Dave Dawson on the Russian Front Part 7

"Travel vouchers, please, Gentlemen," he said, and held out his hand.

Both Freddy and Dave dived hands into their tunic pockets, and came out with their respective travel voucher slips. They handed them over for inspection, and the conductor stared at them long and hard. Finally he lifted his eyes and looked at them each in turn.

"These aren't in order," he said with a gesture of impatience. "The date stamped on them is too light. I can't read it."

Dawson was tempted to tell him that that was simply his tough luck. But he decided that a train tearing through the blackout was no place for wisecracks. And after all, the conductor was only doing his job.

"They were stamped today, sir," he said instead. "At the Air Ministry. I saw it done myself. So did Captain Farmer. You can take them as being all in order."

That last seemed to be the wrong thing to say. The conductor's eyes flashed and he shot a stern look at Dawson.

"Oh, I can, can I?" he snapped. "Very nice of you to tell me, I'm sure.

But I have my orders, and I know what they are. All travel vouchers must be in order for people to travel on _my_ train. I'll have to ask you to come along with me and see the Company Inspector, who is in the next to one car back. You can make your explanations to him. And if he says it's all right, then it'll be all right for me."

"And that will be just ducky!" Dawson growled, and got up off the seat.

"Okay. If it will take a great load off your mind, my friend, then we'll go back and see the Inspector. But on second thought, let's have the Inspector come see us. What do you say, Freddy, huh?"

"Oh, come off it, Dave!" the English youth growled. "Why make a mountain of it? The chap is just doing his job. So let's go back and straighten it all out with the Inspector. Besides, a bit of a walk wouldn't do either of us any harm."

"For that reason, I agree," Dawson grunted, and stepped through the compartment door that the conductor had rolled open.

Leading the way, he headed for the end of the car, and, unlike in the vast majority of English trains, the end door and pa.s.sageway that permitted travel from car to car. But just as he was stepping into the next car a figure suddenly appeared out of nowhere directly in front of him, and something blunt and hard was jammed against his chest.

"One sound, and there'll be a dead man under the wheels!" a voice hissed. "Stand right where you are!"

Dave froze stiff, and then was almost knocked off balance as Freddy Farmer came b.u.mping into him from behind. For a split second he half expected to hear the English youth comment volubly on the situation. But he didn't hear a sound. He only felt his pal stiffen, and that was more than enough to tell him that one fake conductor had unquestionably rammed a similar blunt hard object into Freddy's back, and whispered a few words of warning, too.

For a long moment the whole world seemed to stand still for Dave. He knew that he was straining his eyes for a glimpse of the figure blocking his path, but in the bad light he could see nothing but a vague silhouette. Then suddenly he saw the figure's hand reach up and yank hard on the emergency cord. Almost instantly the speed of the train fell off as the engineer up ahead slammed on the brakes. The jolting and jarring lurched Dave forward, but he was prevented from going on his face by the blunt, hard object still digging into his chest.

"I am going to open the side door!" the voice suddenly whispered in his ear. "Get in front of me, and, when I order, jump off the train. But do not try to run away. I will have both eyes on you. And I am a perfect shot, even in the dark. You understand?"

"You've still got the ball, my rat friend!" Dave grated, and took two steps toward the edge of the platform.

The train was almost at a dead stop now, and cool evening air rushed in through the open car door. He stared up at the few stars he could see in the black heavens, and mentally kicked himself hard. n.o.body had to send him a telegram to explain what this was all about. He and Freddy had walked right into a perfect trap with their eyes and ears wide open. A neat trick, that conductor stunt. If he ever got out of this he should keep it in mind. A stunt like that might come in handy sometime. In war you never can tell.

But serious as the situation seemed, and unquestionably was, there was still one very satisfying thing about it: an item to which he'd given more than a little thought since Freddy and he had pulled out of the London station. It was the problem of just what they could expect should the unseen Gestapo boys get on their trail. Now he knew. That is, he knew now that it wasn't instant death they could expect. And praise be to the Fates for that small favor. No. Removing Freddy and him from the picture wasn't the goal of those who were after them. It meant that the bait had been perfect. The little play had been acted out to absolute perfection. In short, one Freddy Farmer and one Dave Dawson were wanted _alive_. Yes, very much alive, because it was the information that they were supposed to possess that was wanted most.

And so it wasn't to be murder. It was to be the slightly less important crime of kidnapping. And--

"Jump! And, remember my warning!"

CHAPTER EIGHT

_n.a.z.i Lightning_

As the night sky suddenly seemed to explode right on top of Dawson's head, and fill his brain with millions of spinning b.a.l.l.s of colored light, he had the crazy thought that the order had certainly been a waste of words. And then he went flying out into the darkness. Instinct, and instinct alone, caused him to fling out his hands and bend his knees. For a long moment he seemed to hang motionless in the middle of nothing. And then Mother Earth came up to meet him.

He hit on all fours on the track embankment, and he was too stunned to do anything about it. He could only let his body roll over and over like a barrel rolling downhill, until his progress was stopped short by a heavy clump of th.o.r.n.y bushes. And even then he could still do nothing about it. The b.a.l.l.s of colored light were still spinning around inside his head, and to add to it all a couple of hundred heavy caliber guns were sounding off in his brain. Fighting for control of his senses, and gasping for breath, he remained right where he was, too all in and befuddled to care whether school kept or not.

However, he did not remain motionless for very long. Only a moment or two after he had crashed to a full stop up against the th.o.r.n.y bushes, hands of steel came out of nowhere, grabbed hold of him, and yanked him savagely up onto his feet.

