As Dave glided the crippled Arado down toward the bomb and shell marked field the icy fingers of fear were curled tightly about his heart. He had made one or two forced landings in his short flying career, but they had been like setting down a plane on a gigantic billiard table compared to the task he now faced. If he under-shot the patch of ground he was aiming at he would go plowing straight into a battery of Belgian artillery guns hurling shells across the Albert Canal into the on-rushing German hordes. And if he over-shot the field or swerved too much to the right or left he would go crashing into a maze of shell blasted tree stumps which would tear the plane to shreds and snuff out his life, and Freddy's, as easily as one snuffs out the flame of a candle.
His only hope lay in hitting the field in the center and checking the forward roll of the plane so that when it did slide over and down into one of the bomb craters the crash impactwouldn't be too violent. In his heart he knew that he stood but one chance in a thousand of coming out of the crash uninjured. But there was no other way out, the die had been cast. The engine had been hit and was dead. There was only one way to go, and that was down.
On impulse he jerked his head around and looked back. It seemed as though he had not heard Freddy's voice in a year or more, and sudden panic swept through him. Was Freddy all right? Had he been hit, and was that why he had not spoken? In the brief instant it took to jerk his head around and look back, Dave died a hundred agonizing deaths.
Luck, however, was still riding the cockpits with them. The English youth was still alive, and very much so, too. His lips were drawn back in a tight grin even though his face was white, and there was a sort of glazed, glassy look in his eyes. Being a pilot, himself, Freddy knew exactly what it was all about. He had sense enough not to try any back seat driving in the emergency. He was leaving everything to Dave, and trusting in his friend's judgment. He sat perfectly still in the seat, his arms half raised and ready to throw them across his face when they hit in order to protect himself as much as possible.
Sitting still and showing his faith in Dave bythe tight grin on his lips. That realization gave Dave new courage as he turned front again. The ground was just under his wheels, now. He would not under-shoot the field, nor would he over-shoot it either. He had proved his flying skill thus far. The rest was ... was in the lap of the gods!
Ten feet off! Nine feet, eight ... seven ... six! He was hugging the Dep wheel now all the way back against his stomach to bring the nose up just a few more inches before the ship stalled and dropped. His whole body sensed that moment of stalling; that moment when the lift of the wings was absolutely nil. He sensed it now and instantly let go of the stick, buried his head in his arms, and let his whole body go limp.
For two seconds, or perhaps it was for two long years, the Arado seemed to hang motionless in the air. Then suddenly it dropped belly first like a rock. The wheels hit hard and the ship was bounced back up into the air again. It hit again, and bounced again. It hit once more and Dave felt the tail wheel catch on something and send the ship plunging crazily off to the right. He jammed hard on the left rudder to counteract the movement, but it was too late. Fate had placed a huge German bomb crater in the way. The plane slithered over the lip of the crater and charged dizzily downward.
Memory of a wild ride on a Coney Island roller coaster streaked through Dave's brain. And then the plane careened up on its side, and half up on its nose. It swayed there with its tail pointing up at the sky. It twisted twice around and then fell over on its back with a jarring thud. An invisible giant reached out a fist and punched Dave hard on the chest. The air in his lungs whistled out through his mouth, and for horrible seconds colored lights whirled around in his brain, and the entire universe was filled with roaring, crashing thunder.
The spell passed in a moment, and he found himself hanging head downward on his safety harness. His first thought was for Freddy, and he struggled to twist around and look back, but he couldn't make it.
"Freddy!" he yelled in a choking voice. "Are you all right?"
A heart chilling instant of silence greeted his question, and then came Freddy's faint reply.
"Not hurt a bit, Dave! But the blasted safety harness broke, and I'm down here in a beastly puddle of mud. Can you give me a hand?"
Reaction set in and Dave laughed hysterically, and tore at his safety belt buckles. He got them unfastened and grabbed hold of the sides of the cockpit before he went plunging down into the muddy bottom of the bomb crater, himself. He twisted over and landed feet first. It was then he had his first look at Freddy. The English lad was plopped down on the seat of his pants in a good eight inches of mud. And there was mud from the top of his head all the way down. He had obviously landed square on his head but had managed to squirm around and sit up before the sticky yellow ooze suffocated him. Right at the moment he was pawing the stuff off his face so he could see.
Dave plowed around to him and caught him under the armpits, and heaved. Freddy's body coming up out of the mud sounded like somebody pulling a cork from a bottle. Still hanging onto him, Dave ducked under a section of the crumpled wing and hauled and tugged them both up out of the crater on to firm dry ground. Then he dug a handkerchief from his pocket and started wiping off Freddy's face.
"Boy, do you look a sight, Freddy!" he chuckled. Then in a more serious tone, "I'm darn sorry, Freddy. That sure was a rotten landing. I guess I thought I was too good. I should have let you do the flying."
Freddy snorted and squinted at him out of one eye.
"Rotten landing?" he gasped. "Good grief, they can't fly any better than that in the R.A.F., Dave. I thought sure we'd both be killed. Andneither of us has so much as a scratch. You couldn't have done it any better, Dave. Honest!"
