"This is getting me down, and giving me a sweet pain in the neck!" Dave groaned, and rolled over on the grass. "Do you think that Major Barber has forgotten us?"

Freddy Farmer opened his eyes just to show that he was awake, and sighed contentedly.

"Does it really matter?" he murmured. "Personally, this suits me quite nicely, thank you."

Dave scowled and contemplated jabbing Freddy in the ribs. But his pal looked so perfectly relaxed that he didn't have the heart to. So he simply deepened his scowl.

"Fine guy, you are!" he growled. "A week ago you were as keen as mustard about what Major Barber cooked up for us. And now? Now you're just a lazy bum!"

Freddy opened one eye and glared.

"That's a downright lie, my good man!" he snapped. "I got a Messerschmitt One-Nine yesterday, didn't I? And one of those new Focke-Wulf One-Nineties the day before? What more do you want?"

"Action!" Dave grunted, and stared brooding-eyed at the row of Spitfires on the near side of the field. "I admit it's swell to be serving with an R.A.F. fighter squadron again. It's okay, but—but, doggone it, we didn't come way over here for this! Even Group Captain Farnsworth agreed with that. But it's been a whole week now since we arrived here. I'm beginning not to know what to think, or hope."

"Then don't do either," Freddy commented sleepily. "Terrible strain on the brain, you know. Must confess, though, I've been wondering a little myself, in odd moments. Does seem a bit queer we haven't heard from Major Barber. Could be that the whole show, whatever it was, was called off."

"There you go!" Dave groaned. "Always taking the joy out of life. Me, I've almost talked myself into getting in touch with Major Barber and finding out what's what."

"I wouldn't," Freddy cautioned. "Doubtless you'd be told off quite properly. The Major struck me as that sort of a chap. If and when he wants us, we'll be sure to hear about it, I fancy."

Dave groaned again and sat up straight. A strong feeling of having been cheated out of something was gnawing at him. He knew that he shouldn't feel that way. As a member of an R.A.F. fighter squadron it was his job to concentrate solely on his work, and let all other things go hang. A soldier must be all soldier no matter what his duty, or where he had to perform it.

Yes, sure. That was all very well. But too many intangible things had happened to let his mind stay at rest, and his attention to stick to the daily sweeps across the Channel to Occupied France that he took part in. There had been something big, very big, in the wind. Was it still so? Or had that sleepy Freddy Farmer spoken the truth about the whole business having been called off? It was a tantalizing thought, like a termite in his brain. And the galling part of it all was that there really wasn't a single thing that he could do about it, or should do about it, if he had any sense. Start fishing around Major Barber and he might end up by getting bounced back to the States. It was for him simply to—

The rest was cut off short as the raid alarm rang in the Operations Hut. He and Freddy sprang to their feet as one man, and went tearing over. The rest of the pilots on "stand to alert" reached there at the same time. Squadron Leader Parkinson stuck his head out the door, and barked the orders.

"Five Heinkels sighted coming across! Twenty thousand. Course, north-northwest. Get after the beggars!"

Dave and Freddy wheeled with the others to dash for their planes, but stopped short as the Squadron Leader called them both back.

"Not you two chaps, this time," he told them. "Just received other orders for you. Buzz over to Horsham Commando H.Q. Take one of the squadron cars. You're to report to a Yank Major. Barber is the name. Better hop along at once. He sounded urgent over the phone. Glad to have had you with us for the short spell. Luck, chaps!"

The Squadron Leader ducked back inside to continue with his raid alarm duties. Dave and Freddy just looked at each other, then spun around and tore over to the motor park. They were expected, for the Corporal in charge pointed out a fast R.A.F. Daimler, and swung open the gates for them. Dave dived in beside the wheel, waited just long enough for Freddy to light beside him, and then kicked the engine into life and slipped it into gear. Three minutes later they were on the winding dirt road that eventually finished up in the Southeast English town of Horsham.

"Hot dog!" Dave cried happily, and boosted the speed up another ten miles. "I guess this is really it, this time, pal!"

"It won't be, if you hit a tree!" Freddy cried, and grabbed for a strong hold as Dave took the next turn. "Be careful and stop playing speed demon. Five or ten minutes longer won't make any difference!"

"Will to me!" Dave laughed, and held his speed rate. "Can't wait to find out what the Major has to say to us. Gosh! And I was beginning to think—! Oh well! Everything is wonderful, now. So why bother with the past?"

"Quite!" Freddy snapped sarcastically. "Blast to the past. Just concentrate on this winding road, if you possibly can. I've got enough grey hairs, as it is."

"What do you think it'll be, Freddy?" Dave asked, ignoring his last remark. "I mean, what do you think he'll have to say to us?"

"Haven't the faintest idea," the English air ace replied. "But I have a feeling it won't be all sugar and honey. Everybody's been too deep down serious about things to suit my fancy. Particularly the Major's reference to the little extra job for us. We've been detailed little extra jobs before. Only they weren't little!"

"So what?" Dave laughed. "Wouldn't be getting the wind up, would you, pal?"

