“Then we’ve got to ‘get’ the rear sentry first?” Tom asked, his lips at his chum’s ear.

“That’s it.”

“Nasty business, and double chance of losing the game.”

“It’s the only way, Tom, unless your head is working better than mine.”

For some minutes Tom Reade studied.

“I guess it will have to be the rear sentry first,” he conceded.

At that moment a small door at the rear of the hangar opened.  The two friends heard the noise, and judged by sound more than sight.

“Sentry!” said the man who had stepped outside, in a low voice.

“Herr Lieutenant!” responded the man.  “I am not locking the door, sentry.  I shall be back before long.”

“Very good, Herr Lieutenant.”  Passing to the front of the hangar this German aviation lieutenant waited until the sentry there had reached him, then delivered the same information, after which the aviation officer strode off briskly toward the troop camp that could be only vaguely seen in the distance.

“It sounds as if he intended to make a flight,” whispered Dick uneasily.

“That wouldn’t be so bad,” Reade replied.  “It will be worse if his machine is out of order and he is coming back to fuss over it.”

“We must make our break now,” Prescott whispered.

“Lead the way,” answered Reade.  Fortunately, at this moment, the sentries were at the outer ends of their posts.  Bending low, keeping his gaze on the sentries, Dick scurried noiselessly over the ground until he paused, erect and panting, under the shadow of the building near the rear.

So far safe, for Reade was with him an instant later.  While the rear sentry finished his post at this end just beyond the hangar, the front sentry, as far as had been observed, came only as far as the sliding doors of the hangar.

“Get your automatic ready!” Dick whispered.  Then they heard the rear sentry coming toward them.

There came that tense instant when the sentry’s passing form loomed up within three feet of Captain Prescott.  Losing not an instant Dick sprang upon him with the bound of a panther.

There was no outcry, for Dick’s fingers sought and found the fellow’s throat, encircling it.  Wrenching the enemy soldier off his balance, Prescott laid him low, the man’s bayoneted rifle falling across his body.

It was Dick’s eyes that said, “Ready, Tom!” Reade hesitated for a second or so, then struck the prostrate, choking enemy between the eyes.  It was a fearful blow, and the man collapsed.

“One down, but we must get the other!” Dick whispered sternly.

They stole forward along the side of the building, Dick in the lead.  Peeping around the corner he saw the sentry almost finishing the nearer end of his post.  Back came Prescott’s head like a shot.  He waited until he knew by the tread that the sentry had turned and was going back over his post.  Then it was that Dick stole upon him from behind.  Another leap, a grip around the man’s throat, and sentry number two was on his back, where Reade gave him the grace blow.