"Thanks," Dave grinned. "But it was all luck. And I was scared stiff. Thank goodness those Messerschmitt guys were such punk shots. Now, wipe some more off, and we'll...."
Dave cut off the rest short and spun around. A squad of Belgian infantry men was racing across the field toward them. The bayonets on their rifles glistened in the sun, and the cries of wild men were bursting from their lips. The truth hit Dave in the flick of an eye. Those Belgians took them for two members of the Nazi Air Force, and they were racing over to get vengeance for what those Stuka dive bombers had been doing to them. Even as the truth came to Dave one of the running soldiers threw his rifle up to his shoulder and fired. The bullet cut past Dave's face so close he could almost feel its heat. He leaped in front of Freddy who was still wiping his face and flung up both hands.
"Don't shoot, don't shoot!" he yelled in French. "We're not Germans! America! England! Don't shoot!Vive les Alliés!"
The Belgian soldiers rushed up to him and leveled their rifles at his stomach. They were a vicious looking lot, but they had been made that way by the fury of war hurled down on themfor the last seventy-two hours or more. Their eyes were bloodshot, and their faces were caked with dried blood and dirt. Their beards were sodden messes, and their uniforms were torn and ripped to rags. Their rifles were the only clean thing about them.
One of them with corporal chevrons on his tattered tunic sleeve stepped forward until the tip of his wicked looking bayonet was within an inch of Dave's neck.
"You are Boches!" he shouted and nodded at the wrecked plane. "We saw you dive down on us. Well, you will not dive again. We shall...."
"Wait, wait!" Dave shouted in wild alarm. "I tell you we are not German. He's English, and I'm an American. We have just escaped from Germany. We were prisoners there. We have to get to Allied Headquarters at once. We have valuable information."
The Belgian corporal hesitated and looked puzzled. His men obviously did not believe Dave. They made snarling sounds in their throats and shuffled forward a bit. Dave opened his mouth to explain some more, but Freddy beat him to the punch. The young English boy suddenly stepped forward and a stream of words poured from his thin lips. He had lived many years on the Continent and he knew howto deal with either the French or the Belgians.
"Listen to me, you lugger heads!" he ranted at them. "My friend speaks the truth. We have just escaped from Germany, and we have important information. Take us to your commanding officer at once, do you hear? Do we look like Germans? Of course not! Where are your heads, your brains? Have you not seen us risk our lives trying to reach this side of the lines? Take us to your commanding officer. He may even recommend you for a medal. You hear me? Take us to your commanding officer or I shall make a personal complaint to the Commander in Chief of British Army Staff, General Caldwell. Attention, at once! Take us to your commanding officer,now!"
Grins slowly appeared on the faces of the battle wearied Belgian soldiers. The corporal chuckled and lowered his bayonet from Dave's throat.
"The little one spits fire when he speaks," he murmured and nodded his head. "No, I do not believe now that you are Germans. But you had a very lucky escape, my two little ones. We do not feel very pleased today. Nor will we be happy for a long time to come, I am afraid. It looks bad, very bad. Come! I will take you to my Lieutenant."
"It looks bad?" Freddy asked quickly. "Can'tyou hold them? Aren't the British and the French helping?"
The Belgian corporal shrugged and wiped his tired eyes with a dirt and mud smeared hand.
"It is possible," he grunted. "I do not know. We hear very little except the guns and those cursed bombs. But, there are no British or French here. Only Belgians. And we cannot stop them. We have not the men, or the guns, or the tanks. And planes? Where are all our planes? Look at the sky! It is filled with nothing but Boche planes. Yes, my little one, it looks very bad. But we are not afraid to die. No!"
The soldier shrugged again, then nodded with his head and started trudging back across the field, trailing his rifle as though it weighed a ton instead of a few pounds or so. Freddy and Dave dropped into step with the others and went along. Nobody spoke. Nobody but the bombs and the shells but a few miles away, and rapidly drawing closer. Dave leaned toward Freddy.
"Boy, can you dish out their language!" he breathed. "But I don't blame them. They must have been through something terrible. It's a wonder they didn't shoot and ask questions afterward."
"Yes," Freddy said in a dull voice. "I wonderwhere the French and the British are? I hope they can get here in time."
Dave didn't attempt to answer the question. He suddenly felt very tired, and old. His strength had been sapped to the limit, and his spirits were staggering under a crushing weight. The picture of those German hordes pouring across the Albert Canal and virtually beating the Belgians right down into the ground was still clear as crystal in his brain. It was like a mighty tidal wave hurtling forward with nothing but a picket fence in the way to stop it.
At the far end of the field the Belgians turned left on a winding narrow dirt road. They went down this for some fifty yards or so, then left the road and entered some woods. In the heart of the woods several companies of Belgian troops were frantically building up machine gun emplacements, stringing out barbwire, and moving light field pieces into place to bear on the winding dirt road. The corporal stopped before a young lieutenant and saluted smartly. Dave and Freddy stopped and waited while the corporal spoke to the officer.
In a moment or so the lieutenant came over and stared at them both out of bleak, dead tired eyes.
"What is all this?" he demanded briskly.
