Dave Dawson at Casablanca

by Robert Sidney Bowen

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  _Goering's Snoopers_

  "Anything else I can get you, sir?"

  Dawson glanced up at the mess orderly standing by the table, shook hishead, and smiled.

  "No thanks, Corporal," he said. "I've had all I can hold. How about you,Freddy?"

  "I'm finished, too," the English youth said with a contented sigh. "Thathit the spot, Corporal. My compliments."

  "Thank you, sir," the mess orderly said, and beamed his pleasure.

  "Tell me, where is everybody, Corporal?" Dawson asked, and waved a handat the empty mess room. "Out on patrol?"

  "Oh, no, sir," the orderly explained. "This is only a stop-over base forpilots and equipment headed for the front. We don't fly any patrols fromhere, sir, though a few of the pilots have been taking a whack atGoering's Snoopers, whenever they get close enough."

  "_Goering's Snoopers?_" Dawson echoed with a puzzled look. "Do you meanNazi bombing raids on this place?"

  "No, sir," the other replied promptly. "And that's the funny part of it,too. Not one of them has come within gun range of this place. Fact is,only once since they started their funny business three days ago, havewe seen them. Then they were so high, they were no more than dots. Iheard one of the pilots say, though, that they were long-range Junkers.Goering's Snoopers, we call them, because they seem to hang around allthe time, but do nothing. I wish we did have a regular squadron offighter planes here, though. Those Junkers get on my nerves. A darnfunny business, if you ask me, sir."

  Neither Dawson nor Farmer made any comment for a moment. They simplyexchanged glances, and each knew what the other was thinking. Thinkingof the mysterious flock of Junkers Ju-88's they had seen a hundredmiles or so off the coast.

  "Phantom ships, eh, Corporal?" Dawson finally spoke. "Any of the pilotswho went up after them lucky enough to nail one?"

  "Yes, I think so, sir," the orderly replied with a nod. "Day beforeyesterday they say a P-38 pilot got one of them. It was way inland nearMarrakech. I heard the pilot had just enough gas to get back. It'spretty bad country in these parts for forced landing, you know, sir."

  "But doesn't the C.O. know where the bombers are based?" Freddy Farmerspoke up. "They're not coming here all the way from Tunisia, are they?"

  "I couldn't say, sir," the orderly replied with a shrug. "All I know iswhat I hear around the base. There aren't many of us here. The baseisn't in full swing yet. But it won't be long, and then maybe we'll havea fighter squadron here, in case them Nazis try to really startsomething. Funny about them Snoopers starting to show up three days ago.It doesn't make sense. But what does in this screwy war?"

  Neither Dawson nor Farmer had an answer for that one, so they justshrugged, and pushed back their chairs.

  "Well, thanks for the fine meal, Corporal," Dawson said, and tossed abill on the table. "Here, have a time for yourself when you get a passto town."

  "I sure will, and thanks, Captain!" the orderly gulped when he saw theamount of Dawson's tip. "Thanks a lot, sir. And I hope I'll be here nexttime you pass through."

  "So do I, Corporal," Dawson smiled as he headed for the door. "And goodluck."

  "The same to you, sir!" the other called after him. "The same to youboth!"

  Outside the mess, Dawson glanced at his wrist watch and saw that it wasjust about time to report to Colonel Welsh in the field commandant'soffice.

  "Let's go, Freddy," he said. "What do you think of Goering's Snoopers? Iguess we spotted some of them, huh?"

  "No doubt," the English youth replied, and frowned. "And a very queerbusiness, if you ask me. Do you suppose, Dave--"

  "I wouldn't know," Dawson said as Farmer paused and frowned all theharder. "But you may be right. I mean that the Nazis have got wind ofsomething, and Goering's Snoopers are sort of keeping an eye on things.If so, that's not so good. Do you get what I mean?"

  "I do, and I agree with you completely," Freddy replied at once. "Buthow in the world--Oh, blast it! I'm tired of trying to figure outriddles!"

  They left it at that and walked in silence to the AdministrationBuilding. A sentry met them just inside the door, learned their names,and led them at once to the office of Major General Hawker, commandingofficer of the recently established U. S. Air Forces Base. The twoyouths were admitted at once, and as Dawson looked at Colonel Welshseated to one side of the huge desk, his heart gave a nervous leap andtried to slide up into his throat. The Intelligence Chief's face lookedlike that of a ghost. Rather, it looked like the face of a man worriedsick; worried so sick he was seeing ghosts. However, with a tremendouseffort Colonel Welsh gravely presented the two air aces to Major GeneralHawker who welcomed them with a smile and a few well chosen words. Hisface, too, showed the nervous strain under which he was suffering.Dawson, glancing from one to the other, felt the old familiar eerietingle at the back of his neck. The old eerie tingling that had never inthe past failed to serve as a warning of danger and death in theimmediate future.

