By the time the sun was a ball of flaming color that rested lightly on the western lip of the world, the two youths had detoured around to a point less than half a mile from the spot where they had seen mysterious activity. Now, though, it was no longer a mystery. Lying side by side on the western side of a rolling sand dune, they peered over its crest at a scene that caused their hearts to pound in wild excitement and the blood to surge through their veins.

There, less than half a mile away, were two enemy motorized units preparing to break camp and continue their obvious march northward under the cover of the Libyan night. There were at least twenty tanks of the small, light armored German type. There were also as many troop truck transports, and four or five armored cars. One good look at those armored cars confirmed their earlier beliefs. High ranking officers of the Axis forces were in charge of those attack units, and it was quite evident that the mobile force served as headquarters for other units scattered about the desert area.

If either of them held any doubts as to the truth of that, such doubts were dispelled some ten minutes later. As though by magic, a plane seemed to rise up out of the camp. It was a German Messerschmitt 109 single seater, and no sooner had it cleared the sand than it wheeled toward the northwest and streaked away with the speed of a bullet. It was not the plane itself that confirmed their belief, however. It was the German Staff markings they saw painted on the fuselage of the fleet plane as it raced by.

"Boy!" Dave breathed, and grinned at Freddy. "Talk about finding the old needle in a haystack! Lady Luck sure is giving us the glad smile."

"Sure, whatever that means," Freddy commented with a frown. "You and your American slang!"

Dave laughed.

"Slang, my eye," he chuckled. "I simply mean that out of all the enemy units that are probably hiding out here on the desert, we spot the headquarters unit right off the bat. See? Like finding a needle in a haystack first time."

"That's headquarters over there, right enough," Freddy murmured. "Ten to one that Messerschmitt is winging back to Tripoli to inform them of the new positions they will take up before dawn."

"And ten to one that ship will be back and nicely camouflaged with the rest of the stuff by dawn, too," Dave grunted. "Much as the Germans and the Mussies give me a pain in the neck, I have to hand it to them for being tops when it comes to camouflaging technique. You could fly over this desert until you were blue in the face and not even spot a thing that didn't look like just ordinary desert."

"They certainly know how," Freddy admitted grudgingly. "But let's grant them that and get our heads to working on more important things right now. In an hour at the most they'll be under way. What shall we do? Tag along behind them—or what?"

Dave scooped up a handful of sand and let it slowly trickle between his fingers as he silently considered the question.

"I think that idea's out, Freddy," he said after a while. "For one thing, tanks and armored cars don't travel at a snail's pace, not on a flat desert and in the middle of the night. Another thing, even if we did manage to keep up with them somehow, we'd be dead on our feet by dawn. And we'd be faced with the possibility of spending all tomorrow in the sun. There might not be any spot where there was shade."

"I know," Freddy murmured in a worried voice. "And tough as we think we are, that would be too much for us."

"Check," Dave said. "But supposing we could take it somehow. So what? So we wouldn't be any better off than we are right now. What we've got to do is get into that camp and find out things, then get out and get word to the British High Command what the Germans and Italians are up to. That's the problem—two problems, they really are."

"And mighty ticklish ones, too," Freddy said with a sudden show of gloomy depression. "What do you think of the idea of trying to sneak in there and have a quick look around? We might find out something."

"And we might find a couple of Mauser rifle bullets heading our way, too!" Dave said with a shake of his head. "If they were camped there for keeps that might be a worthwhile bet. But they're getting ready to move, and they'd only need one look at our uniforms to know darned well we didn't belong. Even the dumbest Italian over there would figure that out."

"But after it gets dark, couldn't we—" Freddy began, and then stopped himself with a negative shake of his head. "No, I guess not."

"Nix is right," Dave said. "After it gets dark they'll all be in their tanks and trucks and armored cars, and on their way. Nope, even pulling the old hitch-hiking stunt wouldn't get us a thing."

Freddy Farmer started to speak, then seemed to change his mind. He closed his mouth and scowled unhappily at the fingers of his two hands digging in the sand. Dave watched him for a moment, then reached over and touched him on the shoulder.

"There is a way, if you're game, Freddy," he said softly.

"I'm jolly well game for anything!" the English youth came right back. "You know that, Dave. What's your plan?"

"We could make them take us prisoners," Dave said.

Freddy's jaw dropped in utter amazement, and his eyes bulged out like marbles on long sticks.