Dave let Freddy do the talking as he had thelanguage down perfect. The young Englishman talked a steady stream for two or three moments, giving a brief account of their movements since the day the Nazi armies broke through into Belgium and the Low Countries. The Belgian officer listened in silence, and when Freddy finished he took a map from his pocket and spread it out on the ground.
"Where were some of those pins and flags you saw on that map?" he asked.
Dave still let Freddy do the talking, and simply watched while the English youth pointed out various points on the map. The Belgian nodded his head from time to time, and presently folded the map and got quickly to his feet.
"I am positive you have seen a map of great importance!" he said. "I will see that you are taken to Belgian G.H.Q. at once. You will tell them all you know, and they will communicate with the Allied High Command. You are very brave boys, you know?"
Freddy flushed and looked uncomfortable.
"We only want to do everything we can to help," he said quietly.
The Lieutenant's tired lips twisted back in a wistful smile as he glanced from Freddy to Dave.
"I would feel very happy if I had a millionlike you under my command," he murmured. "If only half what you say is true, it is enough. Sergeant!"
A huge bearded non-com putting a machine gun in working order got to his feet and lumbered over. He ran his bloodshot eyes over Freddy and Dave, and then fixed them on his officer.
"My Lieutenant?" he grunted.
"These two, Sergeant," the Lieutenant said with a jerk of his head. "They are to be taken to General Boulard's headquarters at once. You will take one of the light scouting cars and drive them there. That is all."
The big sergeant blinked and looked dubious.
"I will try, of course, my Lieutenant," he said. "But we may meet with difficulty. A runner has arrived only a moment ago at the Fortieth Company. The Boche tanks have cut the road to Namur. They seek to get around in back of us. The Boche planes are also bombing the entire road. It will be difficult but I will attempt it, my Lieutenant."
Dave saw the Belgian officer's face pale under its coating of blood and dirt. The man clenched his fists in a helpless gesture, and something akin to tears of bitter rage glistened in his haggard eyes. At that exact moment the whole world was filled with a terrifying eeriescream. The Belgians fell flat on their faces. The Lieutenant dragged Freddy and Dave down with him, and tried to cover them with his own body.
Dave knew the meaning of that awful sound. He had heard it along that road packed with terror stricken refugees. He had heard it as he dragged an old woman to the flimsy protection of an ox cart. His heart stood still in his chest. The blood ceased to surge through his veins. His lungs became locked with air, and his brain became numb and useless as he waited those terrible few seconds. The diving Stuka's death load hit on the far side of the road. Half of Belgium seemed to fountain up into the sky, and what was left rocked and swayed crazily. Thunderous sound swept over Dave and seemed actually to shove him down into the ground. In a crazy sort of way he wondered if he was dead. Then the next thing he realized the Belgian lieutenant was helping him up onto his feet.
"It is only the direct hits that matter," the officer said in a gentle voice, and smiled.
"That was plenty direct enough for me!" Dave said and gulped.
"Yes, quite!" Freddy breathed and clenched his hands to stop his fingers trembling.
"When they dive several at a time, then it is not pleasant," the Belgian infantry officer said."But one can only pray. That is the way with war. But, about this trip to General Boulard's headquarters. You heard what the Sergeant said? It may be very dangerous. Perhaps you would care to wait awhile, and rest?"
Something in the officer's tone made Dave jerk his head up.
"Hey, I wasn'tthatscared!" he blurted out. "We're ready to start right now. Okay, Freddy?"
"Of course," the English youth replied instantly. "Let's start at once. The sooner we get there, the better."
"You are good soldiers, and I salute you," the officer murmured. "Very well, then. And all my good wishes. After all, perhaps it is not best to wait here. Soon we shall be very busy, here. Yes, very busy. Sergeant! You have your orders."
The tired Belgian officer clicked his heels and saluted the two boys. They returned the salute and as Dave looked into the Belgian's eyes he saw a look there he would never forget as long as he lived. That officer knew what was coming toward him from the Albert Canal. He knew that he would stay where he was and face it. And he also knew that he would probably never live to see another sunrise. In a few words he had told of all that was in his thoughts. Hehad simply said, "Soon we shall be very busy, here."
The Belgian's loyalty and great courage stirred Dave to the depths of his soul. He impulsively reached out and grasped the officer's hand and shook it.
"I hope you beat the stuffing out of them. Lieutenant," he said in a rush of words. "Freddy and I will be rooting for you, and how!"
"You bet we will!" the English youth echoed. "I jolly well hope you chase them all the way back to Berlin!"
The Belgian officer made no reply. He smiled at them sadly and saluted again. The boys turned away and followed the big Sergeant through the patch of woods to the far side where a unit of small tanks and scouting cars was parked in under the trees. The Sergeant climbed in behind the wheel of the nearest scouting car and motioned the two youths to get in back. A couple of moments later the engine was doing its work and the Sergeant was skillfully tooling the car across open fields toward the southwest.
For a few moments Dave stared at the frenzied activity of the Belgian troops that were all around them. Inexperienced though he was in military technique, and so forth, he instinctively knew that the brave Belgians were making feverish preparations for a last ditch stand againstthe Germans. And with the picture of the Albert Canal crossing still fresh in his memory he knew in his heart that all he saw would be just a waste of gallant effort. Those German hordes, protected by their swarms of planes, would go right through as though the Belgians weren't there at all. It actually made his heart hurt to watch them and so he slumped down in the seat of the car, and let his body sway with the bumps, and stared moodily at the back of the driver's neck.
