CHAPTER FOURTEEN

_Orders From Headquarters_

It was a kindly face, and the smile was warm and friendly, yet somehow Dave Dawson couldn't keep it in focus. It would be close to him one moment and seem very real. Then a cloud would pass across in front of it and the face would fade out completely. He felt as though he had been trying to hold that face in his vision for years and years. He knew that the mouth was talking to him, too, but he couldn't hear a word.

Everything was so still and quiet about him, and so white. Everything that his eyes could see was white ... except that kind looking face. He'd stare at it hard, trying to bold it in focus, and then his eyes would become so heavy, and his brain would become so sleepy. He guessed that was the trouble; why he couldn't keep seeing that face for very long at a time. He'd fall off to sleep.

Or was he actually asleep all the time and was this a dream? But why was he sleeping? He shouldn't be sleeping. He remembered, now! He and Freddy were following those two Belgian dispatch riders toward General Boulard's headquarters. Something funny, though, had happened. What could it have been? Surely he hadn't just fallen off to sleep while Freddy stuck to the wheel. _No_, of course not! More of it was coming back! There had been a terrific explosion in the road ahead, and the two dispatch riders had disappeared right into it. Yes, he remembered now what had happened. But, where was he? Why was everything white? Why was that kind looking, smiling face fading away from him so often? And why couldn't he hear those words the moving lips were saying? Was he dead? Was this what it was like when you died? And Freddy! Where was his pal, Freddy Farmer? He tried to find suitable answers in his brain, but his head ached so, and looking at that fading face made him so sleepy ... so sleepy....

And then after a long time the face suddenly stopped fading away into the depths of foggy mist. It stayed right where it was, and when the lips moved he actually heard what they said.

"How do you feel, my lad?" they said. "Does your head hurt very much?"

His head? Why should those lips ask if his head hurt? His head didn't hurt at all! As a matter, of fact, nothing about him hurt. He felt fine. He felt swell. What was going on, anyway? Holy smokes! He was in a bed. Under sheets and blankets, and everything. He pushed himself up on his elbow as easy as pie, and looked around. He saw that he was in a hospital. There was a long line of beds down each side of the huge room painted so white it almost hurt your eyes. And there was a man, a soldier in every bed because he could see the uniforms hanging on the hooks on the wall. And that face! It belonged to a captain in the British Army. The medical corps! The insignia was on the lapels of his tunic.

"Steady, my lad!" the officer cautioned in a soothing voice. "Tell me, how's the head feel? The pain gone, sonny?"

Dave blinked and was somehow a little startled to realize that he could talk. He vaguely remembered something about trying to talk a little while ago but being unable to utter a word.

"My head's okay, sir," he said. "I feel great. Where am I, anyway? And what's it all about? This is a hospital, isn't it?"

The medical officer let out a great sigh as though he had been holding his breath for a long time.

"Good, splendid!" he finally said. "You're out of it at last. You'll be all right, now, my lad. But you jolly well had a close one, I can tell you! Might have remained in a coma for weeks, and months. A ticklish thing, concussion shock. Want something to eat?"

"Sure, sure," Dave replied absently. "But, hey, I remember, now. Where's my pal? Where's Freddy Farmer? He was with me when that road exploded!"

"Road exploded, eh?" the medical officer said and raised an eyebrow. "A land mine, probably. So your friend's name is Freddy Farmer? An English lad, isn't he?"

"And the very best!" Dave said with feeling. "But where is he? Gosh, sir, please tell me! I've got to know. He's ... he's all right?"

The officer leaned down and patted his shoulder.

"Your little friend's quite all right," he said and pointed to Freddy Farmer asleep in the next bed. "He came out of it for the last time a few hours ago, but he started raving about a lot of crazy things, so I gave him something to make him sleep some more. He'll be fit as a fiddle when he wakes up. Now, what about this land mine ... or the road exploding, as you say?"

"I don't know exactly," Dave said. "Freddy was driving the Belgian scouting car, and we were following a couple of dispatch riders to General Boulard's headquarters. We had just turned off the Wavre-Namur road, I guess it was, when _blamm_! Everything went dark. But how'd we get here? Somebody picked us up last night? Hey, what's so funny about that?"

The officer wiped a broad smile from his lips.

"I wasn't laughing at you, my lad," he said. "It's amusing, though, to witness the final effects of concussion shock. My boy, you weren't picked up last night. You've been here in this British military hospital, at Lille, for eight days!"

Dave was speechless. His eyes widened in blank amazement. He just couldn't believe he had heard correctly. Surely his ears must be playing him tricks. _Eight days?_

"That's right, my lad," the medical officer said, reading Dave's bewildered thoughts. "It's exactly eight days this morning, since they brought you two in here."

"But eight days?" Dave cried. "But ... but I'm not even hurt! There are no bandages on me, and I don't ache any place. How could I have been here for eight days?"

