Dull pain shot through Dave Dawson's left shoulder and crawled up the side of his neck and into his head. It came at regular intervals like the ticking of a clock, and no matter which way he moved he could not seem to get away from it. From a long, long way off he heard the murmur of sound, but it held no meaning for him. His brain was too befuddled to grasp the meaning of anything. All about was darkness. Darkness, the shocks of dull pain, and the distant murmur of voices.

"I say, can't you just shake him? Do you have to punch his blessed head off? Let him alone, I say!"

The sound of Freddy Farmer's voice suddenly cleared Dave's head and revived his senses. He awoke from a groggy sleep to find himself in the back seat of one of the armored cars. The German major was bending over him and punching him on the shoulder and snarling in his ear.

"Wake up, you American swine! Wake up, do you hear me? Wake up!"

At the other end of the seat Freddy Farmer was protesting angrily, helpless to do anything else but that. A German soldier standing by the side of the car was holding a Mauser muzzle against the English youth's chest. For a split instant Dave was tempted to pretend he was still asleep and lash out at the German major's chin, and apologize afterward. On second thought, though, he decided that might not be so good. So, instead, he groaned and sat up so that the German missed his next blow and struck the back of the seat.

"Hey, what's the matter?" Dave cried sleepily.

The German stopped punching and swore softly in German through clenched teeth. Dave could just see him vaguely, as it was dark all around, although there was the first grey streak of a new dawn in the east. It was then he realized that the murmur of sound he had heard in his sleep was caused by intense activity about him. The German mechanized column had completed its night march and was now "bedding down" for a new day. Trucks, tanks, and armored cars alike were being covered with strips of camouflage canvas that would render them invisible to aircraft above. Headquarters tents were being set up, and off to his right a couple of rolling kitchens were being made ready for the preparing of the early dawn mess for the officers and troops. The commands that flew back and forth were spoken in low tones, and every soldier seemed to know exactly what to do. It was a display of military efficiency plus, and once again Dave had to admit admiration for Nazi war technique.

At that moment he received a final blow from the German major.

"This is no sightseeing trip!" the officer barked at him. "Get out of this car, and come along with me. No wonder the British are losing the war. You seem to do nothing but sleep. Get out of this car, at once."

A blazing retort rose to Dave's lips, but he choked it back and climbed stiff-legged out of the car and down onto the sand. Freddy was pushed out beside him. He looked at his pal and grinned in the bad light.

"That shut-eye sure helped," he said to Freddy. "Anything happen? I think I must have popped off the instant we got under way."

"You did," Freddy replied. "Phew, you could sleep through a bombardment, I fancy. His Nibs didn't like it at all. He was full of conversation, and—"

Freddy suddenly received a blow in the middle of his back that sent him pitching headlong down onto the sand. Dave instantly leaped forward and helped him to his feet. The German major glared at the English youth and fingered his holstered Luger.

"Another insult and you'll get a bullet, British swine!" he hissed. "You forget I speak your filthy language."

"Do you?" Freddy echoed with icy calmness. "I hadn't noticed it, you know."

Dave set himself to leap in front of his pal in case the officer struck again. However, the German seemed to think better of it. Perhaps it was because the colonel came striding up at that moment. The commandant of the mechanized desert column ignored the major and peered at Dave and Freddy. Presently his flat moon-shaped face relaxed into a brief smile, and he nodded.

"So you got some sleep, eh?" he grunted. "That is good. Perhaps you will remember things a little bit better today. First, though, we must eat. Ninety-five miles is a long way, even in the cool of the night. Yes, we will all eat first."

The German nodded and turned to his major.

"Put them in one of the tents, and post a guard," he ordered. "Then report to me."

Without waiting for the junior officer to acknowledge the order, the colonel swung around on his heel and walked off. Dave still kept his muscles coiled and ready for action, but it proved unnecessary. The major's anger had cooled off. At any rate, the sudden appearance of the commanding officer had caused him to change his mind. He simply glared at Freddy for an instant and then gave a jerk of his head.

"Follow me!" he grated. Then to the guard who hovered close, "Walk behind them and use the muzzle of that gun if you have to."

