CHAPTER THREE
_Dave Meets Freddy Farmer_
When Dave again opened his eyes it was night. He was lying on his backunder some trees and staring up through bomb shattered branches at thecanopy of glittering and twinkling stars high overhead. For severalseconds he remained perfectly still, not moving a muscle. What hadhappened? Where was he? Why was he out here under some trees in thedark?
Those and countless other questions crowded through his brain. Then, asthough somebody had pulled a curtain aside, memory came back to him andhe knew all the answers. Of course! A Stuka bomb. It had dropped close.He had been trying to shelter that old woman. Yet, that had been on theroad by a cart, and here he was under some trees. How come? Had theexploding bomb blown him under the trees? Was he wounded but still toodazed to feel any pain? Good gosh, it was night now, so he must havebeen here for hours!
Thought and action became one. He put out his hands and pushed himselfup to a sitting position. Almost instantly he regretted the effort. Ahundred trip-hammers started going to work on the inside of his head.The night and the stars began to whirl madly about him. He closed hiseyes tight, and clenched his teeth until things stopped spinning sofast. That helped the pounding in his head, too. It simmered down to adull throbbing ache that he could stand without flinching.
For a few moments he sat there on the grass feeling over his body andsearching for broken bones or any wounds he might have received. Therewas nothing broken, however, and his only wound was a nice big goose eggon the left side of his head. Thankful for the miracle wrought, he gotslowly to his feet, braved a hand against a tree trunk and peered abouthim in the darkness.
It was then one more little surprise came to him. He was in a field andas far as he could tell there wasn't a road any place. No unendingstream of refugees, no wagons, no carts, and no road. It was as thoughhe had dropped down into the very middle of nowhere. Completely puzzledby the strangeness of his surroundings, he glanced at the sky, found theNorth Star and started walking northward. Way off in the distance therewas a faint rumbling, like thunder far far away, but he knew at once itwas the roar of heavy guns. If he needed any proof he had only to staretoward the northeast. There the faint glow of flames made a horizon linebetween the night sky and the earth.
"But where _am_ I?" he asked himself aloud. "I couldn't have just beenblown away. I haven't even got a sprained ankle. Gosh! I wonder wherethe Lieutenant is? And those poor refugees. I sure hope French planescaught those Germans and gave them some of their own medicine. And...."
He choked off the rest and started running. In the distance off to hisleft he had suddenly seen a pair of moving lights. One look told himthat it must be some kind of a car on a road. He would stop it and atleast find out where he was. Perhaps he might even get a ride back toParis. He would be crazy to try and reach Calais, now. The best thingfor him to do was to get back to Paris as fast as he could and send wordto his father.
"But how can I?" he gasped as sudden truth dawned on him. "I don't evenknow where Dad's staying in London. He was to meet me at the station. Ididn't bother to ask Lieutenant Defoe where Dad was staying!"
The seriousness of his plight added wings to his feet. He raced at topspeed toward the pair of moving dim lights. And with every step he took,fear that he would not get to the road in time mounted in his breast.But he had been the star half miler on the Boston Latin High Schooltrack team, and finally he reached the edge of the road a good fifty orsixty yards in front of the advancing pair of lights. Disregarding thedanger of being run down in the dark he stepped to the center of theroad and waved both his arms and shouted at the top of his voice. Thesound of the car's engine died down, brakes complained, and the car cameto a halt.
"I say there, what's up?" shouted a voice from behind the lights. "Ijolly well came close to running you down, you know. Just spotted you inthe nick of time."
Dave gulped with relief at the sound of an English speaking voice. Hetrotted toward the lights and then around them to the driver's seat. Itwas then he saw that the car was an ambulance. It was a nice brand newone, and only a little dusty. Painted under the red cross on the sidewere the words ... British Volunteer Ambulance Service.
"I say, do you speak English?" the driver asked as Dave came close.
Dave looked at him. The driver wasn't in uniform. He wore civilianclothes, and he was about Dave's age. Perhaps a few months younger. Inthe faint glow of the dashboard light his face held a sort of cherubicexpression. He wore no hat and sandy hair fell down over his forehead.His eyes were clear blue, and he had nice strong looking teeth. One lookand Dave knew instantly that he could like this friendly English boy alot.
"You bet I speak English," he said. "I'm an American. My name is DaveDawson."
"Mine's Freddy Farmer," said the English boy. "I'm very glad to meetyou, America, but what in the world are you doing here? Good grief, lookat your clothes! Did a bomb fall on you?"
"One came mighty close," Dave said with a grin. "I just came to a fewminutes ago, and saw your lights. I'm trying to get back to Paris. Is itfar?"
"Paris?" young Freddy Farmer exclaimed. "Why, it's over a hundred milesback. This is a part of Belgium. Didn't you know that? What happenedanyway? You say you were bombed? A nasty business, bombing."
For a moment or so Dave was too surprised to speak. This was Belgium?But it couldn't be! Freddy Farmer must be wrong. He was sure Defoe andhe had not been seventy miles from Paris when they'd met thoserefugees. Belgium? Good gosh! Did that exploding bomb blow him overthirty miles away? But that was crazy.
"Come, get in and ride with me," the English lad broke into histhoughts. "I can't take you back to Paris but Courtrai is just up ahead.That's where I'm delivering this ambulance. Perhaps you can getsomething there to take you back to Paris. Right you are, America. Now,tell me all about it."