Presently Freddy reached over and placed a hand on his knee and pressed it.
"Chin up, Dave!" he heard Freddy say. "We'll get through all right, you wait and see."
Dave shook his head and sat up a bit and grinned.
"Sure we'll make it," he said. "I'm not worrying about that. I was just thinking."
"About what?" Freddy asked.
"Well, just then I was thinking about that Arado I cracked up," Dave said. "I sure feel rotten about that. I wish I could have brought it down all in one piece."
"Good grief, forget it!" Freddy gasped. "It was wonderful of you to get it down at all. I would have killed us both, for fair. I can tell you, now, that I was very scared when you took off. I didn't know then how well you could fly,but I do, now. You're a little bit of all right, Dave. I mean that, really!"
"You're swell to say that, anyway," Dave grinned. "I'm still sorry, though, I had to go and crack it up. I don't know ... Well, I guess a plane to me is something like what his horse is to a cow puncher. It's ... it's almost something human."
"I know what you mean, Dave."
"Do you, Freddy?" Dave echoed. "Well, that's the way it is. And I'll tell you something, but you'll probably think I'm nuts. I made an awful punk landing when I made my first solo. Cracked up the ship. I busted a wing and wiped the undercarriage right off, and didn't get a scratch. But do you know? I felt so bad about it I busted right out bawling like a kid. My instructor was scared stiff. He thought something awful had happened to me. But when I finally cut it out he was swell about the whole thing. He said it was the normal reaction of a fellow who could really go for flying. It made me feel better anyway. Yeah, I sure feel pretty punk for busting up that Arado, even though it was a German crate."
Freddy started to speak but Dave didn't even hear the first word. The car had bounced out of a field and was being swung onto a road when the landscape on all four sides suddenly blossomed up with spouting geysers of brilliant red flame and towering columns of oily black smoke. Thunderous sound rushed at them and seemed to lift the small scouting car straight up into the air.
"Shrapnel barrage!" the Sergeant screamed and slammed on the brakes. "Take cover under the car at once!"
Huddled together like sardines under the car, the Belgian Sergeant and the two boys pressed fingers to their ears while all about them a whole world went mad with shot and shell. Never in all his life had Dave heard such a bellowing roar of crashing sound. For the first few seconds his entire body had been paralyzed with fear, but when he didn't die at once his brain grew kind of numb, and the roaring thunder didn't seem to have so much effect upon him. It wasn't because of a greater courage coming to his rescue. And it wasn't a lack of fear, either. It was simply that in the midst of a furious bombardment the minds of human beings are too stunned by the sound to register any kind of emotion.
And so the three of them just lay there under the car while the German gunners far back expended their wrath in the form of screaming steel, and mountains of flame and rolling thunder. In ten minutes it was all over. The rangeof the guns was changed and the barrage moved onward to some other objective. Yet neither of the three moved a muscle. It was as though each was waiting for the other to make the first move.
Eventually Dave could stand the suspense no longer. He jerked up his head without thinking and cracked it hard on the underside of the car. He let out a yelp of pain, and the sound of his voice seemed to release whatever was holding Freddy Farmer and the Belgian Sergeant. All three of them crawled out from under the car and got to their feet and looked around. Dave and Freddy gasped aloud. The Belgian Sergeant shrugged indifferently and muttered through his teeth. There just wasn't any road any more. It was completely lost in a vast area of smoking shell holes that seemed to stretch out in all directions as far as the eye could see. Blackened jagged stumps marked what had once been trees. Fields where spring grass had been growing up were now brown acres of piled up dirt and stones. And a spot where Dave had last seen a farm house was as bare as the palm of his hand.
"By the Saints, you two are a lucky charm!" the Sergeant suddenly exploded and bobbed his big head up and down vigorously. "If you could stay by my side always I would come out of this war alive without any trouble at all. By theSaints of Notre Dame, yes! Look at the car. It has not even been scratched! It is a miracle, nothing else!"
It was true! The small scouting car was bathed in dust and dirt but there wasn't so much as a scratch on it. The engine was even idling as smooth as could be. The Belgian Sergeant stared at it almost as though he were staring at a ghost. Then shaking his head and muttering through his big buck teeth, he climbed in behind the wheel.
"Nothing can possibly be as bad as that," he said. "Let us proceed at once while the Good Lady still smiles upon us. Name of all things wonderful, I can hardly believe I am still alive.En avant, mes enfants!"
With a sudden contempt for the shell blasted ground, that made Dave and Freddy grin in spite of the harrowing experience through which they had just past, the Sergeant sent the car scooting in and out around the craters with the careless ease of driving along a wide boulevard. In less time than it takes to tell about it he had driven clear out of the barrage area and was skirting around a patch of woods toward another and as yet untouched road. And to show the kind of stuff he was made of the man began singing joyfully at the top of his voice.