A few moments later the two R.A.F. pilots were seated on the sand floor of a tent that had been set up on the eastern fringe of the camp. The front flap was left open, and they could look out at the guard pacing up and down in front of the tent and at most of the camp beyond. Dawn was coming fast, but the camouflage work had been completed, and the entire column was ready for another day of hiding from any patrolling British aircraft.

"They sure know their stuff!" Dave breathed softly. "Here we are right in the doggone camp, and we can hardly tell those covered over tanks from the sand. They must have been preparing for this a long time, what I mean!"

"I don't doubt it a bit," Freddy grunted moodily. "Thoroughness is a by-word with the Germans. Listen, Dave, what do you think—?"

Dave suddenly reached over and touched his arm.

"Take a look at that guard," Dave said in a loud voice. "Did you ever see such a funny-looking face in your life? And look at the way the slob carries his rifle. I bet he hasn't been in service over a couple of weeks. Bet he couldn't hit the back side of a barn door. What an awful-looking dope! Holy smoke! He's got a face even funnier looking than that dizzy boss of his, Hitler. Hey, Guard! You're all out of step, you fathead!"

"Dave, for cat's sake!" Freddy gasped.

The guard turned toward them, looked blank, then shrugged and continued his slow pacing up and down.

"Are you mad, Dave?" Freddy choked out. "You want a gun butt or a boot heel in your face?"

"Who, me?" Dave echoed, and grinned at him. "Of course not. I just wanted to see if the guy understands English. He doesn't. Now, what were you going to say?"

Freddy whistled softly and gave a little shake of his head.

"You certainly find out things a strange way!" he breathed. "Lucky for you he didn't understand English. He would have bashed you a good one for those insults, have no fear. What was I going to say? Blast it, I've forgotten. No! Wait a minute. What do you think of that colonel, Dave?"

"Dumb like a fox," Dave said slowly. "He had the wheels in his head working all the time. He's not even close to being satisfied about us. Yeah! I sure wish I were a mind reader. I'd like to know what this surprise he was hinting about is."

"I have an idea it is some kind of a trap," Freddy murmured with a frown. "He's jolly well up to something."

"Speaking of traps," Dave said, "thanks for not letting me step into that one he set when he pulled out that map. I was just about to point out some town. That would have let him know we understood German. You sure gave him a good line. By the way, where the heck are the Libyan towns of Amarir and El Siwa, anyway? Never heard of them."

"Me either," Freddy said, and grinned. "Just made them up. I think it worried him a bit, too. Out this way there're lots of little spots you don't hear mentioned once in a hundred years. Like all those islands in the South Pacific, the names seldom appear on maps because the places are too small. Yes, I think that German colonel spent a lot of time last night studying his maps and looking for Amarir and El Siwa."

"It sure was fast thinking, pal," Dave said. "My hat's off to you. We're in a jam, though, Freddy, and you and I've got to work fast. I can only guess where we are, but my guess is that we're not far from British-occupied ground. That means the surprise attack is going to be pulled pretty soon."

"I agree with you," Freddy said with a nod. "By the way, did you see that dispatch case of his? Those maps and papers? I have a feeling they could tell us all we want to know."

"I'll bet my shirt on it!" Dave said excitedly. "If we could only get hold of that dispatch case, and get us a plane, we'd—"

Dave cut himself off short and made a wry face at the vast stretches of desert he could see by simply raising his eyes and glancing out the front side of the tent.

"Sure!" he said presently with a bitter chuckle. "And if we had some ham we could have some ham and eggs, if we had some eggs! Nuts!"

The two boys lapsed into moody silence and stared unhappily at the guard marching slowly up and down in front of their prison tent. Then, suddenly, it happened! Perhaps it was just another of those mysterious coincidences so common in war, or perhaps Fate had been waiting for that exact moment. At any rate, the sound of a distant airplane engine suddenly came to the boys. They sat up straight, cocked their heads and stared hard at the shadowy dawn sky to the west.

"That's a Nazi ship!" Dave breathed excitedly. "I can tell the throb of a German Daimler-Benz engine with both ears stuffed with cotton."

