CHAPTER X
GROUND SLEUTHING
Three Hendee Hawks nosed out across the navy field and roared south.Stan's ship formed the spearhead of a sharp V. O'Malley refused to keepstill. He sang and talked about everything he could think of, which wasa wide range of subjects. Allison held the right hand slot and saidnothing. Stan held the big motor up ahead of him at a pace that wouldhave ripped the pistons out of any other ship. He felt at home with theengine up in front of him instead of at his back.
The take-off had been later than he had planned, but with the terrificcruising speed the Hawks could maintain, they would reach London early.Dusk filled the earth below and the stars came out. Stan couldn't shakeoff the feeling that there was need for speed. He could not drive thatuneasiness out of his mind or bury it under other thoughts. He was sureAllison was as worried as he. O'Malley didn't appear to have a worry atall.
Hours later they sighted London. They sighted it because of the thickmuck of flaming shells and the searchlights knifing back and forththrough the mass of bursting steel. The Jerries were at it again andseemed to have slipped inside the balloons and the ring of Ack-Ack guns.
"Looks like more of Garret's dirty work," Allison snarled.
"That sneakin' spalpeen! Just let me cross his trail this night. He'llfind out what sixteen Brownings can do," O'Malley rumbled.
"Don't shoot him down," Stan ordered grimly. "And keep your mouth shutabout him."
The three Hendee Hawks came roaring down upon the nice party the Jerrieshad planned. The Spitfires were up, but they were off their contact.Though they were now roaring back to give battle, they were too late tosave the city from a terrible beating, unless the Hawks succeeded inbreaking up the formation. Stan imagined he could hear the Stukaleader's voice crackling in over the radio.
"Left wheel, dive bombers 6, 8, 10 attack positions 27, 39, 49."
He knew such a command had been given because a mass of Stukas, markedclearly by the searchlights and the fires below, were swooping down.They were very low over the city, far below the Hawks.
"Peel off and go into action. Break the spearhead," Stan snapped intohis flap mike.
The Hawks peeled off and went down, O'Malley first, then Stan, and thenAllison. The drone of their motors was terrific and their pilots wereslapped back against their shock pads and held there. Down Stan went,straight for the leading Stuka. The bombers had not started peeling offso there was still time.
The leading Stuka never knew where the lightning came from. With aswastika backed by a red field in his windscreen, Stan pressed the gunbutton and sliced through the middle of the killer, breaking it intoalmost two separate parts.
The Hawk faded to the right and another Stuka rolled past him, unawarethat death was dropping from the sky. Stan put her up 200 feet; andthen, his motor screaming, he laid over and was upon the Stuka, his gunsbelching death. The bomber staggered and winged over, spilling men outof her hull like sacks out of a van.
Savagely, Stan rolled and twisted seeking another target. O'Malley hadgotten into the formation first and he was taking it apart with adisplay of aerial gymnastics that made the Jerries forget anything butescape. Allison was cutting away far to the left and the carefullyplanned blitz was already a fearful rout, with death as the lot of mostof the killers. Scattered, they zoomed and dived, seeking only toescape. As they went twisting out of their formations, low over thecity, the cables of death claimed many victims.
Then the Spitfires of Moon Flight came roaring in from a wild chase tothe east and the rout was complete. Within a few minutes the astonishedgunners and the men at the lights below began to realize that somehowwhat had seemed certain to be a terrible _luftwaffe_ had been turnedinto a victory. The Ack-Ack boys laid off. Then Moon Flight plus RedFlight bored upward to see how many Messerschmitts Herr Goering had sentalong as fighter planes. The ME's came cascading downward, eager to seetheir charges safely home. There was a flight of forty and another offifty. They were met by three streaking silver planes that carried nodull paint and looked like commercial craft out for a spree. The threehad out-climbed the Spitfires.
Stan swerved to the right to give O'Malley room. He had outflown theIrishman and was grinning. O'Malley still had a few things to learnabout a Hawk before he could get everything out of his big engine. Heslashed into the formation with guns raking the descending ships. Pastthem he flashed and bored on into the darkness. When he got back intoposition again, the Spitfires had arrived and the Messerschmitts werescattering and ducking into the night.
"Calling the Hawks. Calling the Hawks," Stan called.
