e gun and completely fitted out for scouting work. They
peered down at Dave and Freddy as the officer motioned them to get into
the transport, but none of them spoke. They either did not understand
English, or else they were too afraid of the officer to speak. And so
Dave and Freddy climbed aboard in silence and sank down on the hard
plank that served as a seat. The officer got in beside the driver and
growled a short order.

The engine roared up, gears clanked and crashed, and the transport
lunged forward. It traveled a few yards and swung off the road and
around in the direction from which it had obviously come. That direction
was to the east, and that caused Dave to swallow hard and press his knee
against Freddy's. The pressure that was returned told him that the
English boy had a good hold on himself, and wasn't going to do anything
foolish.

Glad of that, Dave stared ahead over the shoulder of the driver at the
road. At various points the pavement had been torn up by a bomb or by a
shell and the transport's driver was forced to detour around such spots.
Presently, wrecked ammunition wagons, and light field artillery pieces
were to be seen, strewn along the side of the road. They were all
smashed almost beyond recognition, and close by them were the death
stilled figures of Belgian soldiers, and refugees who had been unable to
escape the swiftly advancing German hordes.

Suddenly the sound of airplane engines lifted Dave's eyes up to the
skies. He could not see the planes, they were too high. However the
pulsating beat of the engines told him they were Hitler's night bombers
out on patrol. Impulsively he clenched his two fists and wished very
much he was up there in a swift, deadly pursuit or fighter plane. He had
taken flying lessons back home, and had even made his first solo. But he
had not been granted his private pilot's license yet because of his age.

"But I'd like to be up there in a Curtis P-Forty!" he spoke aloud. "I
bet I could do something, or at least try!"

His words stiffened Freddy Farmer at his side. The English boy leaned
close.

"Are you a pilot, Dave?" he whispered. "Do you fly?"

"Some," Dave said. "I've gone solo, anyway. I hope some day to get
accepted for the Army Air Corps. I think flying is the best thing yet.
There's nothing like it. Hear those planes up there? Boy!"

"They're German," Freddy said. "Heinkel bombers, I think. Or perhaps
they are Dorniers, I can't tell by the sound.