"Halt!"

The order barked in German was akin to the crash of a rifle shot. The two boys reeled forward one more step and then lifted their heads and stared in surprise at the German non-commissioned officer who stood straddle-legged in the sand directly in front of them. There was a service Luger in his belt holster, but he wasn't using it. Instead he held a short-barreled, rapid fire Mauser in his hands.

"Put up your hands!" he snarled in German.

Neither of the boys moved. They continued to stare at him in bewildered dismay. Then Dave gave a little confused shake of his head.

"Germans!" he choked out. "These aren't our chaps, Freddy. We've run into Germans. We've been captured! Oh, blast our luck!"

As Dave spoke he shot a keen glance at the expression on the corporal's face. What he saw caused his heart to leap with hope. The man obviously understood English, for a triumphant light leaped into his eyes, and he smiled broadly.

"Yes, you have been captured," he said in English that was heavy with Teutonic accent. "Put your hands up. I will take your automatics. Careful, now! One move and I will shoot."

"Take them, and get it over with!" Freddy said in a hoarse voice. "All we want is water and food. Where are we, anyway?"

The corporal took a cautious step or two forward, then snatched their automatics from them. He looked at Freddy and grinned.

"Where are you?" he sneered. "What does it matter? You are my prisoners. Now get moving. Herr Colonel is anxious to meet you."

As though he considered that quite a joke, the German laughed loudly and showed a set of very bad teeth. Then, motioning his squad of soldiers to form about the two boys, he started back toward the camp. Still continuing to act exhausted and all in, Freddy and Dave staggered forward, faltering with every step, and reaching out to one another for support to stop from pitching down onto the sand. All the time, though, they shot glances at the desert camp through slitted eyelids. Dave counted some sixty vehicles in all, and as he looked at them his admiration for Nazi camouflage technique went up another point. Every truck, every tank, and every armored car was daubed with paint in such a way as to make it exactly the shades of the desert. Even two or three tents that were still standing looked more like the desert than the desert itself.

To all that, however, Dave gave but a passing look. What caught and held his attention was the actual equipment. It all was right up to the minute stuff. None of it was the shabby, slipshod equipment used by Mussolini's forces in Northern Africa. It was all made-in-Germany stuff, light, fast, highly mobile, and of high fire power. In short, it was instantly obvious to Dave that this was a strong and completely equipped attacking force of the Nazi army in Africa. It was no mere scouting patrol. And there was one other item that impressed him at once, too. It was all Nazi. He did not see a single Italian uniform as the corporal marched them past groups of curious-eyed German soldiers toward one of the tents on the far side of the camp. It was as plain as the nose on his face that these Germans were out for business, serious business. For that reason probably, they had no Italian troops along with them who might break and flee for their lives at the sound of the first shot, or the first smell of gunpowder in their noses.

Presently the corporal brought them to a halt in front of a desert tent. It was the square type with slightly slanting roof and sides. The front flap was lifted up and fastened to poles stuck in the sand to serve as a sort of porch. But in the event of a sand storm, it could be lowered at once and made fast so that those inside were completely protected. Three portable tables had been placed side by side, and in back of them sat two German officers. One was a colonel. His head was the shape and size of a watermelon that was terribly sunburned. His eyes were little more than slits cut in the flesh on either side of his lumpy nose. His mouth was thin-lipped and much too wide. And on the upper lip was a little patch of black that was supposed to be like the little pen wiper mustache worn by his lord and master, Adolf Hitler.

The other officer was a major, and his appearance was the direct opposite of his colonel's. He was thin as a rail, and tanned the color of old leather. From the jaw to the forehead was three times as long as from ear to ear was wide. His nose made Dave think of a letter opener. His eyes were like green marbles, and his pointed chin could very well have served as one end of a pick-axe.

The corporal smacked his heels together and almost threw his arm out of joint saluting.

"Two English prisoners, Herr Colonel," he said. "We found them stumbling across the sand. They seem surprised that we were not of their own forces. I have taken their guns away from them. Here they are."

The corporal went forward two steps and placed the boys' automatics on the tables. The German colonel didn't give them so much as a glance. He kept his slitted eyes on his prisoners and stared at them as though they had just popped out of some museum. Dave stared back weary-eyed at him, and tried to read the look in his eyes. Did he see surprise, chagrin, or angry wonder there? He couldn't tell, because the lids were drawn so close.

"Where is your unit?"