"Sure, an' it was a poor show," O'Malley's voice came in. "This colleenhas the need of two big eyes to see where the spalpeens go when theyrun away."
"This will be nice news for the Nazis to broadcast," Allison called.
"Moon Flight, come in. Moon Flight, come in. Enemy dispersed." The callwas from the field below.
Then Garret's voice broke in. "Squadron Leader of Moon Flight reporting.Enemy dispersed with many casualties. Two of our fighters leftformation."
"Bah," Stan heard O'Malley growl.
They went down with the Spitfires and rolled into the floodlights. TheO.C. was there and very much excited. Before Stan could reach the doorof the briefing room Farrell had him.
"We watched the show, what we could see of it. Those Hawks were great.But how did you come to disregard my orders as to the hour of yourleaving the naval base?"
Stan smiled. "Don't you think it lucky we did, sir?"
"It was more than lucky. Many lives would have been lost and much damagedone. I'm afraid we would have come in for some stiff criticism." Heshook his head. "Garret gets off slow, but this is the second time hehas cleaned up."
The O.C. hurried away, still shaking his head. Stan barged into the roomand reported as a part of Moon Flight. The briefing officer hesitatedabout putting down the three Hawks.
"We have no planes of that type or name," he complained.
"Step yerself out to the field an' have a look," O'Malley suggested.
Stan was watching Garret narrowly. The Squadron Leader was scowlingbleakly as he moved up to the desk. He seemed in a great hurry. Stankicked O'Malley on the shin and left without filling out a report.Allison stayed to make the regulation report in detail and to answerquestions fired at him about the new ship. O'Malley failed to takeStan's hint and stayed to have his say about the Hawks.
Stan hurried to his quarters and got out of his flying togs. He wasn'tofficially on duty and he had a few things he wanted to do. He headedalong the hallway, keeping out of sight. Garret came in and he wasalmost running. He charged into his room and Stan heard him changingclothes. Suddenly there was no sound at all from the room and Stanslipped to the door. Garret was supposed to be on duty, ready to go upagain in case another raid came over. He listened carefully, then triedthe knob. The door was open and he looked into the room.
What Stan saw made him shove inside at once. Garret had vanished, but inhis haste he had left a trail. One window was open. Stan saw clothestossed about showing the haste with which he had changed. He leaped tothe window and slipped out, letting himself to the ground.
As he pushed aside a thick bush near the wall he saw the street dimly.There was no one on it wearing a Royal Air Force uniform. The onlyperson on the dark street was a man in civilian clothes. Stan staredhard for a moment, then sucked in his breath and started after the man,who was sauntering swiftly into the darkness.
At the first shaded light Stan realized that the man he was trailing wasGarret, and that the officer was in a big hurry. He strode along,pausing now and then to peer back and to listen. Stan used the tacticshe had learned in Colorado while hunting mule deer. He moved whenGarret moved and stopped when Garret stopped. Sliding along noiselesslyhe shifted from one patch of black shadow to another.
Stan did not remember how many blocks they walked, but he knew where hewas in a general way. When Garret ducked down a flight of narrow steps,Stan moved up and
listened. The opening below was black dark. He heard adoor open but saw no light. Then he heard a guttural voice challengingGarret. After that the door closed and there were no other sounds.
Stan listened for a full minute. As he stood there unmoving, a part ofthe black shadow along the wall, he considered the situation. He hadleft his gun in his room. He was unarmed and those below would haveguns. A burning desire glowed within him, a desire to have a look at themen Garret was meeting. Carefully he felt his way down the stairs andlocated the door.
The knob turned soundlessly under pressure but the door was locked.Moving back up the stairs, Stan stood looking at the old house whichrose above the basement where Garret had entered. The house was one ofa row that had been hit by several demolition bombs. Most of the upperand the first story had been wrecked and the debris had not yet beencleared away. That was strange, because most of the other houses in therow had been damaged, too, but had been repaired.
Stan moved up the front steps, picking his way through a litter of brickand broken timbers. He saw a doorway ahead, with a door sagging openupon smashed hinges. Moving slowly and carefully Stan entered the room.A pile of plaster and brick lay on the floor with some broken furniturestacked in a corner. He was about to turn away, knowing that anyonebelow would hear footsteps above, when he saw a beam of light coming upthrough the floor.
