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 the language 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 million like 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 eerie scream.
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't _that_ scared!" 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. He had 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
against the 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!"
CHAPTER TWELVE
_In the Nick of Time_
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 range of 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 the Saints 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 fade far 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 the west, 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 you had 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 of
the 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 ... _Sacre!_ 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 was impossible 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 was lucky 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."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
_Bombs For Namur_
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!"