"However, it is of the present we speak. Listen carefully, you two. The
Nazis are going to attempt to invade England. They are going to attempt
to set up a bridgehead on British soil. Not at Dover, or at Hastings, or
at Brighton on the south coast. It is to be made at a point, a nine mile
strip of shoreline, just north of Harwich on the east coast. And that
attempt will be made on the night of the sixteenth after a terrific
bombardment by the _Luftwaffe_ on the fifteenth."
"The sixteenth?" Dave gasped excitedly. "Three days from today?"
"That is correct," the Belgian said solemnly. "But the _Luftwaffe_ raids
on the fifteenth will be directed at the _south coast_. It is a trick
to make the British believe that an attack will be made there, while
actually the attack will be made much further north on the east coast.
Close to seventy-five thousand troops will be used in the first attack.
If they gain a foothold in England, three times that number will
follow."
Dave unconsciously tried to check the question, but it popped right out
of his mouth.
"How do you know this to be true?" he asked.
For an instant he expected to see anger flare up in the Belgian's eyes.
No such thing happened, however. Pierre Deschaud simply smiled and
slowly nodded his white head.
"Naturally, you ask that question," he said quietly. "It is of course
strange that I, an old man, should know the one thing the Nazis wish to
keep secret. I do know, nevertheless. I have known all about it for over
a month."
The old man paused, lifted a bony hand and pointed in the direction of
Antwerp harbor.
"The day they first set foot in Antwerp, they started taking charge of
every boat in the harbor, as well as every place where boats are made,"
he said. "Those of us who were not blind or stupid knew at once the
reason. They were starting to prepare even then for the coming invasion
of England. I have been a marine engineer all my life. I know how to
build boats as well as the next man. The Germans needed men to build
barges--long high-sided barges that could be powered by Diesel engines
taken from tanks and armored cars. They put hundreds of us to work
building those boats. I was one of those men, and the Germans soon
realized I knew how to build boats. I acted grateful and overjoyed that
they had come. I let them know my hatred toward England for starting the
war. I played right into their dirty hands at every turn. It is hard on
your heart to strike down a friend, a brave soldier, when you hear him
say something against the Germans. Many times, though, I was forced to
do that. It was hard, terribly hard, but there was nothing else but to
act as I did. There was more at stake than the love and affection of a
few dear friends. There was Belgium, and Europe, and England--and
perhaps the entire Christian world."
Pierre Deschaud stopped talking and brushed a hand across his eyes,
which glistened with tears. Dave wanted to reach out and touch him, and
so did Freddy. But they didn't move. They knew in their hearts that the
brave old man did not want sympathy. He had done his duty, and the
knowledge of that was far, far greater than all the sympathy in the
world.
"It was hard, yes," he continued after a moment, "but it was something I
had to do. I wormed my way into the good graces of my Nazi jailers. They
did not know that I spoke and understood German perfectly. Nor did they
know I can remember words spoken for the rest of my life. No, it was not
so easy as all that. The Germans did not discuss the invasion much. They
had received their orders from their superiors to keep their mouths
shut. However, a word was spoken here, a word was spoken there, and I
filed every word in my memory. All dates, all names of towns, all names
of boats, and a hundred other little items. Alone, not one of them means
a thing, but after weeks of collecting and remembering words spoken,
slips of the tongue, I was able to gain complete knowledge of what was
planned."
The old man paused again and held up the folded sheet of dirty paper.
"It is all here, written down in detail," he said as triumph rang in his
voice. "Every move they plan to make. When, where, and how. Their
complete plan. Get this paper back to England, and the Nazi murderers
can be given a smashing blow from which they will not recover for a long
time. Get this paper back to your superior officers, and Adolf Hitler
will think twice about sending his forces against the British Isles.
Mark you, smash this attempt, and Hitler will leave England alone and
look eastward for new nations to conquer, not westward toward England."
Pierre Deschaud stopped talking and held out the paper. Dave started to
reach out his hand for it, then quickly drew it back. He turned to
Freddy.
"We're both R.A.F., Freddy," he said. "But you're _England_, too. You
carry the paper, and I'll just tag along with you."
Freddy tried to speak, but his throat was too choked up. He pressed
Dave's knee hard with one hand, reached out the other and silently
accepted the paper.
