Although Dave kept his face grim, and his eyes fixed steadfastly upon von Staube and von Gault, that did not mean he was all calm and collected inside. Indeed, he was far from that. Out of a clear blue sky Freddy Farmer had popped up with something else that didn't make sense at first glance. What in thunder did Freddy want with that Luftwaffe pilot out in the hall? Matter of fact, why had Freddy spared the youth a crack behind the ear in the first place? Did Freddy—?

Dave caught his breath as a sudden thought came to him. Did this bit of crazy business have something to do with the Messerschmitts and the Dornier Seventeen over at the east end of the field? But just what, and how? True, Dave realized now that it was Freddy's plan to herd their two important prisoners out the back way, and make a dash for the Dornier. But why fool around with the Luftwaffe pilot? Why not just slug him and get going with the prisoners? Why wait? The dawn sky was getting brighter by the minute. Their only hope of making this crazy venture come out right was to do it while there was still some darkness of night on their side. Sure! The instant they got von Staube and von Gault out the back way, they would slug them into peaceful unconsciousness, and carry them like sacks of wheat over to the Dornier—hoping against hope that the bad light would shield them from the other Germans about the field.

But what a bold, brazen, and perfectly executed stunt Freddy Farmer had pulled off so far. Like reaching into a hat and producing miracles. It had taken cold courage for Freddy to go through with his wildcat idea. But it had worked. The very fact that any sane brain would have considered it absolutely impossible had been the one great thing in Freddy's favor. A magnificent bluff so expertly acted out that it had been much too late to do anything by the time its victims had seen through it. If Freddy Farmer never did another single thing in this war, he would still have set an all time high for steel nerves and brazen bravery. That confounded Luftwaffe Captain, though! Where in thunder did he come into the picture? Why get two of them over here, and put only one of them out of the action? It didn't—

A muffled shouting and other sounds in the hall outside the door curled fingers of ice about Dave's heart. He started to turn, but checked himself in the same split second as he saw von Staube and von Gault stiffen.

"Relax!" he told them in their own tongue. "Just hold everything—or else!"

He bounced the Commando knife in the palm of his left hand, and that was all the two Germans needed to kill any sudden decision they might have made. It was more than enough. Dave's gun they didn't mind staring at. But his Commando knife seemed like a swaying cobra's head before their eyes. They couldn't take it, and didn't make another move.

One—two—three minutes dragged by, like a fly crawling through molasses. Dave's nerves strained and twanged inside of him. His heart came up into his throat and stayed there. He watched his two prisoners with one eye, and kept the other on the hallway door. What had happened? Did Freddy need help? Should he leave these two and race out to Freddy's assistance? After all, their luck must be at the snapping point. Everything had gone off too smoothly, too easily. That wasn't the usual way of things in war. Something was bound to crack, and always did. The gods had to have their little laugh. Should he go outside to give Freddy a hand?

Those and hundreds of other questions flew through Dave's brain. He hesitated in soul-searing indecision, and then suddenly the hall door opened and Freddy Farmer came leaping into the room. His face was just a little pale, but there was a brittle gleam in his eyes. He waved a sealed envelope at the two high ranking Germans.

"A dispatch just arrived," he said. "I took it from the chap for you. Sorry, but we've no time for this sort of thing."

And with that Freddy tore the sealed envelope in half, and tossed the two halves on the floor.

"Freddy, that pilot!" Dave asked. "What—"

"Sleeping," the English youth cut him off. "No use for him, now. The dispatch chap is keeping him company. Front door locked, so no one will come in that way."

"Then for the love of Mike let's get going!" Dave cried. "You're wonderful, pal, but don't force your luck. Boy! Will you be snowed under with medals!"

Freddy didn't say anything for a moment. It was as though he hadn't even heard Dave's words. He stood with feet planted apart, and his weight thrown forward on his toes, and his head cocked to one side. Anger blazed up in Dave. He was about to speak again when he thought he heard the sound of aircraft engines. He wasn't sure, and in the next instant he had forgotten all about it. Freddy Farmer had snapped out of his trance and was getting into motion.

"Right-o, Dave!" he said, and advanced on the two Germans. "Take von Gault, Dave. I'll handle the other. Up, you two! Time to move. And remember! A Commando means exactly what he says—or promises. It's a sort of an oath, you know!"

Freddy had slid around in back of von Staube and pricked the back of the Field Marshal's neck with the needle point of his Commando knife. The German felt the pain, and gasped.

"Ja, ja!" he babbled out. "I do as you say. We do as you order. We are your prisoners."

"Quite!" Freddy reminded him in a grating voice. "Now, come along. Through this rear door. If we meet anybody, tell him to return to his office. Only that, remember! He won't see my knife, but you'll feel it, my good man! Never fear! Let's go, Dave!"

