CHAPTER SIXTEEN

_Fate Laughs At Last_

"Right you are, lad, off you go, and good luck!"

The voice of the Lille hospital orderly came to Dave as though from a thousand miles away. It came to him like a voice awakening him from a sound sleep. He lifted his head and mechanically reached for the brake lever of the Daimler built ambulance and stared out of bloodshot eyes at a scene that had become as familiar to him as his own face when he looked into a mirror. It was the dirt road that wound away from the Lille Hospital, curved about the small pond and then disappeared from view in some woods a half mile to the east.

How many times had he driven over that road today? He didn't know, and he didn't even bother to guess. Probably a hundred. Fifty at least. His brain had stopped thinking about things hours ago. For hours his actions had all been mechanical. A mechanical routine over and over again. Help fill the ambulance at the Lille Hospital. Get in behind the wheel and start the engine, and take off the brake, and shift into first. Start down the winding road and shift into second, and then into high. A stretch of brown road always in front of him. Driving, driving, always driving forward. Skirting shell and bomb craters. Pulling in under the nearest group of trees whenever he heard the deadly drone of Stuka dive bombers. Sitting crouched at the wheel while death whistled down from the sky to explode in the ground and spray slivers of screaming steel into all directions.

Climbing in back to put a slipping bandage back in place. Lighting a cigarette for some poor wounded soldier who couldn't use his hands. Giving them all a grin to cheer them up. Saying, "We'll be there in a couple of shakes," a million times. Starting on again. Stopping again. And then finally pulling into the St. Omer Hospital court. Helping to unload, and then the wild ride alone back to Lille for another load of wounded. Fifty trips? A hundred trips? He had no idea. Maybe this was his one thousandth trip. Was he asleep or awake? He wasn't sure of that, either. His body had stopped protesting against the aches and pains long ago. He simply didn't feel anything any more; didn't think anything. He only acted. He drove ... and drove ... and drove. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else mattered but doing his share to make sure that not a single helpless wounded soldier was captured by the hordes of Nazi troops streaming across northern France and Belgium in a mad race to cut off the British from the last open Channel port, Dunkirk.

As he took off the emergency brake he became conscious of somebody climbing into the seat beside him. He turned his head to stare into Freddy Farmer's haggard, dirt streaked face.

"What's the matter, Freddy?" he mumbled. "What are you doing here?"

"Start her off, Dave," came the dull answer. "This is the last load. I'm riding with you. The Captain and his staff are using my ambulance. Man, but I'm tired!"

"Check," Dave grunted and shifted into first. "The last load, huh? And it's just getting dark. Well, anyway, we licked 'em. The Nazis won't find anything there. Lean back and try to get a nap, Freddy."

"And you perhaps fall asleep at that wheel, and tip us into a ditch?" Freddy said with a forced chuckle. "No thanks. I'll stay awake and try to keep you that way, too. By the by, though, Dave. You've made more trips than anybody. Want me to drive this one?"

"Not a chance!" Dave said and suddenly realized that he was laughing for the first time in hours. "I still remember that ride you gave me in that Belgian scouting car. Nix. I'll do the driving. You just relax, Freddy. But, boy, will I be glad when this trip is over!"

"I'll be jolly well pleased, myself, you can bet!" Freddy murmured and stretched out his legs. "I think I shall sleep for another eight days, and not care a darn what the blasted Nazis do about it."

For the next twenty minutes that was the last spoken between the two. They were both too tired even to talk. Besides, there was little to talk about save the experiences they had had on the road. Those they could save until another day. And after all there was still this trip to complete. And so they rode along in silence. The sun slid down over the western lip of the world, and night and the Germans came sweeping up from the east. Dave kept his head lights switched off until it was too dangerous to continue further without them. Perhaps it had just been chance, or perhaps Goering's pilots had found out that the Lille Hospital cases were being evacuated over that road. Anyway, the Stukas and the light Heinkels had given it a terrific pounding all day long, and it was now well spotted with craters. To try to drive along it in the dark would be exactly the same as driving the ambulance over the edge of a cliff. It would be suicide, to say the least.

