CHAPTER ELEVEN
_Flight From Nazi Guns_
How many hours had passed since he had been pitched headlong into thisstorehouse of unspeakable human misery? Dave asked himself that questionfor the umpteenth time as he stared at daylight fading beyond the row ofwindows so far out of reach. In his saner moments he realized the hourscouldn't total more than ten or twelve, but the high tension ordeal ofliving those hours seemed now to make them total a hundred at least.
Twelve hours of waiting, with every nerve and every muscle of his bodyon fire. Each time the door had opened, and the face of one of those bigguards had appeared, his heart had turned to a chunk of ice in hischest for fear that he was to be summoned for further examination. Rightafter his short talk with the old man, he had wandered about the place,and when no eye was turned his way he had one by one rid himself of theemergency articles he had brought along. He had tossed them in a darkcorner, or stuffed them under a bench--any place, just so that he gotrid of them.
However, he had not parted with his little case of emergency rations.That he had kept strapped in place inside his shirt. The knowledge thatit was there was a curse as well as a balm. If he was searched, thediscovery of those emergency rations might be as bad for him as theGermans finding a couple of rifles and a machine gun stuffed down insidehis pants. As a matter of fact, a hundred times he had come within anace of definitely doing something about that ration case. Each time,though, something had stayed his fingers; something had prevented himfrom throwing his food supply away.
At any rate, he had hung onto it, and so each time a guard had openedthe door his heart had stood still and the sweat of fear had oozed outon his forehead. By good luck, or otherwise, the visits of the guardhad meant nothing of importance. Once it had been to toss rank-smellingloaves of bread at the starving throng, and to fill the huge waterbuckets at one end of the room. The other visits had obviously been onlyto see that the prisoners were still there, and were not rioting amongthemselves.
During those long torturing hours Dave had spoken with a few of theother imprisoned refugees. Their spirits had been no higher than that ofthe old man. They were there for begging, for wandering about thestreets after dark, for not getting out of the way of some struttingGerman officer in time, and for a hundred other utterly ridiculousreasons. They were there because they were of no use and were in the wayof Nazi domination and oppression. What would happen to them they didnot know. And most of them did not care. Life for them was ended--andthey were spirit-whipped enough to let it go at that.
As Dave stopped staring at the fading twilight through the windows, andlowered his gaze to the silent mass of broken men about him, he grimlypledged anew to give his very all, if necessary, to rid the world onceand forever of such a system of living as Adolf Hitler and hiscrackedbrained cohorts were striving to force upon all mankind. As longas there was an ounce of strength in his body, or a drop of blood in hisveins, he would fight on to undo all the evil wrought and make the worlda better place for the millions yet unborn.
Presently he got slowly to his feet and started shuffling along the wallas though he were going for a drink of water from one of the buckets. Adrink of water, however, was one thought not even in his mind. The waterbuckets were near the three rear doors, and during the long hours ofwaiting he had covertly examined those doors many times. The old man hadbeen indeed right. They were not at all strong. The locks were so rustedand worn with age, and the hinges, too, that they would fall apart inpieces from a single sharp blow.
But what lay beyond those doors? Bit by bit he had found that out, too,by an innocent question here, and an innocent question there, spoken soas not to arouse the slightest bit of curiosity. If his attempt toescape was to be successful it depended upon no one even suspecting thathe was going to try. He had to surprise the refugees as well as theguards. And so he had been very careful about the questions he asked.He had learned that in back were low-roofed lumber sheds, though thelumber had long since been carted away to Germany. Some one hundredyards beyond the sheds was swamp ground that led down to the edge of theScheldt River. To the right and to the left of the sheds were the poorersections of the city, deserted now, blasted by bombs in the beginning,and seldom patrolled by the Germans. That knowledge had boosted hishopes high. It was almost as though Lady Luck, herself, had planned itto be that way.
