Dave Dawson on the Russian Front Part 6

And n.o.body put forth any objections.

CHAPTER SEVEN

_You Can't See Death_

Like A black steel snake with a single yellow eye, the "Flying Scotsman"

went roaring northward over the steel rails that led to Aberdeen. In their compartment, four cars back from the engine, Dave Dawson and Freddy Farmer tried to lose their thoughts in the newspapers and magazines they had bought before leaving London. But it was just about as easy to do that as it is for a man to shave with an electric razor in a thunder storm.

However, the two air aces stuck grimly to it for well onto two hours, until finally Freddy reached the end of his string. He flung the magazine across the compartment they shared alone, and heaved a long, loud sigh.

"This is without question the balmiest war ever!" he proclaimed with vocal emphasis.

Dawson looked up from his newspaper, nodded, and tossed it to one side.

"At any rate the screwiest one I ever fought in," he said. "So you haven't been reading either, huh?"

"On the contrary, yes," Freddy replied. "But the same blasted paragraph over and over again. I just can't seem to concentrate."

Dave glanced at the thick blinds that covered the windows and smiled faintly.

"I guess n.o.body could blame you for that, considering," he murmured.

"We've been handed some sweet jobs, since we elected to take our own personal swings in this war. And each time has seemed tougher than any of the others. But this--this really is tops for c.o.c.keyed a.s.signments.

Know something, Freddy?"

"What?"

"We stand _less_ chance of pulling this thing off than Mussolini stands of being made King of England," Dave said.

"And don't I know it!" Freddy Farmer groaned. "I swear I don't know who's craziest--Leman and Colonel Welsh for putting the proposition up to us, or us for accepting it. Why, good grief, Dave--"

The English youth seemed unable to continue, so he just left the rest hanging in mid-air, and scowled unseeingly at the single light in the compartment ceiling.

Dave nodded, but didn't speak, because he was thinking the same thoughts as his war pal. And none of them were happy thoughts. True, they would go all out to pull off this miracle that had been dumped in their laps, but he realized in his heart that their chances were thinner than tissue paper. And every click of the coach wheels on the rail breaks added just another exclamation mark to that thought.

To be truthful with himself, he had actually believed that their chances of success were not much less than fifty-fifty. But that had been during the luncheon at Simpson's. There he had met Agent Jones, and Colonel Welsh's agent, who was introduced by the name of Brown. And something about both men had touched a hidden note within him, and filled him with a savage desire to succeed, and the partial belief that all might come off well, at that. During the luncheon no word, of course, had been spoken of the secret double mission about to be undertaken. But when they had all returned to Air Vice-Marshal Leman's office, they had gone into the whole thing in minute detail. At that time Freddy and he had heard both stories of Tobolsk first hand. And though little was added they had not already heard, hearing the stories from the lips of the men who had gone through it all simply made Dave want more than ever to deliver all the valuable information into the right hands. Maybe it was to help repay Jones and Brown for what they had suffered. Or maybe it was because he believed that success might shorten the war considerably.

He couldn't make up his mind which idea appealed to him most. He only knew that, when Freddy and he had finally parted company with the others, he wanted to come through with flying colors this time more than he had ever wanted to in his entire war career.

"Say, Freddy!" Dave suddenly broke the silence. "In case I haven't asked it yet, have you seen any Gestapo lads tagging along after us?"

The English youth shook his head and made a face.

"Not so much as a tiny peep at one," he replied. "And that gets me to thinking. It would be a very bad joke on us if the blighters saw through our little game, and left you and me strictly alone."

"A bad joke, yes," Dawson said with a grin. "But at least we'd be sure to see Moscow. And that was the big attraction in this to you, wasn't it? Or rather, isn't it?"

"Oh, quite!" Freddy snapped at him. "Just to see Moscow. _I'm_ really not interested at all in this business about Ivan Nikolsk. But seriously, though, I had a feeling that something might be tried before the train left. But nothing was. Frankly, I'm a little worried."

