“If I ever fly over Berchtesgaden, I hope it’s not to take pictures,” Tom said.
“Me, too,” Red said fervently. “I’d like to be sitting right alongside the bombardier, watching those block busters land right in Mr. Hitler’s lap.”
Tom looked out the glazed window and then said, “Well, I guess we’re ready to go.” He signalled with his hand to the ground crew and a few seconds later, the great motors thundered to life. The ship trembled for an instant and then was rolling smoothly down the runway, gathering speed with every foot.
The lieutenant pulled the stick back slowly and the ship lifted into the air, dropped momentarily and then soared upward again in a steady climb.
Tom grinned at Red and, over the noise of the motor, said, “We’re on our way.”
Red closed his fist and pointed his thumb in the air with a wink.
The lieutenant turned back to his controls, and Tink and Jing settled down for the trip.
“How long do you think we’ll be gone?” Jing asked.
“Just a few hours,” Tink said. “We’ll cross the channel, fly over France and then return. Shouldn’t take long at all.”
They flew steadily for several moments gaining altitude, and then they saw the wide, bright ribbon of the Thames gleaming beneath them, beautifully silvered with moonlight.
When they reached about thirty-five thousand feet the lieutenant levelled off and headed directly east. The cabin was cold, and despite the automatic oxygen device the air was almost too thin to breathe.
Jing hugged herself and nestled closer to Tink.
“I don’t like this,” she said through chattering teeth.
Lieutenant Diggles glanced at his instruments and a worried frown settled on his face. He joggled a small switch several times, then shoved his goggles up to his forehead and glanced out the window.
“What’s the matter?” Red asked.
The lieutenant shrugged helplessly.
“Can’t tell for sure. We’re losing altitude. I think the de-icers are on the blink. It’s okay unless we run into real weather, then we’ll be out of luck.”
Jing looked at Tink and raised her slim eyebrows significantly.
“Are you thinking what I am?” she asked.
Tink nodded thoughtfully.
“I think it’s about time for me to go to work,” he said. “If the de-icers on this plane aren’t working, I’ll bet anything Nastee’s behind the trouble.”
“Where are the de-icers?” Jing asked.
“Out on the wings,” Tink said.
“Well how’re you going to get out there?”
“Very simple,” Tink said. “Watch.”
He scampered up the instrument panel and jumped into the breech of the machine gun. Using all of his strength he dislodged a cartridge and crawled into the small dark shell chamber. Then he slipped into the barrel of the gun and crawled along its two-foot length until he reached its open end.
The cold, lashing wind that whipped past him almost tore his head off, but he fought his way on, until he was able to drop from the gun to the cowling and then to the broad surface of the wing, dangerously slick from its coating of ice.
He ran along the wing until he reached the de-icer apparatus and there, crouching in the lee of the equipment, he found Nastee, curled up in a small, cold ball.
His eyes were closed and his teeth were chattering. And he was oblivious to everything except his own discomfort.
Tink kicked him with his foot.
“What’s the idea?” he demanded.
Nastee blinked his frost-laden eyes open and stared with incredulous amazement at Tink.
“How’d you get here?” he sputtered.
“That’s beside the point,” Tink said. “What have you done to the de-icers on this plane?”
In spite of his frozen discomfort, Nastee managed to smile triumphantly.
“Wouldn’t you like to know!” he said. He chuckled gleefully. “I suppose we’ll be forced to land pretty soon, won’t we?”
Tink shook his head, then smiled at Nastee’s bewilderment.
“No,” he said, “we won’t have to land. I just heard the pilot say he can get along without the di-icers if the weather doesn’t get worse. And that seems rather unlikely.”
It was Nastee’s turn to chortle.
“That’s what you think,” he laughed. “But I just talked to a gremlin scout and he said we’re heading into a storm within fifty miles. And the temperature is due to drop about fifty degrees.”
“You’re lying,” Tink said.
“All right, then,” Nastee said smugly, “there’s nothing to worry about if I’m lying. You just go on back to the cabin and relax.”
Tink knew that Nastee wasn’t lying. And he knew that if they flew into bad weather, their plane would be forced to drop within range of German anti-aircraft guns.
“You always think you’re so smart,” Nastee jeered. “I suppose you came along to stop me from doing my work. Well what are you going to do?”
Tink stared angrily at Nastee.
“I don’t know, yet,” he snapped, “But get this; this plane isn’t going to crash in France!”
Nastee laughed spitefully.
“We’ll see about that,” he said.
Chapter III
Tink returned to the cabin and told Jing what had happened.
“But what can you do?” Jing asked, when he finished. “If we’re flying into a cold storm and the de-icers aren’t working, we’ll be shot down, won’t we?” Tink nodded somberly.
“We wouldn’t have a chance,” he said.
“Could you fix the de-icers?” Jing asked.
“No. I don’t know anything about them. And you can bet that Nastee’s done a thorough job of wrecking them.”
“But we’ve got to do something,” Jing said worriedly.
Tink snapped his fingers suddenly He glanced up at the lieutenant’s lean, serious features and then his eyes shifted to the dashboard. There was a speculative expression on his face.
Jing watched him anxiously.
“Did you think of something to do?” she asked.
“I think I’ve got it,” Tink said. “We’ve got to dodge that storm or we don’t have a chance.”
Jing’s slim eyebrows drew together in a frown.
“But how can you do that?” she asked.
“We’re flying east now,” Tink said, speaking quickly. “In a few more minutes, we’ll hit the storm. Before we do I’ve got to make our pilot swing south. That will take us out of the storm area.” He glanced at the dashboard again, a bright, beaming light in his eyes.
Jing shook her head helplessly.
“But how are you going to do that?” she asked.
“Watch,” Tink said quietly.
He crawled across the dial-pitted surface of the dashboard until he reached the compass, and then he went to work, his tiny dexterous fingers working with swift sureness. When he crept back to Jing’s side there was a pleased expression of triumph on his merry face.
“What did you do?” Jing asked breathlessly.
“Wait and see,” Tink said.
Lieutenant Tom Diggles was glancing out the window, squinting into the steadily thickening snow flurries that eddied about the plane, and there was a worried frown on his face. The frown deepened when he turned to the temperature gauge.
“I think we’re in for it,” he said to Red over his shoulder. “This weather is thickening and it’s getting colder. We’re dropping pretty fast.” He shook his head bitterly. “If only those damn de-icers weren’t on the blink.”
“Don’t blame our ground crews,” Red said, shaking his head ominously.
“This looks like the gremlins’ work.”