Moving very slowly he crossed to the center of the room and bent down. Atorn rug lay under a pile of bricks and the rug covered a broken boardin the floor. Stan got down on his hands and knees. With great care heslid the rug back a little and more light shone through the hole in thefloor. Stan lay down and put his eye to the hole.
He could see very clearly everything in the basement below the wreckedhouse. There was a table directly under him and on it stood a portableshort-wave radio sending and receiving set. A light, swung from theceiling, flooded the table and the room.
A little hunchbacked fellow sat before the radio with earphones clampedover a shiny bald head. Three men sat across the table from the radiooperator. One of them held Stan's attention. He was a short,thick-shouldered man with a bullethead that was covered with bristling,cropped hair. His eyes bulged and his mouth was a grim slash across hisface. On the table at his elbow lay an English fire warden's hat. He wastapping the table with a thick finger and talking to Garret.
Garret sat beside the radioman, his face black and dour. It was plainthe man had been giving Garret a tongue lashing. The other two men,seated beside the speaker, looked to Stan like London wharf rats.
"Herr Kohle, you are a blundering fool. Seventeen bombers were losttonight, and because you failed to do your duty. The _Kommandant_ willhear of this," the bullet-headed man snarled.
"But, Herr Naggel, I followed instructions. The O.C. ordered the threeto return in the morning and that order was sent to you by Mickle,"Garret whined.
Stan made a note of the name Mickle. He had a hunch an orderly or amechanic would be put on the spot once that name was traced to itsowner.
"Now that the great blitzkrieg is set for an hour before daylight wecannot afford to take chances. You must do your part as planned." HerrNaggel spread a map on the table. "Here we have the concentrations ofplanes in Belgium, in France and in Norway. One thousand planes willcome over London. There will be no city left tomorrow night. We willwalk out and join the refugees pouring out of London, and then makecontact with the parachute troops and the men from the gliders." Hesmiled wolfishly and licked his lips. "Those gliders are ready. Youshould see them. Three for each pilot plane and each will have itssquad of men. At 20,000 feet the pilot plane will cut them loose andthey will glide down upon England without a sound." He laughed softly.
"They say there will always be an England. Bah. England is done." Heglared at Garret. "When the decoy bombers come over, you will lead yourflight after them. Now that they have increased your squadron to twentySpitfires, and the three American planes, they could do much damage.With early dawn light to fly by they might break up the whole plan."
"I will take them on a chase that will lead them so far away they won'tget back. Send a big flight of Messerschmitts in after my squadroncontacts the decoy bombers and have them start a dogfight. They neverquit as long as there is anything left to fight. But you better sendplenty of fighters."
"That is planned," Naggel said gruffly. "We cannot control the otherflights that will go up, but yours is the key defense unit, the bestthey have, and it is most important in our plans."
Stan bent forward and strained his eyes to see the markings on the map.He wanted to know where those three concentrations of invasion planeswere. He was able to spot them because they were marked upon the mapwith red circles. He was pressing his face against the boards to seebetter when one foot slipped a little. His right boot scraped across thefloor.
Naggel did not stop talking and none of the others seemed to have heard.One of the men beside Naggel lighted a cigarette and leaned back. Theradioman turned a dial and began talking softly into the portable mike.Stan could not hear what he said.
Slowly Stan got to his feet. He had the information he wanted. The thingto do was to beat the Jerries to the punch. The Royal Air Force wouldblast every one of those air fields and get the enemy on the ground. Buthe had to get to headquarters at once, everything depended upon speed.Only a few hours remained for the job.
Stan slipped through the wrecked door and paused for a moment. As hestarted to move down the steps a dark shadow loomed behind him. Beforehe could leap aside a hard object crashed down upon his head. Red andwhite lights danced before his eyes and stabbing pains racked him. Thenhe slid slowly forward and fell on his face.
When Stan opened his eyes he was sitting in a chair with his headhanging on one side. He shook his head and groaned, then focused hisgaze upon the leering face of Herr Naggel.
"You would listen?" Herr Naggel said slowly.
Stan said nothing. He expected no mercy from the men who had taken himprisoner. His head was splitting and he felt weak and sick. A thoughtstabbed through the pain. They had heard him when his foot slipped. Theman at the radio had called to someone near by. His sky fighter traininghad been poor preparation for ground sleuthing, Stan decided.