The colonel suddenly spat out the question in German. The boys were perfect actors. They looked blank, shook their heads, and shrugged.

"Do you speak English, sir?" Dave presently said. "And could we have water, and—"

He cut himself off short as Freddy Farmer quickly played up to him. The English youth groaned, swayed on his feet, and would have fallen if Dave had not grabbed him. The little exhaustion act fooled the German colonel completely. He spat out a few words in angry annoyance, and then ordered the corporal to help Dave and Freddy to chairs just inside the tent, and to give them water. The boys gestured thanks with movements of their hands, and accepted the water canteen from the corporal. The two officers watched them in keen-eyed silence and waited until they appeared to revive a bit.

"Yes, I speak English," the colonel presently said, and surprisingly enough, without the slightest trace of an accent. "Where is your unit? I see from your uniform badges you are from the Sixth London Regiment."

"We don't know, sir," Dave mumbled as he lowered the water canteen from his lips. "We are lost. Two hours ago we saw this camp. We thought this was our regiment's post."

"How did you get lost?" the colonel demanded. "How long ago?"

"Four days, sir," Freddy spoke up. "We were on advance patrol and—"

"It was more than four days, Freddy," Dave interrupted. "It was six. I have kept count of them."

"Four or six, let him finish!" the colonel snarled, and then looked at Freddy. "Yes? You were on patrol? Where?"

Freddy hesitated and scowled.

"Is that necessary?" he asked. "Would you reveal valuable information if you were captured and taken prisoner, sir?"

The blunt question startled the two Germans. They exchanged swift glances; then the colonel bent his slitted eyes on Freddy again.

"I would not be captured and taken prisoner!" he said harshly. "If you do not wish to speak, that is your privilege. But—"

The German paused and waved a hand toward the surrounding desert.

"But you look as though you know what the desert can do to a man," he finished suddenly.

The two boys flinched visibly. Then Dave spoke quickly.

"My comrade got a touch of the sun, sir," he said. "We possess no valuable information we could reveal. We were simply on advance patrol. A sand storm came up and we became separated from the main body. We have been trying to locate it ever since. That is all of our story, sir."

Dave held his breath as he finished, and prayed inwardly. The prayer was answered. The very fact he had said they possessed no valuable information had instantly convinced the German colonel that they were lying. That was as it should be. When the enemy thinks you know something, he will hold your life as valuable as his own until he has found out. The longer you keep him guessing, the longer you have to find out things yourself, and perhaps eventually beat him at his own game.

"I do not believe you!" the colonel suddenly snapped, thus confirming Dave's belief. "Listen to me! I have no time to waste. We have taken you prisoner. We have given you water. Later you will receive food. But we do not have to do those things. Understand that! You are completely helpless. I have only to give the order and you will be kicked out onto the desert to shift for yourselves. Or I can even give the order and have you shot. It is up to you whether you wish to be wise, or foolish."

The two boys didn't say anything. They simply sat motionless and stared unhappily off into space. Suddenly the German major spoke, and it was all Dave could do to stop from starting violently.

"I suggest you question them about that plane we sighted early this morning, Herr Colonel," he said in his native tongue. "The one we sighted and informed Tripoli about by radio."

There was a moment's silence after the major had spoken, and during that moment a hundred and one thoughts leaped and danced across Dave Dawson's brain. So this unit had sighted the Skua? This unit had radioed Tripoli, and attack planes had been sent out? Then it was not just by chance that those six planes had come slicing down out of the sun. On the contrary, their pilots had known exactly what to look for, and the location. They had climbed up into the sun on purpose. True, that maneuver had availed them nothing but the loss of four of their number. Nevertheless, the realization that hostile eyes had been watching them all the time sent little shivers rippling up and down Dave's spine. And at the same time it made his heart sink. When he and Freddy did not make their rendezvous contact with the Victory, another flying team would be drawn and sent out. They, too, would be sighted as they cruised about over what looked like nothing but limitless desert. And when Axis planes swooped down on them—perhaps they would not be so lucky as he and Freddy had been.

Lucky? The word was like a taunting laugh in Dave's brain. Were he and Freddy as lucky as they hoped? Had they perhaps walked knowingly into a trap from which there was no possible escape? Was this the end of the war for them? Was this perhaps the end of—everything?

At that moment the colonel's voice roused him from the depths of his bitter reverie.

"What have you seen since dawn?" the colonel asked.

"Since dawn?" Dave echoed vaguely, and then looked questioningly at Freddy.

