The German colonel was flanked by his major and two Nazi Air Force pilots. All of them stared flint-eyed as the guard ushered the two boys into the headquarters tent. They returned stare for stare and waited for somebody to speak. The colonel seemed to be trying the silence and hard eye cure on them, for it was a good three minutes before he opened his mouth. Dave had the crazy urge to laugh in the man's face, and if the situation hadn't been so deadly serious he probably would have. German officers have never taken any prizes for good looks, and the colonel was certainly at the bottom of the list.

"Tell me your story again!" he suddenly snapped out, and nodded at Dave. "Yes, you, my little American."

Dave hesitated a moment as though to get the facts straight in his mind. Then he slowly told a story identical with everything that he and Freddy had said before. The Germans listened in silence, but a sneer twisted the colonel's lips by the time Dave had finished.

"So?" the German commandant echoed in a purring tone. "You did not arrive at the crash in time to save the two Englishmen in it, eh? They were unfortunately burned up alive?"

A warning bell sounded in Dave, and the familiar tingling sensation was at the back of his neck. He was sure that he and Freddy were being trapped, but he was helpless to do anything about it. The only possible thing he could do was to stick to their story.

"They certainly looked burned up to me, sir," he said.

The colonel smiled, and his slitted eyes held a triumphant glitter.

"You were very clever not to take advantage of the chance just now to try and escape in that Messerschmitt plane," he said with a leer. "Very clever, because you would most certainly be dead now if you had made such an attempt. However, you do not fool me a bit. Infantry officers, eh? Bah! Do you think we are fools, you swine?"

Both Dave and Freddy had the sickening sensation of the ground falling away from under them. They forced themselves to keep dismay from their faces, however, and stared puzzled-eyed back at the colonel.

"What is that, sir?" Freddy presently asked in a surprised tone. "You—you think we were in that plane? But that's ridiculous! Those two poor chaps burned up. They died! We saw them with our own eyes. Look at these cuts and scratches on my hands. I got them trying to save those R.A.F. lads. I don't understand what you mean, sir!"

"You understand perfectly!" the colonel said harshly, and stabbed a thick finger at him. "Yes, you would like me to believe your story, but I don't. You see, I have other proof. You probably injured your hands on rocks and desert brush, but not from trying to save two British airmen. They didn't burn up and die in their plane!"

"Say, what is this?" Dave choked out with forced dumbfounded amazement, though his heart was actually sliding down into his boots. "Who says they didn't burn up?"

"I do!" the colonel thundered in a voice that was probably heard 'way back in Tripoli. "These two German pilots have just returned from an inspection of that crash. I radioed Tripoli last night for that to be done. They have just arrived and made their report to me!"

The German paused and bent the eyes of death on the two boys.

"They found no charred bodies in that crash!" he suddenly spat out in their faces. "They found goggle glasses and rims in the burned cockpit. They found radio earphones of burned helmets. They found the remains of a camera—something that is only carried in that type of plane on special occasions! They found parachute harness buckles and clasps. They found lots of things that the occupants of that plane left behind when they set fire to their craft!"

"Set afire, my hat!" Freddy blurted out. "I tell you we saw it crash and burn up!"

At that moment one of the German airmen shook his head and said something to the colonel so fast that neither of the boys could catch what it was. The colonel nodded and broadened his leer.

"Stop lying!" he snarled. "You are caught. The plane did not crash and burn up. Herr Captain, here, has just told me that the marks in the sand show that the plane made a good landing. There were also other marks in the sand. Two sets of footprints leading northward from the crash!"

The German commander thumped his fist down on the table in front of him and glared at the two boys out of eyes fitted with dancing shafts of lightning. Dave could almost feel every drop of blood drain down out of his body. His mouth went bone dry and his leg joints seemed to turn to jelly. It was all he could do to hold himself erect. He glanced at the German pilot who had spoken, and in that moment he would gladly have given anything to get his hands about the man's scrawny, leathery-skinned neck.

"So what?" he suddenly shot out, returning his gaze to the colonel's face. "If you think we're R.A.F. pilots, then that's your mistake. So what?"

The colonel's eyes flew open a bit in stunned surprise. Anger flooded his face with a fiery red. Then just as quickly the anger faded and he laughed harshly.

"American bluff!" he snorted. "I have heard of that, but it will do you no good. No good at all, do you hear? I know all about you now, and—"

The colonel leaned forward and thrust out his jaw.

"And I shall deal with you as I would any other spies!" He fairly crammed the words down their throats.

The boys blinked, but that was the only outward sign they gave of the conflict of emotions that raged within them.

"Yes, deal with you as spies!" the German repeated. "And I know a very nice way to deal with spies."

"We are not spies," Freddy spoke up quietly. "We are no more than prisoners of war. We demand we be regarded as such. Or do the recognized rules of warfare mean nothing to you?"

