Dave Dawson at Dunkirk Part 13

"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 n.a.z.i 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 Allies!_"

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 them for 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 how to 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't you 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. n.o.body spoke. n.o.body but the bombs and the sh.e.l.ls 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 wonder where 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 crus.h.i.+ng weight. The picture of those German hordes pouring across the Albert Ca.n.a.l 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 n.a.z.i 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."