`These are two of my brave fellows. There are many packages to carry to the 'plane so I wish I could have collected more men, but this was the best I could do at such short notice.'
Malacou, still breathing heavily from having had to run, stepped over to the stove and said, `I thought that after your long flight you would be half frozen; so I have here some soup for you.' Pouring the steaming liquid into three bowls, he handed them to Gregory, Williams and Szaajer.
`It's very welcome,' Gregory smiled, and Szaajer broke off a conversation he had started with the two farm workers to bow his thanks. But Kocjan said abruptly, `Drink quickly, please. We shall need every hand.' Then he signed to his helpers and they followed him out of the room.
While Gregory sipped at the scalding soup, Malacou confirmed in words the misfortunes that had befallen him during the past six months, giving a brief version of the thoughts he had conveyed by telepathy. As soon as they had finished he led them outside and round to a woodshed at the back of the cottage. It was lit by another oil lamp and Gregory saw that the two farm workers had already left with a first load. But Kocjan was there and the hunchback Tarik, who was helping him load a packing case on to a low, two-wheeled truck. Beyond them lay a pile of at least a score of roughly made crates and bundles. As Gregory's glance fell on them, he exclaimed uneasily in German
`Good God, what a mass of stuff! If all that pile contains metal parts they must weigh a ton.'
`No, nothing like it,' grunted the Pole. `It is the awkward shape of many pieces that makes them appear so bulky, and several of the cases contain documents we succeeded in stealing in a raid we made on a German headquarters. They may prove valuable, although not in the class of the rocket. We managed to prise off the tail, so have the whole works and have reason to be proud of our achievement.'
`You certainly have,' Gregory agreed. `I'm only wondering if the aircraft can take it, all. She's fitted with additional fuel tanks, of course; but she needs every gallon for her fourteen hundred-mile flight here and back.' Then he turned to Williams and asked him in English what he thought.
The Flight Lieutenant shrugged. `We have room enough for it, but there's more of it than I expected. If he is right about the pieces not weighing a great deal we'll make it.'
`Come now! You waste time talking,' cut in the Pole angrily. `Do you not realize that those S.D. swine are now out hunting for us? Every moment counts. Grab anything you can lift, all of you, and hurry with it to the aircraft.'
The crate was now on the trolley and, at a stumbling run, he set off with it. The other four picked up loads and followed him. As Gregory staggered along with a big box balanced on his shoulder, he saw that the searchlight beams no longer raked the sky. That fact confirmed the Polish leader's statement that the enemy knew the 'plane must have landed and now had their patrols out searching for it on the ground.
Ten minutes later they reached the aircraft. Culliford had taxied it up as near as he could get to the path between the reeds, then turned it round ready to take off. The farm workers had already stowed their first loads in her and were about to return for others. Altogether they made a party of eight, but they all had to make two more trips before they had cleared the woodshed. By then, as the result of Gregory's exertions, his bad leg was beginning to pain him; and the aircraft had been on the ground for an hour and ten minutes.
By the time the last package had been stowed clouds had piled up so that the sky was three-quarters overcast, and Wing Commander Frencombe was a little worried that his pilot might not be able to keep to the road during the run-up for the take- off. He then suggested that the two farm hands should be given torches and asked to take up positions on either side of the road some way ahead of the aircraft. Szaajer translated the request and the two men agreed. They then said good-bye to their leader and the Polish Flying Officer went off with them in the direction of Rowan to show them exactly where they should stand.
Seeing that it would be some minutes before Szaajer returned, Gregory walked a little way along a path among the reeds to relieve himself from a pain in the stomach that he had been feeling during the past half-hour. Kocjan meanwhile climbed into the aircraft and Williams followed him. A minute later Gregory caught the sound of voices raised in an altercation. Then Frencombe shouted to him:
'Sallust, where are you! Your friend wants us to take him and his servant back with us. That wasn't in the understanding, was it?'
`No,' Gregory shouted back. `Certainly not. I'll be with you in a minute.' Hastily he pulled up his trousers and ran towards the 'plane. On emerging from the reeds he saw that Malacou was half in and half out of the hatch, and clinging to it, while Tarik stood just below him.
Suddenly there came a shout from Szaajer, who by then was three hundred yards up the road. `Take off! Take off! Die Sicherheitspolizei are coming.'
Under the wing of the aircraft Gregory glimpsed distant headlights approaching swiftly from the direction of Rowan and caught the roar of motor-cycle engines. In a mixture of German and French Malacou was pleading desperately with Frencombe, who was barring his way into the aircraft.
`Please! Please! You must take us! You must! This country is accursed. You cannot deny me the chance to leave it.'
`I can't,' Frencombe shouted at him. `It was agreed that we should pick up Mr. Kocjan, because he's found out all about the rocket's mechanism. But no-one else. We've all the weight we can carry as it is. Let go, damn' you, so that Sallust can come aboard.'
The duty of the Captain of the aircraft was to save it at any cost from falling into the hands of the enemy. Its engine was already ticking over and next moment he snapped an order to his pilot. The engines burst into a roar and the Dakota began to quiver. Thrusting Tarik aside Gregory seized Malacou by the legs and dragged him from the hatch. They fell together in a heap.
As Gregory staggered to his feet, Frencombe cried, `Come on! Come on! Quick!', then leant from the hatch and stretched out a hand to help him up. But Tarik, seeing his master attacked, gave an angry grunt, charged Gregory and grappled with him. It was no time for half-measures and, knowing the Turk's strength, Gregory kneed him hard in the groin. With another grunt, Tarik released hiss hold and doubled up.
By then the aircraft had begun to move. Swinging round, Gregory ran beside it. His bad leg began to give him gyp, but he was only a few feet behind the still-open hatch and Frencombe was yelling encouragement to him. As the Dakota bumped along the road its pace increased, but Gregory put on a desperate spurt and succeeded in clutching the lower rim of the hatch. For one wild minute he was dragged along while Frencombe knelt down to grasp his wrist. But just as their hands met the aircraft lifted. The force of the slipstream against which Gregory had been battling proved too great. His aching fingers lost their precarious hold. He fell to the road and rolled over and over into the reeds.
The roar of the aircraft's engines had drowned that of the approaching motor-cycles, but as it soared away he heard a burst of Sten-gun fire. Half stunned, he lay where he had rolled, partly submerged in shallow muddy water, wondering if the S.D. men had seen him. Excited shouts in German came from some fifty yards away, then the sounds of the motor-cycle engines and more shots, but they seemed further off, and gradually the purring receded into the distance. Crawling out of the marsh he looked about him.
The moon had come out again, but the aircraft had disappeared and the road was empty. He realized that after shooting at the Dakota as she took off the S.D. men must have turned their machines about, pursued her as far as they could, still firing, and by now were searching for Szaajer and the two farm hands, whom they must have seen in their headlights.