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Updated: June 26, 2025
Various planes stood along one high wall. There was a Fort, a Wellington, two Spitfires, a Lockheed Lightning, and at the far end in a wide shop space stood a new P-51. Her nose was pointed out toward the runway and she looked ready to glide out from underground and take off. Domber laughed. "I'm sorry, but it can't be done," he said as though Stan had spoken his thoughts out loud.
The Mustang's engine turned over and she sputtered once or twice but refused to start. The wad of waste was no good. He had to seat the valve. Looking out he shook his head to Hans. Then he noticed that Domber was talking to an artillery captain over by the gate. He was shaking his head and making violent gestures. Stan watched him carefully.
No one has ever escaped from the Bloodhound." "Bloodhound?" "That is a pet name my Dutch friends have given me." He smiled at Stan. "But come, we are being delayed." A gate opened and a man in coveralls came up to meet them. Domber spoke to him and the man walked with them to a locked door in a second wall. Producing a key, he opened the door and let them through.
The one on the P-51 is something new. If you can recall some of the details...." Domber leaned forward. "You haven't captured one intact yet?" Stan asked. "No, and the possibility seems quite remote. You Yanks have been very clever in fixing it so that that particular piece of mechanism is always smashed when a ship lands." "I'm not an instrument man. I just fly planes," Stan said.
Domber leaned into the cockpit. Stan pointed to the valve. His fingers closed over it and began to turn it. Then his right arm shot out. His fingers gripped Domber's yellow tie. The Dutch Quisling's eyes bulged and he pulled back. In that instant the Allison surged into full, smooth power. Stan kicked down on one brake and snapped her around.
Domber had a fishy coldness about him that was chilling. Stan decided it was the way he looked out of his little eyes. There seemed to be a smoldering hate back of the light in those eyes. Herman had laid out clothing, a business suit which was very close to Stan's size, fresh linen, a shirt, a tie and a pair of dress shoes. Herman was nowhere in sight. Stan dressed slowly.
The officers snapped back at him and a heated argument raged. Stan gathered the officers were angry because Domber had taken Stan out without a proper armed guard. Apparently Domber won the argument. The officers saluted and made off. "Such fools. They fear you would escape," Domber explained. "I have told them you would not get a hundred yards before you would be killed.
Like a falcon launching out from a limb, the Mustang shot toward the opening ahead. Stan held Domber over the edge of the open hatch until the ship was out in the sunshine, then he gave the little Quisling a shove. Hoiking the tail of the Mustang, he hopped her suddenly. It was a trick he had depended upon to save him from the guns. As she shot upward he saw flame and fire rip the runway.
Domber selected a cigar after turning several over. "Such poor cigars. I'll be glad when the war is over and I can again import some of my favorite Tampa Perfectos." He snipped the end off the cigar with a gold clipper, then jabbed a full inch of the end into his mouth and rolled the cigar around as though tasting its flavor. "Now," he said, "we will get down to business."
Hans made off and while he was gone Stan did a few things to the supercharger. Hans came back quickly. "Herr Domber will call for you," he said, then seated himself and lighted a cigarette. Domber appeared a half-hour later, dressed in evening clothes. He was beaming. "You have everything ready for a tryout in the morning?" he asked. "Everything," Stan assured him.
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