Read Ebook: Dave Dawson Flight Lieutenant by Bowen Robert Sidney

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Ebook has 865 lines and 45214 words, and 18 pages

"But, of course," he said. "Fact is.... But that can wait until later. Markham, this is Colonel Trevor, of Intelligence. Colonel Trevor, I'd like you to meet Squadron Leader.... Eh? What's the matter?"

The Intelligence officer had suddenly shoved Group Captain Ball to one side and was down on his knees beside the dead man. He crouched there motionless for a half minute or so, then got to his feet and fixed Squadron Leader Markham with a brittle stare.

"How did this man get here?" he asked sharply. "He's been shot through the head!"

Eighty-Four's senior officer squared his jaw just a bit and returned the other's hard stare.

"We noted that fact, too, Colonel," he said evenly. "A Messerschmitt was reported by spotters. My pilots went after it. Dawson, here, made contact with the enemy aircraft. As he was about to open fire this man was thrown out with his parachute opened. Dawson shot down the enemy aircraft, and then noting something peculiar about the man going down by parachute, he followed him to the ground and landed, Flying Officer Farmer landed also. They found the man just as you see him. Dawson flew him back here with the idea of contacting Intelligence. You recognize him, Colonel?"

The Intelligence officer didn't answer. He turned to Dave, and the Yank born ace couldn't miss the look of worry and strain that had come into the man's dark eyes. He seemed on the point of exploding all over the place, but he didn't. He visibly clamped down hard on his inner emotions and spoke to Dave.

"Tell me the story in your own words!" he demanded.

The Intelligence officer's harsh tone of voice rubbed Dave's fur the wrong way. The Yank deliberately looked at Markham, and waited until the Squadron Leader nodded his head. Then for the third time Dave told his story. The Intelligence officer listened with a face set hard as granite. His only expression was in his eyes. And their expression was that of a man who is helplessly watching the efforts of weeks and months slip away from his grasp and dissolve in thin air.

"Who is he, sir?" Dave couldn't help blurting out as he finished.

"My brother," Colonel Trevor said with startling bluntness. "And the good right hand of British Intelligence."

The man emphasized his words with a curt nod, and then looked at Group Captain Ball.

No one said anything for a moment or two, Markham, Dawson, and Freddy Farmer being completely in the dark, kept their mouths shut for obvious reasons. Group Captain Ball didn't say anything because he was deep in thought weighing Colonel Trevor's words. Presently he stuck out his lower lip and gave a little half shake of his head.

"Possibly, Colonel," he said and fixed his thoughtful eyes on the distant horizon. "And then again, possibly not. You forget that we checked everything through other channels, and found it to be true. I fancy the Nazis sent him back ... this way ... in the hope that you would take just that attitude. Would come to that conclusion at once."

The Intelligence officer frowned in perplexity and dragged a thumbnail along the angle of his jaw.

"Then they don't know how much he sent through, eh?" he murmured, as though summing it up to himself. "Then this is a trick to make us believe they've had him under their eye all along, when actually they only unmasked him in the last day or so?"

Colonel Trevor nodded slowly, and a tiny glimmer of hope seeped into his eyes.

"Thank you, sir," he said quietly. "I guess the shock sent my brain into a bit of a spin. Right you are. We'll carry on as we planned. Your squadron office a good place where we can talk, Markham?"

The O.C. of Eighty-Four started slightly at the sudden question popped at him, then nodded.

"Certainly, Colonel," he said. "My Adjutant's there, but I'll get rid of him. And ... er, what do you want us to do about your brother, Colonel?"

The Intelligence officer squared his shoulders and forced himself to look down at the dead man.

"If you could have him placed in the hospital hut, Markham," he said softly. "I'll arrange transportation elsewhere, later. Yes, if you could have him taken to the hospital hut. And, by the way, I don't want anybody, not even your medico, to touch him. There'll be an ... er, autopsy performed later."

Markham gave him a shrewd look, and then nodded.

"Just as you wish, Colonel," he said. "I'll give Corporal Sharron instructions, now, and then we'll go along to my office."

