CHAPTER TEN
_Trapped!_
A moment of wild panic gripped Dave Dawson. His first impulse was tospin around and flee for his life. In the nick of time, however, coldlogic made him realize the utter senselessness of such a move. He got aquick hold on himself, threw both his hands above his head and faked adisplay of mortal terror.
"Don't shoot!" he cried in a high shrill voice. "I have done nothing. Iam lost, and I am hungry. Please do not shoot, _Herr Kommandant_!"
To be addressed by such a title of high rank seemed obviously to pleasethe German, who held only a corporal's rank. He smiled and puffed outhis chest a bit, and holstered his Luger.
"So, another little vagrant swine, eh?" he leered. "Where do you comefrom, boy? What are you doing in this area of the city where it isforbidden for civilians to go?"
Inwardly Dave longed to lash out with both fists at the flat leeringface, but he had more sense than to ask for a bullet from the Germancorporal's Luger. Instead he played his part to the limit. He blinkedand worked his mouth, and looked for all the world as though he weregoing to burst out in tears.
"I come from the south, _Herr Kommandant_," he said in a whimperingvoice. "From Rotselner, near Louvain. Our farm, it was destroyed in thebombardment. I was separated from my family during the evacuation toBrussels. And when--and when--"
Dave purposely stumbled to a stop and gazed pleadingly at the Germancorporal.
"May I please put my hands down, _Herr Kommandant_?" he whined. "I amvery tired. And I have hurt my leg, as you can see. Please?"
The German grunted and nodded his head.
"Put them down, then," he growled. "All you Belgians are babies aboutpain, anyway. Well? You went to Brussels? Why did you not stay thereinstead of coming up here to bother me, eh?"
Dave gestured miserably.
"The city was filled with refugees," he said. "They would not let anymore inside the city limits. They turned us away, and ordered us to goelsewhere."
"So?" the German suddenly echoed as a sharp gleam leaped into his beadyeyes. "And when was this? Last week, perhaps?"
Dave was expecting some sort of a trap, so he was prepared, and did notplunge headlong into it.
"No, _Herr Kommandant_," he said, and shook his head. "It was not justlast week. It was a long time ago, last June. Ever since then I havebeen wandering around trying to find my father, and my mother, and mytwo sisters."
"And probably stealing all the time, eh?" the German snarled at him."Yes, I know your kind. We come and save your country from the Englishdogs, and you thank us by stealing everything you can lay your handson."
"No, no, I have not been stealing, _Herr Kommandant_!" Dave criedwildly. "I have been looking for work--any kind of work so I could earnmoney to pay for my bed and a little food. But there has not been muchwork to find."
"You mean you are too lazy!" the German corporal interrupted harshly."You look big enough to work, but I know that you are simply lazy. Allof your kind are lazy. So you decided to come up here to Antwerp and begoff us? You expected us to put food in your dirty mouth?"
"No, _Herr Kommandant_!" Dave protested with a whimper. "Only if I workfor it. Yes, I am strong. I am willing to work, but there is so littlework to be found these days. Farther south near Malines, I met a verykind German officer. He was in command of a tank division. He told methat his comrades in Antwerp would give me work to do. He said theywould be glad to give me work so that I could pay for my bed and myfood."
As soon as Dave stopped speaking, he realized that it had been a mistaketo add the little lie about meeting a German officer. The corners of thecorporal's mouth went down, and sneering disgust glittered in his eyes.He made a movement with his lips as though to spit.
"So you were told that, eh?" he suddenly rasped out. "Well, that officershould have tended to his tanks instead of giving foolish advice tostupid swine. We have enough trouble here in Antwerp. Too many mouths tofeed as it is. You fool Belgians are so stupid. You have to be ledaround like cows. Yes, you should have rings put in your noses._Himmel!_ I shall be a happy man when my company is ordered elsewhere."
A sudden thought came to Dave, and he tried a new way of getting on thegood side of the surly German corporal.
"You have been in many battles, _Herr Kommandant_?" he asked in a politevoice. "You have seen much excitement, and fought in many battles?"
It was instantly evident that this was the one wrong thing to ask. Oneof the soldiers tittered faintly, and the corporal's neck and faceflushed a beet red. Undoubtedly he had yet to hear a shot fired, and hadbeen sent to Antwerp for patrol duty long after the city had been takenby the real fighting forces of Adolf Hitler. He stood glaring, and Daveinwardly braced himself for the blow he expected to come. In a minute,however, the German managed to get control of his anger. But the wrongquestion by Dave had completely upset the apple cart. He had hoped thatby getting on the good side of the corporal he might persuade the man totell him some place to go and ask for work, and would be sent on hisway. Thus he would be able to slip on through the patrol area andeventually lose himself in the city. But--
The apple cart had been tipped over.
