When the German Captain slammed shut the door behind him, and there were sounds of his footsteps along the hall outside, Dave slowly let locked air from his lungs and stole another glance at Freddy Farmer. The English-born air ace still stood at rigid attention, but there was not even a flicker of fear in his face. His expression was one of perfect coolness and calmness. It was as though he went through this sort of thing every day in the week, and doing it again were just a wee bit boring.

The two German high rankers stared at Freddy in sullen anger. But it was plain to see that neither of them had the desire to exert their supreme authority at the moment. In fact, it was a perfect picture of the Nazi system. The Army Staff vs the Gestapo. And the Gestapo was holding the whip hand because of events which had taken place in the past. Perhaps some day, when the Army Staff was sitting in the saddle, and was Adolf Hitler's favorite for the moment, Gestapo heads would drop like apples shaken from the tree. Right now, though, the Gestapo was the so-called power behind the throne. And so von Staube and von Gault were feeling their way—cautiously.

However, nuts to the German Army Staff! And likewise, nuts to the Gestapo! What was Freddy Farmer's game? What crazy insane goal did he think he was shooting at, anyway? Darn him for not giving out a single hint, or a tip-off. The least Freddy could do would be to shoot him a quick look that would tell him a little something. But, no! Freddy was acting as though he didn't know that Dave existed.

Worry and anger boiled around in the Yank-born air ace. Past friendship and experience told him, or at least tried to tell him, that Freddy hadn't suddenly blown his top; that he wasn't crazy, and knew exactly what he was doing. But if Dave only had some idea, then he would know how to play his part. But this waiting, this nerve-tingling silence! Dave wondered a little if he weren't going crazy himself. He swallowed and pressed his wrist comfortingly against the small gun in his pocket. And he pressed the upper half of his other arm against the hardness of his sheathed Commando knife hanging from his shoulder under his German tunic. If worse came to worse, he—

At that moment Freddy Farmer suddenly had a fit of coughing. He bent over a little and put one hand to his mouth. The two Germans looked at him in a sort of cold delight. But Dave didn't notice their looks. His gaze was fixed on Freddy. And suddenly his heart gave a great leap, and tingling warmth shot through him. Freddy had turned his head slightly, and for the fraction of a second their eyes met. But it was long enough for Dave to catch the quick half wink; to see the second and third fingers of Freddy's other hand quickly cross and uncross.

True, it told Dave nothing of his pal's game. But that didn't matter too much, now. At least he knew for sure that Freddy was playing a wild game, and that he was not completely crazy. There was method in his apparent madness, and he had signalled to Dave to be ready for anything, and to pray hard for a bit of luck.

Freddy had gained control of his coughing when the door opened and the Captain came in with the two Luftwaffe pilots. They were both young, and not bad-looking—for Germans. They clicked their heels and practically jerked themselves apart saluting von Staube and von Gault.

The Nazi Field Marshal simply answered with a grunt, and then fixed his angry eyes on Freddy's face.

"Captain Kohle, and Lieutenant von Stebbins," he said in a voice that was mostly a snarl. "Ask them your questions, but be quick about it. We soldiers have still a battle to fight!"

Freddy nodded stiffly, then backed up a few steps to a point where he could get a better look at the two new arrivals. As a matter of fact, he backed up to a point where he commanded an unobstructed view of the entire room. And also a point that put him not two feet from Dave's side.

"Ready, Dave! Gun and knife!"

Had Freddy spoken? Or was it a trick of his imagination? The thought question flashed through Dave's brain. And then he saw the lightning-like movements of Freddy Farmer's hands. A gun appeared in the English youth's right hand, and his Commando knife appeared in his left, perfectly gripped and balanced to be shot forward like a flash of light. In the next instant Dave had his own gun and Commando knife out, and he was listening to Freddy's even voice tossing words at the dumbfounded, stunned quintet of Nazis.

"Not a move, if any of you want to live! We're Commandos! There are others outside. This whole area is surrounded by Commandos. If you want to resist, go ahead. We've been training a long time for this little occasion. You! Don't move!"

The last was because the German Staff Captain had half jerked up one arm. It was probably an impulsive gesture of terror. If it wasn't, terror was most certainly on his face a split instant later. Freddy Farmer's left hand shot forward with a twisting, whipping motion. And the Commando knife wasn't there any more. It was a streak of light that went across the room and pinned the sleeve of the German Captain's tunic to the wall. The Nazi looked at it, and almost fainted. The other four gasped in terror.