Dave expected to see the German fly into a rage at Freddy's final outburst, but such was not the case. The colonel's face became hard as a disc of frozen ice. His eyes were pin points of flame that licked out from between the lids. He gave a curt shake of his melon-shaped head.

"No, they mean nothing to me!" he said, tight-lipped, and flung one arm out in a circular gesture. "Here in this desert I hold the supreme command. Here I am the Fuehrer, the Leader. My word is law. To disobey means instant death. My officers and my troops know that, too. No, I make my own rules. And when I order, you to be shot—you will be shot!"

Dave knew, as Freddy knew, that it was foolish and a waste of time to pose as infantry officers any longer. The game was up. Well laid plans and precautions had availed them nothing. They had failed. An inspection of the burned up plane had knocked the props right from under them. Their future was in the laps of the gods. No plans and preparation now. They could only fall back on fast thinking, fast action and prayer.

"Okay, go ahead and shoot!" he told the German defiantly. "Our job is done. Our reports are now in the hands of the British High Command. Sure! We've done our job, and we're not afraid to die. Go ahead and shoot, and nuts to you and your whole gang!"

The German colonel gave him the kind of a look a wearied parent might give a spoiled brat, and slowly shook his head.

"It is no use, my little fool American," he said. "You only waste your breath seeking to fool me. Whatever your mission was, I know that it failed. It failed because you did not return to your base. You landed in the desert, and very stupidly allowed us to take you prisoners. And you made no code report to your superiors because there was no radio in your plane. These German pilots made sure of that, too."

The colonel turned to them, repeated the statement in German and watched the two pilots shake their heads vigorously. Then suddenly the colonel whirled around as Freddy burst out laughing.

"And what is so funny, my swine Englander?" he snarled.

Freddy didn't even look at him. He looked at Dave instead and grinned broadly.

"Well, I guess we lose that bet, Dave," he said. "But I have to laugh when I think of Jones and Barker in that other patrol plane trying to collect from us. I don't fancy they'll come out this way again looking for us."

"Not a chance," Dave replied quickly, playing up to Freddy's lead. "They're safe and sound at Wavell's base now. They'd be crazy if they didn't stay there until Zero Hour."

"What's that?" the German colonel shouted, and came part way up out of his chair. "Another patrol plane? Zero Hour? What do you mean?"

Dave fairly leaped at the opening the German's questions presented.

"Oh, nothing," he said with a shrug. "We were just kidding to see what you would do. We were really alone. There wasn't any other plane along with us. Oh—Anyway, you didn't see one, did you?"

The German colonel didn't reply. He dropped back on his chair and eyed first one of them and then the other. Because his eyes were so well hidden behind the slits, it was impossible for Dave to tell what effect his lies had had upon the German. However, he was fairly sure that the man was puzzled; wasn't so sure of himself now, and was giving the matter very serious consideration. For a second Dave was tempted to carry on his crazy chit-chat with Freddy in the hope of befuddling the German even more. On second thought, though, he killed the urge and was content to let well enough alone.

"Another plane, eh?" the German muttered in his own tongue. "I wonder. It is of course possible, yet—"

He jerked his head around to the taller of the two German Air Force pilots.

"You took part in that air battle yesterday shortly after dawn," he snapped. "How many enemy planes did you engage?"

"Only one, a British Blackburn Skua," the pilot replied instantly. Then, as his face darkened from memory, he added, "I would have shot it down, myself, but I was flying as observer-gunner in one of the Italian planes. The weakling at the controls became scared and ran away."

"Those Italians!" the colonel said, and spat onto the sand. "Not one of them, including their fat dictator, has the courage of a newborn chicken. Bah! I spit on their flag! So there was no other enemy craft?"

"None," the German pilot assured him. "Only the one."

The colonel nodded and turned to the boys again.

"And if you had been lucky enough to return to—to General Wavell's base, as you think that other plane did," he asked softly, "just what would you have reported, eh?"

Dave opened his mouth to let fly with a wise-crack, but Freddy beat him to the punch.

"Your plan of surprise attack, of course," the English youth said quietly. "How you have fifteen motorized units hidden out here on the desert. And how you plan to make the surprise attack on the British garrison at Tobruk just before dawn tomorrow. And how you expect to take Tobruk from the English and thus trap all of the British forces that extend westward to Bengazi and the most advanced outpost at El Aghelia at the southern end of the Gulf of Sidra. Yes, those and a few other details. But it doesn't matter now about us giving the British High Command the information. The other two chaps have informed them, of course."

Had a thousand pound aerial bomb suddenly blown up inside the desert headquarters tent at that moment, no one there could have been more surprised. The German colonel's eyes bulged out, and his jaw dropped down so low it almost struck the top of the table covered with maps. Even Dave caught his breath and stared hard at his pal. The English youth simply smiled and shrugged, and appeared to be enjoying himself immensely. Eventually the German colonel pulled himself together and snorted aloud.

"Very clever, my little swine," he sneered. "For a moment I thought you did know something. But of course you don't. Nor does anybody else, for you two were alone."