Dave hesitated a moment, though, with his hand on the switch and listened intently. Behind him there was the incessant dull rumble of the guns, punctuated every now and then by the loud thunder of a land mine going off. In the sky there was the drone of wings, but the droning was not close.

"Keep an eye peeled, will you, Freddy?" Dave said and turned the switch. "I've got to have lights or we'll go right into a shell hole. If you hear something coming, yell, and I'll switch off these things."

"Right-o!" Freddy called wearily and stuck his head out the door window and looked up. "All clear, now, though. None of the blighters near us. I say, what's up, now?"

Dave didn't bother to answer. He, too, had spotted the waving flashlight just up the road. He slipped the car out of gear, steered it around the rim of a yawning bomb crater and let it roll to a stop. A British infantry officer, with a Military Police band on his tunic sleeve, ran up to Dave's side of the ambulance and flashed his light in Dave's eyes for a second.

"Where are you headed, lad?" he asked.

"St. Omer," Dave said. "We've got the last load of wounded from the Lille hospital."

"Well, you can't take them to St. Omer," the officer said. "A mile up ahead there's a road to the right. Take it and keep going until you're stopped. Whoever stops you will give you further directions. All right, off with you. Good luck."

"But, hey, why not St. Omer?" Dave blurted out. "We've been taking them there all day."

"I know," the officer said in a half angry and half bored voice. "But they've all been evacuated again. To Dunkirk. Hitler's lads are in St. Omer, now. Better hop it. They may be here, soon."

Dave slammed the ambulance into gear and started off. Raging anger surged up within him. He gripped the bucking wheel until his hands hurt. Nazis are here! Nazis are there! Nazis are every place! Even thinking of the name made him want to start screaming and shouting at the top of his voice. He turned his head slightly and took a quick side glance at Freddy. The English youth's chin was firm, and there was the same defiant look in his eyes. However, the droop of his shoulders spoke plainly of the bitter thoughts that were sweeping through his mind. Impulsively Dave let go a hand from the wheel for a second and slapped Freddy on the knee.

"Don't let it get you down, Freddy," he said. "They'll trim the stuffing out of Hitler before it's over."

"Of course," Freddy said in a heavy voice. "I wasn't thinking of that. If we could only have reached General Caldwell sooner."

"Gosh, we did our best!" Dave exploded. "And, besides, the General told us it helped plenty. Gee, I hope he just wasn't kidding us. I don't think so, though. A man like General Caldwell doesn't kid, I bet. Well, here's the road. Wonder where it'll take us."

They had reached the turn off. So had some Stukas a couple of hours before and they had marked it well with a cluster of bomb craters. Dave had to detour through a field to make the turn but he managed to get back onto the road. To his vast relief he found it hardly touched by bombs and he was able to speed up the ambulance. The good road helped his spirits, too. It boosted them up considerably and a lot of his fatigue fell away from him. The same was true with Freddy. The English youth continued to stare fixedly through the windshield at the glow of the headlights on the road, but his body seemed to straighten up, and there was a less depressed air about him.

However, it was as though it all had been planned by the fates controlling the war and the immediate destinies of these two brave gallant youths. It was as though it was planned for them to be lifted up in spirit, and in strength, so that they might have something left with which to face the next misfortune of the conflict to befall them.

The first indication that there was more trouble ahead came as they roared around a bend in the road, and then the road straightened out like an arrow.

"My gosh, look!" Dave cried and pointed. "Like an earthquake had hit it or something!"

Both sides of the road, as far as they could see in the glow of the headlights, were strewn with heaped up piles of war equipment wreckage. Guns from machine gun size to heavy howitzers lay scattered about. Ammunition wagons were over on their sides, their contents spilled on the ground like sand from a box. Shell blasted tanks rested in soft ground at crazy angles, some of them blown wide open, and all of them of no more use to anybody.

