delayed.”
A gate opened and a man in coveralls came up to meet them. Domber spoke to him and the man walked with them to a locked door in a second wall. Producing a key, he opened the door and let them through.
Stan was startled by what he saw. There was a sunken runway leading into an underground hangar. Domber beamed.
“Not a bomb ever falls here. Above our shops there is a church and a schoolhouse. We do much valuable research here and cannot afford to be disturbed.”
Stan looked along the runway. It ended abruptly at a steel fence, but a roadway went on in a twisting course, making detection of the runway difficult.
“Very clever,” Stan said.
“I was sure you’d appreciate it,” Domber said. “Now we’ll have a look at the P-51.”
They entered the underground hangar by going down a shaft in an elevator. Stepping out of the elevator Stan saw a well-lighted and spacious hangar. Various planes stood along one high wall. There was a Fort, a Wellington, two Spitfires, a Lockheed Lightning, and at the far end in a wide shop space stood a new P-51. Her nose was pointed out toward the runway and she looked ready to glide out from underground and take off. Domber laughed.
“I’m sorry, but it can’t be done,” he said as though Stan had spoken his thoughts out loud.
“Can’t blame me for thinking about it, can you?” Stan asked.
They walked over to the fighter. She had been patched up and looked airworthy enough.
“Mind if I go up?” Stan asked.
A dozen men working in the shop stood watching. “No, go ahead,” Domber said.
Stan climbed up and into the cockpit. A glance showed him that there had been considerable instrument damage which the German mechanics had not been able to repair. He noticed at once that the engine was hooked up to a small portable gasoline tank. That meant she had no fuel in her except just enough to make test runs of the engine. It probably was a fire hazard measure, but it also was one reason why Domber was so willing to let Stan get into the cockpit.
The other reason Stan soon discovered. Looking out, he saw on each side of the opening to the runway, batteries of aircraft cannon. Those guns could lay a concentrated cross fire over the runway so deadly that any plane would be blown to bits in a minute.
Stan climbed down out of the cockpit. He faced Herr Domber. “Just what was it you wanted me to do?” He had to stall for time, more time.
“You will assemble and repair the supercharger on that plane. Every tool you need will be at hand, and if you need an assistant I will furnish you one who speaks English.” Herr Domber was smiling as he spoke.
“That’s a big order,” Stan said.
“My experts could do this, but it might take several weeks and we do not have that much time. We have such a ship as this one. All we need is a supercharger to make it the best ship in the world. Naturally I am anxious and do not wish to lose any time.”
“I’ll need an English-speaking helper. I may have to have parts made and I do not run a lathe,” Stan said.
Herr Domber called a man over to him. After listening for a few minutes the man left. He returned a few minutes later with a youngster not more than eighteen years of age.
“Swen, you will be Lieutenant Wilson’s assistant. Help him in every way you can. You are under his orders,” Herr Domber said.
“Heil Hitler,” Swen said and saluted. He was a blond, curly-headed kid with a ready smile. Stan grinned at him and said:
“We’ll get along.”
“You may talk freely to Swen,” Domber said. “He is a tested party man, but he does not like killing, so he is a mechanic. I have to watch him to keep the generals from stealing him and sending him off to Russia to fight.” Domber laughed, but Stan saw fear come into the boy’s eyes.
“Anyone else speak English in the shop?” he asked. “I might want another man.”
“No others,” Domber said. “Now we must get to work.”
Stan was supplied with a locker and a pair of coveralls. He was taken to a special room in the shop. There he found parts from P-51’s recently shot down. The smaller shop was completely equipped. Three other men worked at benches before a window. Stan was assigned to a vacant bench. Before him lay part of the new dual turbo- supercharger. Other parts were stacked on a table.
“Know anything about one of these gadgets?” Stan asked Swen.
“Gadget?” Swen repeated in a British accent.
“Yank word for machine,” Stan explained.
“No, I have never seen one before,” Swen replied.
Herr Domber stood around for a little while, then made off. Stan grinned at Swen. He had decided to work upon the kid. There might be a chance to do something. Swen, like most young Germans, was deadly afraid of being sent to the Russian front. It might be that he secretly hated the men who bossed him.
At the next bench a tall mechanic was working with a part from a Spitfire. Stan moved over to the edge of his bench.
“Hand me that wrench,” he said to the tall German.
The German reached over and handed Stan the wrench. Suddenly his face became very red and he spoke angrily in German.
“Thanks, buddy,” Stan said. “I’m glad you speak American.”
The German shrugged his shoulders and went on working. Swen looked at Stan and said:
“I am your helper. I could have handed you that wrench.”
“I just wanted to be sure Heinie, here, could understand everything we say. I noticed that he was just playing with that oil gauge. It’s an old type that’s been out of use for four years.”
The tall German’s face got redder. He growled something and moved away. Stan figured he was going to report he had been spotted.
“Now, Swen,” Stan said, “we’re going to be friends, you and I.”
Swen looked scared. “Heil Hitler,” he said. “I am not to be your friend.”
“You won’t get hurt,” Stan said softly. “Just tell them everything I tell you when they question you tonight.”
“They will kill you,” Swen said in a low voice. “Herr Domber poisoned the other one. He will do the same to you.”
“Tell me about it quickly. They won’t be leaving us alone without a spotter very long,” Stan said.
“I do not know how it was done. I heard the Gestapo men laughing about it. The British flier thought he was going to get away. He fixed up his plane and had gasoline enough for much testing. But after he had it running and they learned what they wanted to know about it, he just fell over dead.”
“That is quicker than working it out by themselves. Not much, but a few days,” Stan said grimly.
At that moment the tall German who had been working at the next bench came running up. He was out of breath when he halted before Stan.
“I am to be your helper.” He turned upon Swen. “Get out into the shop.”
“Sorry to lose you, Swen,” Stan called after the boy. He turned to the new helper. “They sure sent you back on the run. Did you get a good skinning?”
The German scowled at Stan. “I am to take orders,” he muttered.
Stan laughed. The softhearted Swen had been planted on him. They were supposed to get chummy while the tall mechanic listened and picked up anything of value which might be said.
“What am I supposed to call you?” Stan asked.
“Hans,” the mechanic said shortly.
“Well, Hans, we’ll have a try at assembling this thing,” Stan said.
Stan worked on the supercharger all that afternoon and convinced himself that he could fit it together and make it work. Toward evening Herr Domber came back. He halted beside the bench and looked at the machinery there.
