"If we have to wait any longer, Dave, I swear I'll fly apart in small pieces. This blasted suspense is getting me down something awful!"

Dave grinned at his English pal, and gave him a comforting nudge with his elbow.

"That makes two of us," he whispered. "But it's been only fifteen minutes, you know."

"Fifteen years!" Freddy corrected. "And look at that sun coming up! The more light around here, the tougher it's going to be for us, you know."

"You're telling me?" Dave murmured, and squinted at the first rays of dawn light stealing westward across the face of that part of France. "Swiping one of those Nazi planes in the dark is hard enough. But in broad daylight—well, let's not think about that little item. I sure wish, though, that—"

Dave never finished the rest of that statement. At that moment the door of the center building was jerked open and a fashion plate uniformed Nazi Staff Captain stood framed in the doorway. He swept black, cruel-looking eyes over the officers and men grouped about, and scowled angrily.

"Herr Major von Kummil!" he cried out in a rasping voice. "Herr Major von Kummil! Are you out here? Herr Field Marshal wants you at once!"

As the Nazi barked the words he jerked his head from side to side like a spectator watching the flight of the ball in a tennis match. Dave hesitated, then nudged Freddy Farmer.

"I think that means us," he whispered. "That's probably the Major who told us to wait. We've got to chance it, anyway. Right?"

The English youth simply nodded, and started pushing through the group outside the door. Dave was right at his heels. They stopped a few steps from the black-eyed captain, and saluted.

"Herr Major von Kummil was recalled to regimental Headquarters by Herr Colonel," Freddy spoke up in perfect German. "He instructed us to wait for Herr Field Marshal's pleasure."

The Nazi Captain stared down at them as though they were something the cat had dragged in. Then, as his gaze fell on the sealed envelope Dave held in his hand, his eyes took on a bright gleam. But Dave beat him to the punch.

"Our instructions were to deliver this in person, Herr Captain," Dave said.

"That is true," Freddy echoed. Then he suddenly added, "And besides, Herr Captain, I have been ordered to make my own report by word of mouth. It is impossible to put it in writing."

For a split second Dave thought that Freddy's words were simply to make sure that they both were admitted inside. But as he flashed a quick look at his pal and saw the odd look on Freddy's face, his heart looped over and the blood started to pound through his veins. Freddy was up to just more than getting inside that Headquarters building! There was something much, much more important than just that, in Freddy's head. Dave had only time for a quick look, but it was enough to tell him that Freddy was up to something.

"So?" the Nazi Captain suddenly got out in a sneering tone. "Very well, then. Come in, both of you. But do not be too long. Say what you have to say, and don't waste words, you understand?"

Dave nodded meekly, but trust Freddy Farmer to have his little final say! Freddy coldly returned the senior officer's looks, and then put just the faintest touch of sarcasm in his reply.

"But certainly not, Herr Captain!" he said. "It is not for me to add to Der Fuehrer's orders!"

"Der Fuehrer?" the Nazi Captain gasped, and stood there with his black eyes popping, and his bird-like mouth hanging open.

Freddy let it go at that. He nodded to Dave and then calmly led the way past the gaping Captain and in through the door. By the time they were inside a short narrow hallway, the Nazi had collected his wits.

"This way," he said, and led them down the hallway, and through double doors that opened off the right.

For some crazy reason the first thing that came to Dave's brain as he was ushered into a fairly big room was the quite unimportant realization that Freddy and he had actually been edging toward the wrong side of the building when they had bumped into that Nazi Major. They would undoubtedly have gained nothing had they been able to peek through the windows on that side.

That thought came and went, and then he was taking notice of other things that really were important. The room was exactly like other Nazi military Headquarters he had seen during his war career. Maps covered with little colored flags. A bank of field phones. Shortwave radio sets. Memos, dispatches, letters and any number of other kinds of military papers scattered all over the place. But the main attraction, of course, was the huge double desk at which sat the two Nazi high rankers who had been personally responsible for ninety per cent of Adolf Hitler's blood triumphs to date.

On one side was Field Marshal von Staube, lumpy, beefy, with a sweating red face, bald head, and neck the thickness of a telephone pole. And on the other side sat Luftwaffe Marshal von Gault, looking like a half starved vulture about to strike. His cruel, hawkish face was absolutely blood chilling to behold, and it was all Dave could do to suppress the shudder that started through him. The Number One and Number Two killers of the Third Reich. Adolf Hitler's two butchers. Himmler, of the infamous Gestapo, acted like a sweet little old lady when his acts were compared with the killing and plunder performed under the command of these two.

