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The Floating Press - Sidney Bowen Robert

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98 pages

English

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In this exciting volume of the ever-popular Dave Dawson War Adventure series, our courageous American-born RAF pilot puts his skills to work against enemy forces on the Eastern Front. Will Dawson be able to make a decisive difference in what historians of the war call the biggest and bloodiest military conflict of all time?

Sujets

Adventure (Guyana)

Adventure

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 août 2013
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781776528165
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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DAVE DAWSON ON THE RUSSIAN FRONT
* * *
ROBERT SIDNEY BOWEN

*
Dave Dawson on the Russian Front First published in 1943 ISBN 978-1-77652-816-5 © 2013 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
*
Chapter One - Mystery Man Chapter Two - Room 1200 Chapter Three - Fate Laughs Chapter Four - East of Darkness Chapter Five - Doubling for Death Chapter Six - Eagles for Moscow Chapter Seven - You Can't See Death Chapter Eight - Nazi Lightning Chapter Nine - TNT Twins Chapter Ten - Eastward to War Chapter Eleven - Moscow Magic Chapter Twelve - The Living Dead Chapter Thirteen - High Stakes Chapter Fourteen - Success or Suicide? Chapter Fifteen - Land of the Dead Chapter Sixteen - Satan is Gleeful Chapter Seventeen - End of the Beginning Chapter Eighteen - Aces Don't Wait Chapter Nineteen - Headaches for Hitler Endnotes
Chapter One - Mystery Man
*
"Okay, okay!" Dave Dawson growled, and rolled over to a more comfortableposition in the hotel bed. "It's dear old England. A wonderful country,a great place. And you're tickled silly to be here. Okay, I agree withevery word you say. God save the King, and there'll always be anEngland. Now , will you let a guy get some sleep?"
"But you don't understand what it means to me, Dave." Freddy Farmerspoke through the darkness from the other bed. "This is my native land,my home, and I've—"
"Gone completely screwy!" Dawson snapped. "Sweet tripe! You were hereonly two days ago. Two days you've been away, and you're sounding off asthough you'd been away for a million years. Just a two day jaunt over toFrance, and the guy starts flag waving. My pal, much as I like you, youare a pain in seventeen different places at the same time. Go to sleep,you bow-legged Commando!" [1]
"Just what I've said quite often," Freddy said placidly. "It takes anEnglishman to really appreciate his homeland. Two years or two days,what does it matter? The joy that is his upon arriving back home isalways the same. Do you see what I mean, Dave?"
Dawson groaned, sat up in bed, and switched on the table lamp. But as hedid so he took a quick automatic glance at the room windows to make surethat the blackout curtains were drawn and securely fastened. Then hehunched around in bed and glared at his closest and dearest friend inthe world.
"The day will come!" he snarled. "So help me, the day will come!"
The English-born air ace blinked, and looked blank.
"Eh?" he echoed. "What say, Dave?"
"Just that the day will come, so help me!" Dawson answered, and leveleda stiff forefinger. "The day will come when I'll forget I like you, andwill up and bust you right on your snoot. For cat's sake, Freddy! You'reworse than a woman, from what I hear of them. Don't you ever shut up?"
Freddy Farmer propped a hand under his head and grinned.
"But I don't feel sleepy," he said. "I want to talk. Don't you? Now,really, you're not sleepy, are you, Dave? After all, we haven't had muchtime to talk since we got back from that Commando show in OccupiedFrance. We've—I say! What's the matter, old fellow?"
The last was because Dawson's hands had come up in an attitude ofprayer, and his lips were moving soundlessly.
"Just calling for strength," he told his pal. "For a second there Ialmost wished that you had been left behind, you doggone phonographrecord. Look, pal, see these lines on my face? And these pouches undermy eyes? Well, that's not from age. Just because I'm tired."
Freddy Farmer stared hard, and his face flooded with sympathy. However,there was a very wicked gleam in his eyes.
"I say, Dave, old thing!" he murmured. "I'm frightfully sorry, no end. Ithought—well, as you Yanks say, that you could take it. I didn't dreamthat little Commando show in Occupied France would do you in so much.Put out the light, you poor fellow, and try to get some sleep. Want meto send down to the chemist shop for something to make you sleep?Drugstore, you call it in the States, don't you?"
Dawson carefully settled himself in a sitting position, and then,clasping his hands in his lap, he started to count.
"One—two—three—four—five—!"
"I say, Dave, what's up?" Freddy Farmer cried in alarm.
"When I get to ten, you'll find out!" Dawson barked. Then, with a heavysigh, "Okay, okay, you want to talk, so what chance have I got? Icouldn't sleep, now, if I were hit by a truck. But just one thing,Freddy Farmer: keep this night in your memory, always!"