"Gosh, like driving through a junk yard!" Dave grunted and unconsciously slowed down the ambulance. "What do you suppose happened? Gee, that's English stuff, too. See the markings?"

"Yes," Freddy replied. "And I think I can guess what happened. A retreating British column was caught here by the bombers, I think. You can see where the craters were filled in so the rest of them could carry on. What equipment they couldn't take, they destroyed so that the Germans wouldn't get it. Look, Dave! There's another flashlight chap up ahead. And he's English! I can see him clearly, now."

"Right," Dave nodded as he too caught sight of the khaki clad figure, with an M.P. band on his arm, standing in the middle of the road.

He slipped the ambulance out of gear and let it roll to a stop and stuck his head out the door window.

"We've got wounded here!" he said as the officer moved forward. "They turned us off onto this road, back a few miles. Said the next officer we met would give us instructions."

"More wounded?" the officer echoed in an exasperated voice. "I seriously doubt if there'll be room. But get along. First turn left, and two miles straight. A railroad junction there, and still working, I certainly hope! They'll take your men. Now, chase along with you!"

"What happened here?" Dave asked and reached for the gear shift lever.

"The worst!" the officer snapped, and gestured with his hand. "Stukas caught a whole battalion. Nasty business! Now, chase, do you hear?"

Dave didn't wait to argue about that. He sent the car rolling forward and kept his eyes open for the turn to the left. He came to it presently and turned off. It was also more or less untouched by bombs so he could keep his speed steady. In almost no time they came upon a whole army of British soldiers. They jammed the road and overflowed on both sides. Hundreds of pairs of eyes were turned their way as their headlights cut through the night. A soldier with sergeant's chevrons on his sleeves rushed up to them.

"Shut off those blasted lights, you fool!" he roared. "You want the Jerry planes to ... Good grief, a couple of _kids!_ What's this?"

"Ambulance with wounded from Lille, Sergeant," Freddy called out to him. "The officer back there told us to take them to the rail junction. How far is it?"

"Wounded, eh?" the sergeant grunted. "Well, that's a sight different. Keep going. You're practically there, mates."

The sergeant stepped back and cupped big hands to his mouth.

"Make way!" he thundered at the road choked mass of British troops. "Ambulance! Make way there, you chaps! Ambulance! Give them the horn, lad. That'll make 'em jump."

The sergeant barked the last at Dave as the ambulance started forward. Dave got the car in high then held his hand on the horn. Freddy got out on the running board and started shouting, "Make way for an ambulance!" at the top of his voice. For two or three awful seconds Dave was afraid that the soldiers were going to refuse to move. But the shouted word, "Ambulance!" finally did the trick. They shuffled off to both sides and left a path down the middle of the road. Driving with one hand and keeping his other on the horn, Dave steered the ambulance down that path until a bomb shattered railroad bridge stopped him. There was no need of going farther anyway.

They had reached the rail junction, or at least what was left of it. Eastward from the bridge the track was just so much twisted steel, but westward from the bridge it had not been touched, by some strange miracle. There was a long train of some twenty cars on the track with an engine at the far end. Dimmed lights were moving around all over the place like fire-flies on a muggy night. The murmur of many voices filled the air, and as Dave got his eyes accustomed to the scene he saw that long lines of battle weary soldiers were climbing into the cars. And then out of nowhere a squad of soldiers with white bands on their tunic sleeves swooped down on the ambulance.

"Shut off your motor, mate!" a voice shouted. "You won't be needing it any more. Step lively, you lads. Easy with the poor blighters, now. That's the way."

Before Dave and Freddy could climb stiff legged down from the ambulance the white banded group of soldiers had the rear doors open and were gently but swiftly lifting out the wounded on stretchers and carrying them to the train. Nobody talked. Even the wounded made no sound. Everybody seemed to realize that all that counted was speed, and they were concentrating on that alone. Dave watched for a minute or so and then went up to the soldier who had given the orders.