"There can be no greater friendship than this!" Pierre Deschaud
whispered softly.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
_Danger In The Dark_
For a long moment tingling silence settled over the trio. Then Pierre
Deschaud made a little gesture with his hands, and broke it.
"And now, the most dangerous part of all," he said, "your safe return to
England with that very valuable paper. And you _must_ get back. Five
other brave men came for the information you now possess, and they died.
_You_ must not die. If you fail, all is lost. There will not be enough
time left for Colonel Fraser to send over another agent to contact me.
It is up to you two, now."
The two boys nodded grimly.
"Colonel Fraser spoke of there being a few military air fields at
Antwerp," Dave spoke up. "What is the nearest and best one for us to
tackle and try to steal a plane?"
"I will take care of that little matter, too," Pierre Deschaud said.
"Were you to try such a thing alone, you would not live ten minutes.
That happened to two of those five. Two others were killed before they
even reached a field. And the fifth, a fine lad not much older than
either of you, was not fast enough. He was shot down to his death before
he was out of sight of Antwerp. But you--you _must_ get through!"
"Can we get started now?" Dave asked, and nervously clenched and
unclenched his fists. "The sooner the better is the way I see it."
"Right you are," Freddy echoed with a nod. Then, looking at Pierre
Deschaud: "There's no use wasting time unless we have to."
"But of course not," the Belgian patriot said, and rose to his feet. "We
will start at once. Come with me, and be careful how you step."
The old Belgian turned to a door on the side opposite to that through
which they had entered. The door stuck a bit, and he was forced to put
his shoulder to it hard before it gave way. Admiration for the aged man,
and something close to love, stirred in Dave Dawson. Pierre Deschaud
might be close to seventy, but he had the strength of two men, and the
courage of a brigade.
Deschaud flickered his light forward to reveal rotting bulkheads
amidships. The boat was well down by the stern and at a dangerous slant.
Halfway along the port side, Dave suddenly made out the shape of a small
shallow rowboat. An instant later he noted that the oars were joined and
fixed to swivel brackets so that one could row facing the bow instead of
facing the stern as is the usual case. The Belgian sloshed through a
foot of sluggish water, climbed into the boat, and motioned to them to
get in.
"Sit near the bow," he directed. "That makes her ride better for the one
who does the rowing. And I will be that one."
The man paused, chuckled softly and patted the side of the boat
affectionately with his hand.
"This is one boat in Antwerp that the Nazi pigs know nothing about," he
said in a purring voice. "I made her with my own hands years ago. Before
the Nazis arrived, I hid her here in this sunken hulk. She has been
worth many times her weight in gold to me. To lose her would be like
losing my dearest friend. Now, sit steady, for I am about to put out the
light. You will hear me moving, but do not be alarmed. I have a secret
way to get her into the Scheldt. I remove but two or three loose planks,
and we glide through as nice as can be."
"Where are we headed, sir?" Freddy whispered in the darkness.
"Directly across the river from this point," Pierre Deschaud said,
"there is one of their military air fields. A mile of the shore is
dangerous swamp ground, however; a man who did not know the way could
lose himself, and probably drown, before he even realized what had
happened. But I have lived in Antwerp almost all of my life. I know that
swamp as one knows the palm of his hand. I will lead you through it
safely. And when we reached the edge of the field--but we will attend to
that matter when we come to it. Now, silence, please. Not even a
whisper. They patrol the river all night long in their E-boats. And they
have keen ears and eyes, these Nazi sons of the devil. Now, we start."
Dave and Freddy, crouched near the bow of the small craft, could hear
Pierre Deschaud moving, and could hear soft grating sounds like boards
being rubbed together. A moment later they felt the boat move under
them, and a moment after that the darkness was a little less, and a
chilly wind blew against their faces. They had slid out of the half
sunken houseboat and were now out in the Scheldt River.
