the other's arm. "We'll have plenty of company, though, so what the heck? But wait, Freddy! I got a better idea. We don't have to fly too low over that drained swamp to toss the grenades overboard. First we get plenty of altitude, and then let the things go. A couple of them are bound to hit, and two will be plenty. That's a pretty fair sized area, and hard to miss."

"No, getting altitude won't do!" Freddy Farmer objected. "The instant we start those engines and take off the whole place will be alive with Nazis. In case you didn't notice they've got a lot of anti-aircraft guns around here. I saw them from the air. And, Dave, another thing. Once we're in the air von Peiplow will be able to spot us with his radio plane locator. He has equipment to do that just as we have to locate Nazi bombers coming in off the Channel. In less than a minute, Dave, they'd know exactly where we were in the air, and where we were headed. Our only hope is to skim back over the trees and let those gliders have the hand grenades from fifty feet. And that will finish things for us, of course."

The English youth paused and sighed faintly.

"Oh, well," he murmured. "There'll always be an England!"

"Hey, cut out that stuff!" Dave growled and affectionately patted Freddy on the arm. "Don't be so anxious to die, pal. I've got an idea. Look, they can't locate a plane with that new radio stuff when the engine's off, can they?"

"No, at least not anywhere near as accurately," Freddy replied. "It's sort of tuning in on the engine's ignition that really does the trick. But what do you plan to do? Fly without an engine?"

"That's it, little man!" Dave whispered. "Look, Freddy. The second we get off the ground we climb like the dickens in the general direction of the English Channel, see? Go up just as steep as one of those Messerschmitt One-Nines will take you. The Nazis when they tune in on us, or whatever it is that they do, will think that we're legging it for England and safety. But, we won't be doing that little thing!"

"No?" Freddy Farmer echoed.

"No," Dave said. "When you and I reach an altitude of eighteen thousand feet, we level off from the climb, and cut out the engine dead. Then you swing around to the north in a glide, and I'll swing around toward the south. Hold her in an easy shallow dive. From eighteen thousand it will be a cinch to glide back over this area and not lose more than ten or twelve thousand feet. Then at the right moment, we cut in our engines, power dive down another thousand feet, let the grenades go over the side, and pull up and away and thus not be right over the place when comes the explosion, see?"

"I think I do," Freddy whispered and nervously fingered the Luger he held in his hand. "But it sounds a little difficult. For one thing, what about the right moment? How am I going to know if you're down low enough? And how are you going to know that I'm over the target and down low enough? If we're to stand any chance we should toss the hand grenades over at the same time."

"Sure, and it can be done," Dave said. "Radio, pal! It's a cinch there's radio in those One-Nines. And this won't be the first time you and I have worked a German radio. See? As for being over the target. You can't miss it from under ten thousand feet because that bend in the river stands out like a sore thumb even at night. And we both know those underground hangars are just east of the bend in the Lille River. Okay! Set your plane's radio, Freddy, at a sixteen hundred and twenty-five wave length reading. I'll set mine at the same reading. When you reach a point seven thousand feet over the target give me a signal over the radio. I've got it! Yell, 'Ox Face.' That ought to make any Jerries listening in on that wave-length wonder what the heck. Yell, Ox Face, and hold as near as you can to your altitude until I yell, Ox Face, back at you. Then dive and open up your engine. I'll do the same, and the exhaust plumes from our engines will show each of us where the other is so's we won't go bumping into each other. Okay?"

"Okay, fine, Dave!" Freddy whispered eagerly. Then, "But hadn't we better get as much altitude as possible before we turn to glide back?"

"Too risky," Dave replied. "Eighteen thousand is safe enough. Any higher might not be so good. We haven't got our helmets, or oxygen masks. Von Peiplow, and his bums, must have swiped them for souvenirs when they searched us. Or would you like to go back and ask them for them, huh?"

"I'm laughing my head off at your funny remarks!" Freddy growled. "All right, eighteen thousand feet it will be. Now, let's not waste any more time. First thing you know, it'll be morning. We've got to get busy."

"Just one more thing, Freddy," Dave breathed. "The instant you let go with your hand grenades ... and don't forget to yank the string that will make them explode when they hit ... climb like the dickens and head home for England. I'll do the same. Now, just how do you figure to take care of our little friend over there having a smoke?"

"Easy!" Freddy whispered. "Just follow me, and keep your mouth shut. This is something I can do, without any suggestions. This is one thing I can do on my own. Now, shut up, and follow me!"

"You bet, pal!" Dave chuckled. "But don't flop it, for cat's sake. This guy's only the beginning of things!"

Freddy Farmer grunted scornfully, and then started to worm along the ground to the left, and around in back of the parked planes.