"Where's the train going?" he asked.

"Dunkirk, unless the Jerry fliers stop us," the soldier replied without looking at him. "Any more of these chaps coming along in back of you?"

"This is the last load from Lille," Dave said. "I don't know about any others."

"Lille?" the soldier gasped and seemed startled. "I thought the Jerries were there!"

"I fancy they are, now," Freddy spoke up. "I say, will there be room enough for us on that train, do you think?"

"Always room for two more on anything," the soldier grunted and watched the stretchers disappear into the maze of moving lights. "You chaps just follow me, and I'll...."

The soldier never finished the rest of that sentence. At any rate, if he did, the boys didn't hear him. At that moment there came the faint drone of engines high in the sky and to the east. Instantly it seemed as though a thousand men put whistles to their lips and all blew them at the same time.

"Bombers!" roared one fog horn voice.

"Everybody aboard!" bellowed another.

"Never mind your kit, you men, get aboard!" thundered a third.

"All lights out!" a fourth voice carried above all the others.

In the wink of an eye the moving lights stopped moving and went out. All was plunged into darkness. A darkness filled with grunting sounds on the ground, and the throbbing beat of approaching airplanes overhead. Instinctively Dave and Freddy grabbed hands and started moving toward the train. No sooner had they taken a dozen steps than they ran smack into a wall of solid flesh. They tried to force their way through but it was as futile as trying to push a tidal wave to one side. They alone were not the only ones trying to get aboard that train. A few hundred others had the same idea.

Suddenly the shrill whistle of the engine cut through all other sound. A moment later the angry roar from hundreds of throats told Dave and Freddy that the train was moving. They stopped trying to push forward, and simply stood there listening to the angry shouting of the troops who could not get aboard, and the sound of the train as it picked up speed and went racing off toward the east.

"Here they are! Everybody scatter!"

Perhaps it was the same fog horn voice, and perhaps it wasn't. Anyway, everybody heard the command and started moving. A moment later the air became filled with the howl of diving wings. Further orders were not necessary. In a flash Dave thought of the bomb blasted bridge. The road had once dipped down under it, but now it was no more than a cave made out of jagged chunks of stone with twisted steel rails and splintered ties for roof shingling. He grabbed Freddy by the arm and spun them both around.

"That busted bridge!" he shouted in his friend's ear. "We can crawl down under it. We should be safe."

"Just thinking of that, myself!" Freddy shouted back as they both broke into a run. "Those blasted Stukas! Will we never hear the last of them!"

As though to punctuate that sentence the leading bomber swooped low, dumped its load and went screaming up into the night sky. Its bomb struck a hundred yards away but the concussion seemed to lift both of the boys off their feet. It put wings on their feet as well. They dashed madly through the roaring darkness, missed turned-over trucks and hunks of the bombed station by inches, and finally scrambled down under the bridge and into the cave-like hole blown out of one of the supporting walls. They crawled back over the broken stones as far as they could and sat huddled together listening to the world blow apart over their heads.

"Well, at least we got our load of wounded aboard!" Dave shouted as there came a lull in the bedlam of thunderous sound. "That's something, I guess."

"Yes, we didn't let them down," Freddy's voice came faintly. "Phew, but I'm tired. Stukas or no Stukas, I don't think I can keep awake another minute."

The words seemed to touch something inside Dave. He too became suddenly listless in both mind and body. He felt Freddy sagged against him and he battled to keep his eyes open; to keep a look-out in case they might have to change their place of shelter. But ton weights hung on his eye lids, and it was impossible to keep them open any longer. Above them worlds exploded sound and flame. Underneath them worlds shook and trembled as each devastating blow was struck. None of it, however, reached the two boys. Young strong bodies had taken an awful beating for hours on end, and they needed rest. Time might cease, and the world could come to an end, but it would have no effect on Dave Dawson and Freddy Farmer, for they were both sound asleep.