"Commandos!"

Field Marshal von Staube half choked and half sobbed out the words. Freddy gave him a cold hard stare, then calmly walked around in back of Dave, so as not to block off his Yank pal, and went over to the German Captain and jerked his knife free.

"Yes, Commandos!" he barked at the Field Marshal. "With a job to do, one way or the other. Which way is up to you. Dave! There're two of these beggars we don't need. This Captain and the young pilot Lieutenant. Take care of them, will you, while I keep an eye on the others?"

Freddy didn't look at Dave as he quietly spoke the words in English. But he didn't have to. Dave knew exactly what was needed of him. And whether it made sense didn't matter. It was still Freddy Farmer's party, and he had gone through too many war experiences with his English pal to bother asking questions until afterward. And so, careful not to get into Freddy's line of fire, he quickly circled about the room to the German Captain. The Nazi's eyes were glazed with terror, and then they were closing shut as he folded silently to the floor. Dave's swift, neat clip behind the ear with the barrel of his gun would have brought words of praise from any Commando. But Dave wasn't expecting praise, or even thinking about it. He took another step and repeated the little maneuver on the Luftwaffe Lieutenant. As he pulled wire and gags from his pocket, and started to bend down, Freddy stopped him.

"We might need that chap's tunic, Dave. Strip it off, first."

Dave did that little thing. And then, in less time than it takes to tell about it, he bound and gagged both unconscious Germans, and rolled them over against the wall.

"Who's next, Doctor?" he asked, straightening up and grinning at Freddy. "What next?"

The English youth didn't answer. His gaze was riveted on the two German high rankers, and the youthful Luftwaffe Captain. The latter seemed on the point of dropping into a dead faint. Freddy Farmer's little Commando knife trick had obviously drained every drop of courage from his body. It was not so, however, with von Staube and von Gault. True, they were not moving a single muscle, and there was a marked trace of fear in their eyes. Just the same they were trained and seasoned soldiers. They were not completely cowards in the face of death. As Dave snapped a glance their way, his heart turned over, and his mouth went a bit bone dry. The two high rankers seemed to be silently gauging their chances. They seemed to be deciding just what move to make first. Dave gripped his gun tighter, and beat back the revolting thoughts that tried to crowd into his brain. If it was to be cold-blooded murder, then so be it. He and Freddy were Commandos now. And Commandos give no quarter, and ask none. The job is the thing. The method of performing it is secondary!

"You will not leave here alive! You realize that, don't you, you swine Commandos?"

It was von Staube who spoke, but Dave instantly noticed that the Nazi high ranker was careful not to speak in his natural booming voice. He wanted to be brave, but he wanted less—to die.

"Of course we realize it!" Freddy Farmer told him quietly. "We realized that before we even started across tonight. But let me point out something, Herr Field Marshal, and Herr Luftwaffe Marshal. You are both seasoned soldiers, so you will understand about men obeying orders. We were ordered to capture you two, and deliver you to our commanding officer who waits not half a mile from this spot. We were ordered to capture and deliver you, or—or to deliver evidence that you would no longer be of any use to your Fuehrer!"

Silence settled over the room as Freddy finished. The muscles of each German's face twitched, but Dave was quick to see that they weren't quite completely impressed. He saw a part he could play, and he was quick to take advantage of it while the two Nazi Marshals were on the uneasy seat. He stepped forward quickly, and whipped down with his Commando knife. It twanged into the desk top between the third and fourth fingers of von Gault's left hand that happened to be resting motionless on the desk. The Luftwaffe Marshal gasped, but swallowed the cry of fright as Dave's gun came within ten inches of his thin, hawkish nose.

"Your left hand, and his, too!" Dave grated, and jerked his knife free. "You each wear a Nazi Staff ring. Your left hands, still wearing the ring, and the insignia from your tunics, will be evidence enough to convince our commanding officer that we have fulfilled our mission."

"Quite!" Freddy added in a brittle voice. "True, we may be killed as we race to reach our unit hiding in the woods. But that's the chance we take. They will reach our dead bodies, at least. And our commanding officer will see the severed hands, and the Staff rings, and the insignia from your tunics. He will know that we have performed our assignment."

"Why waste time?" Dave suddenly asked impatiently, and gestured with his Commando knife. "These two don't fear death that much. They'd never agree to the other way."