For the next half hour the war seemed to fadefar away. True there were signs of it on all sides, and above their heads, but a certain feeling of security came to the boys as the Sergeant bumped them along roads and across fields skirting around shell holes, artillery batteries, and reserve troops being rushed up to the Front. Yet somehow all that didn't touch them, now. A few hours ago they had been hiding in enemy territory, two hunted prisoners of war. But now they were well behind the Belgian lines and speeding toward headquarters where they would deliver enemy position information that would be of great value to the Allies. Two youths, sixteen and seventeen, had beaten the Germans at their own game. Instead of revealing information of value to the Germans, they had escaped with German information valuable to the Allies.
Dave leaned his head back and sighed restfully. It sure made a fellow feel good to have been of some help. And it made him feel twice as good to have a pal like Freddy Farmer along with him. Freddy had certainly proved his mettle in the tight corners. And regardless of what he'd said, Freddy probably would have done a better job of flying that Arado, too. At every turn the English youth popped up with a new side to him. He sure was glad Freddy and his ambulance had come along when they had. And,gee, just how long ago was that, anyway? Three days, or three years? It had been plenty long ago anyway.
At that moment Freddy suddenly sat forward and tapped the Sergeant on the shoulder.
"Why are we heading east?" he asked and pointed at the last rays of the setting sun. "If you're trying to get to Namur, you're going in the wrong direction."
"That is so," the Sergeant called back. "But, it is necessary. The Boches have cut the road, and we must go around them. Soon it will be dark. It will not be so hard when it is dark. Do not worry, my little one, we shall get there."
Freddy started to argue but seemed to think better of it. He sank back on the seat scowling thoughtfully at the setting sun. Dave looked at him a moment, and then spoke.
"What gives, Freddy?" he asked. "Do you think the Sergeant doesn't know what he's doing?"
"No, he's probably right," the English youth said. "If the Namur road has been cut by the Germans we've got to go around them, of course. But I've spent several summers in this part of Belgium, and...."
Freddy stopped short and leaned forward once more.
"Why can't we circle around them on thewest, Sergeant?" he shouted. "Can't you cut over and take the road leading south from Wavre?"
The Belgian let out a yell of consternation and stopped the car so suddenly he almost pitched the two boys right over the back of the front seat.
"The brain of a cat I have!" he shouted and thumped a big fist against his forehead. "But, of course, of course, my little one! Those bombs and shells! They must have made scrambled eggs out of what I have in my head!"
Taking his foot off the brake the Belgian shifted back into low gear and got the car underway again. At a crossroads some hundred yards ahead he turned sharp right and fed gas to the engine. A moment later a machine gun yammered savagely behind them. Dave twisted around in the seat and saw an armored car bearing German army insignia racing for the turn-off they had taken, but from the opposite direction. There was a machine gun mounted on the car and a helmeted German soldier was striving to get them in his range.
The Belgian Sergeant took one quick glance back over his shoulder and instantly gave the engine all the gas it could take.
"A lucky charm you are indeed!" he shouted and hunched forward over the wheel. "If youhad not put sense in my head, and I had not turned off on to this road, we would have run right into them. And that would have been bad, very bad. Name of the Saints, the Lieutenant will reduce me to a corporal when he hears of this!"
Neither Dave nor Freddy bothered to make any comment. To tell the truth they were too busy hanging on tight and trying to stay in the car as it rocketed forward seeming virtually to leap across shell holes in the road. The Sergeant perhaps did not have very many brains but he certainly knew how to handle that small scouting car. He skipped across shell holes, dodged and twisted about trees blown down across it, and roared right through scattered wreckage of bombed supply trucks and the like as though they weren't even there. And all the time the machine gun farther back snarled and yammered out its song of death.
The pursuing Germans had swung on to their road and were now striving desperately to overtake them. Dave stuck his head up to see if they had gained, but before he could see anything Freddy grabbed him around the waist and practically threw him down onto the floor of the car.
"Stay down, Dave!" the English youth shouted above the roar of the little car's powerful engine. "We've ducked enough bullets for one day. Don't be crazy!"
Dave grinned sheepishly and nodded.
"That was dumb!" he said. "You're right, and thanks!"
As the last left his lips a burst of bullets whined low over the car. Dave gulped and ducked his head.
"Thanks, and how!" he yelled. "Boy, those were close. If I'd been looking back they might ...Hey!"
At that moment the little car turned sharply to the right and seemed to zoom right up into the air. It came down with a crashing jolt. A shower of bush branches slithered down on the boys and they were tossed around in the back of the car like two peas in a pod. Puffing and panting, they struggled to brace themselves before they were pitched out head over heels. No sooner would they get a firm hold on something than the scout car would careen up on its side and go darting off in another direction, and they would be bounced around again.
For a good ten minutes they tore through the darkening twilight first this way and then that way. Then suddenly the violent jolting ceased abruptly, and the car ran along on an even keel. Covered with bumps and bruises from head to toe, the two boys scrambled up off the floor ofthe car and flopped down on the seat. The Belgian Sergeant pushed on the brake and brought the car to a halt under the shelter of over-hanging tree branches. He switched the engine off and turned around and smiled at them triumphantly.
"We have lost the Boches!" he announced. "Everything is all right, now. When it gets dark we will continue. You, my little lucky charm, I must thank you for putting sense in my head."
