red 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 Nazis 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 hoarse 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 a