Evening star., 1941-05-04

man. tie had hoped TO IND at least knife,
but the search was fruitless As he finished,
he saw an identification tag on the English
mans wrist. He bent down, labored over the
words in the dim light, with the shells burst
ing redly under the clouds.
He recognized one word: Plymouth. He
spelled out the letters at the top: John
D-r-a-y. =. Darkness for a moment, then
another glimpse of something underneath.
H-O-m...
He was in luck. This was only some stupid
home guard acting on his own initiative.
Even if the man had seen him land, there was
no danger now. He looked more closely at the
crumpled figure. A little taller, not so thick
at the waist. but the difference wouldn't be
noticed He knelt, hosted the dead man onto
his back and staggered toward the ravine
where he had hid his flight gear.
He stripped the body, wrenched open a
link of the identifcation-tag chain. Putting
on the Englishmans clothes was simple, but
it took him fifteen minutes to dress the dead
man in his Luftwaffe uniform. Even if some
body found the corpse later, it would do no
harm: Identifying it would be impossible
within few days
He put the chain around his wrist, forced
the link shut with his teeth. But as he fin
ished his palms were sweating, and he felt
that sick knotting in his stomach again.
If they caught him now it meant a spy's
death, by firing squad. And telling them the
truth would only mean quick trial for mur-
der. Either way, they'd have him.
he STOOD there, in an agony of lndecision.
He could still change back and surrender
himself He swore under his breath Every
thing was on his side. Only fool would get
trapped now.
He made his way back to the highway,
turned north. Once he reached Mueller's
place he'd lie low None of this mingling
with the British, for spying and sabotage.
He could speak English, but his accent would
give him away. If the invasion succeeded
he'd come out of hiding and take his share
of the lootng If the war went on, he d have
a snug berth He'd have to dodge the Luft-
waite bombs, but he wouldn't be up there
like those crews in the Junkers, with the
British guns and Spitfires blazing away at
him.
He looked up, watching the tracer lines
and the shell-b bursts. as the last wave of
bombers fled toward the Channel. 1t was
this that kept him from seeing the car. 1t
was around a curve and on him before he
could escape, an Army machine with hooded
blue lights
He had started back into the woods The
car stopped, abruptly, and two Tommies
climbed out. The first had sergeants chev-
rons. His hand was on the butt Of his auto
matte Brieg stepped back into the lights
and the sergeant saw his arm band. The
other man stared at BRIGGS face. "E's hurt
Looks like e come out ere in daze.'
The sergeant took BRIGGS arm. Come
along, we'll take you into town"
Brieg shook his head, tried to wave them
away.
Easy now, mate" said the sergeant.
you d best go with u.s. You're likely to get
hit, wandering about in the dark. And that
cut needs tending. Give him hand, Danny
The ferries have scared the poor blighter."
Brieg let them help him into the rear seat
To resist further would only cause suspicion,
and if he used his wits, it would still be all
right. But the Cockney sat on his right, and
there was no chance for leap at his gun.
Brieg fought back the sick fear. After that
raid. they'd be too busy at the first-aid sta
tons to pay him much attention. He'd keep
up the act, pretend to he stunned -.