"That's quite, all right," Freddy said and fingered a lump behind his right ear. "That was a fine bit of driving, Sergeant, even though you came close to breaking our necks. Next time, though, please let us know in time."
"You said it!" Dave gasped and nursed a barked shin. "And when you do, I'm going to jump out. Boy, talk about your wild rides!"
The Belgian Sergeant laughed and gestured with his big hands.
"But that was nothing!" he protested, "These little cars, they can go up the side of a cliff. That German thing? Bah! It creeps along like a snail. You should have been with me and the Lieutenant yesterday. Ah, that was a ride! For a whole hour, mind you. And they were shooting at us from all sides. But we got through without a scratch. It was wonderful. You should have been there!"
"I think I'm glad I wasn't," Freddy said, and smiled so the Belgian would not feel hurt. "But what, now? Where are we?"
Before he would reply the Belgian stuck a dirty cigarette between his lips and lighted up.
"We wait for the darkness, and that will not be long," he finally said. Then pointing across the field to the left, he continued, "One mile in that direction and we strike a road that will lead us straight into the Wavre-Namur road. Two hours at the most and we shall be there."
"Unless the Germans have cut it, too," Freddy murmured.
The Belgian looked at him and snorted.
"Impossible!" he said in a decisive voice. "They cannot have advanced that far. Don't worry,mes enfants, I will get you to Namur in no time at all. I ...Sacré!Those are German tank guns!"
The pounding of guns had suddenly broken out from behind them and to the left. Not the deep booming sound of long range pieces, but the sharp bark of small caliber guns. The sergeant pinched out his cigarette and stuck it in his pocket and slid out of the car. He stood motionless for a moment, head cocked on one side and listening intently to the guns. Dave listened, too, trying to tell if they were coming closer. A strip of woods broke up the sound, and it wasimpossible for him to tell.
He glanced at the sergeant and was startled to see the worried look on the man's face. Worry and astonishment, as though the Belgian was trying to convince himself that the truth was false. In the fast fading light the lines of his face deepened until it became a face of shadows. Suddenly he muttered something under his breath and pulled a Belgian army pistol from the holster at his side.
"Remain here!" he ordered in a hard voice. "This is most strange, and I must investigate. Those cannot be German guns, but perhaps so. I will go and look, and return at once. Remain here, and wait!"
Without waiting for either of them to say a word, the Belgian glided swiftly away from the car and was almost at once swallowed up in the shadows cast by the trees. Dave looked at Freddy.
"What do you think?" he asked. "If that's Germans coming this way, we're crazy to stick around. Don't you think so?"
"Yes, I do," the English youth said bluntly. "But let's wait a little bit. They may not be, and it wouldn't be quite fair dashing off and leaving the Sergeant to walk back, you know."
"Okay, we'll wait, then," Dave agreed. "Boy, but wasn't that some wild ride! And it sure waslucky you spoke to him when you did. What I mean, you saved us from a tough spot. Hey, what's that?"
The tank guns had gone silent, but the yammer of a machine gun took up the song. It sang a few notes and then became suddenly silent. Freddy jumped out of the car and beckoned to Dave.
"We'd better take a look, Dave," he said in a worried voice. "If they are really close we wouldn't have a chance in the car. Our best bet would be to hide out in the woods until they've passed."
Dave jumped down and looked into Freddy's eyes.
"You mean?" he asked in a strained voice. "You think the Sergeant bumped into them, and they killed him?"
"I'm afraid so," Freddy nodded and swallowed. "We'd better make sure, though. Don't you think so?"
"Okay by me," Dave said, though he didn't feel so inside. "Lead on, Freddy. I'm right with you."
With the English youth picking the way, the two boys crept forward through the woods toward the spot from whence had come the sharp burst of machine gun fire. Before they had traveled a hundred yards a shout in German stopped them in their tracks.
"Just a Belgian dog!" the voice called out. "He was probably deserting, so it is well that we shot him!"
Dave's heart became icy cold in his chest yet at the same time bitter resentment toward the Nazis flamed up in his brain. Then he suddenly realized that Freddy was creeping forward on all fours, so he dropped to the ground himself and followed. At the end of a few yards they came to a break in the trees that gave them a view of a large field in the distance. Three light German tanks were parked in the field. A helmeted figure, probably an officer, was standing up in the gun turret of each. Some sixty yards in front of the tanks two German soldiers werebending over a motionless figure on the ground. It was now too dark for Dave to get a good view of the crumpled figure on the ground. But he knew he didn't need a clear view. That Belgian Sergeant would never drive them to Namur, now.
"The dirty rotters, the swine!" he heard Freddy's hoarse whisper at his side. "Three light tanks against one poor Belgian sergeant. He was a decent chap, too. Blast Hitler, I say!"
"The same for the whole bunch of them!" Dave breathed angrily. "Boy, I wish I had a machine gun right now. I'd give them plenty!"
"Not against tanks, I fancy," Freddy said. "Well, that cooks it. We've got to go it alone. Look! They're starting off again. Now, if they just head...!"