Dave's nerves danced and twitched around, and his head felt light from
excitement. He slowly turned and stared off into the blackness to his
left. He thought he saw a couple of dim lights far away, but he was not
sure. Then gradually his eyes became accustomed to the change of shadowy
darkness, and he could make out the sprawling dark hulk that was
Antwerp, crouching like some motionless monster on the banks of the
Scheldt River. He tilted his head and looked up to see that cloud scud
and fog still blotted out the stars. At that moment he heard the
throbbing drone of unsynchronized German aircraft engines far to the
east. He was not sure, but once or twice he thought he also heard the
faint _cr-rump_ of bursting anti-aircraft shells. However, though he
peered hard in that direction, he could not see any flashes of fire in
the dark sky.
Then suddenly there was a muffled roar of sound up the river in the
direction of the waterfront center of Antwerp, and a long beam of light
stabbed out across the water. Pierre Deschaud's command was like a
shrill whistle.
"Face down on the bottom of the boat, quickly! Don't move a single
muscle. Pray hard they do not catch us in that light!"
Dave and Freddy dropped flat and practically tried to press themselves
into the wooden bottom of the boat. Pierre Deschaud also crumpled down
instantly. And as the throbbing of a speed-boat drew closer and closer,
its sound was matched by the wild beating of three hearts in the bottom
of that rowboat. Dave clenched his teeth in an effort to ease the
terrible strain of just waiting there helplessly for the beam of light
to swerve and catch them in its brilliant glow. Each second was a
minute, and the fifteen that ticked by while they crouched there
motionless were as a lifetime in a world of unforgettable torment and
torture. At the end of that time, the German river craft had roared past
their position and was streaking farther on downstream. Each of them
realized it at the same time, for they all straightened up together.
"Bless _Le Bon Dieu_ for saving us that time!" Pierre Deschaud breathed
in a fervent whisper. "That is a trick of theirs. They slide along
without lights, and then suddenly switch on the searchlight, and race
forward at full speed, hoping to catch some poor devil where they have
forbidden him to be. A thousand curses on their souls. We will yet drive
the last of them from this part of the world!"
Pierre made a gurgling sound in his throat for emphasis, then fell to on
the oars again. He had greased them well, and had it not been for the
movement of the boat, Dave wouldn't have been able to tell if the man
was rowing or not. There was not so much as a whisper of sound from the
oarlocks.
Twice more they were forced to fall flat and hold their breath in fear
as a Nazi river patrol boat streaked by. The last time its savage wash
caught them amidships and rocked them about like a chip of wood in an
angry sea. But they hardly noticed the tossing they received, they were
so thankful that they had not been caught in the searchlight's beam.
Then suddenly dark shapes rose up on either side of the boat. They
glided along between the dark blurs for a few moments, and then the
nose of the boat nudged into a muddy bank and came to a stop.
"Don't move!" Pierre Deschaud whispered sharply. "That river was nothing
for its dangers. This is the beginning of the difficult business. Sit
still, and I will get out first. I know exactly where to step. And if
one does not step just so--"
The old Belgian left the rest hanging in mid-air as an additional
warning to the two boys. He moved forward past them and climbed out. A
tug or two brought the bow higher up on the mud. Then they heard his
whisper again.
"One of you give me your hand, and with your other hand take the hand of
your friend," he said. "Do not let go for a single instant. This is most
treacherous. Ah, yes, many men are buried here in this swamp. Now, we
move very slowly. Put your foot where the man ahead has put his. If you
slip and start to fall, do not cry out in alarm. Hold on tight to the
hand you grasp."
As Freddy was closer, he grasped Pierre Deschaud's hand and reached the
other hand back to grab Dave's. Then, Indian file style, they started to
move forward slowly foot by foot. In the distance Dave heard faint
sounds, and it was all he could do to keep from lifting his eyes and
peering ahead. He did not do so, however, for he would most certainly
miss his footing and go pitching off into the deep muddy pools that
lined the row of swamp hummocks along which they walked at a snail's
pace.
Time and time again Pierre Deschaud turned to the left or the right, but
always it was in the general direction whence came the sounds. Dave's
eyes smarted from peering down at Freddy's heels so constantly. But he
blinked away the pain and kept doggedly onward. Every now and then some
swamp animal would plop off a hummock into the water with a splash that
sounded like a cannon going off to Dave's strained nerves. And he could
tell from the sudden pressure of Freddy's hand gripping his that his pal
wasn't enjoying the journey, either.
