"No, I haven't the ghost of an idea," Farmer replied. "If only some of our planes would come over we might be able to signal them to dump some bombs around. Small chance of that, however. It's close to midnight, and if any of our planes are out they've jolly well reached their objectives by now. Good grief! It's almost as though the Devil himself were watching over the Nazis this night." "This night, and a lot of other nights, I guess," Dawson said, tight-lipped. "Look, Freddy, are we awake, or _is_ all this just a crazy nightmare? I mean, I want to believe that poor fellow ... I mean, of course, he wasn't off his beam; he told us the truth. But--suffering catfish! Fire bombs that throw liquid fire for hundreds of yards? And British and Yank planes flown by German suicide pilots and crews? And _if_ they succeed, three fourths of our combined air forces in England will be so much burned out junk? It--well, it just seems almost too much to believe. It's like stuff you'd read about in a ten-cent blood and thunder thriller. Doggone it! This is a war with guns, and tanks, and ships, and planes...." "And a lot of _other_ things that most of us never dreamed of before the start of the war, Dave," Freddy Farmer said quietly, as Dawson struggled for words. "Radar, for instance. The Nazi rocket gun. And our own jet-propulsion plane for another. And that's saying nothing at all about the miracles in medicine that have come out of this war so far. Yes, I know how you feel, Dave. That it just can't be true. That it isn't possible. But when you think about it for a moment, you find yourself asking, why isn't it true, and why isn't it possible? And the only answer is, that it is, and could be. War knows no limits. And that goes for the minds of men who create the devilish weapons of war. Or do I sound silly?" "No, kid," Dawson said. "It just got me for a moment. The seemingly fantastic part. No, you're right. Anything _can_ happen, or be cooked up in an all out total war. And the Nazis are just the breed to cook up something like liquid fire bombs. But--" Dawson choked off the rest as at that exact moment a small searchlight suddenly became visible not fifty yards along the highway in front of them, and its beam became trained directly on the car. In the side glow Dawson could just make out the ugly snout of a mounted machine gun, and the booted feet of the men who operated it. Then a uniformed figure, with a sub-machine gun hung over one arm, stepped out into the beam of light and rapidly winked a red-shaded flashlight as a signal for the car to stop. "Keep your gun ready!" Dawson whispered between stiff lips as he slackened the car's speed and applied the brakes. "Here's the first test, kid. Maybe this is the end of the line, but on the other hand, maybe we can shoot it out with them and skip off cross-country. Hold everything until we make sure." "With you, old chap!" Freddy Farmer replied in a voice so low that Dawson almost didn't catch it.