It seemed a lifetime to Dave before the ability to think fully returned, and three times as long before the power of speech was once again his. He turned his head slowly and stared at Freddy Farmer. The English youth was sitting like a statue of stone, eyes fixed on Major Barber, and blank amazement spread all over his face. In an abstract crazy sort of way the picture he saw made Dave think of somebody socked by a five pound blackjack loaded with buckshot. Freddy Farmer wasn't exactly out cold. But he might just as well have been.

"Did you hear what I heard, pal?" Dave finally compelled his lips to say.

Freddy jumped a little as though stuck with a pin, and turned to look at him.

"I don't know," he said in a rather vacant tone. "I could be mistaken. This could be just some crazy nightmare."

"It is," Dave grunted, and switched his gaze to Major Barber. "Only the nightmare part hasn't arrived yet. You're—you're not kidding, sir?"

Major Barber grinned and shook his head.

"No, Dawson," he said. "That was straight from the shoulder. But I don't blame you for going into a tail spin. I'll admit it's quite an order to hand out."

"Quite an order, he says!" Dave mumbled, and shook his head. "You wouldn't want us to pick up Adolf Hitler for good measure, would you, Major?"

The senior officer laughed and gestured with his two hands, palms upward.

"That would be nice," he said, "but I doubt that Adolf would ever get that close to possible activity. After all, he has to save himself for the future, you know. If little Yellow Belly, of the trick mustache, should get himself killed, what would become of the world? And he got wounded in the last war, you know. It's in the official German records. A gashed finger opening a can of beans, I think it was. No, we can skip Hitler. I'm not expecting too much of you fellows."

"Thanks," Dave grinned. "For a moment, I thought it was something that was really going to be tough. One question, though. I take it that von Staube and von Gault have agreed? They won't put up any objections when Freddy and I pop into their H.Q. and say, 'Let's go, boys'?"

Major Barber started fishing through his pockets. He finally sighed, stopped, and looked annoyed.

"Darned if I didn't lose that wire I got from them, okaying the whole business!" he said in mock seriousness. "I guess you'll just have to take my word for it that everything is all arranged. All this kidding aside, though, if you two fellows think—"

"Just a minute, sir!" Freddy spoke up sharply. "That's just the point. I'm not yet back where I can think. But if you're imagining that we're refusing this little extra job, please dismiss it from your mind at once. Personally, I wouldn't miss it for anything in the world."

"And you can say that again for me, pal!" Dave echoed. Then, looking at the Major, "You just simply threw a curve when we were expecting a high, hard one. Heck, sir! We're all for the idea. Freddy and I have a little motto we try to stick to. It's: We'll try anything once, and maybe twice. So forget it. Count us in. I've heard of tougher assignments, though I don't just remember where, or when!"

The senior officer chuckled and gave them both a look of frank admiration that was almost as satisfying as receiving the Congressional Medal of Honor, or the Victoria Cross.

"Don't worry," he presently said quietly. "I didn't have half a doubt for even a second. I was simply getting a kick out of the way you two received my little bombshell. However, I must be deadly serious about this. It isn't an everyday assignment. You stand one chance of bringing back those two, and nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine chances of not living to see the next sun rise. There is one big thing in your favor, though, as regards pulling off this stunt successfully. It's that nobody but a wild-brained chap like me would ever think of trying it. In other words, the fact that it is practically impossible makes it just that much more possible. If you get what I mean?"

"Close enough, I guess," Dave grunted. "In other words, if and when we do show up at their H.Q., neither of them will think its strictly on the level. And while they are mentally fanning the air trying to get the picture, we'll have the perfect chance to grab them."

"Exactly," Major Barber said emphatically. "You could go in there dressed as Santa Claus and they wouldn't disbelieve you any less. However, I don't plan for you to pop in dressed up as a couple of Saint Nicks."

"Well, that's good news, anyway!" Freddy Farmer got out with a sigh of relief. "To get down to cases, though, sir, just what do you plan for us to do? Perhaps it would be better if we got on with that part of the business."

"Good old Freddy Farmer!" Dave chuckled. "Always has to find out things. Just can't wait."