"Make them take us prisoners?" he choked out. "Give up? Are you mad, Dave?"

"No, just maybe a little screwy," Dave replied. "Pin back your ears for a couple of seconds, and listen. If we try to sneak up on them, we run the risk of being shot first, and questioned afterwards. That wouldn't do either of us any good. If we try to tag along behind them as they move northward, who knows what kind of trouble we might run into. So what's left? To go along with them—as their guests. See what I mean?"

"I don't even begin to see," Freddy replied with a befuddled groan. "Frankly, I don't fancy those chaps over there are in the mood to have guests. In fact, I doubt very much they would consider us as guests."

"Oh, I just said 'guests' for the heck of it!" Dave snorted. "Look! Here's exactly what I mean. You and I will be a couple of British infantry officers hopelessly lost in the desert. And, boy, that's doggone close to the truth, and how! Anyway, we have been wandering around for we don't know how long. We've lost track of time, see? Maybe the sun has got us a bit. We have just a few drops of water left in one canteen, see? Our uniforms are torn, and all our food has gone. We simply stumble right into that camp over there while it is still light, and they can see us and not take pot shots. Beginning to catch on?"

The light of hope had come back into Freddy Farmer's eyes, but he was still a bit befuddled.

"I think so," he said. "You mean, bury our stuff here, and tear our uniforms, and all that sort of thing?"

"Right on the button!" Dave nodded eagerly. "We happened to see their camp. When we get close enough we'll start yelling to attract their attention. We'll—Hold it! I've got an even brighter idea!"

"What is it?" Freddy demanded. "I'm sure it can't be any crazier than the one you've already told me."

Dave reached over and gave him a playful punch on the shoulder.

"It's a pip!" he cried. "We think we've finally found a small detachment of our own forces, see? We don't realize they're the enemy until they've captured us. That will start them spinning."

"Spinning?" Freddy echoed.

"Sure!" Dave nodded. "It'll start them playing guessing games with themselves. They'll start wondering if they really are alone out here, as they thought they were. They'll wonder just where we came from. They'll wonder plenty about us stumbling onto their camp, Freddy. And you and I can fill them with a lot of hooey that will make them wonder all the more. No fooling, Freddy, it's a perfect set-up."

"If all goes well," Freddy said as the cautious side of him came to the fore for a moment. "But, after all, this wouldn't be the first time we'd taken a long chance."

"That's the boy, Freddy!" Dave cried, and patted his shoulder. "That's the old fighting spirit. Okay, it's a deal, huh?"

"You and your wild ideas!" The English youth sighed, then smiled faintly. "They'll probably end up putting me in front of a firing squad one of these days. It might just be crazy enough to work, though, I guess. Right you are, you mad hatter. It's a go."

"My pal!" Dave breathed, and beamed at him. "Contact, then! Let's peel off the stuff we don't need, and muss ourselves up to look as though we've been through the mill."

"If we haven't been through the mill today," Freddy groaned, and started burying things in the sand, "then I sure don't know what you'd call it. But just remember, my little friend, if I get shot for this, I'll come back to haunt you every single night, I promise you that!"

"You won't have to come back," Dave brushed the threat aside, "because I'll be right there with you."

"I don't doubt it for a minute," Freddy said with a hopeless shrug. "The lad's just like my shadow. Can't get rid of it. Ah me! If I'd only had sense and remained in England, I'd probably be an air vice-marshal about now. Oh well, such is life!"

"Boy, am I glad!" Dave murmured with feeling.

"Glad about what?" the English youth asked unsuspectingly.

"Why, that you didn't stay in England and get promoted to be an air vice-marshal, of course," Dave said solemnly. "After all the good old R.A.F. has done, to have it fold up and fall apart because a young squirt has—I just can't finish. I shudder even at the thought of such a fate for the R.A.F."

"So?" Freddy grunted, and gave him a stern look. "Very well, then, I refuse to go through with this as planned. I'm going to tell them the truth. They may be Germans and rotters, but just the same I can't play that kind of a dirty trick even on them."

"Refuse to go—" Dave gasped as sudden alarm shot across his face. "Won't play a dirty trick on them? Hey! What goes on here? What do you mean, tell the truth?"

The English youth didn't answer at once. With deliberate movements he carefully smoothed the surface of the sand that covered the equipment he had buried. Then he nonchalantly brushed sand dust from his hands and glanced at Dave.