Dave looked at them, and his hand twitched as he had the sudden desire to go for the small but deadly automatic he carried in his tunic pocket. Neither Freddy nor he wanted to end it that way. But they would be true to their mutual vow. Though it cost them all the torture the Nazis could inflict upon them, today would be the last day of war for Field Marshal von Staube and Luftwaffe Marshal von Gault. These two would never—

"Well, have you lost your tongues? What are you here for? Where is your Major von Kummil? Speak up! Can you two young fools not see that I am busy?"

It was von Staube who spoke the words. Yet that is not quite right. He did not exactly speak them. His voice sounded more like an express train going through a tunnel. Dave stepped quickly forward, saluted with one hand, and held out the sealed envelope with the other.

"Herr Major von Kummil was recalled, Herr Field Marshal," he said. "We were intrusted to deliver this to you."

The German high ranker growled in his throat, snatched the envelope from Dave's hand, stabbed a thick finger under the flap opening and ripped viciously. He took out a fold of papers inside, glanced through them quickly, and then hurled the lot down on the desk.

"Fools!" he thundered. "Swine stupid fools! To tell me this by courier, when it could have been spoken over the telephone an hour ago! What do I care about the condition of your reserves? Should I tell the enemy to wait until we are ready to give them battle? Should I sit here and wait until arms and battle equipment have been issued to every German soldier. Mein Herr! What am I commanding? German armies or packs of fools?"

The German bellowed the questions straight at Dave, and pounded his fat fists on the desk. Beads of sweat flew from his face, and his color mounted to where it seemed impossible that he wouldn't explode in small pieces in the next instant. Dave tried to think of something to say, but the German seemed not to want answers to his questions. He probably didn't even realize that he was looking straight at Dave. He was too busy with thoughts about something, some part of his plans, that had gone higher than a kite.

"Fools, stupid dogs!" he went right on roaring. "I order something, and I get nothing but words by courier! Well, we shall see about that. We shall see. There'll be a few swine heads fall before this day is done. And they will not all belong to our enemies. The—"

Words failed the big fat German Field Marshal. He dropped back into his desk chair mumbling and gurgling sounds that didn't make any sense. Dave noticed that von Gault was watching von Staube closely, but there was just a shade of worry in the Luftwaffe Marshal's cruel eyes. Perhaps von Gault had gone through this thing before, with disastrous results to himself. After all, von Staube was Number One. Anyway, the Luftwaffe Marshal was watching his partner in world wide crime closely, and was not looking at all happy.

Suddenly, though, as if a completely different person had sat down in Field Marshal von Staube's chair, the red rage faded from the German's face. He picked up the scattered papers and gave them another look. He scowled, tugged at his lower lip, and massaged his fat chin a little. Then he raised his eyes to von Gault's face.

"Perhaps it will not alter things much," he said. "Von Alder is not one to depend on, anyway. We will use the Sixth, Tenth, and Fourteenth, instead. All seasoned troops. They will probably do the job much better, anyway. But that von Alder. That one! How he will hear of this!"

The German Field Marshal checked himself as though suddenly realizing that Dave and Freddy were still standing there. He turned and gave them a curt nod.

"Return to your regiment!" he growled.

Dave started to salute and turn to leave, suddenly thankful of the chance to get out of there, and fast. But he didn't go all the way around. First he saw Freddy Farmer still standing at stiff attention. And next he saw the Nazi Captain's black eyes fixed steadfastly and questioningly on the English youth. It was then Dave remembered Freddy's crazy remark to the Captain. His heart stood still, and he impulsively moved his hand a little so that he could get at his pocketed gun that much quicker. Was this the show-down? Was Freddy going to make this the show-down? Would both of them have to blaze away in cold murder—Nazi style?

It seemed to Dave that he lived a thousand years standing there half turned to go out the door. Then von Staube's booming voice exploded through the silence.

"Didn't you hear my orders?" he thundered at the motionless Freddy. "Return to your regiment!"

"Your pardon, Herr Field Marshal," the English youth spoke up bold as brass, while ice formed about Dave's heart. "I have a report of my own. It has nothing to do with this other thing. May I ask, Herr Field Marshal, if your pilots have reported to you?"

