"_Ja, ja!_" a second voice echoed hoarsely. "With my own eyes I saw him destroy five of the swine before he was forced to abandon his airplane. Look at him, you French dogs. There is a German hero. After such a thrilling experience he is not hurt at all. Just a bump or two, and a little winded. By this time tomorrow he will again be in his airplane and again destroying those who would war with us. Look at him. See the medals of bravery, and gallant service to the Fuehrer, that he already wears? Five of them, I saw him destroy. With my own eyes!" "Hold your tongue!" the first voice snarled again. "We all saw it, so you do not need to tell us. Here, make yourself useful and soak this towel in cold water again. He will be conscious in another moment or two. Has anybody heard from the city? Did those swine dogs do much damage?" "A few fires from incendiaries," Dawson heard somebody reply, "but they are all out, or under control by now." "Good, good!" the snarling one said. "The swine dogs! But we will show them. Wait and see! Ah! So you have finally brought the towel? Now we will help our Luftwaffe hero." Dawson sensed movement very close to him, and then suddenly his face felt as though it had been buried in an iceberg. He had, of course, expected a cool towel to be placed on his face, but actually the towel was so icy cold that he gasped in spite of himself, and made as though to brush it away with his hands. The towel was quickly removed and he found himself staring up into the smiling face of a fat, double-chinned German. The man wore civilian clothes, and a badge on the right lapel of his coarse cloth jacket indicated that he was some kind of a factory official. "Ah, you are better now, yes?" he said, and beamed at Dawson. "You had an accident with your parachute just before you struck the ground. But you are safe now, and in good hands. I personally ordered you to be brought inside and made comfortable. But, my pardon, _Herr Leutnant_, there is perhaps something you wish?" The way the man waved his puffy hands, and obviously tried to create the impression that he personally had done a great service to an officer of Hitler's Luftwaffe, instantly typed the man for what he was, as far as Dawson was concerned. Dave sat up straighter in the padded chair he was in and eyed the man coldly. And he also took a brief moment to sweep the faces of the ten or twelve others crowded into what looked like a factory office. He saw some faces that beamed with pride, and even a little awe. Their owners he knew were German.