For well over half an hour the old Belgian led them step by step through
the swamp. Then finally they heard him sigh with relief, and a moment
after that they felt firm hard ground under their feet. Dave raised his
aching head and looked around. He saw nothing but darkness, but he
plainly heard the throbbing purr of an aircraft engine in the distance.
He stared hard in that direction, only to realize that they were
standing at the bottom of a slight slope of ground. The Belgian pulled
them close to him.
"Keep hold of hands," he whispered. "And walk as though your shoes were
made of feathers. When I stop, you must stop at once. Remember that. If
you don't, you will die, my dear young friends."
"How come?" Dave whispered as the Belgian paused for breath. "What's
ahead?"
"These Nazis fear sabotage at their fields," Pierre Deschaud replied.
"So they have strung a wire fence about the entire area. The wire is
charged with high voltage electricity. If you should stumble against it
in the dark--you would never know it."
"But how can we get near the planes, then?" Freddy asked.
"Do not worry," the Belgian murmured. "I will take care of that fence.
Now, come. Bend over as you walk, so."
Hunched over forward, the trio crept stealthily up the slope and along
the flat for some fifty yards. Then suddenly Pierre Deschaud stopped.
Freddy and Dave froze in their tracks and peered ahead. Some three feet
in front of them, they could just make out a five strand wire fence
that was about six feet high. Beyond was a field of tall, waving,
sun-scorched grass. And beyond that was the level expanse of the
military flying field. They could see dark shapes that were the hangars
and other buildings. And far over on the other side they could see a
Heinkel night bomber in the faint glow of a single flare. Its prop was
ticking over, and shadows walking past in front of the light indicated
that mechanics were making night repairs. Then Pierre Deschaud
whispered.
"Get down flat on your stomachs," he directed, "one behind the other. Be
ready to crawl forward when I say so. Crawl as if you were swimming, but
do not lift your elbows. And keep your heads down. Now, wait just a
moment."
As the boys got down flat on the ground, Pierre Deschaud pulled a forked
stick some two feet long from under his shirt. Then, crouching down, he
hooked the bottom wire of the fence in the fork part and lifted it
upward as high as he could.
"Now, one at a time worm your way under," came his strained whisper.
"Keep as close to the ground as you can. Now, go ahead."
Dave hesitated a fraction of a second, and then started to inch his body
forward. He did so by digging his fists and his toes into the ground and
shoving. He kept his face so close to the ground that his nose was
rubbing along it. Inch by inch he crawled forward, with air locked in
his lungs and his heart hammering against his ribs. Just a few inches
above him was sudden and terrible death. If Pierre Deschaud's strength
should fail! Or if the forked stick should break and the deadly wire sap
downward! Or if--
"There, you are through!" he heard Pierre Deschaud's whisper. "Now, turn
around and grasp your friend's outstretched hands and pull him under."
Trembling like a leaf, and his body dripping from nervous tension, Dave
got up on his hands and knees and swiveled around. Freddy's head and
shoulders were already under the wire, and his hands were outstretched.
Dave bent down and grabbed them and slowly pulled his pal through to
safety. The instant Freddy's feet were clear of the wire, Pierre
Deschaud removed the forked stick and let the straining wire snap back
into place.
"And now you have only to hide in that grass and wait until it is
almost dawn," they heard him whisper through the wire. "Always just
before the dawn they start up all their engines to remove the chill of
the night. The nearest plane cannot be more than seventy yards from
where you are, now. Wait until the mechanics have started the planes and
walked away to let them warm up. Then dash for the nearest plane. The
swift fighters are hangared on this side of the field, so you need not
worry about having to steal a huge bomber. And so, I leave you now."
The old man's voice faltered for a moment; then he got control of his
emotions.
"May God fly with you, my brave friends," he whispered. "It rests with
you, now. I must return to my boat and get back across the river before
it is light."
"I wish you could go with us, sir," Dave whispered.
"No, although I thank you for the kind thought," Pierre Deschaud
whispered. "However, my place is here in Belgium. Here I must stay until
I die, fighting as best I can for the liberation of my country. And so,
farewell, my courageous friends. May God fly with you!"