"Fritz!" the corporal barked back over his shoulder. "Take him to theCentral Detention Station and throw him inside. Tell Sergeant Muellerthat I will be in later to make a report on him. Take him in the sidecarand return at once."
"Very good, Corporal," a voice said.
Then a skinny soldier with bulging eyes stepped forward and rammed Davein the chest with the muzzle of his short but deadly field rifle. Davewhimpered and shrank back and looked appealingly at the corporal.
"But I have done nothing, _Herr Kommandant_!" he whined.
The corporal snorted and made a curt gesture with his hand.
"You were born!" he snapped. "And that was too much, as I see things.Take him away, Fritz!"
The soldier grinned and prodded Dave again with the barrel of his rifle.
"March in front of me!" he shouted. "Down the street. Try to run awayand I will shoot you for a wild pig. March!"
White anger blazed up in Dave, but he still had sense enough to holdhimself in check. He kept the frightened look on his dirt-smeared face,let his shoulders droop in cringing defeat, and went trudging along thesidewalk in front of the soldier. At the end of the block the soldierstopped him and made him get into the bucket of a sidecar parked aroundthe corner. The soldier slung his rifle over his shoulder by the strap,forked the seat saddle and leered sideways at Dave.
"You will be a wise little boy to keep your hands clasped in your lap!"he barked. "Don't think that you'll have a chance to jump out andescape. You'll be another dead Belgian, if you try that."
"I shall not try to escape," Dave murmured meekly, and kept his eyes onhis clasped hands.
"Then that will be good!" the soldier grunted, and kicked the engine ofhis army motorcycle into life.
Even if Dave had secretly nursed the idea of attempting an escape, hewould promptly have abandoned any such idea once the soldier got themotorcycle and sidecar rolling down the street. The German acted littleshort of a madman. He streaked along like a bolt of lightning and tookcorners on one wheel. A dozen times, had not Dave grabbed franticallyfor support, he would have been bounced out on his head to meet withserious injury. It was an even wilder ride than he and Freddy had takenthrough the blazing bomb-blasted streets of Dunkirk just a few shortmonths before.[2]
[Footnote 2: _Dave Dawson at Dunkirk._]
After a two mile ride that brought them straight into the heart of thecity, the German braked to a screaming stop in front of a longflat-roofed building. A glance at it indicated that it had probably beenused as a storehouse before the outbreak of war. In a way, as Davelearned a few minutes later, it was still being used as a storehouse, astorehouse for civilian prisoners taken by the Nazi troops occupyingthe city!
The soldier marched him in through the front door and past twogiant-sized guards. The guards grinned at the soldier and raised th
eireyebrows questioningly. The soldier laughed harshly and nodded.
"Caught him trying to sneak through the forbidden area," the soldiersaid, and jerked his head at Dave. "Where is Sergeant Mueller? Mycorporal says that he will be in later to make a report."
One of the guards pointed at a door on the left.
"In there, and probably sleeping," he said with a mirthless chuckle. "Goand see him, and leave your little playmate with us. We will see that hehas the best of care, eh, Hans?"
The other guard laughed and nodded his head vigorously.
"The very best, of course!" he cried. "We shall let him go and talk withsome of his friends. Come along, you!"
A big hairy hand shot out and fingers of steel were curled around Dave'sarm. He was almost jerked off his feet as the guard yanked him forward.He kept his balance, however, and was led to the far end of the shortcorridor into which they had entered. There the guard stopped, gave Davea warning look, and took a ring of keys from his pocket. He selected akey and opened the door in front of him. Then, faster than moving light,he spun around and hit Dave across the back of the neck.
Stars flared up in Dave's brain, and he saw a sea of blurred faces as hewent stumbling through the open door. He fell down a short flight ofsteps and landed hard on his hands and knees on a rough board floor. Fora moment he stayed where he was, waiting for his head to clear. Then thehushed murmur of many voices and a cloying cloud of countless humansmells brought his head up and made him get to his feet. He foundhimself in a huge, long room that contained at least a hundred others inas pitiful looking state as himself.
"There's another one of your comrades!" he heard the guard shout justbefore he slammed the door.
For a moment or two the hundred pairs of eyes searched Dave's face, andhis heart ached as he realized why they were doing so. Here was astorehouse filled with war's driftwood, helpless refugees whosefamilies had been either crushed or broken up by the onward rushingmachine of war. Each man there was now searching his face and hoping inhis heart to recognize a long lost brother, or father, or some othermale relative.
Presently though, they dropped their eyes and went on with whatever theyhad been doing before he had been hurled into their midst. Nobody madeany effort to speak to him, and he understood why. They were notshunning him, or anything like that. They were simply letting him alonewith his own sorrows, as they wished to be let alone with theirs. Whatcould they speak about, anyway? Each man's story was the same. There wasno real difference. Each had been caught up in the toils of war--andhere he was.
