DAVE DAWSON WITH THE EIGHTH AIR FORCE _by_ R. SIDNEY BOWEN The War Adventure Series CROWN PUBLISHERS New York COPYRIGHT, 1944, BY CROWN PUBLISHERS PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA [Transcriber's Note: Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] _Dedicated to_ Joel Stivers CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I JUNK WINGS 11 II BLITZ SCARS 26 III THE DEAD CAN'T BREATHE 37 IV HERR BARON NO FACE 52 V SATAN'S PAWNS 65 VI WHEN ENGLAND STOOD ALONE! 75 VII UNCLE SAM STEPS IN 91 VIII SIXTEEN KHOLERSTRASSE 108 IX EAGLES TAKE-OFF 124 X NO MAN'S SKY 135 XI WINGED FURY 146 XII WAR'S FLOTSAM 156 XIII THE BLANK WALL 168 XIV SINISTER SILENCE 183 XV THE LIVING DEAD 197 XVI WE WHO MUST DIE 214 XVII SATAN'S WINGS 226 XVIII SOMETHING FOR HITLER 237 DAVE DAWSON WITH THE EIGHTH AIR FORCE CHAPTER ONE _Junk Wings_ With one eye on the instrument board, and the other on the lookout for other planes in that area of cloud-filled sky over England, Dave Dawson hauled the Lockheed Lightning around to the left at a fast clip, and then deliberately pulled the nose straight up, and let the fighter plane take the bit in its teeth until it stalled. It did just that eventually, and at practically the same time the starboard Allison engine sputtered badly and started to throw black smoke. "What gives with this heap of junk, anyway?" Dawson grunted, and eased off the throttles as the Lightning fell off the stall and went whanging down in a dive to pick up flying speed. "Talk about your cranky crates! This baby is certainly something. Or maybe it's me. Let's try it again and see." Once more he hauled the ship to the left, and then pointed the nose toward Heaven. The fighter aircraft power climbed to the stalling point, and then the starboard engine repeated its little performance. It sputtered and started to throw smoke. And just to make it unanimous, the port engine started doing the same thing. "Well, that's that!" Dawson said with a nod for emphasis, and eased back the throttles again. "Maybe this is a very fine airplane, but I sure don't want any part of it. No, not even for a joy hop." And with another nod for emphasis he slanted the plane earthward, after he had pulled it out of its stall drive, and went coasting down through the drifting patches of cloud toward the home drome of the Two Hundred and Fifth Squadron, Fighter Command, U. S. Eighth Air Force. He got Operations on his R.T., received permission to land, and went sliding in. After he had braked to a stop he trundled the plane over to its dispersal bay. His mechanics were there waiting for him, and the technical sergeant in charge of the group gave him a questioning look as he killed both engines and legged out of the pit and down onto the ground. "Is there a foundry near here, Sergeant?" Dawson asked as he pulled off his helmet and goggles. "A what, Captain?" the other echoed.