As gears were shifted and the car moved forward Dave told of histhrilling experiences since leaving Paris that morning. Young FreddyFarmer didn't interrupt, but every now and then he took his eyes off theroad ahead to look at Dave in frank admiration.
"Say, you did have a bit of a go, didn't you?" Freddy Farmer said whenDave had finished. "That was mighty decent of you to try and help thatold woman. I hope she got through, all right. We heard that the Germanswere shooting and bombing the refugees. A very nasty business, butthat's the way Hitler wages war."
"I hope he gets a good licking!" Dave exclaimed. "Those poor peopledidn't have a chance. They were helpless. I don't see how he thinks hecan win the war that way."
"Hitler won't win the war," the English boy said quietly. "He may haveus on the run for a bit, but in the end we'll win. Just like we did thelast time. That's part of his plan, shooting civilians on the road. Iheard a major and a colonel talking about it. You see, if his airplanescan get the civilians to leave their homes and clog up the roads, whythen our troops have a hard time passing through. I saw some of thatsort of thing myself, today. It was awful, I can tell you. I couldn'tmake any more than five miles in six hours. And it was all I could do tostop them from taking my ambulance and using it for a bus. I wouldn'tlet them, though."
Dave looked sidewise and saw how tired the English lad was. His cheekswere slightly pale from fatigue, and his eyelids were heavy. Davereached out and touched the wheel.
"I've just had a pretty good sleep," he said with a laugh, "and you lookpretty much all in, Freddy. Want me to take the wheel for a spell? Youcan tell me which way to go."
The English boy turned his head and smiled at him, and somehow bothsuddenly knew that a deep friendship between them had been cemented.
"Thanks, awfully much, Dave," Freddy Farmer said, "but I'm not reallytired at all. Besides, there isn't far to go now. Only a few more miles,I fancy. It's nice of you to ask, though."
"It'll still be okay if you change your mind," Dave said. "Have you beendriving an ambulance long? Do you go out and help pick up the wounded,and stuff? I guess you've seen a lot of battles, haven't you?"
"Oh, No,
I'm not really an ambulance driver, Dave. You have to beeighteen to get in this volunteer service, and I won't be seventeenuntil next month. You see, I've been going to school just outside Parisand my family decided I'd better come home to England. Well, yesterdayseveral of these ambulances arrived at the Paris headquarters of theService. They had been shipped clear to Paris through a mistake. TheFrench do funny things sometimes, you know. Anyway, they were needed inBelgium and there were no regular drivers in Paris. Not enough, anyway.I thought it would be good fun to drive one and then carry on to theChannel and on home to England. We left Paris at midnight last night,and soon lost track of each other. It's been fun, though. I'll be sorryto have the trip end."
"Jeepers, you've been driving since midnight?" Dave exclaimed. "You surecan take it, Freddy, and how!"
"Take it?" the English boy murmured with a puzzled frown. "I don't thinkI know what you mean."
Dave laughed. "That's American slang, Freddy," he said. "It means thatyou've got a lot of courage, and stuff. It means that you're okay."
"Thanks, Dave," Freddy Farmer said. "But it really doesn't take anycourage. I'm very glad to do my bit, if it helps the troops any. We'vegot to beat the Germans, you know. And we jolly well will, I can tellyou!"
The two boys lapsed into silence and for the next two or three milesneither of them spoke. During that time Dave stared at the dim red glowof burning buildings in the distance and thought his thoughts about thewar that had apparently begun in earnest. He was an American and Americawas neutral, of course. Yet after what he'd seen this day he was filledwith a burning desire to do something to help beat back Hitler anddefeat him. He knew that there had been a lot of boys his age who hadtaken part in the last World War. He was big for his age, too, andstrong as an ox. He decided that when he got to London and found hisfather he would ask Dad if there wasn't something he could do to help.Nothing else seemed important, now. The important thing was to help stopall this business that was taking place in Europe.
At that moment Freddy Farmer suddenly slipped the car out of gear andbraked it to a stop.
"Yes, Freddy?"
"I'm afraid I've got us into a bit of a mess, Dave," he said. "To betruthful, we are lost. I really haven't the faintest where we are. Youmust think me a fine mug for this. I'm frightfully sorry, really."
"Wait a minute!" Dave cried out. "Here comes a car. It sounds like atruck. Gee, what a racket!"
A pair of headlights was rapidly approaching along the road that led offto the right. They bounced up and down because of the uneven surface,and the banging noise of the engine made Dave think of a threshingmachine. On impulse he and Freddy Farmer moved out into the glow of theambulance's lights and began waving their arms. The truck or car, orwhatever it was, bore down upon them and finally came to a halt with thegrinding and clashing of gears.
"Come on, Dave, we'll find out, now!" Freddy said and trotted into thetwin beams of light.
Dave dropped into step at his side, and they had traveled but a fewyards when a harsh voice suddenly stopped them in their tracks.
"Halt!"
The two boys stood motionless, their eyes blinking into the light. Daveheard Freddy Farmer catch his breath in a sharp gasp. He suddenlyrealized that for some unknown reason his own heart was poundingfuriously, and there was a peculiar dryness in his throat. At thatmoment he heard hobnailed boots strike the surface of the road. Thefigure of a soldier came into the light. On his head was a bucket shapedhelmet, and in his hands was a wicked looking portable machine gun. Hemoved forward in a cautious way, and then Dave was able to see hisuniform. His heart seemed to turn to ice in his chest, and his handssuddenly felt very cold and damp.
He was looking straight at a German soldier!
Dave Dawson at Dunkirk Page 3