The English youth rose to the occasion at once.

"Don't you remember, Dave?" he asked. "Or has the sun dulled your memory, too? We saw an air battle. We saw the planes fall. Don't you remember?"

"Oh, that?" Dave echoed with a shrug. "What was important about that?"

"So you saw the air battle, eh?" the German colonel asked quickly. "You saw the planes fall, perhaps?"

Both Freddy and Dave hesitated. Both had the same sudden feeling that the German was trying to lead them into some kind of a word trap. Just what they replied to his questions might make all the difference in the world as to their own safety. Finally Dave spoke.

"Yes, we saw the planes fall," he said.

The two Germans leaned forward slightly, and suppressed excitement showed on their faces.

"How many?" the colonel asked.

"Five," Dave answered promptly. "Three Nazi, one Italian, and one of ours."

"That British plane," the German major spoke up suddenly. "You say you saw it fall to the ground? What happened to the pilot and observer? They jumped with their parachutes, eh?"

Dave shook his head.

"No," Freddy said for them both. "They did not jump. They glided the plane down and crashed when they tried to land. The plane caught fire. It was about a mile away from where we were standing. When we reached it, it was too late to do anything."

"It is as I told you, Herr Colonel," the major said to his senior officer in German. "If those British aviators saw anything, they died before they could take the information back to their base. Yes, undoubtedly they were simply sent out to hunt for these two standing before us."

Dave kept a dumb, blank look on his face, as though he didn't understand a single word the German was saying. Inwardly, though, he was smiling happily to himself. Thank goodness he had made the suggestion to Freddy that they act as though they didn't speak German. And thank goodness, too, they had decided to wear infantry uniforms, and to admit readily they had seen a British plane crash and burn up, in the event they were captured. It was all working out perfectly.

A moment later, though, when the colonel replied in the same tongue, the smile died in Dave, and little fingers of worry and fear began to clutch at his heart.

"Perhaps," the senior officer grunted. "Then again, perhaps not. These two young swine puzzle me. I feel sure their story is made up of lies. Four, six days in this cursed desert? I doubt that very much. Yes, very much, indeed."

"But just look at them, Herr Colonel!" the major protested. "Both are ready to collapse at any moment. They are completely exhausted. I agree that perhaps they lie a little. But I think they speak the truth about wandering about the desert."

"For six days?" the colonel echoed harshly, and gave him a scornful look. "It is evident you have had no experience with the desert. I have spent a lot of my life in this part of the world, Herr Major. Look at their boots! Six days of sand and sun would do more than that to a pair of boots."

It was all Dave and Freddy could do to refrain from looking down at their boots. Boots! The one item that hadn't even occurred to them. Of course the German colonel was right. Six days, or even four days of tramping across the desert would unquestionably wear their boots paper thin unless they had taken special care of them such as rubbing them with grease or oil to stop the leather from drying up and cracking, and mending each little crack or cut before it was too late. Their boots showed none of that kind of care, however. And the fact they had no packs was proof they hadn't had any shoe oil or grease in the first place.

"You're right, Herr Colonel," the major said as he scowled down at the boys' boots. "They do not look very much the worse for wear, at that."

"That doesn't prove anything, however," the German colonel grunted, and Dave's heart started sliding back down out of his throat. "We shall see, however. I have thoughts about these two, and I will find out soon enough if my thoughts are true ones. Meantime we will get as much out of them as we can."

"You mean, in case they do speak the truth?" the major murmured.

"Exactly that!" the colonel replied with a curt nod. "I doubt if there are any British forces within two hundred and fifty miles. Still, we must make sure. The success of this surprise smash against the British means much to me. It means everything. I wish to be removed from this cursed part of the world. I am sick of the sun, and the sand, and the flies and other insects. Soon, in case you have not been told, things will happen in the Balkans. That fat, stupid fool, Mussolini, has made a mess of things in Greece and Albania. It will soon be necessary for the Fuehrer to go to his aid, and pull him out of the fire. I hope to have a division command when the Leader marches down into Greece. If I smash the British out of Libya, and annihilate them so they cannot even escape to their Egyptian strongholds, I shall be given the command of a division of tanks for the asking. And I shall have it, never fear!"

The German colonel emphasized what he had just said by giving a savage nod of his head, and banging one huge clenched fist down on the table. Then he turned his glittering, half closed eyes upon the two boys.