The O.C. of Eighty-Four called over the waiting non-com, gave him his orders, and then walked away with Colonel Trevor, and Group Captain Ball. Dave watched them until they were out of sight in the Squadron office. Then he turned suddenly to Freddy and started whipping his hand up and down the front of the English youth's tunic. Freddy knocked his hand away and went back a step.

"You're not my valet!" he cried. "Drop it, my lad. What in the world do you think you're doing?"

Dave grinned and reached out to whip the front of Freddy's tunic again.

"A game that was all the rage in the States," Dave said. "It was called, Handy. You make motions with your hands and the others try to guess what it means. This one is in two words, Freddy. Guess. I'll give you a tip. It's American slang."

"Good grief, the chap's gone balmy again!" Freddy groaned and beat off Dave's hand once more. "Stop it, you crazy clown. Rubbish to your insane Yank games. What do you mean, two words? What two words?"

"What we just got, Freddy," Dave said. "Come on! Be a sport and see if you can guess it. Then I'll let you try one on me."

"I will not!" Freddy snorted. "Of all the silly rot! But what did we just get?"

"Okay, if you have to act dumb," Dave growled. "The two words are, brush off. That's what we just got. The old brush-off. And not with as much as a thank you kindly. I don't think I like that Colonel Trevor. Too darn chummy, if you ask me."

"He does sort of spill all over a chap, doesn't he," Freddy said with a half grin. Then wiping the grin away, "Can't blame him, though, for being a bit uppish. It must have been a shock, seeing his brother like that. Poor beggar. But, I say, Dave, did you hear Group Captain Ball speak of him holding a high position in the Nazi Gestapo? What do you know about that!"

"Everything, and also absolutely nothing," Dave grunted and looked over at the hospital hut where Corporal Sharron and his detail had taken the dead man. "And did you hear him say there'd be an autopsy later, but sort of stumble over his words? I wonder what he meant by that? The bullet hole is proof enough how he died. This thing has all the ear-marks of a Scotland Yard case, or something. Or is that sort of thing a part of Intelligence routine?"

Freddy Farmer cocked his head to one side and shrugged his shoulders.

"Blessed if I know," he said. "And blessed if I'm going to stay here looking like some department store window dummy. I just realized that I'm very hungry. How about you? Shall we have a spot of something or other before the next scramble alarm sounds?"

"What?" Freddy gasped in stunned alarm. "Dave! There's a chance I may be transferred to bombers? You heard that? But.... But, why?"

Dave grinned and jabbed Freddy in the stomach with his thumb.

"That," he said. "If it gets too big to fit into a Spitfire, where else can it go but into a bomber, huh?"

Freddy Farmer made gurgling sounds in his throat, and lunged. But Dave slipped away from his grasp and dashed for the mess lounge.

With a helpful snack of food safely tucked away, Dave and Freddy were in the mess lounge thumbing through some magazines and papers when the squadron office orderly found them.

"The C.O. wants to see you two officers at once," he said.

"You wouldn't have any idea, eh, Sergeant?" Dave asked and gave him a searching look.

"Did he look mad, or anything like that, when he sent you after us?" Freddy Farmer wanted to know.

The Sergeant grinned and shook his head.

"I don't think so, sir," he said. Then gravely, "Fact is, sir, he struck me as looking a bit worried, if you know what I mean. Like as if something had upset him. But, no, he didn't look mad."

"Well, thank goodness for that!" Dave breathed and looked at Freddy. "I guess it doesn't mean bombers for you yet, pal. Thanks, Sergeant. We're on our way right now. Pull in your stomach, Freddy, and let's go."

"Some day I'll die laughing at your silly jokes!" the English youth growled, but he impulsively pulled in his stomach and pushed back his shoulders as he dropped into step.

A couple of minutes later they entered the Squadron Office. Markham was there, and so were Colonel Trevor, and Group Captain Ball. They started to salute but Group Captain Ball stopped them with a wave of his hand.

"We'll forget formality for the time being, Gentlemen," he said with a smile. "Make yourselves comfortable. We want to talk to you two for a spell. There, that's the idea."

The Group Captain nodded as the two boys seated themselves, then glanced at Markham.

"You want me to do the talking, Markham, or would you rather?" he asked.

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