Dave Dawson with the Commandos Part 1

Dave Dawson with the Commandos.

by R. Sidney Bowen.

CHAPTER ONE

_Strange Orders_

The waiter came over to the table and smiled politely.

"Is there anything else I can get you two gentlemen?" he asked.

Dave Dawson looked up from his empty plate and shook his head emphatically.

"No thanks," he said. "I'm close to the bursting point right now.

Anything more and I'd need a second stomach to hold it. You can bring the check, please."

"Very good, sir," the waiter said, and started over to the cas.h.i.+er's nook.

"I say, just a minute!" Freddy Farmer stopped him. "I'm not quite filled yet. I'll have another piece of that pie, please. And you might bring me another pot of tea. With cream."

The waiter blinked and stared, but caught himself quickly.

"Yes, sir, at once," he said, and hurried away.

Dave groaned and made a little gesture with his hand.

"There's a name for guys like you, pal," he said. "But it isn't polite to say it in public. For the love of mike, Freddy! What have you been doing, tossing it under the table when I wasn't looking? Man! You've packed away enough chow to feed a regiment."

"I was as hungry as a regiment when we came in," the English-born air ace said placidly. "You've no objections, have you?"

"Not a one," Dawson grinned. "Go ahead and kill yourself. But when you feel the explosion coming on, let me know. I'll want to be leaving in a hurry."

"Have no fear," Freddy Farmer a.s.sured him. "There will be no explosion.

Good grief! Can't a hungry chap eat without you staring constantly?

After these last five weeks I feel as though I'll never get enough food into me. You Americans certainly do a thing for fair, when you have a go at it."

"Meaning what?" Dave echoed absently as he stared across the hotel dining room at two rather tough-looking, yet well dressed civilians seated at a table. "What are you talking about this time?"

"Why, about what I said," Freddy replied. "These last five weeks! Or have you forgotten already? If so, I'll refresh your memory. For the last five weeks we have been attending one of your Commando training schools, or rather, I should say, Ranger training schools. We completed the course only yesterday, and here we are on leave awaiting orders. We both took English Commando training last year in England. But it was certainly nothing like the training we've just completed here in the States. You Americans really--I say! Are you listening to me?"

"Huh?" Dave grunted, and looked at him. "Were you saying something, pal?"

Freddy pressed his lips tight and blew air through his nose.

"How you ever became a commissioned officer, with such manners, I'll never understand!" he snorted. "Of course I was saying something! But don't let me bore you further. I can see something frightfully important is on your mind. You do have a mind, don't you? Well, what is it? I'll be patient, and listen."

"Oh, skip it," Dave grinned. "Sorry from the bottom of my heart, sweetheart. Go ahead. Put the record on again."

"Like Shakespeare, I never chew my cabbage twice!" Freddy snapped. "No, never mind. I insist upon knowing the reason for that puzzled look on that homely face of yours. Out with it, my lad."

"Just a couple of fellows eating on the other side of the room," Dave said. "I've caught them eying us quite a bit. Came in just after we did.

No! Don't look right now, dope! It's not polite."

Freddy checked his turning head and flushed slightly.

"Rubbis.h.!.+" he mumbled. "But what's wrong with two people looking at us?

Frankly, I think we look rather pukka in our U. S. Army Air Force uniforms, and wings, and all that sort of thing. Or perhaps I present an interesting contrast to your sloppy appearance."

"Boy! You must have strained a brain cell on that!" Dave growled. "Okay!

So people look at us. But there are about twenty other officers in this dining room. And these two guys--Well, if I were going to rob a bank, or maybe kidnap somebody, I think I might be tempted to make a deal with those two. Okay! Take a sneak look now."

Freddy twisted around and made as though to brush something off his left shoulder with his right hand. He took a quick look across the dining room and then turned back to Dave.

"Phew! They are a nasty-looking pair, aren't they!" he breathed. "But maybe they're house detectives, or something. I've always read in your American detective books that hotel detectives are generally horrible-looking creatures."

"Say, maybe you've got something there, pal!" Dave said with a laugh.

"_That's_ what they've been doing!"

"Eh?" the English youth echoed. "What have they been doing?"

"Counting the knives and forks and spoons, as the waiter put them in front of you!" Dave shot at him. "I bet you a buck they search you before you leave."

"Well, they'd certainly--!" Freddy gasped before he caught himself.

"Blast your ears, Dave! You made me fall right into that one. Right you are! My turn will come, my good fellow. Seriously speaking, though, have they really been giving us more than usual notice?"

"I'd call it that," Dave said with a shrug. "But maybe my imagination's going a little bit haywire tonight. No, not that, exactly. I mean, waiting for orders makes me think all kinds of things. Darn it all, the picture just isn't complete, if you get what I mean."

Freddy Farmer shook his head and looked very grave.

"I'm afraid I don't, old chap," he said. "Something bothering you that I don't know anything about?"

"Nope," Dawson said. "Nothing that you don't know about. It's the set-up we're in now. Five weeks ago we volunteered to take the Commando training course. Colonel Welsh, Chief of all U. S. Intelligence, thought it would be a good idea if we took it. So we did. So we completed training yesterday. So we came down here to New York on leave until orders should arrive. But we had to say where we'd be stopping. Okay. So far, so good. But how long do we stay here? What happens next? What orders are we going to receive? And when? And how will they come to us?

See what I mean? It's all hanging in the air. Nothing definite. Heck! We might be at a movie when a phone call came through from Colonel Welsh or somebody, and we wouldn't be here. I mean, it strikes me that we should have been told to report to somebody every day to see if our orders were ready. But--"

Dave let the rest slide, and gestured helplessly. Freddy nodded slowly, and pursed his lips.

"You're quite right, Dave," he murmured, and frowned. "It does seem a bit queer, when you come to think of it. I--Good grief! Do you suppose, Dave?"

Dawson looked at him with one eyebrow c.o.c.ked.

"Do I suppose what?" he asked.

At that moment the waiter arrived with Freddy's second slice of pie and his pot of tea. The English youth waited until he had made his retreat.

"Do you suppose we failed horribly at the Commando school," he said, "and--and this is just a gentle way of letting us down? I mean, sort of give us a bit of leave here in New York to buck up our spirits, and then post us back to some air squadron?"

Dave didn't say anything for a moment. He thought back over the last five weeks of vigorous training that either made or broke a man.