  "Be seated, gentlemen, please," the major general was saying, andgesturing a hand toward a couple of chairs. "I--Well, Colonel, I believeyou'd better begin the talking, anyway. These two officers have beenworking with you since the start of things. So go right ahead, sir."

  Colonel Welsh nodded his thanks to the general and stared at Dawson andFarmer with eyes haggard from worry and fear.

  "Bad news for us," he said bluntly. "The thing we tried to prevent hascome to pass in spite of our efforts. Where the leak is, I don't know.Maybe I'll never find out. But that is not important, now. What isimportant is the fact that the Nazis have learned of the war conferenceto be held in Casablanca. In short, the Nazis know that PresidentRoosevelt is coming to Casablanca!"

  "You're sure, sir?" Dawson blurted out as the colonel paused for breath.

  "As sure as it's necessary to be," the Intelligence officer replied,tight-lipped. Leaning forward, he tapped a map spread out on the top ofthe desk. "Take a look at this and tell me what it means to you."

  Both Dawson and Farmer left their chairs to study the map. It was alarge-sized navigation map that included the eastern shores of the twoAmerican continents and the western shores of the European and Africancontinents. The map was creased in many places, and there were manysmears of grease on its surface to indicate it had been usedconsiderably. What caught and instantly held Dawson's attention, andFarmer's also, were the many penciled markings and notes on the map. Atfirst glance, they didn't mean much, but on second glance, their fullmeaning was revealed. It was very startling, to say the least.

  Dawson jerked up his head and stared in half-stunned amazement atColonel Welsh.

  "This is an air navigator's chart, sir!" he exclaimed. "With a dozendifferent courses plotted out from the States, from South America, andfrom England, to here. _To Casablanca!_"

  "That's right," the Colonel said soberly. "Every course plotted on thatchart _ends_ at Casablanca! If you look closer, you will see where theNazi owner of that chart has penciled in the area off the coast ofMorocco that he patrolled."

  "Nazi owner, sir?" Freddy Farmer choked out. "You mean--"

  The English-born air ace stumbled over his words, and before he couldstart over again, Colonel Welsh answered him.

  "That's right, Farmer. That chart was taken from the body of a dead Nazipilot, whose bomber was shot down in the Atlas Mountains about twohundred miles from here."

  "One of Goering's Snoopers, eh?" Dawson murmured absently.

  Major General Hawker stiffened and glanced at him sharply.

  "What's that, Dawson?" the senior officer asked. "Where'd you hear aboutGoering's Snoopers?"

  "The Officers' Mess orderly was telling us, sir," Dawson explained. "Hesaid there has been a group of Nazi bombers hanging around this base forthe last three days, but not too close. He said that your pilots hadnicknamed them Goering's Snoopers."

  "Oh, I see," the major general said with a nod. "That's right, theycertainly are Snoopers. But they'll be a whole lot _more_ than that--ifthey get their chance!
"

  The senior office emphasized the last by rapping a clenched fist on thedesk.

  "Then you know what they're up to, sir?" Dawson asked quickly. "Isuppose the colonel told you that we sighted them off shore? Is theirbase near here, sir?"

  Dawson would have asked more questions, but the major general raised ahand for silence and looked at Colonel Welsh.

  "Do you want me to do the talking, Colonel?" he asked. "Or would yourather?"

  "No, go right ahead, sir," Colonel Welsh replied with a shake of hishead. "After all, you've been right here where it's all been going on.Go right ahead, sir."

  Major General Hawker grunted and stared down at the desk top for amoment, as though taking time out to choose his words. Presently helooked up at Dawson and Farmer. Both youths were a little startled bythe glitter of seething anger in his eyes.

  "The North African campaign has progressed so rapidly and sosuccessfully," he began, "that we're way ahead of ourselves, you mightsay. I mean that we've been so busy doing the big things that we've hadto let much detail work slide. For example, this base wasn't to be readyfor another month yet, but it is in operation right now. It has been forthe last three or four weeks. However, it is simply a port through whichequipment and personnel pass on the way to the battle fronts. Theworking staff is very small, and we have no squadron, or even a flightof planes and pilots of our own. I mean, based here for our protection.That, of course, is because every plane and pilot is needed at thefront. Those of us who are behind the front must shift as best we can,until there comes a lull in the main battle, and we've the time to starttucking in the ends."

  The major general paused for breath.

  "So far, I've only given you a picture of conditions here," he continuedpresently. "Well, about ten days ago I was secretly informed throughColonel's Welsh's office that the President and Mr. Churchill were goingto hold a war conference here at Casablanca. Naturally, I kept thatsecret. However, the Nazis must have got hold of that news somehow,either here or in Washington. We'll probably never know which. Threedays ago those Junkers long-range bombers started putting in anappearance. At first, I thought they were after convoys, but pilots whosighted them off shore reported that they either kept at a safedistance, or raced away to hide in the clouds before our planes couldreach them. In short, they did everything in their power to avoid airbattle. In addition, they went the limit to prevent any of our planesfrom _following them back to their base_."