Freddy Farmer shrugged again.

"Then it must be so if you say so," he said gravely.

The colonel reddened again. He clenched and unclenched his big fists and looked as though he were going to lose his temper completely and lash out at the young Englishman. He held his temper in check, however, and twisted his lips into a sneer.

"Perhaps you know some of the other details?" he asked, and watched Freddy's face closely.

"No, I don't, to tell the truth," Freddy replied calmly. "Perhaps you'll be good enough to tell me. It's about the Italian fleet. I'm not sure what part it is to play in your attack plans."

The words scored another bull's-eye, that once again amazed everybody including Dave Dawson. Then, before anybody could speak, Freddy spoke again.

"Not that it matters," he said, "but are units of the Italian fleet to bombard Bengazi and Derna? Or just Tobruk? Of course, the British Mediterranean fleet will be there to greet them, but I'm curious to know, just the same."

The German colonel opened his mouth to bellow with anger, then suddenly snapped it shut. He smiled and looked at Freddy with almost a touch of admiration.

"My congratulations, my little Englisher," he said. "You are far more clever than I suspected. But your eyes gave you away just now. Too bad. You might have enjoyed yourself a bit watching me worry. But such is fate, eh? My surprise attack? I am quite willing to explain it to you. Dead men cannot talk, you know."

The German paused, and the cold glitter that came into his eyes seemed to touch Dave's heart like fingers of ice.

"You are quite correct," the German continued speaking. "There are fifteen desert units hidden out here on the desert. We have been in the desert for a full week now. And not one Englishman has known that we were here. Fifteen units. A mechanized infantry division, and a tank division. Over thirty thousand troops ready and eager to teach you Englishmen a lesson you will never forget. No, the Italians are not fighting your great General Wavell this time. This time it will be Germans—real soldiers. And we will crush and annihilate Wavell's troops to the last man."

The German nodded savagely and thumped his fist on the table for emphasis.

"At Tobruk, at dawn tomorrow!" he shouted a moment later. "Tonight will be our last night on the desert. At dawn tomorrow the battle and victory. Nothing can stop us. Nothing shall! And within a week we shall be in Alexandria and Cairo. The British Northern African army will be shattered, and your great General Wavell's troops in Ethiopia and Eritrea will arrive too late. They will simply march into our waiting arms!"

"And the Italian fleet?" Freddy murmured as the other stopped shouting.

"They will do their little part to help with the bombardment of Tobruk," the Colonel said with an impatient gesture. "But we are prepared to carry them on our backs if we have to. And now, my little Englander, we speak of you. Does your American friend understand German, too?"

"We both speak and understand it," Freddy replied calmly.

Dave stifled a gasp of utter amazement just in time. As it was, he could not stop himself from jerking his head around and staring at Freddy out of accusing eyes. Freddy admitting they both spoke German? What in thunder had gotten into him? Yet the German colonel seemed to have known they spoke his language, or at least that Freddy did. What in the world—

"It is amusing to speak English," the German colonel's voice cut into his whirling thoughts. "So we will not change. Now I have given you a little information. It is your turn to give me some. I wish to be sure about the strength of the British garrisons at Tobruk, and Derna, and Bengazi. Also the British strength at Bardia, and at Sollum on the Egyptian frontier. You will give me that information?"

"Even if I knew, which I don't," Freddy said, speaking right up to him, "I most certainly wouldn't tell you a thing."

"Bravo!" the German cried in a mocking voice, and clapped his hands. "The little English pig is full of courage. Of course you wouldn't tell me now! Later, it will be different. You both will beg and scream for permission to tell me everything you know."

"That's what you think!" Dave spoke up for the first time in several minutes. "You've got another guess coming, if you ask me."

"I am not asking you, my American fool!" the German snapped at him. "You, and this little Englisher, will be asking me—yes, begging me to listen to all you have to say. And that will be a lot. Ah, sneer, and look very brave, if you wish, but tonight it will be different. Yes, much different. You two will come along with us tonight on our last march to our attack positions. But tonight you will not ride in one of the cars. You will walk and run behind my car. Your hands will be tied behind your backs, and there will be a rope leading from each of you to the rear of my car. It will not be pleasant, my little ones. Sand and exhaust fumes will get in your eyes, in your noses, and in your mouths. You will stumble and fall and be dragged through the sand before we can stop the car. The sand and the desert brush will peel the skin from your bodies. We will set you on your feet again, and continue onward. Presently, again you will stumble and fall, and again the sand will do its work. Again, and again, and again—until your brains crack and you beg me to listen to what you have to say."

The German stopped short, and his smile was as cruel as the smile on the face of Satan himself.

"Yes, you will talk tonight, never fear!" he spat at them. Then he jerked his head around to the major.

"Have the guard take them back to their prison tent!" he barked. "Perhaps when they have thought it over a bit, they will decide not to make me force them to speak. I am no murderer, but victory comes first! Take them away!"