Dave Dawson at Dunkirk Part 15

"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 cras.h.i.+ng 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 b.u.mps 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 s.h.i.+n. "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 c.o.c.ked 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 das.h.i.+ng 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 pa.s.sed."

Dave jumped down and looked into Freddy's eyes.

"You mean?" he asked in a strained voice. "You think the Sergeant b.u.mped 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!"

Dave's heart became icy cold in his chest yet at the same time bitter resentment toward the n.a.z.is 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 were bending 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 hoa.r.s.e 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 he held 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."