"And it's a Messerschmitt," Freddy said, and pointed. "Look! Take a bead on that sand dune over there and then look up above it. See it? A Messerschmitt One-Ten. There! He's cut his engine and he's gliding down toward this camp."

"Not the ship we saw take off last night," Dave grunted as he found the plane in the sky and watched it glide downward and toward them. "That was a Messerschmitt One-Nine single seater. This is the Messerschmitt One-Ten three place job. Yeah, pilot, radio man, and gunner. Maybe they take turns contacting this desert headquarters. Boy! Seeing that ship certainly gives a guy thoughts, doesn't it, huh?"

Freddy simply nodded grimly and said nothing. The plane was very low, now, and sliding in to land in full view of their prison tent. As it slowly settled down onto the sand, they suddenly saw the German colonel and the major run out to the spot where the Messerschmitt was braked to a stop. There were only two figures in the plane. They climbed down at once and engaged in what appeared to the boys to be an excited conversation with the colonel. Dave wasn't sure, but twice he thought he noticed the column commandant half turn and shoot a look over their way.

The group talked for a few minutes, then moved away in the direction of the headquarters tent. When they had passed from view, Dave turned his head and smiled sadly at Freddy.

"Look at that plane just over there!" he said with a happy sigh. "They've even left the prop ticking over. Gosh, what I wouldn't give for a chance to—"

He left the rest hanging in midair and stared unhappily at the flat-faced guard walking up and down. The man carried a Mauser rifle in the crook of one arm, and there was a long-barreled Luger in the holster at his belt. He looked as though his thoughts were a million miles away, but Dave was quite positive the man was on the alert and ready for any sudden action of their part.

A moment later a second guard appeared with a couple of mess tins of food. Hardly looking at the two boys, he set the mess tins down inside the tent and then stepped up to the guard.

"We are all to report at Herr Colonel's tent at once," he said in German. "Come along."

To the utter amazement of the boys, the two Germans walked away and disappeared around a group of camouflage-covered tanks in the direction of the headquarters tank. Two moments of tingling silence ticked by, and then Freddy grabbed Dave by the arm.

"A perfect chance, Dave!" he whispered excitedly. "Not one of the beggars in sight. Let's make a run for that Messerschmitt and be off. What utter fools they are to give us this chance!"

Dave was already scrambling up onto his feet, but upon hearing Freddy's last words something seemed to grab hold of him; seemed to freeze him motionless for a brief instant and then push him down onto the sand. Freddy half turned and stared at him as though he had suddenly gone crazy.

"What's the matter?" the English youth gasped. "Are you paralyzed? Come on, Dave! No telling when they'll come back."

Dave shook his head, took hold of Freddy's arm and pulled him down onto the sand.

"Nix, Freddy!" he admonished. "Sit down and start eating. The hunch just hit me right between the eyes. This is it, Freddy!"

"This is what?" the English youth demanded angrily. "Listen, Dave, if—"

"Shut up, and eat!" Dave cut him off. "This is the surprise. I'm sure of it. The colonel's little surprise. Don't you get it? They don't believe our story about the British plane crashing, and the two fellows in it burning up. They think we're those two chaps. Get it? So that Messerschmitt is the colonel's little trap. I'll bet you every dollar I ever hope to have that they're waiting and watching for us to make a break for that plane, and have got a couple of machine guns trained on it in the bargain. It's up to us to fool them, and stay put."

The annoyance and anger slowly and reluctantly faded from the English youth's eyes. He looked at Dave, then looked sadly out at the plane.

"Of course you're right, Dave," he murmured after a moment or two. "I'm a blasted fool, and almost ran us into something. Yes, you're dead right, Dave. Oh, well, let's eat. At least that's something to do!"

They had been eating for about ten minutes when their guard suddenly appeared in front of the tent. He glared at them for an instant and then motioned with one of his hands.

"Herr Kommandant wants to see you," he said in German. "Come!"

The two boys didn't move a muscle. They simply looked blank and puzzled until the guard made motions that even a blind man would have understood. Then they slowly got to their feet and walked out of the tent.