"Hard-boiled Farmer," Dawson grinned. "Never happy unless he has a fight on his hands. Stop worrying, pal. Something tells me you'll have plenty of chance for action before they ring down the curtain on this job."

"Here's hoping," Farmer mumbled. "But I'm still a little worried.

Frankly, I never ask trouble, let alone danger, to come my way. But for once I wish we'd see a bit of it. Such as some beggar coming barging through that compartment door, there, with a gun in his hand."

"What a pretty thought!" Dawson grunted. "Do I get it that you've suddenly got tired of living, pal? Or are you just a little more goofy than usual?"

"Neither!" the other told him shortly. "I simply mean that if something _did_ happen to me, I'd feel a little bit better."

"Why, then, just move your jaw this way, my friend," Dave said, and lifted his clenched right fist. "Always glad to oblige an old, old pal."

"The funniest man on earth, for fair!" Farmer snorted. "You'd make millions on the stage--maybe. You nit-wit, don't you get the point?"

"What point, Master Mind?" Dawson shot back at him. "Do you mean that--Oh, oh, I get it. If something happened to us, that would mean that our unseen Gestapo boys were biting at the bait, huh?"

"Splendid!" Freddy Farmer cried in mock joy. "I always knew that that brain of yours would come up with the right answer at least once during your life. Quite! That's exactly what I mean. I wish something would happen that was connected with us. It would certainly make me feel better."

"Well, maybe something will after we get off this train," Dawson said, and stifled a tiny yawn. "Maybe our friends don't like to do things on trains. Maybe ... Hey! We're slowing up for a station stop. Wonder what place it is? Let's have a look. Snap off the light, sweetheart."

Freddy Farmer whipped up his hand, and the compartment was instantly plunged into pitch darkness. Both boys felt their way over to the window and lifted up the blackout blinds. It took a few seconds to accustom their eyes to the even deeper darkness outside. And then they saw that the train was pa.s.sing the outskirts of a fair sized town, and obviously slowing down for an eventual full stop.

"My guess is that it's Edinburgh," Freddy Farmer said, with his nose pressed against the gla.s.s. "We've been on this thing long enough to get there, I fancy."

"There and back, I'd say," Dawson grunted, and squinted his eyes.

"There! I just saw a sign, but it could say Broadway and Forty-Second Street, for all I could read. Well, so what, anyway? Let's just say it's Edinburgh, and let it go at that. You can't see the end of your nose in this blackout."

"No, wait!" Freddy Farmer cried out as Dave started to turn away from the window. "It's not Edinburgh. Just some small place. I guess it must be a signal stop. No, it's definitely not Edinburgh yet."

"Okay, that's what I said," Dawson grunted. "Haul down the blinds, and let's put on the light. In this war, I want all the light I can get, when I can get it."

"Half a moment!" Freddy called out, with his nose still jammed against the window gla.s.s. "Yes, just as I thought. A signal stop. Two chaps are getting on at the rear. Just saw them now as the train came to a stop.

See? And now we're off again!"

All of which seemed to be quite true. The train had stopped for only the fraction of an instant, just long enough to let two pa.s.sengers swing quickly aboard. And now it was on its way again, and picking up speed fast. After Freddy had hauled the blackout curtains down into place, and snapped on the light again, Dave chuckled and gave a little shake of his head.

"Now what's biting you?" the English-born air ace wanted to know.

"Nothing special," Dawson replied, and stretched out comfortably on the cross-wise seat. "I was just thinking of how a guy does crazy things when there's something on his mind."

"Meaning me, I suppose?" Freddy challenged with a dark scowl.

"Meaning both of us," Dave replied. "Just these last few minutes. The train slowing down, and whether or not it was Edinburgh station. What do we care? We don't. But we act as though the thing were of great importance. See what I mean, pal? When you've got something big on your mind, it's human nature to grab at something small just for a change of scenery, you might say."

"Yes," Freddy Farmer said.

And that was all he said, for at that moment the compartment door was rolled back and the conductor came inside, rolling the door shut behind him.