The English youth let his voice trail off, but he didn't have to finish the sentence as far as Dave was concerned. He had the same thought. If the tanks turned off to the right the scouting car would not be discovered and they could continue their journey in it. But if the tanks turned to the left, toward the woods in which they crouched, it would be good-bye scouting car. The tanks would spot it for sure, and blow it to bits with their armor piercing guns if they didn't take it for their own use.
Dave's heart seemed to stop beating, and heheld his breath, as the tank engines clattered up into life and the metal clad ground bugs started to move forward. Then suddenly he wanted to yell with relief. The farthest tank from them wheeled around on its treads to the right. The second tank in line followed suit, and then the third. Making a racket that echoed and reechoed back and forth across the war swept countryside, the squadron of tanks moved out of the field, rumbled down over the lip of a slope in the ground and were soon lost to view. Dave let the air out of his lungs and whistled softly.
"Boy, is that a break for us!" he grunted. "We can use that scouting car, now."
"You're jolly well right we can!" Freddy cried and leaped to his feet. "It's a Renault, too, and I've driven Renaults lots."
"Then you're elected," Dave said. "So let's go!"
In less than a minute they were back in the scouting car and Freddy was kicking the engine into life. The instant it roared up he shifted into gear and sent the car rolling around to the left in the direction the dead Belgian Sergeant had indicated.
"I hope he knew what he was talking about!" Freddy yelled above the sound of the clashing of gears. "After that crazy ride I'm not sure at all where we are. But, I'll recognize that Namur road when we come to it. One of the few decent roads in Belgium. Well, we're off!"
The English youth punctuated the last by ramming the car into high and stepping on the gas. Dave's head snapped back and he grabbed wildly for a hold and found one.
"Gosh, you and that Sergeant!" he gasped. "But, it's okay, now. Let her rip, Freddy. Say! It's plenty different riding in the front seat of one of these things, isn't it?"
It was different, too. It was much easier on the bones and tender spots of the human body. Though the car was racing across a rough uneven surface, Dave didn't get half the bouncing around sitting up front. But suddenly when a group of trees came rushing at them and Freddy yanked down on the wheel and swerved past with but a couple of feet to spare, Dave felt his hair stand up straight on his head.
"It's fun driving one of these things!" he heard Freddy shout. "A Renault's a good bus. My father has one."
"Sure, but I'm the passenger, don't forget!" Dave shouted back. "How about some lights? It's getting pretty dark."
"I guess we'd better," Freddy replied and flicked up a switch on the dashboard.
Two pale beams of light swept out in front of the car. They helped some, but they wereconsiderably dimmed so as not to be easily spotted from the air. And they most certainly didn't put Dave much at ease. Dark objects continued to whip into view and then go slipping by as Freddy skillfully wrenched the wheel this way or that. And then suddenly they bounced out of a field onto a dirt road. They had actually turned on to the road and were tearing along it toward the west before Dave realized they were on it.
"Holy smokes, you're good, and no fooling!" he cried. "You sure know how to drive. Well, the Sergeant was right about this road anyway. Wonder how far it is to the main road? Hey, what's the idea of stopping?"
Freddy had suddenly slammed on the brakes, swung to the side of the road, and switched off the lights.
"Planes," he said. "Hear them? They might see our lights. Thought so. They're German, and low, too!"
"And coming right toward us!" Dave said as he twisted around in the seat. "Gee, you've got ears, too!"
Throbbing, pulsating thunder was rolling toward them out of the sky. The planes were not more than a couple of thousand feet up in the sky, and from the sound there were at least a couple of squadrons of them. The two boyssquinted up at the now dark sky, and then suddenly they saw the armada of wings sweeping forward against the stars. They showed no lights, but it was easy to pick them out by the bluish glow of the engine exhaust plumes trailing backward.
"Gee, there's a hundred of them, at least!" Dave breathed. "They look like Heinkels to me. Wonder where they're headed? Gosh, look at them, Freddy. Aren't they something?"
Freddy didn't reply. He sat peering up at the death armada as it winged by, and Dave suddenly saw the frown on his friend's face.
"What are you frowning about?" he asked.
"I'm wondering," Freddy replied. "Unless I'm mistaken those chaps are heading for the same place we are. Namur. Yes, I'm almost sure of it!"
"So what?" Dave murmured.
"So I fancy there'll be very little of it left," Freddy said. "I'll bet you five pounds they know Belgian G.H.Q. is at Namur, and they're going over there to knock it out. Well, all we can do is keep on going, I guess."
The roar of the bombers was fading away to the south. Freddy started the car again and switched on the lights. At the end of five minutes or so they suddenly came upon a well paved broad highway.
"That poor Belgian Sergeant was right, bless him!" Freddy shouted happily and turned south on the road.
"Yes, but look!" Dave yelled and pointed ahead. "Look at that red glow way down there. Gee, it looks like the whole horizon is on fire. And, hey! Hear that? Hear those sounds. I bet that's those planes dropping bombs."
"And I bet that's Namur!" Freddy cried and speeded up the car. "Blast it, we're too late I'm afraid, Dave. Belgian H.Q. has probably cleared out long ago. We'll never find them there, if that's Namur!"
