When the two boys were back in their prison tent, and the guard had taken up his post, Freddy turned to Dave and looked at him out of sad and apologetic eyes.

"I'm sorry, Dave," he said. "I was a complete idiot, and I wouldn't blame you for shooting me. I guess I just couldn't resist throwing it into the blighter's face."

"Maybe you know what you're talking about," Dave said with a hopeless sigh, "but it's all just so much succotash to me. What gives, anyway? How did you find out about their attack plans? And for cat's sake, when did he find out we spoke German? Boy! Am I in a flat spin!"

"Then you didn't notice it?" Freddy asked in surprise. "You didn't see what I saw?"

"No, guess I'm blind as a bat," Dave said. "But let's cut out the guessing games. Tell me the works before I pass out with curiosity."

"Why, it was one of those maps on the table in front of him," Freddy said. "The one by his right hand. It was completely marked and showed the whole plan of attack. It was hard reading the notes he'd made because they were upside down to me. But I got most of them after a while, and filled in the rest with guesses. At the end there he saw me looking at the map and realized how I had found out so much. If only I hadn't let him catch me. I had the beggar mighty worried. I'm sure I had him actually believing that there was another plane with us, and that it got back to Wavell's headquarters. Blast the luck, anyway!"

"Well, I sure take the booby prize!" Dave groaned. "Sure, I saw the maps, but I was just dope enough not to give them a thought. Old Freddy Farmer with the hawk eye—and brains. But how come he figured you spoke German?"

"The maps, Dave, the maps!" Freddy said patiently. "All the notes and stuff were in German. He realized at once that I had read and understood them. Don't you see?"

Dave groaned again and threw up his hands in a gesture of despair.

"Look, Freddy," he said, "if I turn around will you give me a good swift kick? Boy, am I slipping! Yeah, I guess you were crazy to select me to come along with you on this trip. I'm a lot of help, I don't think!"

"Now, just cut that out!" Freddy snapped at him. "No one runs down my best pal to my face, not even you. It was just by luck I happened to notice the map, anyway. And look what small good it's done! That cold-blooded beggar wasn't fooling us, Dave. He's just the type to do what he says he'll do. And it's all my fault. If I'd only kept my mouth shut."

"It's your turn to lay off running down my best pal," Dave told with a grin. "What's done is done, as they say. We've just got to figure some way to beat him. One thing, anyway. We know the whole set-up now. Gosh! If we could only get hold of that map and get out of here—"

Dave let the rest trail off into silence and stared moodily out the opened front of the tent. The Germans were making an inspection of their equipment after the night's march across the desert. Fuel supply trucks were being unloaded, and squads of soldiers were refueling the tanks and armored cars and troop transports, while others were checking engines and guns, and making sure that everything was in order.

The two boys watched them for several moments, then suddenly Dave leaned close to Freddy and spoke in a whisper.

"We've got about one chance in a thousand, Freddy," he said, "maybe not even that much of a chance. But we've got to do something, and do it darn soon. Got any ideas, or suggestions?"

"Not a one," the English youth replied instantly. "But I can tell you have. What is it?"

"While one of us keeps this guard busy," Dave said, "the other has got to sneak over there to that fuel supply truck and touch off the gas and Diesel oil it's carrying, and get back here. Then in the excitement that follows, we've got to reach the headquarters tent, grab that map and get away in the Messerschmitt. What do you think?"

"I think it's like trying to fly to the moon," Freddy grunted. "But that doesn't mean I'm not game to try it. Just how do you expect to keep the guard busy while one of us sneaks over to that fuel truck?"

Dave didn't answer at once. He sat watching the squads of German soldiers move farther and farther along the line of trucks. Presently they were hidden from view at the far end of the line. He touched Freddy's arm, put a cautioning finger to his lips, and rose slowly to his feet. Before the English youth could stop him, Dave had moved forward with the speed of striking lightning. The guard had his back to them and was staring out across the camouflaged desert camp for a moment before resuming his pacing. In that split second of time allowed, Dave Dawson acted. He flashed out his right hand and plucked the guard's Luger from its belt holster before the German realized what had happened.

"Turn, and you're a dead man!" Dave warned him in German, and backed into the tent.

The guard checked his half turn and froze, the hands gripping his Mauser rifle turning white at the knuckles.

"Just keep walking up and down," Dave spoke to him in a steady, deadly voice. "Go ahead and raise an alarm if you want to, but it won't do you any good, see? Your pals may shoot us, but you'll be dead before they can start shooting. Go ahead, now. Walk up and down some more—and hold that rifle just like you're doing. Barrel pointed up!"

As Dave held his breath, the guard hesitated a moment. Then his desire to go on living won out. He started pacing up and down in front of the prison tent, holding his rifle so that the barrel pointed to the sky.

"Good grief!" Freddy breathed softly. "I never would have believed it possible. That was wonderful, Dave. Phew! It was—it's left me weak as a kitten. It—"

"Then get strong, and pronto!" Dave ordered, and thrust the Luger into his hands. "I'm on my way to the fuel truck. Shut up, and don't argue. You keep that guard occupied. Don't let up on him for an instant. If worse comes to worse—shoot and duck out the back of this tent and head for the rear of the headquarters tent. Your shots will bring them running, I hope, and we'll still have a chance. But watch the guard and keep telling him how a bullet hurts. He's yellow, or he wouldn't have folded up just now. Okay, I'm on my way. Luck to us both, pal!"