"Certainly!" Freddy threw at him. "And your gay eagerness doesn't fool me a bit. You're a little jittery inside yourself."

"And how!" Dave agreed instantly. "The heart's got a swell case of jitters, if you must know. Always like that when things are mysterious and unexplained. But war is no pink tea, hey, Freddy?"

"Not a bit of it!" the English youth replied with feeling. "Our job, though, is to do the best we can—while we can."

"Atta boy!" Dave cried, and took a hand off the wheel to press his friend's knee. "The old fight, always. You're making me feel better, now. Bring on your mysterious assignment! What do Farmer and Dawson care?"

"I'd hate to tell you," Freddy grunted, and lapsed into brooding silence.

In another few minutes the car streaked over the crest of the last hill, and down there in the shallow valley was the town of Horsham. At first glance it was nothing but another town, like any one of thousands of English towns. But on second glance Dave spotted lots of little things that made Horsham just a bit different. Man-made things, to be exact. Woods completely surrounded the town, only not all were woods. Mostly it was perfect camouflaging that concealed from prying Nazi eyes flying above the tremendous amount of activity that was taking place.

It concealed the row upon row of Commando tents. It hid the various groups of Commandos going through attack preparations and practice. It concealed the long lines of motor trucks that would carry them to embarkation points. It concealed a countless number of things. But on second glance Dave saw quite a bit of what was hidden, and his heart started hammering against his ribs, and the blood surging through his veins. If there was a last stop before the great adventure, whatever it was, Horsham must certainly be it.

Fully convinced of that fact, Dave eased off the Daimler's speed a bit, and went down the slanting road and into the town. They had to stop to ask the location of H.Q., but after that they found it with no trouble at all. It was located in a picturesque two story grey stone house on the far side of the town. An armed sentry came forward as Dave braked the car to a halt. He learned their identities, told them to wait, and went inside. He was out again in less time than it takes to tell about it.

"You are to go in, at once," he said, and saluted with his rifle at present arms.

Dave and Freddy climbed down out of the Daimler, and went up the stone steps into the house. A sentry stationed inside pointed at the open door to the right. They stepped through it and snappily saluted Major Barber, who sat half hidden behind a huge desk piled high with maps and what not. He smiled and rose to greet them.

"Leave any rubber on those tires?" he asked, glancing at his wrist watch. "You certainly got over here fast. You were driving, weren't you, Dawson?"

Dave grinned and went pink.

"Guilty, sir," he said. "But I was in a hurry. For a whole week, now—"

"I know," the Major stopped him. "But wars aren't won in a day. I suspected you'd be wondering yourselves sick, but there were other things to take care of first. Sit down, though. Sit down and relax. It's time you learned a few things about when the balloon goes up."

Dave and Freddy seated themselves in chairs, but neither of them relaxed even a little bit. They sat on the edges of their chairs, and fixed their gaze unwaveringly on the U. S. Commando Chief. He let them sit in tingling silence a moment or two while he seemed to collect his thoughts and choose his words. Eventually, he leaned forward on the edge of his desk with his elbows, and locked the fingers of his two hands together. He spoke quietly, but there was a firmness to his voice that sent Dave's heart beat mounting upward.

"Tomorrow night we are making a combined United Nations Commando raid on a section of France which, if it is pulled off successfully, will leave the Nazis hanging on the ropes for quite some time to come. In fact, there is every possibility, and hope, that this raid will open the door wide for a general United Nations invasion of the Continent."

The Major paused abruptly, and stared hard at Dave and then at Freddy.

"The attacking force," he continued a moment later, "will total close to fifteen thousand men. They will be men and officers from every branch of the services—air, land, and sea. The objectives to be aimed at total three times the number aimed at, and reached, in the combined Dieppe raid a short time ago. As a matter of fact, it has been all that's happened since the Dieppe raid that prompts us to launch this biggest one of all. The Dieppe raid scared Hitler silly, and his Generals, too. Shortly after the Dieppe raid large reenforcements were withdrawn from other active fronts and rushed to the French coast area. Naturally, United Nations Intelligence here and in France has given us complete details on the moves Hitler has made since Dieppe. One move is proof positive of how the Dieppe raid really affected him. Field Marshal von Staube, of the Army, and Luftwaffe Marshal von Gault, of the Air Force, are now in complete charge of operations in the Occupied France coastal zones."

The senior officer paused again, and Dave caught his breath in astonishment at the news. Von Staube and von Gault? If there were two men in all the Third Reich responsible for Adolf Hitler's blood-shedding successes across bowed Europe, those two were the ones. Von Staube and von Gault! The former the brains of the Army. The latter the brains of the Luftwaffe. Oh yes, and quite true! Their names seldom appeared in newsprint, or over the Berlin radio. Other names were featured. Other figureheads such as "Uncle" Goering received the publicity, and the praise for every triumph, big or small. But it was von Staube and von Gault who had made everything possible. And if they had been transferred to France—

"Then Hitler sure is worried, plenty worried!" Dave heard himself speak the thought aloud.

"No doubt about it!" Freddy Farmer echoed. Then, addressing the Major, he asked, "There is absolute proof of this, sir?"