Halfway to those rear doors, Dave caught sight of the old man with thewatery blue eyes. The poor old fellow was trying to stretch out on oneof the benches rather than suffer the cold of the floor as most of theothers were doing, for there were no cots or anything like that. Seeingthat old man was like a knife stabbing Dave's heart. He knew that he wasfoolish to do so, but he did it just the same. He slipped a hand, insidehis shirt, took one of the specially prepared chocolate bars from hisration case, and palmed it in his hand.
Then he moved over close to the old man. Watery blue eyes stared up athim, and thin lips made an effort to smile.
"It is not a comfortable bed, my son," the old fellow said in anapologetic voice, "but you will find it less cold than trying to sleepon the floor."
Dave smiled and leaned over so that his body hid his hand from theothers. Quickly he slipped the bar of chocolate into a pocket of the oldman's tattered coat. He frowned sharply as questions lighted up thewatery blue eyes.
"Don't move!" he said in a low whisper. "When you can see me no more,put your hand in your pocket. But do not let the others see you do it.Good luck, my old one."
Before the old man could speak, Dave had straightened up and moved away.In another few seconds he was some ten feet in front of the center oneof the three doors. Fading twilight seeped through the cracks--thefading twilight of freedom outside. Dave steeled himself and sucked airinto his lungs. For a sharp instant panic overcame him, and his wholebody trembled. He beat down his terror, took a quick look around, andthen lunged straight for the door. He crashed against it half bent over,shoulders bunched, like an All-American halfback blocking out aparticularly dangerous tackler.
The aged door groaned and creaked in protest, and for one horriblemoment Dave feared that it would not give way. He had charged it withbattering ram force, however. The hinges snapped off, the door sagged,and then it split straight down the middle and went crashing down ontothe ground outside. Dave tripped over something and fell sprawling, buthe bounced up like a rubber ball and pinned wings to his feet.
Behind him a bedlam of sound broke out. The startled cries of therefugees seemed to pour out through the broken door like flood waterspouring through a broken dam. Dave thought he heard a wild hoarsechallenge to halt hurled after him. A split second later the sharp barkof a rifle shot cut above the babble of voices, and something whinedpast just a little bit above his head. Still crouched over, he dartedquickly to the side and sped around the corner of the nearest lumbershed. Halfway down its length, he saw a spot where some of the boardshad fallen away, leaving an opening. He swerved and ducked throughinside. Slowing his pace a trifle, he cut directly across the floor ofthe shed and wriggled out through an opening on the other side.
He pulled up to a halt, hugged the shadow cast by the shed and strainedhis ears. He heard angry voices on the other side of the shed, and theunmistakable sound of pounding feet. He grinned and silentlycongratulated himself. It had certainly been a bright idea to duckinside the shed. The Germans chasing after him had missed the openingcompletely and were racing down toward the swamp.
He didn't linger long, though, to congratulate himself on hiscleverness. As soon as he got his second wind, he started cutting acrosslots, hugging the shadows until the lumber sheds were far behind him andhe was scurrying along the dark and smelly streets of the deserted poorsection of the city. He sneaked along for two or three blocks, thenducked into the pitch dark entrance of a building and paused to rest.
His breath was like fire in his lungs, and every square inch of his bodywas drenched with sweat. But he grinned happily and his heart sang asong of joy.
"Score
one for the good old R.A.F. over Hitler's lads!" he chuckled tohimself. "Right through the old line, and how. Boy, what a sensation I'dbe in a Rose Bowl game!"
He chuckled a bit more and then snorted at himself.
"Sure, you're a wonderful guy," he grunted derisively. "But you canthank your lucky stars that door was weak. And--"
He cut the rest off short and pulled back deeper into the dark doorway.From up the street came the familiar sound of hobnailed boots on thecobblestones. A second later a harsh order in German hit the early nightair.
"Take both sides of the street! Search every house. If you see him,shoot! Shoot on sight! Hurry up!"
Dave gulped and caught his breath. He didn't have to have anybody writehim a letter to explain that the Nazi patrols were making a house tohouse search. Not a bit of it. Perhaps this section wasn't patrolledregularly, but it was most certainly being patrolled now. A grim littlegame of hide and seek, and one Dave Dawson was _it_!