Freddy started to open his mouth to protest, but Dave silenced him with a quick shake of his head.

"About time I did something for our team," he grunted, and moved toward the front of the tent. "You just hold everything. Be right back."

He took another step and flashed a searching look outside. The Germans checking their equipment were well out of sight by now. As a matter of fact, he didn't see a sign of a single German save the guard who marched slowly up and down with eyes that were saucers of fear.

"You're doing fine," Dave grunted at him in his own tongue. "Just keep it up. My pal is the best shot in the British army. He could split your backbone in two from that distance without half trying."

The guard shivered slightly but did not turn his head. Dave threw a final wink and a grin back at Freddy, and then went out of the tent and off toward the left with the speed of a shell leaving the muzzle of a gun. Legs working like piston rods, and body bent well forward, he streaked across a fifty foot open stretch of sand to the safety of the first of the parked tanks. There he halted for a brief instant, tore off a large piece of his shirt and pulled an army clip of waterproof matches from his pocket. Then he streaked forward again toward the nearest fuel truck. Tins of gas and oil had been taken out and placed on the ground. He grabbed hold of one and, working with the speed of lightning, untwisted the cap and soaked his torn piece of shirt with gas. Then he placed the piece of cloth close to the pile of tins. Crouching down, he struck one of his matches, tossed the flame down onto the gas-soaked strip of shirt cloth, spun around in a continuation of the same movement and raced for dear life back toward the prison tent.

He was still several strides from the tent when the flames reached the first of the gas tins. It exploded in a roar of sound, and brilliant orange red fire leaped up into the sky. Even as Dave dashed into the tent and snatched the Luger from Freddy's hand, a second and a third tin of fuel exploded. Dave didn't take time out to watch the fireworks display. As Freddy gaped at him open-mouthed, Dave twisted back toward the guard, who stood staring dumb-eyed at the flames, and cracked him back of the ear with the barrel of the Luger. The German slowly folded up and dropped to the ground without a sound.

"So he won't shoot when our backs are turned!" Dave barked at Freddy, and dived for the rear of the tent. "Come on, and put plenty of speed into your legs. It's make or break for us now!"

The English youth needed no urging. He dived after Dave, and they both squirmed out from under the rear side of the tent like a couple of snakes fleeing a flaming jungle. By then the whole desert camp was in a terrific uproar. Troops and officers were racing madly toward the fuel truck, which was now a towering column of flame and pitch black smoke that reached high up into the sky. Hoarse shouted orders flew thick and fast, and the soldiers fell upon nearby equipment like mad demons and tried to haul it farther away from the blazing inferno.

All that Dave and Freddy saw out of the corners of their eyes as they raced zigzagging toward the rear of the headquarters tent. They actually passed German troops rushing toward the fire, but not one of the enemy soldiers so much as gave them a glance. All eyes were riveted on the towering column of flame and smoke.

In less time than it takes to tell about it, Dave and Freddy had darted and twisted around tanks and armored cars and reached the rear of the headquarters tent. There they halted and strained their ears for any sounds inside. It was impossible to tell if there was anybody inside, however, because of the terrific din that rolled across the desert camp in ever increasing waves of sound.

Dave nodded to Freddy, gripped the Luger tightly, dropped to his knees in the sand and whipped up the bottom edge of the tent canvas. One look and wild joy flooded his face. Freddy saw that look and didn't bother to ask questions. Seconds later both were inside the empty tent and stuffing maps and papers inside their shirts. Another few seconds and they started to turn around and skin out the way they had entered. At that exact instant, however, a blurred figure came racing into the tent. Dave saw the flash of a gun coming up and let his body drop. At the same time he shoved Freddy with his free hand, and swung his Luger and pulled the trigger with the other.

Two shots blended together as one. Death hissed past an inch from Dave's nose and bored a hole in the rear wall of the tent. The blurred figure screamed with pain, dropped his gun and clutched wildly for his right shoulder. It was not until then Dave recognized the pain-twisted face of the German major.

"For the two punching bags you made out of us!" Dave barked at him in German, and then practically slid out under the rear tent flap on his stomach.

Leaping to his feet, he paused long enough to give Freddy a hand up, and then led the way at top speed toward the extreme rear of the camp. Once he reached it, he swerved sharply to the right and ran along behind a line of parked troop trucks. Presently he pulled up to a panting halt beside the last truck. The burning fuel truck was now far to his right and to his front. Directly in front of him, though, and not fifty yards away, was the Messerschmitt One-Ten. There wasn't a soul near it. Every jack man in the camp was busy fighting tooth and nail to stop the blaze of the fuel truck from spreading. Dave reached back and gripped Freddy's arm.

"I'll dive for the controls," he said, talking fast, "You dive for the rear pit and the guns. They've stopped the engines, but I'll kick them into life, and taxi away from here. You hold them back with your guns in case they start after us. Can't taxi too fast because of the sand. And I don't dare take off at once. Want to give the engines a little time to get turning over sweet. Okay?"

"Okay!" Freddy breathed. "And you'll get the Victoria Cross for this, if I've got anything to say about it."

"Just the flight deck of the Victory will be okay by me," Dave said grimly. "Right! Here we go!"