CHAPTER NINE
_In The Enemy's Country_
The instant Dave Dawson dropped away from the belly of the Wellingtonblack night engulfed him from all sides. He let his whole body go limpand relaxed save for the fingers of his right hand, which he kepttightly curled about the rip-cord ring. For a brief moment or so, as hisbody turned over and over in that sea of darkness, it seemed as though amillion invisible hands were grabbing at the Belgian peasant clothes hewore and trying to rip them from his body. Wind whistled shrilling inhis ears, and had he not been wearing goggles he knew that his eyelidswould be fluttering like loose blinds in a gale of wind.
Then suddenly his falling body reached its maximum rate of fallingspeed, and the sensation became one of floating on a huge soft blackcloud. He knew he was on his back because he could see the starsstraight above him. He raced his eyes across the sky to the east andthought he saw the faint flicker of the Wellington's exhaust plumes, buthe couldn't tell for sure. He wondered just where in that star-studdedsky above him Freddy might be. Had Freddy already jumped? A suddenthought came to him, and a stifled gasp of alarm rose up to his lips.Supposing something had happened so Freddy couldn't quit the bomber?Supposing his parachute harness had caught on something, and propellerwash had wrenched him free, and he was now spinning headlong downwardwith a damaged and useless parachute flapping out behind? Supposing--?
He groaned aloud at the torturing thoughts and wished with all his heartand soul that he had waited and watched Freddy jump first. Then he wouldknow for sure that Freddy had bailed out all right. But as it was now,perhaps--
"Watch your own step, sap! Are you going to free-fall forever? Pull therip-cord ring, dope!"
Perhaps he shouted those words aloud, or perhaps they were only spokenin his brain. At any rate he cut off thinking about other things andgave the rip-cord ring a smart jerk. His body dropped earthward foranother split second or so. Then suddenly giant hands reached down fromabove and violently jerked him back up toward the stars. His body spunaround like a top and he was forced to gulp for air. Another few secondsand he was dangling feet downward at the ends of the parachute shroudlines and swaying gently back and forth like the pendulum of a clock. Hesucked more air into his lungs, cocked his head and looked downward.
All he could see at first was just one great expanse of utter darkness.It was like gazing down into a coal mine at the hour of midnight. Therewas nothing but darkness and more darkness. Then gradually, as his eyesbecame better focussed, he saw not just one great expanse of darkness,but more of a collection of shadows. Some shadows were darker thanothers, and all of them were of different shapes and sizes. Suddenly hespotted a long snake-shaped shadow. It was almost a dark grey, and heknew at once that it was the Campine (or Kempen) Canal that extendedeastward from Antwerp.
Reaching up, he grasped hold of the shroud lines, twisted around andglanced toward the north. He saw a faint cluster of lights that mustmark Antwerp. And he was pretty sure that he could make out the ScheldtRiver that served as Antwerp's water outlet to the sea. He relaxed hisgrip on the shroud lines, returned his gaze to the shadows directlyunderneath him and silently praised Flight Lieutenant Wiggins' flyingand navigating ability. In exact accordance with orders, the British airace had dumped them out where they would float down to a point not toofar from Antwerp, and not too close so that they might be seen.
"Dumped _them_ out?" Dave echoed the thought aloud. "Boy, oh boy, do Ihope and pray it _is_ them! And not just him, meaning yours truly.Freddy, pal, maybe you're right close to me, and perfectly okay, but Isure wish I could see you and be sure. And how! We hit on all six whenwe work as a team. Alone, I've got a hunch I'd be just a foul ball. So,Freddy--"
He stopped short because his voice suddenly choked up so that hecouldn't speak. He swallowed and clenched his teeth hard.
"Cut the sob stuff, the sentimental junk, Dave!" he told himselfsavagely. "There's a job to do whether Freddy's right there with you, ornot. And he'd feel the same way about it, too. So pull up your socks,chappy, as Freddy would say, and tend strictly to your knitting."