"We will be gone in a few minutes, and when we go, we will leave alittle comrade with you." Herr Naggel motioned to a large grenadesitting on the table. As Stan fixed his gaze upon the grenade herealized that the radioman had gone, and had taken the portable set withhim. Garret was gone, too, and he was alone with Naggel and his tworats.
Stan made another discovery. He was not bound. Likely the spies had nothad rope or wire to make him fast, or they were sure their heavy Lugerpistols would keep him in his place. Herr Naggel tapped the iron case ofthe grenade.
"The little one cannot be kept from exploding once the pin is removed. Iwill pull the pin and lock the door." He smiled and his mouth twisted atthe corners.
Stan rose to his feet. He was not so bad off as he had thought. Dizzy,but not out by any means. He staggered and swayed, putting on as good ashow of grogginess as he could. Herr Naggel seemed to relish watchinghim struggle to remain on his feet.
The thing that was pounding away inside Stan's head was the question:"How long was I out? How much time have I left?" He was not thinkingabout the almost certain death that stared him in the face. Naggelpulled out a big silver watch and looked at it.
"Two o'clock," he muttered. "We must wait fifteen minutes."
Stan almost showed his relief. There was still time! At that momentsomeone in the street above began shouting and screaming. Car brakesground and there was a crashing noise. The blackout had claimed anothervictim of blind driving. Involuntarily the eyes of Herr Naggel and hismen turned toward the door.
Lightning thought brought lightning action to Stan Wilson. It was noplanned or prepared action, just wild, whirlwind action that waslaunched in the flicker of an eye-brow.
With one hand Stan clamped down upon Herr Naggel's Luger; he lunged inclose to the squat Nazi.
In the same movement he sent a right smashingacross to the jaw of the spy. Herr Naggel let out a gusty grunt androcked back on his heels, then went down in a limp pile on the floor.
Jerking the Luger free, Stan swept it upon the two rats. "Down on yourfaces," he gritted. "Flat on the floor or I'll shoot!"
Stark fear leaped into the eyes of the two men and they tumbled flat onthe floor, sprawling there with faces covered. Then Stan saw Herr Naggelpulling himself slowly up to the table. A wild, crazy light flamed inthe eyes of the spy. Stan made a lightning decision.
It made his flesh creep to think of shooting these men, but he dared notleave them in the cellar, and there was nothing to bind and gag themwith. If he left them, they might get away and send word through thevanished radioman to the Jerry squadrons awaiting the zero hour.
He was saved from any solution of his own planning by Herr Naggel. Thespy reached over, after getting to his feet, and grasped the grenade.Jerking out the pin he hurled the grenade at Stan's head. Stan duckedand the bomb struck the wall and bounded back. It spun around and cameto rest a few feet from the door.
"We all die. The plan shall not fail!" Herr Naggel screamed hoarsely.
Stan leaped over the grenade and halted before the door. He jerked at itbut it was locked. There was no time to get a key from the men. Behindhim he heard Naggel's insane laugh. He brought the Luger down andblasted away at the lock. It shattered and the door opened.
Stan dived into the blackness outside, kicking the door shut as he wentout. He had stumbled only one step when the whole wall of the basementburst outward and he was hurled up the steps and sent sprawling out intothe street.
Stan swayed, sagged forward, then pitched on his face upon the hardstreet. A trickle of blood ran from the corners of his mouth. His eyesclosed slowly, glassily. He lay still, a twisted, inert bundle of flesh.
A few minutes later car brakes screeched and a black roadster withhooded lights came to a halt. Two police officers jumped out. The dimlights were fixed upon the body of a man lying face down in the street.They lifted Stan to his feet and revived him after a few minutes ofwork.
Stan blinked his eyes and took one big gulp of air. He began talking injerky sentences, repeating over and over.
"Get me to M Section of the Royal Air Force."
"That's as close as any first aid station," one of the officers said ashe looked at Stan's uniform. "And I'm thinking he belongs there."
They helped Stan into the car and sped away. Stan wiggled his arms andlegs and decided he had been hit a hard jolt in the back which hadknocked the breath out of him and shocked him badly, but otherwise hewas all right.