"So you have been lost for four or even six days, eh?" he shot out. "Very well, then. Look closely at this map. Put your finger where you were when you started out of this advance patrol."

As the German spoke, he unfolded a military map and spread it out on the tables. Hope zoomed up in Dave. Perhaps the map would tell them about the plans of the expected attack against the British forces from Bengazi eastward to the Egyptian frontier. It might even show the location of the other Nazi units he was sure must be operating under the command of this headquarters colonel.

If he expected all that, however, or even a small part of it, he was doomed to disappointment. The instant he glanced at the map he saw that it was completely unmarked. He studied it for a moment as a stall for time. He didn't dare point out a spot too close to where he judged to be their present position. A short scouting trip by the Germans could prove them liars in no time at all. Yet at the same time he didn't want to indicate a point miles and miles away. It was obvious that the colonel suspected them, and to state they had wandered some two or three hundred miles across the desert would simply add to the German's suspicions. You don't walk that far in the desert in that short space of time. You don't even walk a small fraction of it—and live. Ten or fifteen miles in the cool of the night is about the limit.

Suddenly Freddy spoke up—Freddy, of the keen, sharp brain that had helped them avoid more than one enemy trap in the past.

"This map is printed in German, sir," he said. "I can guess at the spelling of some of the places, but I am not sure. The place where our patrol started from was called Amarir. Yes, I think that was the name. It was fifty miles southwest of El Siwa. One of the tanks broke down, and it was necessary to repair it at once. This officer and I went ahead on foot to reconnoiter the area beyond an escarpment. It was there the sand storm caught us."

Freddy paused, gave a little puzzled shake of his head, and scowled down at the map.

"I'm sure my brother officer is mistaken," he said presently. "It was not six days ago. No. Perhaps it was not even four. I have lost track of the days completely. But where are we now, sir? Are we very far from El Siwa? Or perhaps Amarir?"

The German colonel didn't reply. He gave Freddy a shrewd glance and then looked down at the map. Presently he raised his eyes.

"It is of no importance to you where you are," he said pointedly. "You are prisoners. Be content with that fact. You were lucky you were not shot on sight. I—"

The colonel cut himself off short as a tank captain appeared at the entrance of the tent and saluted.

"All is ready, Herr Colonel," he said. "Shall I give orders for the column to proceed? As Herr Colonel can see, it is practically dark now."

"Give the order, then," the senior officer said with a curt nod. "But, as usual, have the armored cars and one truck remain for a time. Also their crews, of course. They can strike these tents in a few minutes. That is all."

The colonel waited until the tank captain had saluted and made a hasty exit. Then he turned to the major at his side and spoke again in their native tongue.

"Perhaps a little rest will help the memory of these two," he said with a faint smirking twist of his lips. "Anyway, I haven't any more time to waste on them right now. You will take charge of them, and take them in your car. Try to get something out of them if you want to. However, they will probably fall asleep on you. Tomorrow I will spring my little surprise. Then we shall see what we shall see. Curse that British plane we sighted this morning! It is the first we have seen so far, and it worries me a little. If we were not so far away, I'd—"

The German let his voice trail off and sat staring moodily down at his fingertips drumming on the table top. After a moment or so he jerked his head up and shrugged.

"Perhaps I will, even now," he said as though talking to himself. "Anyway, take these two away. Give them food and water and take them along in your car. That's all. Now get out. I'll see you later."

The colonel dismissed them with a nod and immediately started stuffing papers and maps into a black dispatch case. The major got to his feet and looked at the two boys.

"You will come with me," he said in halting English. "Please remember I have this Luger here at my belt. It may help you to remember that if I tell you I am one of the best shots in the German army. You understand?"

"A man would be a fool to go out there," Freddy said quietly, and pointed toward the desert.

"A first class screw-ball," Dave, grunted, and watched the German colonel cram things into the brief case.

The senior officer heard him and looked up sharply.

"So you are not English, eh?" he asked with a frown. "You are an American."

Dave didn't say anything. He simply returned the man's stare.

"An American?" the colonel repeated as though he were rolling the word around in his brain and observing it from all angles. "So you left your country and came over here to fight for the British? That is interesting. That is very interesting, indeed!"

A sly smile that curled the German's lips, and a sudden odd gleam that showed in his half closed eyes, made Dave's heart grow chilly and cold, and caused the back of his neck to tingle with that all too familiar warning sensation. He shrugged it off after a moment and obeyed the major's order to fall into step with Freddy and be marched away.