"Walk straight ahead, and do not be slow about it!" a voice snarled in his ear. "Cry out, and it will be your last sound in this world! Move along!"

One of the steel fingered hands let go of Dawson, though the other kept a tight grip on the back of his neck. And almost in the same instant he once again felt the familiar pressure of a blunt, hard object jammed into the small of his back. For a split second he hesitated, but only long enough for the sane side of him to point out that any show of resistance at this point would probably be plain suicide. Where Freddy Farmer was, and what had happened to his war pal, he did not know.

However, this was not the moment to do anything about it.

And so, choking back the words of blazing anger that rose to his lips, and beating down the mad urge to whirl upon his unknown captor, gun or no gun, he started walking straight ahead through the darkness. In less than a minute his feet told him that he had reached some kind of a country lane. His captor swerved him onto it, and gave him a hard jab with the gun as a signal for greater speed. Dawson obeyed because there wasn't anything else he could do. But most of the spinning b.a.l.l.s of colored light had faded from his brain by now, and he was better able to take stock of the situation.

It wasn't a very pleasant picture. In fact, it was most unpleasant, and twice as maddening. Why, not over twenty minutes before Freddy Farmer and he had been tearing along by train toward Aberdeen, _and_ complaining of the fact that things were going along too smoothly. Well, Freddy had surely got his wish. Things had happened, and happened with a bang. There was no doubt, now, that Gestapo agents in London had grabbed at the bait thrown out by Colonel Welsh, and taken it hook, line, and sinker. So what?

So a well planned stunt had back-fired almost before it had been put into execution. And it had been done so easily and so simply, too. That was what made Dawson see red as the steel fingers and the business end of a gun prodded him along a night-shrouded country lane. n.o.body had to explain to him that the two Gestapo agents had boarded the train at that whistle stop. And n.o.body had to explain to him, either, that they had timed every move to perfection. The emergency cord had been yanked at the right moment so that the train would come to a stop at the right place. The way in which "Steel Fingers" shoved him forward was proof in itself that this country lane was well known to him, and a definite part of this kidnapping escapade. Yes, it had been simple, and a cinch. Like rolling off a log. Or better, rolling off a railroad track embankment.

At that moment the shrill sound of a locomotive whistle came to Dave's ears. And almost immediately he heard the distant snorting and puffing of the Flying Scotsman getting under way again. Those sounds chilled his heart just a little bit more, and fanned into flame the smouldering anger in his breast. He could feel his face grow hot with the shame of having walked into this little trap so doggone blindly. He wondered how Freddy was taking it, if his pal was pleased that his wish for action had been granted. But more than that, he wondered how Freddy was, and _where_ he was.

As though the G.o.ds of war had simply been waiting for him to start wondering in earnest about Freddy Farmer, the steel fingers gripping him by the back of the neck suddenly tightened and jerked him to a halt. He was spun around to face the shadowy figure of his captor, but the barrel of the gun was quickly moved from the small of his back to a point on his chest directly over his heart. And the harsh voice spoke again--almost invitingly, it seemed to him.

"Don't move a muscle! Not a muscle!"

Dawson remained motionless as ordered, but he strained his eyes in the darkness for a glimpse of his captor's face. He might just as well have tried to study a sheet of black paper at the bottom of a coal mine at midnight. He could only see that his captor wore a snapped down brim hat pulled low over his eyes. The face could be that of a j.a.p, for all he could tell.

However, he knew that the man was not a j.a.p. The voice had disproved that. Yet, at the same time, the sound of that harsh voice had built up the fires of rage in Dave, for the simple reason that he felt sure that his captor was _not_ a German. At least he felt pretty sure. He had the strong belief that his captor was English. The harsh voice had the Midlands tw.a.n.g, that is so much like the New England tw.a.n.g. Of course, he might be dead wrong, but--

The rest of his rambling thought flew off into oblivion as two shadows suddenly emerged out of the gloom, and he saw that one of them was Freddy Farmer, and, right behind his pal, the man in a train conductor's uniform.

"You okay, Freddy?" he asked quickly.

For an answer to his question the gun was practically shoved through his ribs, and a hand smacked him across the face.

"Silence!" Harsh Voice rasped at him "One more sound _will_ be your last!"

"I'm all right, Dave," Freddy Farmer said, almost as an echo to the threat of violence. "I saw H-Sixty-Four drop off the train, so these blighters won't last very long."

The last caused Dave to blink hard in the darkness. For three or four seconds he wondered what in the world Freddy meant, and if his pal had received too hard a crack on the head. Then in a flash the truth came to him. And almost in the same instant it was confirmed by the one with the harsh voice.

"What's that?" the blurred figure demanded. "Who is this H-Sixty-Four?"

Dawson leaped at the opening and chuckled softly in spite of the risk.

"You'll find out, and fast, tramp!" he snapped. "Think we would have fallen for that conductor gag if we hadn't been expecting it, or something like it?"

"Quite!" Freddy Farmer quickly took up the play. "And the laugh is really on you chaps. _It's_ on its way to Aberdeen now. If you don't believe me, then search us. And--Did you hear that, Dave?"

Dawson started to open his mouth, but a hard hand was clamped over it, and the gun barrel felt like a knife in his chest. A voice whispered softly, but it didn't come from the owner of the hand clamped tightly over his mouth. It came from Freddy Farmer's captor.

"Get along with them to the place! Stohl will get the truth out of them.