Walking on the Field Marshal's right, and a respectful half step to the rear, so that he could keep the point of his knife pressed against the back of the Nazi's tunic, and not have it seen from in front, the English youth guided his prisoner over to the rear door of the room, and opened it. Dave took the same position with his prisoner and sent him forward at Freddy's heels. With nobody saying a word, the party passed through the door, across a room that had once been the kitchen of the house, and out through the outside rear door.

With every step Dave took he was filled with the nerve-tingling sensation that he was walking on TNT charges with the fuses already lighted. With every passing second he felt sure that he and Freddy were just acting out some dream, a crazy nightmare that would explode in a roar of sound at any moment. He told himself that he wasn't afraid to die. That wasn't why he was shivering inwardly, and beads of hot sweat were trickling down his ribs. No, it wasn't fear of death. It was a fear that this really was only a nightmare. That it was only a miracle that had never actually happened. You just didn't walk into a Nazi Headquarters and walk out with two of their biggest big shots. You simply didn't do that sort of thing! It just didn't ever happen, not even in those wild blood and thunder war magazines. In fact, you were a little nuts even to dream about such things!

Yet, all that to the contrary, it was true! It was taking place. They were out in the dawn air now. There was a lot of light to the east. Some shadows of spent night still lingered, but not many. There were some trees in back, on the other side of a seventy foot open space. If they could cross to those trees! They'd be in the shadows, then. They could follow along under the trees and circle around to the east end of the small drome where the Dornier was. They could steal upon the guards, and—

It was then that Dave suddenly was conscious of the fact that there were sounds of revving aircraft engines. He could tell by the throbbing note that they were German engines. German airplanes on the ground. German airplanes at the east end of the little flying field!

He started slightly, and his knife accidentally went forward a fraction of an inch. It slid through the cloth of von Gault's tunic, and through the clothes he wore underneath. It went all the way through and into his flesh a little. He gasped out a stifled sob.

"Please! No! I beg you!" he moaned. "Please, I am your helpless prisoner! I make no move to escape!"

Dave hardly heard him. His ears were filled with the sound of the revving aircraft engines. There must be other Nazi pilots about! They were getting ready to take the craft up into the air. Perhaps this was a part of some schedule that Freddy and he knew nothing about. Was their only avenue of escape going to fly away? They couldn't hope to march these two Germans to the nearest bunch of Commandos. The nearest point where they would find Commandos was miles away, far over on the other side of the Seine River.

"Freddy!" he choked out on the spur of the moment.

But that's as far as he could get.

"Quite all right, Dave!" his pal cut him off quickly. "Our chaps warming up the engines as arranged. We'd better put on a bit of speed. Mustn't keep them waiting."

Dave knew that he was prodding his prisoner across the space of open ground at an increased rate. He knew that Freddy and von Staube were speeding up also. He knew that they reached the shelter of the trees without incident of any kind. But they were all bits of snap realization that flipped through his brain. What filled his brain most was a great dawning light which had burst on him at Freddy Farmer's words. Those engines revving up were the Dornier's, of course! And Freddy knew it! He expected it! And—and he had arranged it. But how? Holy smoke! That Luftwaffe pilot he had herded out into the hall? But Freddy certainly hadn't sent that Jerry pilot over to start up the Dornier's engines and get them warm. Freddy had said the Luftwaffe Captain was "sleeping" in the hallway. So—?

The thought was ended right then and there for Dave. At that exact instant there came a roar of anger and blazing rage from around in front of the H.Q. building they had just quit. The roar came a split second after a crashing sound, a crashing and splintering that made Dave's heart quiver and then freeze up solid. He didn't know the true facts, but his guess was good enough for him.

Some of the Germans, maybe an arriving high ranker, had tried the H.Q. front door and found it locked. So the door had been smashed in and Germans knew now that von Staube and von Gault had been swiped right from under their noses. And if they didn't know the exact details, they would as soon as they had ungagged and revived those inside the place. It was the way it always happened! The gods had to have their laugh. Freedom and success were almost within hands' reach, and now suddenly everything seemed about to be wiped clean from the slate.

"Get speed out of that slob, Freddy!" Dave barked, and gave his own prisoner a vicious jab. "Jig's up. Speed's the only thing. Get that slob going, or slice him up. No time to waste words, now!"

Freddy Farmer didn't reply. He simply went into action. His needle pointed knife drew blood from von Staube's back. Perhaps the German's courage returned for a moment. Perhaps he was actually going to turn and throw his wrist-bound body at Freddy, perhaps even cry out. But the knife digging into his back was the breaking of the last straw. The big fat hulk gurgled out a moan of pain, and then tripped and went sprawling to the ground in a dead faint. Unable to check himself or his own prisoner, Dave and von Gault plowed into the pair in front, and everybody went sprawling.

And behind them in the shadows German voices screamed out commands to each other, and the fading night was filled with the snarl and crackle of random gunfire!