Back of the genial manner Stan felt the cold threat of death lurking in the way the traitor looked at him. Domber was very sure of himself and of his power. Stan resolved that he was going to be one guest who fooled the Dutch Quisling.
After dinner Domber showed Stan his collection of war trophies and his laboratory and workshop. The laboratory was far more elaborate than the workshop. Stan was fascinated by the plants and animals Domber kept there. Domber laughed softly.
“I experiment much,” he said. Then he added, “I have done much with poison gas as well as with rare drugs.”
“You plan to use poison gas?” Stan asked.
“If our plans work out well, yes,” Domber said frankly. “If Minter’s work is well done and we are able to smash a large part of the British and American air power, we will launch gas attacks upon the principal English cities and later make an invasion.” He smiled slightly.
“You have the planes?” Stan asked.
“For one big blow. First we smash the air power, then we attack. We have endured much bombing to save air power for this.” Domber had ceased smiling and for the first time his hate came to the surface. He shrugged his shoulders suddenly. “But we waste time. We will have a look at the P-51.”
CHAPTER XI
MUSTANG
Herr Domber led the way from his shop and laboratory to the street entrance where a car was waiting. He scowled at the guards outside his door and shouted, “Heil Hitler!” Then he marched down the walk to the car. This time no uniformed guards went along. There was just the driver, Domber, and Stan.
Stan was beginning to get the idea that the Dutch Quisling disliked the military. But he was not fooled into thinking Domber did not have his own henchmen. The driver of the car was a powerful fellow with beetled brows and scowling face. As soon as they pulled away from the curb, another car slipped in behind them and never left them until they parked outside a walled enclosure.
They were getting out of the car when a German military machine roared up and stopped. Two officers got out and moved stiffly toward the spot where Stan and Domber stood.
“Heil Hitler,” Domber said. Then he opened up with an angry flow of German.
The officers snapped back at him and a heated argument raged. Stan gathered the officers were angry because Domber had taken Stan out without a proper armed guard. Apparently Domber won the argument. The officers saluted and made off.
“Such fools. They fear you would escape,” Domber explained. “I have told them you would not get a hundred yards before you would be killed. No one has ever escaped from the Bloodhound.”
“Bloodhound?”
“That is a pet name my Dutch friends have given me.” He smiled at Stan. “But come, we are being 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.