"I'm going to tell them who you are," he said firmly. "I just haven't the heart to let them think they've really captured somebody, when it's actually only you. No, I'm going to tell them who you are so they can kick you back out into the desert, the same way a fisherman throws back a fish that's too small. And I'm going to teach them that bit of American slang to say as they do it."

"What's that?" Dave asked as the corners of his mouth twitched.

"It's—" Freddy began, and hesitated. Then his face lighted up. "Oh yes, I remember now. Ten pennies for twelve. Yes, that's it."

Dave started to bellow with laughter, but clapped his hand over his mouth just in time. Sound carries like magic across the desert, and they were not yet ready to make their presence known to the enemy tank and armored car units. However, it was a couple of minutes before Dave could choke off his laughter enough to speak.

"Ten pennies for twelve!" he gasped out as tears streamed down his cheeks. "Boy, oh boy, is that one for the book. You mean, Freddy, a dime a dozen. But let it go. Anyway, you're one in a million, and that's no kidding. Well, all set?"

As Dave asked the question, it served as an automatic brake, a full stop, for kidding and joshing around. In a moment the serious business would begin—deadly serious business, upon the outcome of which might hang not only their own lives but the success or failure of Britain's war efforts in the Middle East. Freddy searched Dave's eyes for a couple of seconds, and then nodded.

"Right-o," he said quietly. "Let's get on with it. We've buried all our stuff, and we both certainly look as if we've been wandering around in this blasted desert for days. Yes, let's get on with it."

"Wait, just one more thing," Dave said as Freddy started to get up and move over the brow of the sand dune. "It just hit me, and it might help. You can't tell. Speak nothing but English. Make out that you don't understand German. That is, of course, if any of those birds speak English. But let's not let on we speak and understand German until we have to. They—Well, they might let something slip, you know."

"A darn good idea, Dave!" Freddy said in honest approval. "You're right. One never can tell."

"Then off we go," Dave said, and got up onto his feet. "Stagger and reel a little. Pretend you don't hear them the first time they challenge. Let's even lean a little on each other for support. Boy, if there's any of the actor in us, this sure is the time for it to come out. And to think—Gosh!"

"And to think what?" Freddy shot out the corner of his mouth as they started lurching forward and up over the crest of the sand dune and into full view of the enemy camp. "What were you going to say?"

"To think the day would come when you and I would walk up to a bunch of Nazi slobs and say, 'Here we are,'" Dave grunted. "Of course it's all for a reason, but—well, it sure gives me a funny feeling inside."

"I know just how you feel," Freddy said. "And I could feel a lot better, myself. But if things work out our way, we should fret."

"Things will work out for us!" Dave said grimly, and gave the English youth's arm a squeeze. "They've got to!"

Neither of them spoke for the next few minutes. They trudged forward across the sand, purposely faltering in their steps now and then and stumbling to their knees. Every second of the time, however, they kept a watchful eye on the desert camp that was just about ready to move forward. The sun was down below the rim of the world now, and night was rushing forward from the east on black wings.

Stumbling step by stumbling step, they drew closer and closer to the enemy camp. With each step they expected to hear a wild shout go up, a shout that would mean they had been sighted. With each step, also, a certain inner and unspoken fear walked with them, the tiny fear that their little plan might fail horribly almost before it had been put into action—the kind of failure, very definite and permanent, that the bark of a rifle and a singing bullet would cause.

No rifles barked, however, and no challenging voices thundered across the rolling sands. The tank, armored car, and truck motors had been silenced after a short test run period, and the stillness of the vast desert had closed down over everything. The boys impulsively held their breath every now and then as though they and the entire world were waiting for some sudden all destroying explosion to shatter what seemed an eternity of silence.

"Are we going to have to bump right into those birds before they see us?" Dave murmured desperately. "Gosh! We could have come this far on a couple of motorcycles and saved our feet. The dopes are—"

"Shut up!" Freddy whispered out the corner of his mouth. "Here they come! For goodness' sake don't keep your hand near your automatic. The blighters have their rifles trained right on us."

It was true. A squad of Nazi desert troops, led by a corporal, came dashing across the sand toward them with rifles held up and ready to shoot.

"Lady Luck, stay with us, please!" Dave whispered softly as he and Freddy lurched forward a few more steps.