"I'll not give you the medical explanation, because you wouldn't understand, probably," the officer said with a smile. "But what happened, was something like this. The concussion shock of that explosion, whatever it was, temporarily paralyzed certain nerve centers in your body and in your head. Why you didn't receive physical injury is just one of those mysterious things that happen often in war. A shell can blow every strip of clothing off a soldier's back, blow off his shoes, and toss him fifty yards, but not mark him with a single scratch. That's what must have happened to you and your friend. Perhaps, too, being in the scouting car protected you from things flying around. But, certain nerve centers were paralyzed. There's little we can do for that outside of a few injections. It's up to the patient's make-up, his constitution, and such. You probably don't remember waking up several times, do you?"

Dave shook his head.

"No sir," he said. "But I sort of half remember something about seeing a face that kept fading out, and seeing lips move, but I couldn't hear the words."

"Yes, that's the way it is usually," the medical officer said and nodded. "That was just parts of the nerve system returning to normal. You could see a little but you couldn't hear. Or you could feel but still not have the power to speak. The medical term for that has thirty-six letters, I believe. I don't even think I could pronounce it correctly now, anyway. But, you're fit now, my lad. I'll have the nurse bring you in something to eat."

"Gosh!" Dave gasped as a sudden thought struck him. "Have I gone eight days without eating?"

"Hardly," the other said with a laugh. "No, several times you both woke up enough to take food, though of course you don't remember it. The rest of the time we gave you injections. But, my word, the things you two raved about! You insisted, rather your friend insisted on seeing General Caldwell, Chief of Staff. You claimed you had been prisoners in Germany, and had seen a very important map. Your friend was very annoyed when we refused to summon the General at once, and gave him something to put him to sleep, instead. Really...!"

"But that's true, that's true!" Dave burst out. "We were prisoners, and we saw a map of the German plan of invasion. We escaped to the Belgian lines in a plane we stole. Then the sergeant driving us to Namur was killed. We met some Belgian dispatch riders and they were showing us the way to General Boulard's headquarters when the whole road exploded. It's true, sir!"

The medical captain's eyes were now the size of saucers. He stood staring down at Dave in confounded amazement.

"I say, my lad, go a bit easy," he began. "I guess you're not yet out of that coma. Now, just lie back, and...."

"I'm fine, I'm okay!" Dave shouted excitedly. "Honest! It's all true, sir."

The officer continued to stare at him in puzzled bewilderment, and then Freddy's voice from the next bed caused them both to look his way.

"I say, hello, Dave!" the English youth cried. "They said you were all right, and then I guess I fell asleep again. Good grief, this is a hospital, isn't it? By George, it all comes back to me now! That road blowing up. But how in the world did we get here?"

The medical officer didn't bother to answer the question. He hurried over to Freddy's bedside and took a good look at him. Freddy gave him a puzzled frown, then his face suddenly lighted up.

"I say, I've seen you before, haven't I, sir?" he asked.

"This morning," the medical man nodded. "Then you're all ship shape, too? But, listen, my lad, do you two still insist upon seeing General Caldwell, Chief of British Staff?"

Asking the question was like turning a magic key in Freddy. The English youth became very excited at once, and breathlessly explained everything in more detail than had Dave.

"Yes sir," he finished up. "We have some valuable information, I'm sure. If you could loan us a car, sir, and tell us where we can find the General, we'll go at once."

"You two will go nowhere just now!" the officer said sternly. "Bless my soul, after what you've been through? Certainly not! However, there may be something to all this. I'll get the General on the wire and tell him about you two. His headquarters are not far away. He'll send one of his Staff, or perhaps come himself. This whole thing is almost fantastic! You're sure you're not trying to pull my leg, fool me?"

"Word of honor, sir," Freddy said solemnly.

The medical officer scowled and hesitated a moment. Then he shrugged and hurried out of the ward.

Dave looked at Freddy and grinned happily.

"Boy, am I glad to see you!" he exclaimed. "According to the Doc we should be dead, by rights, or something. Instead, we just got our nerve centers knocked haywire. Say, do you know how long we've been here? Did he tell you when you woke up last time?"

"I guess he didn't have the chance," the English youth said with a wry grin. "I started yelling for them to take us to the General, and they thought I was completely off my topper. Stuck a needle in me and I popped off like a kitten. We've been here last night or since this morning, haven't we? And where the dickens are we, anyway?"

"Hold your hat, Freddy, here it comes," Dave said with a chuckle. "We've been here eight days, he told me."

Freddy's jaw dropped and his eyes bugged out so far you could have knocked them off like marbles on sticks. Then he flushed and laughed scornfully.

"Come off it, Dave!" he protested. "Don't give me any of that kind of tosh. My word! Eight days, my hat!"