Dave blinked to drive away the tears that filled his eyes. When he
opened his eyes again, there was nothing but darkness beyond the charged
wire. Pierre Deschaud had gone back to his boat. Dave felt Freddy's hand
groping for his. He gripped it and squeezed hard.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
_Wings Of The R.A.F._
When the new dawn was but a faint streak low down in the east, the sound
of a hundred airplane engines being kicked into life suddenly shattered
the stillness of the surrounding countryside. The two boys lying flat on
their stomachs side by side started violently, then looked at each other
and grinned.
"This is almost it!" Dave whispered. "Let's start worming closer. We've
got to grab a ship before anybody else gets in the air. Here in the
grass, we could easily be spotted from the air."
"You're right!" Freddy whispered back. "And I'm sure whoever saw your
uniform and my suit would jolly well land at once to find out what was
what. Right-o. Forward we go."
Like two human snakes, the boys wiggled forward through the tall grass
until they were but a few feet from the edge of the close cut, level
flying field. Through the grass ahead they could see the row of
Messerschmitt One-Nines, and One-Tens. And as luck would have it, a
Messerschmitt One-Ten was the ship nearest them. It was not more than
thirty yards away at the most. Dave nudged Freddy and pointed.
"Just what the doctor ordered!" he breathed. "A One-Ten with plenty of
room for two. Hot dog! Hoped I'd get a crack at flying a One-Ten some
day. Or do you want to do the flying?"
Freddy smiled and shook his head and touched the pocket of his jacket
where he kept Pierre Deschaud's detailed report of the Nazi invasion
plans.
"The least I can do in return," he said. "Besides, you spoke first.
Look! The mechanics have checked the instruments, and are walking away!"
It was true. Mechanics were climbing down out of cockpits and walking
along down the tarmac in groups. In a moment or so there wasn't a
single man within seventy-five yards of the first Messerschmitt in the
line. Dave gripped Freddy's arm, tried to speak, but couldn't get the
words out of his throat for a second. Then they came in a muted rush.
"Okay! Let's go! Luck to us both, fellow!"
Quick as a flash, they shot up out of the grass and started running with
every ounce of driving power in their legs. It was only some thirty
yards to that One-Ten, but Dave felt as though he weren't covering more
than a couple of inches of ground with every stride. A thousand
torturing thoughts whipped through his brain, and with every stride he
expected to hear the yammer and chatter of many machine guns blazing
away at him.
Not a single shot was fired, though. And not a single voice cried out in
wild alarm, as he reached the tail of the plane and dashed around it
toward the long three-man cockpit. Then suddenly a German mechanic
seemed to rise right up out of the ground. Obviously he had been making
some delayed check on the plane and was only just starting to join his
comrades down at the other end of the tarmac. As he saw Dave, blank
amazement flashed across his moon-shaped face. Then his eyes seemed to
crackle out fire, and his mouth flew open.
Decision and action were one with Dave Dawson. He dived forward the last
step and lashed out his right fist, putting every ounce of his strength
in the blow. Perhaps the mechanic tried to duck, but at any rate he
didn't do it in time. Dave's driving fist caught him flush on the jaw.
His head snapped back, his feet left the ground, and he did a beautiful
backward somersault to crash down on the tarmac in a heap. Before the
German had even hit, Dave was in the pilot's pit, reaching for the
control stick and throttles.
He kicked off the wheel brakes with his foot and jerked his head around.
Freddy was already in and grinning from ear to ear.
"The beggar will sleep for a week!" he cried. "Right-o! Give her the
gun!"
As though Freddy's voice was some kind of a signal to the Germans about
the field, shots suddenly rang out, and the air shivered with shouting
angry voices. Dave shoved the throttles forward and the twin 1,150 hp.
Daimler-Benz engines thundered up in a mighty song of power. The plane
quivered and bucked for an instant, and then charged straight out across
the dawn light-shadowed field. Machine guns and rifles were now
cracking and banging away on all sides, and countless metallic wasps of
death were hissing past the plane as it rocketed forward.
An instant later he heard the Messerschmitt's rear guns rattling away,
and Freddy's wild shouts and bellows as he sprayed the Germans swarming
across the field. Dave grinned, tight-lipped, eased back on the stick
and lifted the One-Ten clear of the ground and upward toward the dawn
sky.
"R.A.F. coming up!" he shouted, and jerked his head around for a second.