Stunned silence spread over the room like a thick heavy blanket. Both von Staube and von Gault stiffened. So did the black-eyed Captain. As a matter of fact, so did Dave Dawson. And he was suddenly filled with the wild desire to catch up Freddy, and sling him over his shoulder, and make a dash for it. Freddy had gone nuts! Maybe a blow on the head when he had taken care of that Nazi soldier back by the shelled church. But Freddy was definitely off his trolley! What in the world did he think he was saying?

"My pilots reported to us?" Field Marshal von Staube echoed. "Of course. Why? Why do you want to know?"

For a second or so Freddy just looked at the German, then switched his gaze to von Gault.

"You know them all personally, Herr Luftwaffe Marshal?" he shot out the question. "You selected them, perhaps?"

The Luftwaffe Marshal looked angry, baffled, and just a little scared. He wet his lips a couple of times before he spoke. And when he did his voice was high and strained, as though it were an effort to get the words out.

"Herr Captain Kohle and Leutnant von Stebbins have been the two stationed here for weeks," he replied. "Of course I know them! Of course I appointed them as Headquarters pilots. What is the meaning of this?"

"A precaution," Freddy answered quietly. "Der Fuehrer's orders, at Herr Himmler's request. It is the Gestapo's eternal job to safeguard the lives of Germans valuable to the Third Reich!"

"Gestapo?" Field Marshal von Staube practically blew up with wrath. "This is a war zone. This is Army Headquarters. It is for the cursed Gestapo to—!"

The German stumbled to a stop, and just sat glaring at Freddy Farmer, and drumming his fingertips on the desk. For a split second Dave almost wanted to laugh out loud. If all this wasn't so deadly serious, it would be funny. The German Army Staff and Himmler's Gestapo were like two tomcats on a back yard fence. They hated each other, but each knew that the other was very necessary to the German Reich. But of the two it was the German Army Staff who feared the most. Himmler had the inside track with Hitler. He had the Fuehrer's ear. And more than one German Staff head had gone rolling into the basket because that high ranker had tried to freeze out Herr Himmler. No, the German Army Staff didn't like the Gestapo one bit, but there was little they could do about it, yet. Just as long as Herr Himmler held Adolf Hitler's trust and confidence, it was well for the generals to watch their step!

And so Field Marshal von Staube choked off what he would like to have said, and just glowered and glared at Freddy.

"So, Gestapo, eh?" he suddenly blurted out with a sneer he couldn't hold back. "I suppose you suspect that spies are members of my Staff, eh?"

But Freddy didn't walk into the trap. He knew perfectly well that a Gestapo member as young as he looked wouldn't know too much.

"I suspect no one, Herr Field Marshal," he said with stiff respectfulness. "I have only been given my orders to carry out. If you wish to complain to Herr Himmler? There is the phone. He is in his Berlin Headquarters now."

Dave held his breath. Was Freddy begging for death? He must be mad. He was mad! What in thunderation was he trying to pull off? What did Freddy think all this insane business was going to get them? Dave didn't have the ghost of an idea. But whatever it was, it was all Freddy's party now. Dave didn't dare speak a word, or do anything. But when he glanced at his pal and saw the typical cold haughtiness of the Gestapo that seemed to surround the English youth, a wild thrill raced through him. Perhaps—just perhaps—Freddy wasn't out of his mind. Maybe he did have something by the tail.

At any rate, the bluff worked. Field Marshal von Staube made no move to reach for one of the many phones. And Dave felt a little as though he had been reborn. No, not reborn. More like a condemned man who has received a stay of execution.

"I will make my complaints at the right time, and in the right places!" the German Field Marshal suddenly boomed. "Well? What is your mission here, anyway? What about Herr Luftwaffe Marshal von Gault's pilots? What about them?"

Freddy Farmer made as though to reach into his upper left tunic pocket, but seemed to change his mind.

"Perhaps nothing, Herr Field Marshal," he said evenly. "However, there are one or two questions I should like to ask Herr Captain Kohle and Herr Leutnant von Stebbins. In your presence, of course, sir. And yours, too, Herr Luftwaffe Marshal von Gault. This much I can say. If they speak the truth, their answers to my questions may be very interesting, and enlightening."

Von Staube scowled still more deeply, drummed his fingers on the desk some more, and then looked across at von Gault. He seemed to see something in the other's eyes, though von Gault didn't nod or shake his head.

"Herr Captain!" von Staube suddenly roared at the black-eyed officer. "Go find the two officers mentioned, and bring them here at once. Just that, mind you! Bring them here, and keep your mouth shut!"

"At once, Herr Field Marshal!" the Captain gasped, and went out the door as though he had been kicked.