Dave was only making blind shots in the dark, but he prayed that Freddy wouldn't speak. And his prayer was answered. Freddy didn't say a word. He simply kept staring at the Germans and let the torment of silence do its stuff. And it did, right up to the hilt. Dave could almost look inside the skulls of the two Germans, and see the wheels spinning over. It was a case of the shoe being on the other foot, for those two. Hideous slaughter, and death, were part of their training. But it was something that they ordered, or performed. To torture and maim beyond the point of human endurance was fun for them. They loved it. It was a major part of their rotten lives; their vile existence on earth.

But the shoe was on the other foot now. They were to be on the receiving end of their own type of work. They weren't up against trained soldiers who killed, or captured, and sent their prisoners to a war camp. They were up against a new kind of enemy in this war. The Commando! The Commando trained to fight them at their own kind of battle, but with far, far more devastating effect. The Commando! The very name struck terror these days to any German's heart. Motionless shadows in the night who killed you before you could part your lips to cry out. Black phantoms who came and went like flashes of lightning. Tough men, hard as nails, who pressed triggers and then took a look to see what they'd bagged. And a good many times they didn't even bother to look. The Commando! The warrior who carried death in either hand, and could let it fly from any angle, and in any spot!

That's what Dave saw those two German high rankers thinking. He saw the fear mount in them. The first signs were a faint twitching of the lips, then throat muscles swallowing, and then fingers quivering slightly. And lastly, beads of sweat becoming too heavy, and trickling downward over the skin of their faces. Yes, the Germans were trained soldiers. They could not be classed as rank cowards. They did have a courage of their own. But this? The shoe was on the other foot, this time!

"What is the other way?" von Staube suddenly croaked at Dave.

The Yank let him stew a little longer, and then spoke to Freddy without turning his head.

"You tell him," he said. "You're in command here."

"Quite a simple way," Dave heard his English pal say. "You can come with us, if you don't wish us to take the evidence with us."

Both Germans smiled. They were suddenly very relieved and happy. Dave had a funny feeling in the middle of his stomach, but Freddy spoke again, and the funny feeling went away.

"Pleases you, eh?" the English youth murmured. "Sorry, but it won't work out quite that way. No one will see us leave. That is, I hope not, for your sakes. This rear door—we're leaving that way. If we meet anybody, you will be wise to do nothing. Not a sign or a look. We will be with you, very close. You see these Commando knives? We spent hours sharpening them. Quite a scientific process, you know. And so effective. The blade goes in and up at a slant, just missing the backbone. The needle tip punctures the heart. Not too much, of course. They trained us thoroughly, you know. And—But why should I explain to you two? You know all about that sort of thing, of course. Death comes so slowly—and so frightfully painfully. Worse than a bullet in the stomach, they say. Of course, if that has to happen, then my comrade and I will have to shoot whoever is in our way—collect our bits of evidence as quickly as we can—and run for it. I fancy we'll make it close enough to the woods to be reached by the others. I hope your other chaps will give us a decent funeral. We're Christians, you know. We're—"

"Enough, enough!" von Staube got out in a strangled voice. "You do not need to paint the picture, you swine. We will do as you say. We are your prisoners. Ja! Ja! Is not that plain enough?"

Freddy didn't answer. He gave them some more of the silence treatment. So Dave played another random shot.

"I don't know." He spoke in German out of the corner of his mouth at Freddy. "I don't trust any German. Why run the additional risks? Besides, taking them back to England simply means that our side will have to feed them. That's wasting good food. I'm all for—"

"No! Not that! We are your prisoners. We throw ourselves upon your mercy!"

The last tiny shred of courage in von Gault had been melted away. The Luftwaffe Marshal was half insane with terror. He was trembling like a leaf, and at the same time striving frantically to still his muscles for fear that he might be maimed and slain on the spot.

"Very well," Freddy Farmer spoke up. "You come with us, then. Watch them a minute, Dave. I have a small job to do. Hands behind your backs, you too. Quick about it!"

The high ranking Nazis instantly obeyed. Freddy Farmer slipped behind them, and as Dave stood guard the English youth bound their wrists with the wire he took from his own tunic pocket. He straightened up and moved close to the Luftwaffe Captain, who had been silent as a tomb and scared stiff as a post all the while. Freddy made a little motion with his gun and Commando knife.

"Come out into the hall with me," he told the quaking German. "In front of me. I'll be right behind. I say, Dave, just keep an eye on those two, will you? Be back in a minute, or less."

And with a quick look, and a wink for Dave, Freddy Farmer herded the Luftwaffe Captain through the door and out into the hallway.