A couple of moments later there was no more time in which to wonderabout this and speculate about that. A sudden change in the mess ofshadows directly beneath him told him that the ground was close, andcoming up fast. Impulsively he brushed one hand across the lenses of hisgoggles, as though in so doing he might see objects better. Perhaps thatdid help some. At any rate, a split second later he caught a flashglimpse of a cluster of pointed shadows, shadows that pointed straightup at him! They were the tops of a clump of trees, and he reactedinstantly to the realization that flashed through his brain.
He shot up both hands and grabbed hold of the shroud lines on the rightand pulled downward with every ounce of his strength. The action"spilled" air from that side of the silk envelope over his head andcaused the parachute and his dangling body to slip off to the side. Thetree tops were practically touching the soles of his shoes, and he heldhis breath for fear he had not side-slipped the 'chute in time. A briefsplit second ticked past into time history, or perhaps it was an entireyear. To Dave it seemed an eternity before the tops of the trees movedaway from under him. He quickly jackknifed his knees slightly so that hecould absorb some of the "landing shock" with his legs, andautomatically threw up one arm across his face just in case there werebrambles and shrubs down there. And then the ground rose up and smackedhim.
White pain shot up through his left leg. Something cracked him in thesmall of his back. Something else rammed itself against his right shin.And then something entirely different darted out of the darkness andrapped him on the jaw. He saw thousands upon thousands of colored starsdancing around before his eyes. Then suddenly all was dark and peaceful,and very silent....
When he next opened his eyes, he found himself staring straight up at avast expanse of smudgy grey. He had the sensation of looking up at apoorly whitewashed ceiling. Only it wasn't a ceiling at all. It was thesky, and it was a sort of dirty grey because the last of night stilllingered and the Goddess of Dawn had not yet wiped the heavens cleanwith her veil dipped in sunlight.
For a few moments he continued to stare upward, vaguely conscious of thefact that he was lying stretched out on dew-drenched ground, but notcaring much about it. Presently a dull pounding in his head awakenedmemory. He sat up straight, groaned from the effort, and cradled hishead in his hands. That stopped the aching considerably. He took hishands away and looked slowly around. It was then he saw what hadhappened. Fifty yards away was the clump of trees he had missed by awhisker, but two feet from him was a jagged stone wall he had notmissed. The silk of his parachute clung to it in shreds, and the shroudlines were wrapped about jutting rocks like a spider's web. He unbuckledthe harness about him and got painfully to his feet. His left trousersleg was ripped from the knee down, and there was a nasty scratch where apoint of rock had left its mark. The right shoulder of his coarse jacketwas also torn. And to top everything off, he was smeared with mud anddirt from head to foot. He looked down at himself and shook his head.
"Gee, if I don't look like a refugee who's been wandering around plentylong," he breathed, "then there just ain't no such animal!"
He straightened up and looked around again. It was rolling farm countryon all four sides, but one look told the pitiful story. War hadprevented the land from being worked, and acres and acres of ground weresimply going to seed. It was not that fact, however, that caused a lookof disgust to come into his face. It was the stone wall, which was nomore than a hundred yards long and seemed to serve no purposewhatsoever. There was not another stone wall to be seen in anydirection.
"That's Dawson luck for you!" he grunted aloud. "The only stone wall formiles around, but me, I'd hit it sure as shooting. Oh well, I could havebroken my neck, I suppose. And at least I don't have to dig a hole tobury the stuff."
As he spoke the last, he started gathering up the tangle of parachuteharness, shroud lines, and silk. Then, together with the oxygen mask andtank, that had someho
w been twisted clear off his face and around sothat it hung down his back, he carefully stuffed everything under thebottom of the wall where it undoubtedly would not be discovered for thenext hundred years or so. And probably by that time it would be turnedinto dust, anyway, and be completely unrecognizable.
When Dave straightened up again, a very urgent and very familiar feelingcame to him. It struck him square in the stomach. In short, he suddenlyrealized that he was as hungry as a wolf. For a brief second fright cameto him again. But when he stuck his hand inside his shirt he grinned andsighed with relief. Before leaving England, he and Freddy had beensupplied with a small compact case of specially prepared emergencyrations that would last them several days in a crisis. To make sure hewouldn't lose it, each had strapped the case about his waist under hisshirt. Dave's was still there.