"No kidding, that's what he said," Dave insisted. And then he started to give Freddy the medical officer's description of what had happened to them, and their unknown, to them, actions during the eight day period.

He had almost finished when the medical captain came hurrying back into the ward. At his heels were two male orderlies in hospital white. Dave broke off what he was saying and stared questioningly. The medical officer looked very much excited, and also very much impressed.

"Take them to my receiving office," he said to the orderlies and stepped to the side.

Neither Dave nor Freddy had the chance to ask the questions that hovered on their lips. The orderlies took hold of their beds and started wheeling them down the aisle to the double doors at the end. They passed through another ward and then were wheeled into a fair sized room that was fitted up more as an office than a hospital room.

"That's fine," the captain said. "Return to your wards now."

The orderlies retreated and the captain looked at Dave and Freddy in surprise and admiration.

"Well, bless me!" he exclaimed. "I certainly didn't know I had two young heroes under my charge. I had thought you were just two lads caught up in the rush of things. General Caldwell is rushing over here, now, by car. He has heard about you two."

"About us?" Dave gasped. "But, heck, how could he have heard about us?"

"Yes!" Freddy exclaimed in a tone of awed wonder. "How could he have heard of us?"

"Through the Belgian High Command, I believe," the captain said. "It seems that Belgian infantry lieutenant reported your little flying incident to his commander. Also what you had told him. It was passed on up until it reached General Boulard. General Boulard, it seems, contacted General Caldwell to see if you lads had gotten through to him. The lieutenant, of course, did not know what had happened to you after you drove off in the scouting car with the Sergeant. But, I can tell you, General Caldwell is most anxious to meet you. By jove, he almost broke my ear drums with his shouting. Yes, I fancy that you two chaps are rather famous, now, you know?"

"Rot, sir," Freddy said with true British modesty. "I fancy any one could have done it. And a much better job of it, too. Is it true, sir, that we've been here eight days?"

"And nights, as well," the medical officer nodded. "But don't look alarmed, my lad. That sort of thing is not unusual. And you're both safely out of it, now. A day or two of rest, and all the food you can eat, and you'll be like new again."

"I'm okay, right now," Dave said stoutly. "But there's something you didn't explain, sir, How did we get here? Who found us, and what?"

"It's a bit sketchy," the medical officer said with a frown. "As far as I could learn a Belgian ambulance driver came across you and saw that you both weren't dead, and put you in his bus. His own hospital was being evacuated because of shell fire, and so he continued on westward. He reached a receiving station of ours and dumped his load there. You two, and three Belgian gunners. Anyway, from that point you were brought here to me. And here you are. It was something like that, anyway. Doubtless you'll never know the real facts. But, I certainly shouldn't worry about that, if I were you. Simply bless your lucky stars, and let it go at that."

"Jeepers!" Dave breathed softly. "Lucky stars? I must have a million of them, I guess. You, too, Freddy. Right?"

"Quite!" The English youth nodded. "Dashed if it isn't like some fairy tale one of those writer chaps would think up."

"And how!" Dave grunted and shook his head. "My gosh! A Stuka bomb drops on me and I wake up hours later and miles away. Then a land mine, or something, blows up in my face, and I wake up _eight days_ later, and gosh knows _how_ far away. I sure do get around."

"Well, better not make a habit of it, my lad," the medical officer chuckled. "The third time, you know?"

"Hey, those eight days!" Dave suddenly exclaimed. "What's been happening? Who's winning? Are the Allies beating up the Germans? Gee, I sure hope so!"

The smile fled from the medical officer's face and he became very grave. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it abruptly. At that moment the office door swung open and a group of five tired eyed British officers entered the room. A big man, with coal black hair and steel grey eyes, led the party. Even without looking at his uniform with its rows of decoration ribbons, and high rank insignia, Dave knew at once that the man was General Caldwell, chief of British Staff. The captain swung around and clicked his heels.

"Ah, there you are, sir," he greeted the General. "And here, sir, are your two young lads. This is the American chap, Dave Dawson. And this is one of our own lads. Freddy Farmer. Boys, General Caldwell, chief of British Staff. You'd like me to retire, sir?"

"No, no, of course not, Captain," General Caldwell said in a brisk tone. Then turning his steel grey eyes on the boys he smiled faintly. "So, you are the two, eh?" he said. "I've heard quite a bit about you. Now, who wants to talk first? I want to hear everything."

"You tell him about it, Freddy," Dave said promptly. "You remembered more things on that map than I did, anyway."

Freddy flushed and looked embarrassed. The General smiled and perched himself on a corner of the bed, while his officers gathered around.

"All right, Freddy," he said. "Freddy Farmer, isn't it? Oh yes, of course. All right, Freddy, let's have it, eh?"

"Yes sir," the English youth said, and began talking in a low but clear voice.