For the next few minutes neither of the boys spoke. They both sat tense in the seat staring at the ever increasing red glow that mounted higher and higher up into the horizon sky. A red glow that was mixed with streaks of yellow, and flashes of vivid orange. And all the time thebr-r-ump! br-r-ump! br-r-umpof detonating high explosive bombs came to them above the roar of the scouting car's engine. In a weird sort of way it reminded Dave of a movie he had once seen. He couldn't remember the title but it was a movie about the world coming to an end. The scenic effects had been like what he was witnessing now. Only they hadn't been half so vivid nor so heart chilling as this. That had been a movie. This was real war. Way off therein the distance a city was probably dying. The bombs of war-making maniacs were smashing a living city into powdery ruins. It was like a horrible nightmare. And it was, because it was true!
Freddy suddenly slowing down the car made Dave tear his eyes from the terrifying spectacle in the distance. He looked at his friend in sudden alarm.
"What's the matter, Freddy?" he asked.
The English youth pointed down the highway.
"Lights coming our way," he said. "We'd better pull over and see what's what. I was going to stop, anyway. There's something strange about this, Dave."
"Yes, and I know what you mean, too!" Dave said as he suddenly realized. "The highway's been empty ever since we came onto it. We haven't passed a thing, or met anything."
"Right you are," Freddy nodded. "I've been wondering about that. But, we're meeting something, now. I say, that's not a car. The lights aren't together. They must be motorcycles."
"They are!" Dave said. "Hear their motors? Boy, are they stepping along."
"Phew!" Freddy suddenly cried out. "Supposing they're German? We'd better hop out and...."
"Too late, now!" Dave cried as the lightsswerved toward their side of the road. "They've seen our lights. And, here they are, too!"
The last word had no more than left Dave's lips than two army motorcycles roared up beside the car and brakes screamed to a halt. Dave saw two shadowy figures vault from the saddles and then the white beam of a flashlight flung straight into his face blinded him. The blood running out of his face felt like cold water. He tried to shout that they were not soldiers but the words would not come. Then he almost sobbed aloud as a sharp voice spoke in French.
"Who are you? What is this?Nom de Dieu!Two boys in a scouting car. Well, have you lost your tongues? What is all this, I ask?"
"We are trying to reach General Boulard's headquarters," Freddy said before Dave could open his mouth. "We have important information. Will you please take that light out of my eyes? We are not armed, as you can see."
The bright light was lowered but it was several seconds before the boys could adjust their eyes to the sudden change from brilliant light to almost pitch darkness. Then they saw two Belgian corporals with dispatch rider brassards fastened about the left sleeve of their tunics. Each had his army pistol drawn and held ready for use.
"General Boulard?" one of them grunted."Why do you wish to see him, eh? And what are you doing in this scouting car? So you stole it, yes? And I suppose you were planning to take it to your family and fill it with your family's furniture? Well...."
"Nuts!" Dave suddenly yelled at them. "We're not Belgians. He's English, and I'm American. We've escaped from Germany with valuable information. A Belgian lieutenant gave us this car, and with a sergeant to drive it. He's back there dead. We almost bumped into three German tanks, and...."
"German tanks?" one of the dispatch riders broke in excitedly. "Where?"
"Back over there a ways," Dave said and pointed in the general direction from whence they had come. "Is General Boulard's headquarters still in Namur?"
The dispatch riders didn't answer at once. They looked at each other, shrugged, and looked quite alarmed.
"If these infants saw Boche tanks," one of them murmured, "then it must be a flanking movement to cut us off from Brussels. We must continue on at once!"
"At once!" his partner agreed and turned to his motorcycle.
"I say there, wait!" Freddy shouted angrily. "Is General Boulard at Namur?"
"There is nothing at Namur, except death and the cursed Boches!" one of the dispatch riders shouted. "We go to the General's new headquarters, now. Follow us and we will show you the way. But, hurry! If you did see tanks where you say, then we are practically surrounded by the swine. There is not a moment to lose, unless you care to be shot or at best taken prisoner by the butchers!"
As though to give emphasis to their words the dispatch riders vaulted onto their saddles and opened up their motorcycle engines in a roar of sound that seemed to bounce clear up to the stars and back again. They were off like a shot and over a hundred yards ahead before Freddy could turn the small scouting car around. But once he had it turned around the young English youth didn't waste any time. He fairly flew after the two motorcycles while Dave clung fast to the side of the car and silently marveled some more at Freddy's masterful driving.
The Belgians roared a mile up the road, then swerved off to the left onto a road that led toward the northwest.
"They're heading for Brussels, I'm pretty sure!" Freddy shouted as the wind howled past the car. "That Sergeant was right when he said it looks bad. It not only looks, butis!"
"The Germans sure must be pretty deep intothe country," Dave agreed. "They.... Hey, Freddy! Gosh ... look! The whole road is exploding!Freddy...!"
The road ahead had suddenly burst open to spout a sea of blinding light and crashing sound. The two dispatch riders seemed to melt into it and disappear. Invisible hands grabbed hold of the small scouting car and tossed it straight up into the air. From a million miles away Dave heard Freddy screaming his name. Then he had the feeling of spinning end over end off through space that was filled with white hot fire and billowing thick black smoke. A hundred million wild, crazy thoughts whirled around in his brain, and then everything turned black, and became as silent as the grave.