He pulled it out, selected a bar of energy-building chocolate and ate ithungrily. He was tempted to attack a second bar, but will-power refusedto permit him to do so. He put the case of emergency rations back inplace, fixed his direction from the rising sun and set out across thefields toward a small hill a mile or two away. The lingering shadows ofnight were completely gone when he finally reached the top of the hilland paused to get his breath. A moment or so later he climbed part wayup a tree and stared hard and long at the surrounding countryside.
Some five miles to the north lay the southern outskirts of the city ofAntwerp, but for the moment he wasn't interested in Antwerp. The land tothe east, and west, and in the direction whence he had come, interestedhim most. He hoped against hope that from his look-out post he mightspot a solitary figure making his way across country toward Antwerp, alone figure dressed in the clothes of a Belgian peasant refugee. Inother words, he prayed that the miracle might come to pass--that hemight see and recognize Freddy Farmer trudging toward Antwerp.
His prayer was not answered, however, and the miracle did not come topass. He saw miles and miles of Belgian countryside, but not theslightest sign of anyone who might be Freddy Farmer. Oddly enough, hedid not see a single human being; not even a dog, nor a farm animal.Save for the darkish blur to the north that was Antwerp, he might havebeen staring across a completely deserted land. Presently he climbeddown to the ground and stood there fighting grimly with his thoughts.
His thoughts were like so many dancing demons that whirled around insidehis brain and continually jabbed him with the sharp pointed spears theycarried. Where was Freddy Farmer? Had he been able to bail out safely?Had he landed safely? Was Freddy dead? Had he landed in some trees, byany chance, and right now might he be lying helpless and crippled only ashort distance away?
The thoughts brought tears of helpless rage to Dave's eyes, and it washard to beat them back. He tried desperately to argue with himself. Hetried to point out to that other side of him that it was hours since heand Freddy had stepped off from the Wellington, and that Freddy wasprobably in Antwerp by now and making his cautious way to their meetingplace at Sixteen Rue Chartres. Certainly that was possible. That stonewall had knocked him out for hours, and he was simply late gettingstarted. Sure, Freddy had landed safe as could be and was now in Antwerpwaiting for him. Thoughts and arguments! Thoughts and arguments! Theyhelped one minute, and drove him deeper into the depths of worrieddespair the next.
"Well, just standing here won't get you any of the answers!" he finallygrated at himself. "Get the lead out of your pants and start goingplaces. Don't stand here all day and mope, you fathead!"
The words of self-abuse seemed to help a little. At least they made himangry at his own momentary weakness. Fists clenched and jaw set, hewheeled around and went down the north side of the hill and towardAntwerp. At the end of half an hour he had reached the first of theoutskirt streets, and still hadn't met a living soul. Trudging wearilyalong the street, striving hard to act like a peasant lad who wascompletely lost and homeless, he kept shooting keen glances at the rowsof houses on either side of the street. A few of the houses bore themarks of the Nazi air raids which had taken place before the city fellinto enemy hands, but most of them were in fairly good condition. Yet asDave peered at the fronts and saw the drawn curtains, and a boarded updoor here and there, he felt pretty sure that that section of the cityhad been evacuated.
Street after street was the same. It was like looking at the samepicture over and over again. When he paused, he could hear the faintrumble of sound from the direction of the city's center, and every nowand then a flight of German planes winged by high overhead. But in theoutskirts of the city all was quiet and still. With each step his wondergrew, and with each step the fingers of vague worry clutched at him moreand more. For some crazy reason he was tempted a dozen times to wheelaround and retrace his steps in a hurry. But Sixteen Rue Chartres waslike a magnet that drew him toward it and refused to let him retreat.
Then suddenly, as he swung around another corner, a squad of field greyGerman soldiers seemed to rise right up out of the sidewalk. Anon-commissioned officer was in charge of them. He was a big man with aflat and cruel-looking face. In his right fist he clenched a Luger, andthe muzzle of that Luger was pointed straight at the pit of Dave'sstomach.
"Halt!" the German ordered in a savage snarl.