"Well, I guess there's no sense in his waiting any longer," Major Barber grunted with a grin. "Or you either, Dawson. Yes, I have plans for you. Every move worked out in detail. Before I explain them, let me say this, though."

The Commando Chief paused, and all signs of merriment left his face. It became set and firm, and his eyes grave.

"The old saying about 'the best laid plans of mice and men,' and so forth, applies here very much," he went on presently. "I've plotted out every move you are to make, taking in, I hope, every little thing that might happen to the contrary. But that's exactly the point. I mean, something that I haven't even dreamed of may happen. And if it does, the chances are that your operating schedule will be knocked forty ways from Sunday, and you'll be strictly on your own, and in the keeping of God."

"That sort of thing has happened before, and we're still here," Freddy Farmer murmured, but with not the slightest trace or hint of boasting in his voice.

"And how!" Dave breathed softly, as for the instant his brain raced backward in memory. "Fact is, nothing has ever worked out exactly as we planned and expected. And I don't think it ever does."

"I'm making that thought unanimous!" Major Barber said grimly. "But we can always hope there'll be a first time. And I'm hoping this will be it. Now, edge up closer to this desk so's you can get a good look at this mosaic reconnaissance map of the area that concerns you two."

The Major waited while the two air aces hitched their chairs closer. Then he picked up a pencil and touched the tip of the sharpened point to the mosaic map.

"Your fighter squadron will cross over the French coast here, at Cany," he began. "It will proceed as transport plane escort, as I said, as far as Salernes on the northern fringe of Rouen. There the Para-troops will bail out and float down to take and destroy an objective assigned to them. Incidentally, it happens to be one of the largest airplane fuel depots in all of Occupied France. Anyway, when the Para-troops have gone down, the transport planes will turn and start back to England, with Parkinson's squadron still acting as escort. You two, however, will pull out and head south across Rouen, and on over the river to Evaux, here."

The Commando Chief put the pencil point on the location of the small French town, and then lifted his eyes to look at Dave and Freddy.

"One point I'd better mention," he said. "Squadron Leader Parkinson has no idea of what's been cooked up for you. Therefore you'll have to use your heads as to how you quit the squadron. You could go down as though shot, and keep radio silence in case he buzzes you as to what has happened. However, it'll still be pretty dark by then, so maybe you can just drop out, and that'll be that."

"We'll manage that part okay," Dave grunted. "Don't worry about that."

"I'm not," Major Barber said. "Too many other tricky things to worry about. Now, when you have crossed to the southern side of Evaux—here, where the Seine makes its biggest loop southward—you will both step out, and head down by parachute. Of course, searchlights may be probing around for you by then. And no doubt there'll be anti-aircraft stuff whizzing up at you. However, it'll be your job to get out of the searchlights and bail out. Before you leave, though, there'll be a little lever in each of your planes that you are to pull. Pulling that lever will touch off a fire bomb that will fire your plane exactly sixty seconds later."

"I get it!" Dave murmured. "So the anti-aircraft gunners will think they've made a couple of direct hits?"

"Right!" Major Barber told him. "Also, that you two have been instantly killed. As soon as your planes burst into flame the searchlights will swing that way, of course. But no pilots bailing out by parachute will be seen. So they'll believe what we want them to believe. Now comes the tricky part, and look closely at this mosaic map. You two should touch ground fairly close together. Ditch your parachutes, of course, check your directions by the compass each of you will carry, and make your way to this cluster of shell-shattered farm barns that you can see right here."

The Major paused while the two youths bent closer and had a good look at the cluster of shell-battered farm barns clearly pictured in the mosaic map.

"That shouldn't be hard, I don't fancy," Freddy Farmer said. "They're right in the center of the U formed by the Seine."

"That's it," Major Barber said with a nod. And then he continued, "When you meet, you will proceed due north for no more than two miles. At the end of two miles you will come to a dirt road. See it pictured there? And see that pile of rubble there? That was once a church until a Nazi Stuka came along in June of Nineteen Forty. There you will meet a German guard."

"And give him the works!" Dave said eagerly, as he thought of those five weeks of intensive Commando training.