He inched forward cautiously and peered around the corner of thebuilding entrance. Some sixty yards up the street were the dim shapesof a dozen or so Nazi soldiers. Each man carried one of those deadlyshort-barreled rifles which had proved so effective in skirmishingoperations. In the center of the street stood an officer. He had drawnhis Luger and was waving it around as he barked orders at his men.
One look was enough for Dave. He saw all he wanted to see. He duckedback and slipped inside the house. It was dark as pitch inside, and hewas forced to move slowly, feeling the way with his hands and feet. Hereached the rear of the building and let himself into a small court. Thecourt connected with the court of a building on the other street. Heeased into that building, made his way to the front and peered out. Fatelaughed in his face. There were Nazi soldiers in that street, too.
He ducked back inside and grimly considered the situation. He hadn'toutsmarted the Germans as much as he had believed. When they hadn'tfound him among the lumber sheds, they had instantly guessed he hadheaded for this deserted section of town. In no time extra patrols hadbeen ordered out, and now they were combing the section, methodicallysearching every house on every street. Even though he ducked from houseto house, sooner or later he was going to bump smack into one of thosepatrols.
"This is what is known as a spot, brother!" he whispered to himself."Get the old brain working, and get it working fast! There must be someway to fool them. I bet Freddy would think up an idea, just like that."
Freddy! The thought of his pal sent cold shivers of worry slitheringdown his spine. It seemed ages since he had last heard Freddy's cheerfulvoice. What he wouldn't give to have Freddy Farmer at his side rightnow! Would he ever see Freddy again? Where _was_ his pal and fightingcomrade? What had happened to Freddy Farmer?
He angrily drove the tormenting thoughts from his brain. If he didn'tstart doing something about himself real soon, he never would see Freddyagain--at least, not in this world. At that moment voices not more thanthree houses away galvanized him into fast action. He spun around andgroped back to the rear of the building again and let himself out intothe court. There he crouched under some bushes and peered up and downthe two rows of buildings. Every now and then a light would flash insome window, and disappear almost immediately. He watched those flashesof light and listened to the echo of voices moving along the rows ofhouses.
Suddenly he grinned broadly and hugged himself in delight. There was aperfect way out, and he was a dope not to have realized it sooner. Hewas sure Freddy would have thought of it right at the start. Sure! Theway out was via the courtyards in back of the houses. The German patrolswere so busy searching the rooms of the houses, they seemed to havecompletely forgotten about the courtyards in back. By sneaking along thecourtyards, Dave could easily work his way to the rear of houses thatthe Germans had already searched.
"So get going, before they think of the idea, too!" he ranted athimself.
A little over half an hour later he was crouched in the dark doorway ofa house and peering stealthily up the street at the figures of a Germanpatrol moving _away from him_. He watched them until they were lost inthe growing darkness. Then he slipped out onto the sidewalk, turned hisback on the patrols and headed rapidly in the opposite direction. Anhour later he was clear over on the other side of the city and hidingin a group of parked military cars. Tarpaulins had been pegged down overthe cars, and he could tell that they had been there for weeks. Therewasn't even a lone guard watching over them.
At any rate, it seemed a safe place to hide while he mapped out plansfor further action. He was thankful to have slipped safely through thefingers of those patrols hunting him out, but at the same time heregretted that he had been forced to do so. Unless his memory picture ofthat part of Antwerp was all cockeyed, that detention prison hadn't beenmore than four or five blocks from Rue Chartres. Had those patrols lethim alone, chances were that he would now be close to Number Sixteen RueChartres. As things stood, though, he was way over on the other side ofthe city.
"It's a cinch those patrols haven't given up yet," he pondered theproblem to himself. "And ten to one even more patrols have been put onthe job. Having a poor refugee give them the slip has probably burnedthem up plenty. And they're just mad enough to take this whole townapart for the satisfaction of finding me."
