"There's precious little, if any, time to lose, Dave, old thing," Freddy spoke in a tight, emotion-filled voice. "The least we can do is try--as he did, poor devil." "Try?" Dawson echoed with a little harsh laugh. "Try what? Try--Hey, Freddy! You mean--?" "Quite," young Farmer said, and began peeling off the Luftwaffe uniform he wore. "Those two Gestapo rats, there. We'll borrow their uniforms, and their car outside, and go find that ring of hills, and its camouflaged field. The Duisburg-Dortmund highway is not far from here." "And when we reach the field?" Dawson said, as he stripped off his own Luftwaffe jacket. "Then what? Most likely the guards are five deep around the place!" "No doubt!" Freddy Farmer said grimly, and for an instant let his gaze rest on the dead man. "But even if the whole blasted Nazi army is there, we've got to try to get in there somehow. Perhaps these uniforms will help us get by the guards. I hope so. But look, Dave, if you don't--" "Who says I don't?" Dawson interrupted angrily. "I was only wondering if you had some kind of a plan." "None at all," young Farmer replied. "Have you?" "No," Dawson replied, and went over to one of the unconscious Germans in black uniforms and heavy boots. "Maybe we can think up one on the way. Set the place on fire, he said, eh? Of course he must have meant that fire would touch off the rest of what's there. But, boy! If we only had a plane. Any kind of a plane, just so long--" Dawson suddenly let his voice trail off, and an agate gleam leaped into his eyes as he knelt down beside one of the Germans and quickly relieved him of his uniform. And that gleam was still in the Yank air ace's eyes when a few moments later Freddy and he bound the Germans hand and foot, gagged them, and then stole silently out of the room, and along the hallway to the front door. There they paused a moment, eased open the battered door, and peered out. Duisburg was still in darkness, and there was no sound to be heard save that of their own breathing. It took Dawson a second or two to pick out the small Nazi Army car at the curb. When he had, he touched Freddy lightly on the arm, went out the door, and down the short flight of steps. Without a word he slid behind the wheel, and held out his hand to Freddy. Young Farmer nodded and handed over the ignition keys. A minute later Dawson slid the car away from the curb. And ten minutes after that he was rolling it along the highway between Duisburg and Dortmund. "Have any ideas clicked yet, Freddy?" he presently broke the silence between them. "I figure we've got about five or six miles to go. Keep your eyes skinned, because we could very easily slide right by those hills in the dark."