"No, don't!" Major Barber caught him up sharply. "That German guard will be an American Intelligence officer posing as a Nazi. He's been in that area for over a month now. That's how long ago we started working out this little job for tomorrow night. He's your connecting link with all that happens from then on. Confound it! I skipped one of the most important items!"

The Commando Chief paused and snapped his finger in vexation.

"I forgot all about mentioning that stowed in your cockpits will be a Nazi uniform with all the insignia and markings of a German regiment stationed in that area," he went on. "Don't forget to take them with you when you bail out. And put them on when you touch ground. They're Ober-Leutnant uniforms, by the way. It'll be better for you to pose as a couple of officers so's you'll have the jump on any rank and file you might possibly bump into.

"Anyway, when you spot this German soldier walk up to him and say, 'Tell me the time, my watch is broken.' He will answer, 'But mine is broken, too.' By that answer you will definitely know that you have met the right man. He is to be known to you as Jones. So if you call him by any name, call him Jones. Anyway, he'll give you a picture of how things stand. He'll tell you exactly where the two Nazi big shots are at the moment. In which building of their H.Q., I mean. He'll tell you how many others are about. And he'll put before you a plan how to pull the others away so that you can make your little surprise visit on von Staube and von Gault. Most important of all, though, he will know the exact location of a Nazi Dornier Do. Seventeen that you two can use to cart your prisoners back here to England. Naturally, there is a small flying field close to the Evaux H.Q. that both von Staube and von Gault use, but not the whole Luftwaffe in general. Jones will have all the dope on that, and of course, he'll do everything he can to make your job easier. He has been groomed for his part to the nth degree. So have no worries that anything will slip up at his end. Once you have nailed von Staube and von Gault—and I suggest right here that you slug them good, and bind them right up with wire you'll be carrying—Jones will run the interference for you. That's a football expression, Farmer. You get what I mean?"

"Yes, sir," Freddy grinned. "Dawson, here, made me go to some of the games when we were in the States. In hot weather, too!"

"They weren't regular games, as I told you," Dave said with a laugh. "Just spring practice and scrimmages. But he knows what you mean, sir."

"Good," Major Barber grunted. "Well, I guess that's about all the points. We'll go over them later, of course. Several times, until you have each little detail down pat. One last thing, though, about arriving back here in England. Try to make Two Hundred and Three's airdrome. There'll be certain parties there to take over your prisoners. And of course, when you cross over English ground be sure and put on all your navigation lights. And keep flashing the letter M with your signal light. That'll stop any anti-aircraft shells from coming up to greet you. Well, I guess that's about it. Are there any questions? Any part of the plan that strikes you as not measuring up to snuff?"

Neither Dave nor Freddy said anything. For the moment they were too busy with their own thoughts to ask any questions. And their thoughts were indeed in high gear. To Dave the whole thing looked easy as apple pie. Every step they would take had been carefully thought out and considered from every angle. It would almost be like acting out a book they had read; knowing exactly what to do next, and how it would all come out in the end.

Yes, it seemed a cinch. But that was exactly the point. Cold, hard common sense, and the memory of experience, told him that it wasn't going to be any cinch. Far, far from it. The eerie tingling sensation that rippled through the back of his neck was all the proof of that statement he needed. Plan, and plan, and plan. It made no difference how much, or how long, you planned. There was always that unknown something, that unexpected something, lingering in the background. It would pop up at you, as sure as man is a foot high. And when it popped—

Dave didn't bother finishing the rest of that thought. He drove it from his mind, and glanced at Freddy Farmer. He could see that their thoughts were very mutual indeed.

"Got anything you want to ask, Freddy?" he said.

The English-born air ace frowned, and then shook his head.

"No, can't think of a question at the moment," he murmured. "It's all expertly cut and dried. All we have to do is follow the instructions. No, I haven't any questions."

"That goes for me, too, sir," Dave grinned at the Commando Chief. "The only thing left, now, is to pull it off. And of course, we'll both pitch our arms off to do just that."

"And, please God, may your arms hold out!" the Major said fervently.