  "Just what do you mean by that, sir?" Dawson asked with a puzzled frown.

  The major general reached out a hand and tapped a finger on thenavigator's chart on the desk.

  "That plane and its crew were deliberately sacrificed so that the otherscould get away," he said. "It happened yesterday morning. A LockheedLightning pilot happened to be in the air, and he sighted the Snoopersoff shore. He requested permission by radio to give chase and engagethem. That permission was granted. The Snoopers had a good start on him,however, and there were a lot of clouds, so the Lockheed pilot wasunable to catch up until the chase had gone a good two hundred milesinland. When he started to close in, the pilot reported later, one ofthe bombers dropped out of formation, turned back, and gave battle. Itput up a good fight, and by the time the Lockheed pilot had downed it,the others had disappeared completely. Just before turning back tofight, the German pilot dumped his full load of bombs, and they explodedin the wilderness below. That didn't help him any. Well, the bombercrashed, and _no one bailed out_! That struck the Lockheed pilot asbeing queer and as there was some smooth ground close by, he landed totake a look at his victim. He said it was not a pretty sight. _But_there were only three aboard, whereas a Junkers Ju-88 usually has a crewof at least six. Not one of those three had made any attempt to leavethe plane as it fell earthward. Do you know why?"

  The senior officer paused and seemed to wait.

  "No, sir," Freddy Farmer spoke up impulsively. "Why, sir?"

  "Because there were _no_ parachute packs aboard the plane!" the otherreplied at once. "In fact, the plane was stripped bare of everythingthat was not absolutely essential to flying and fighting. There were noidentification papers on any of the crew, though the Lockheed pilotcould tell from decoration ribbons that all were veteran airmen. Therewas nothing except this navigation chart. The Lockheed pilot said thatone of the men was holding it as though he had been about to destroy it,but was stopped by the crash. By that I mean, in one hand he clutchedthe chart and in the other a cigarette lighter. Anyway, the Lockheedpilot brought the map back to me, and as soon as I took one look at itI knew the reason for the constant patrolling of those Nazi bombers. Iknow exactly what they are."

  "It sounds like a suicide outfit to me," Dawson murmured as the majorgeneral paused. "They must be waiting for the President and his party toarrive. Then they'll let go with the whole works, to say nothing oftheir own lives."

  "There's no doubt about it!" Major General Hawker agreed grimly. "I'm asconvinced of that as though they had come and told me so. If they know_when_ the President and Mr. Churchill will arrive, I don't know.Perhaps they will receive that signal from somebody right here inCasablanca. The way they have let convoys alone and have avoided airbattle, at the deliberate sacrifice of one of their own, is proofpositive that they are waiting for the one big opportunity. And eventhough the President's life, and Mr. Churchill's life, were spared, theloss of other lives would be almost as disastrous to the Allied cause.In short, so long as that German suicide squadron remains in existence,a terrible danger hangs over the entire civilized world. No matter howmany planes we have protecting the President and his party, some ofthose bombers would be bound to get through."

  "But their base, sir, wherever it is?" Dawson spoke up as the otherpaused. "If you could only find it, and--"

  "Exactly the point!" the major general interrupted. "If we could only_find it_! The only thing I've got here that could out-fly the JunkersJu-88 is a Lightning. But the main difficulty is that I have no pilots Ican order out on such a mission. I mean, should they find the base andradio its position, they wouldn't have fuel enough left to return.They'd force land in the mountain wilderness and eventually die ofstarvation or the heat. We've _got_ to destroy those planes--and _withinthe next thirty-six hours!_"

  "Thirty-six hours, sir?" Dawson echoed, as his heart started to poundagainst his ribs.

  The major general looked at him gravely, and nodded.

  "Yes," he said. "Just ten minutes before your plane landed I receivedcode word from Washington that the President and his party are _alreadyon the way to Casablanca!_"

  "Good gosh!" Dawson gasped before he could check himself. "Onlythirty-six hours and then Goering's snooping suicides can do theirstuff? Or try to do it? But--"

  Dawson suddenly checked himself and looked at Freddy Farmer. For a longmoment their eyes met, and then they nodded impulsively. Dawson turnedto Major General Hawker.

  "With your permission, sir," he said quietly, "Farmer and I would liketo locate that base and radio its position so that our bombers could goover and wipe it out."

  As Dawson finished speaking, silence settled over the room. ColonelWelsh broke it as he addressed his words to Major General Hawker.

  "Just what I told you, sir," he said. "And by God, they'll find it,too--Bless them both!"