Dave swallowed the bitterness that rose in his throat and went over andsat down on a long row of hard wood benches that ran along one side ofthe wall. An old man sitting there, staring unseeingly at the floor,didn't so much as raise his eyes as Dave sat down. Save for the slightmovement of his chest, caused by his breathing, he could have been a mandead. Perhaps in a way he was dead, too. His spirit had been killed bythe Germans. Only the physical side of his body remained alive.
Dave flashed him a sympathetic glance, started to speak, but thoughtbetter of it. After all, what was there that even _he_ could say?Certainly nothing that could give good cheer and heart to this poor oldman. Then he thought of the case of emergency food still strapped inplace about his waist, and his hand moved impulsively toward the insideof his shirt. He checked the movement, however. The old man looked halfstarved, but so did everybody else in the place. To take out hisspecially prepared emergency rations would start a riot, at least.
Then, too--and he felt a little ashamed as he thought of it--there wasthe matter of his own welfare. In a roundabout way he was fighting forthese poor helpless derelicts of war, and for that reason among othershe was forced to think of himself first. Right now he was in a toughspot. He was locked up in a Nazi detention prison. Perhaps fate hadlaughed in Freddy's face, too. Perhaps right now he also was eating hisheart out in some other prison nearby. Yes, Dave was a Nazi prisoner,and he didn't dare even think of what would happen if he wereexposed--if, for example, he were searched and his secret supply of fooddiscovered, or the small compass, and pocket knife, and one or two otherlittle things he had brought along just in case.
Each little article could well mean a short and snappy trial, and then afiring squad. He wasn't a civilian now, as he had been the last time heand Freddy had fallen into German hands. He was a commissioned PilotOfficer in the Royal Air Force. And what was even more important, rightnow he was a spy, if ever there had been a spy.
And all of that added up to just one thing. He must get out of thisplace at all costs, and as soon as possible. It was no use now rantingat himself for not having thrown the incriminating articles away beforeentering the outskirts of the city. Too late for that, now. The main andimportant thing to concentrate his brain upon was how and when he wasgoing to escape from this place.
He lifted his head and stared about. There were plenty of windows, butthey were a good twelve feet from the floor. There were three doors atthe rear of the place, but he couldn't see them very well because of theother refugees in the way. He was certain, however, that they must besecurely locked or barred. The thought added to his misery, and hegroaned aloud.
"It is of no use to complain, my son, even to oneself," a kindly yet sadvoice said at his elbow. "It only adds to one's misery."
Dave turned to see watery blue eyes fixed upon him. The old man who hadnot moved a muscle as he sat down was now turned around and looking athim out of watery blue eyes that held a wealth of sympathy and a worldof sorrow in their depths. Dave smiled and shrugged.
"I will try to get used to it," he said. Then, with a little wave of hishand, he asked, "They have been here long? And why are they here?"
The old man sighed heavily and shook his head.
"Some a day," he said. "Some a week or two. And some, like myself, formany months. Why are we here, you ask? For a thousand different reasons.Yet all the same. We are of no use to the Germans who have captured ourbeautiful city and driven us from our homes. We are only in their way.My son, look at me."
"I am looking at you, sir," Dave said and felt uncomfortable.
"And what do you see?" the other asked with bitterness in his voice."An old man. An old, tired, and broken man. Yet, would you believe it,just a year ago I owned one of the finest perfume businesses in Antwerp.Yes, in all Belgium. I was a very rich man. And now, I am a broken oldman."
"But there must be some way of getting out of this place," Dave said,and fought to keep the eagerness out of his voice. "There are only a fewguards. And--and you could hide out some place in the city."
The old man smiled as though Dave were a little child asking questionsabout Santa Claus. He reached out a withered hand and patted Dave on theknee.
"We stay here because there is no other place to go," he said in apatient voice. "They at least give us a little food. No, it is not hardto get out of here. Those doors at the rear are not very strong. Theycould be knocked down without much trouble. But what then? All Antwerpis watched by the Nazis. Could we go to a friend's house? No. He wouldnot dare let us in. Could we find food? No. The Germans have controlover everything. They claim they are protecting us, but they are reallybreaking our spirits, and our bodies. It is all a part of their system.Escape? Of course. But it would be only a matter of hours before onewould be caught--caught and shot down in the street like a mad dog. No,my son, I stay here and try to make the best of it. They may kill me,yes, but I shall not give them the satisfaction of my having them forcedto do it."
A lump rose in Dave's throat, and near tears were hot against the backsof his eyeballs. He wanted to put his arm about the old man and do whathe could to comfort him. But he feared to attract attention. The oldman, and the other poor devils, were resigned to their fate. But not he.He knew now that Lady Luck was still hovering close. Escape waspossible. Escape was easy, so it seemed. Escape would be his next bit ofaction. And, please God, the chance to act would come soon.