"Absolute proof!" the senior officer replied emphatically, and picked up a small photo off the desk top and held it out. "Take a look. Taken the day before yesterday, and smuggled across to us. The uniforms will tell you which is which, in case you've never seen their pictures before."

It was a picture of two high ranking German officers standing beside the running board of a German Staff car, and obviously in deep conversation. The picture was not any too clear, because it had been taken at a distance with a long range lens. But it was clear enough for Dave and Freddy to recognize, from other pictures they had seen, the thin, cruel, hawkish face of Luftwaffe Marshal von Gault, and the beefy, moon-faced, thick-necked figure of Field Marshal von Staube. Dave handed the photo back without comment. But Freddy had another question.

"It was taken in Occupied France, sir?" he asked.

The Major held the photo up and pointed out the spire of a church that was faintly visible in the background. Part of it was missing as the result of an exploding shell.

"That's the church in the little village of Evaux," he said, "across the Seine River from Rouen. I recognize it, because I've been there many times since that shell struck. Matter of fact, I happened to see that shell do its work. It was a week before Dunkirk. No, don't worry. That picture was taken in Occupied France. And those buildings in back of them, but on this side of the church, are their combined Headquarters."

The Major nodded slightly for emphasis, and dropped the photo on the desk.

"A force of fifteen thousand men," he said a moment later. "Navy men, army men, and airmen. The time schedule has been worked out to the last split second. And the schedule has been checked and rechecked, I might add. At the first show of darkness tomorrow evening, navy vessels will take aboard the ground forces, at designated points along the south coast here. At the right moment the ships will put out into the Channel and proceed toward the French coast. At a designated time bomber flights will go over and blast all strong points for a thirty-five mile radius about the French coastal city of Le Havre. Le Havre will be the pivoting point of the entire raid. All operations will fan out north, south, and east from Le Havre.

"Fighter squadrons, of course, will go across to keep a protective cover over the bombers against Nazi night fighters—if any are able to get off and come up at them. Fighter squadrons will also protect transport planes filled with Commando Para-troops. Needless to say, each unit in the attack has its own time schedule, that dovetails in with the general schedule for the raid. And each unit, whether land, sea, or air, has its own individual objective to take and hold, or, as in many cases, to take and completely destroy. Clockwork is the keynote to the whole thing. Every man knows just what he is supposed to do, and what he's supposed not to do, incidentally. There will be losses, heavy losses, probably. But our losses will be nothing to what the Nazis will lose in man power, war materials—and morale!"

The Major paused for breath, and to think over his next words. It was all Dave could do to stop from squirming about on the edge of his chair. A hundred questions quivered on the tip of his tongue. But he had just enough sense to remain silent and bide his time. Soon enough the Major would tell Freddy and him what fighter flight they were to fly in. As a matter of fact, that bit of information was the next thing that came from the Yank Commando Chief's lips.

"You will go over with the squadron with which you are now stationed," he said. "The Two Hundred and Third Fighters, with Squadron Leader Parkinson in charge. That unit will go over as part of the cover for the Commando Para-troops. Parkinson will be supplied with his own time schedule, and will, of course, acquaint you with all those details later. Well, there you are. That's the general picture of the little surprise we'll have for Adolf Hitler tomorrow night. And if it comes off as we have planned, and as it must come off, this world will be a much better place to live in much sooner than most people expect. The Nazi high lords, in particular!"

As Major Barber seemed to pause for the last time, and leaned back in his chair, Dave was thrilling to the thought of so gigantic a raid, and such a devastating blow against the barbaric forces striving to conquer the civilized world. At the same time there was a certain feeling of frustration within him, a feeling of keen disappointment. It was as though he had been built up for a terrific let-down. He sneaked a glance at Freddy's face and could instantly tell from the expression he saw there that Freddy was not exactly one hundred per cent pleased himself. Dave hesitated a moment, and then took the bull by the horns.

"It should be something, and how, sir!" he said enthusiastically. "But back in New York, you mentioned something about a little extra job for Freddy and me. You still have one?"

Major Barber grinned and leaned forward again.

"I was wondering if you had forgotten that bit," he said with a chuckle. "Yes, there's still a little extra job for you two. But little is hardly the word. Your fighter plane unit will go as far inland as the village of Salernes, just north of Rouen. That's where your bunch of Commando Para-troops will step off, and go down. But you will not return to this side with the Two Hundred and Third Spitfires. You two will bear south and across the Seine to Evaux."

"Evaux?" Dave echoed, and gulped. "And when we get there?"

There was no grin on the Major's lips now. Neither was there a smile in his eyes.

"When you get there," he said in a calm, steady voice, "you will kidnap von Staube and von Gault and fly them back here to England. That is the little extra job that has been selected for you two to carry out. Think you'll like it, eh?"

For all the gold in the world Dave couldn't have spoken a single word at that moment. His head had seemed to fly up off his shoulders and go floating away. The rest of him was frozen to his chair as solid as Arctic ice. It was impossible for him to move, and doubly so for him to think. Kidnap Field Marshal von Staube, and Luftwaffe Marshal von Gault?