"Why, Dave?"
"Just never mind, sweetheart!" Dave grunted. "Skip it for the present.As you were saying?"
"Oh, so you want to talk, old thing?" the English youth echoed, andgrinned maliciously. "Splendid! It is nice to be back in England, isn'tit?"
"I could answer that, but my folks brought me up to act like agentleman!" Dawson snapped. "What else, Edison?"
"Edison?"
"The inventor of the phonograph," Dawson said. "Turn the record and putin a new needle!"
"Well, I was wondering—" the English youth murmured, as he let thewisecrack sail right over his head—"I was wondering what next, Dave?"
"More loss of sleep," Dawson flung at him, "because of more useless talkat three in the morning from a certain nit-wit. And, I do mean you!"
"And the same to you, sir!" Freddy came right back at him, and made aface. "But I am still wondering what's going to happen next?"
"Who cares, so long at it's action against those dirty Nazis," Dawsonsaid.
"Quite!" the English youth murmured. "But you're a very tired littlefellow. Go on back to sleep. I'll tell you about it in the morning.That'll be time enough. Good night, Dave. Or rather, good morning."
Freddy reached a hand toward the table lamp between the twin beds, butDave grabbed hold of it in time.
"Nix!" he said. "That look on your face makes me suspicious, youngfellow. You've got something important on your mind. I can tell. Comeon, now. Let's have it, pal."
"Oh, I fancy it will keep until morning," Freddy Farmer said with awicked grin. "Go get your beauty sleep. After all, it arrived after youhad gone to sleep. So what's the difference?"
By now Dawson was wide awake, and as he swung his legs out from underthe covers there was a dangerous glint in his eyes.
"Stop right there, pal!" he grunted, and leveled a finger. "What cameafter I'd gone to sleep? Do you tell me, or do I toss you through thatwindow, blackout curtains and all?"
"Oh no you don't!" the English youth cried as he leaped out of bed onthe far side. "Calm down, young fellow, and I'll tell you. Stay put, ornot a word will I tell you!"
Dawson relaxed and sank back on his bed.
"Okay, but it had better be good!" he growled through a yawn. "Okay,what's the big mystery?"
"It was a phone call," Freddy Farmer said with a jerk of his head towardthe instrument on the wall. "From the Air Ministry. We are to report atRoom Twelve Hundred at eight o'clock in the morning."
"Hey, they can't do that to us!" Dave cried. "We're supposed to be onleave. We—Did the chap at the other end say what it was all about?"
Freddy Farmer shook his head and slid back into bed.
"Not a word," he said. "Naturally, I asked questions. But that's all thegood it did me. The chap was very brusque. Report at eight, and that'sthat."
Dawson sighed and gave a sad shake of his head.
"Not that I don't want to do my part in trimming the Nazis," he said,"but, my gosh, I could do with at least a couple of days leave. Why, Ihaven't even had time to see a movie in months. Oh, well, maybe it's forsomething unimportant."
"I doubt it," Freddy Farmer said emphatically. "I guess you've forgottenRoom Twelve Hundred at the Air Ministry, Dave."
"Huh?" Dawson echoed, jerking his head up. "Room—? Holy smoke! That'sRoyal Air Force Intelligence! But it doesn't make sense, Freddy. We'renot in the R.A.F. now. We're with the Yank forces!"
"Quite!" the English-born air ace grunted. "But I fancy Air Ministrywouldn't have phoned that order if they hadn't first obtained permissionof Yank G.H.Q. But what difference does it make, anyway, if it's YankG.H.Q. or the Air Ministry? Either of them could detail a job to us.But the important thing to me is, what is it this time?"
"The fellow on the phone didn't give you any kind of a hint?" Dawsonpersisted.
The English youth shook his head.
"Not the faintest," he replied. "We'll just have to wait and find out,I'm afraid."
Dawson groaned and glanced at the clock on the night table. The handsshowed him it was exactly sixteen minutes to four. Just four hours andsixteen minutes to wait!
"Nuts!" he sighed, and slid down under the covers. "I wish I hadn't madeyou tell me, pal. Now there's a fat chance that I'll get any more sleep!You don't happen to have a deck of cards around, do you? We could killtime with some two-handed rummy."
"Sorry," Freddy Farmer said. "Not a card. But I'll sing to you, if youlike."
"Never!" Dawson cried out in mock protest. "Spare me that, please, sir.Besides, I don't want to have the authorities piling in here to arrestyou for impersonating the air raid sirens. Nix! I'll permit you to singover my dead body. I'll—Oh, darn it! What do you suppose they've gotcooked up for us in Room Twelve Hundred at the Air Ministry?"
"How I wish I knew!" Freddy Farmer breathed solemnly. "But if pastexperience means anything, there's one thing we can bank on, no doubt."
"Which would be?" Dawson grunted.
"A messy job of some kind," the English youth opined. "They seem to savethat sort of thing especially for us."
"Check and double check!" Dawson murmured. "Y