He nodded in silent emphasis, and then tackled the problem again. He hadthe choice of two things, and both were bad. He could start stealingback toward Rue Chartres right now and trust to luck that he would spotGermans wandering about before they spotted him. Or he could wait untildaylight, when there would be other civilians on the streets, and takehis chances then. Neither idea sounded so hot, but he had to dosomething.
Suddenly an idea hit him right between the eyes. He grinned, nodded, andsilently snapped his fingers.
"Maybe!" he whispered excitedly. "There's just a chance!"
The excitement caused by the sudden thought was so great that for amoment he stood there trembling like a leaf. Then he got a firm grip onhis jangling nerves and started thoroughly searching the parked cars. Hehad searched seven cars before Lady Luck cast her smile upon him. In theeighth car he found what he wanted. It was a staff car and in back wasan officer's duffel bag. The bag was covered with dirt and smelled tohigh heaven, it had been left there so long. Inside the duffel bag Davefound his prize: a spare uniform of the owner, who was perhaps dead ormaybe hundreds of miles away. And Lady Luck smiled on him twice, becausehe discovered with mounting joy that the uniform wasn't a bad fit atall. The service cap was a perfect fit.
Some ten or fifteen minutes later the poor little Belgian peasantrefugee had disappeared from the face of the earth. In his place stood ayoung sub-lieutenant of German infantry. True, his uniform was badlycreased, but the crease and the smell of age, Dave hoped, would come outin time. He fumbled through the rest of the duffel bag in the hope offinding the officer's Luger. However, Lady Luck wasn't letting him haveeverything his own way. There was no Luger, nor anything else that wouldbe of any use.
He grinned and carefully folded his tattered peasant clothes and putthem in the duffel bag. Then he fastened the bag tight and put it backexactly where he had found it. Finally he slipped out from under thepegged down tarpaulin.
"Will you get the shock of your life if you ever come back for yourspare uniform!" he whispered to some unknown German. "And how, my Jerrylad, _and how_!"
A moment or so later he started to move away from his hiding place, buton second thought he checked himself. The uniform he wore would ofcourse serve as a certain amount of protection, but he would be foolishto stretch his luck. After all, Antwerp was well patrolled at night.There was a curfew law for the civilians, and there was a good chancethere was a curfew law for German soldiers and officers, too--for alltroops save those assigned to night patrol duty.
"Hold it, pal!" he told himself. "Daylight is your best bet. Then nobodywill give you a second look. The streets will be full of troops andofficers, then. Right! What's a few more hours of waiting? They mightmean the difference be
tween success and a Luger bullet. No, fellow, holdyour horses. Play it absolutely safe from here in."
It was hard to slip back in among the parked cars and sit down on arunning board, but he forced himself to do it. He'd been receiving toomany lucky breaks lately, and he was afraid it would all come to anabrupt end if he didn't watch his step. And so, while every part of himscreamed to get into action, he resolutely and doggedly stayed put andwaited for dawn.
Just a few hours to wait, but Dave lived his whole life over a hundredtimes. He thought of everything he had ever done, and recalled hundredsof minor incidents in his life that he was sure he had completelyforgotten. He thought of Freddy, and of the R.A.F., and of his friendsand relatives back in the States. He thought of everything possible, andplayed a million games with himself to kill time. But when eventuallythe light of dawn came oozing up out of the east and the shadows fledwestward, and the rooftops of Antwerp began to take definite shape andmeaning, his nerves were dangerously close to the breaking point. And itwas all he could do to stop himself from leaping to his feet andscreaming at the top of his voice, just to do something to let off pentup emotional steam locked within him.
Finally he couldn't stand it any longer. It was still early dawn, butthe light was growing brighter all the time. And when he paused andlistened intently, he could hear the sounds of the Nazi-occupied citycoming to life. He got up off the running board and smoothed out hisuniform as best he could. Then he walked nonchalantly out of the parkingarea and along a street that would lead him in the direction of theriver front.
"Here I come again, Pierre Deschaud!" he whispered softly. "And thistime I hope it counts!"