CHAPTER NINETEEN

_The White Cliffs!_

By the time they reached the water they had stripped off their hospital jackets, torn free their water canteens, and flung them away. Shoulder to shoulder they splashed out as far as they could, then dived in. They broke surface together and struck out for the helpless craft being carried toward its doom by the tide. Above them raged another mighty battle of the air. Bombs fell close and when one struck the water and went off, a thousand fists seemed to hammer against their chests. Behind them the flames of Dunkirk leaped high, and the glow turned the waters through which they swam to the color of blood. And there ahead of them was the sleek-looking motorboat, like a highly polished brown log drifting on the crest of a shimmering red sea.

A great fire burned in Dave's lungs, and his arms became like bars of lead that required every remaining ounce of his strength to lift up and cut down into the water again. But he fought back the aches, and the pains, and the gnawing fatigue. And so did Freddy Farmer there by his side. They kept their eyes fixed on that drifting motorboat and they didn't take them off it until after what seemed like years they were alongside it and hooking an arm over the gunwale. For a moment they just hung there panting and gulping for air. Then at an unspoken signal they each shifted their grip to the small brass rail that ran along each side from stem to stern, and hauled themselves into the boat.

Not even then did they speak a word, for words were unnecessary, now. There was a job to do, and a job to be done fast. The rocks weren't more than sixty yards away. Shaking water from his face, Dave leaped toward the engine hood, lifted up the motionless bullet riddled body and lowered it gently to the deck. At the same time Freddy caught up an oar and rushed toward the bow to fend off the craft should it reach the rocks.

Lifting the engine hood Dave took one look inside and gulped with relief. Messerschmitt bullets had not touched the American built engine. A quick glance down at the priming can in the dead man's stiff hand told Dave he had been trying to start the engine when the Messerschmitt first dived. Perhaps he had throttled too much, and stalled the engine. There was no way of knowing that, and no time to wonder about it. If there was something else wrong, and the priming can didn't do the trick, then he and Freddy could at least save the boat from being slammed up against the rocks.

It was time for Lady Luck to smile again, however. Dave primed the engine, and stepped on the starter pedal, and the engine roared up instantly in full throated song. He leaped for the wheel, yanked back the throttle, and then swung the wheel over hard. The rudder bit into the water, and the power boat slid by the jagged rocks with but a few feet to spare and glided out toward deep water.

"Made it!" Dave shouted wildly.

"Right-o!" Freddy yelled back from the bow. "This is one Herr Hitler doesn't get, by gosh. Not if _I_ can help it! Oh, Dave, let's...."

"Me too!" Dave interrupted him. "I know what you're going to say. Let's go over and pick up as many of those fellows as we can! You're doggone right! Here we go!"

At that exact moment, however, the fates of war changed their plans. At that moment a steel fish made in Nazi land slid past the watchful eyes of a destroyer and let go a single torpedo straight into the maze of craft hovering off shore beneath the raging sky battle above. True, only one torpedo. And even as it streaked out from its tube the eyes aboard the destroyer saw it, and the destroyer's guns spoke ... and there was one U-boat less. However, one torpedo was on its way. And it slammed into the bow of a sturdy coastal vessel plodding out to the center of the Channel.

In the blaze of light that spewed up from the side of the vessel Dave saw the decks crowded with khaki clad soldiers. Then they were lost to view as the vessel heeled way over and was engulfed in a mighty cloud of smoke. No sooner had what his eyes seen registered oh his brain than he hauled down hard on the wheel and pulled the motor boat's bow away from the shore and out toward that floating cloud of smoke and dull red flame.

Other boats did the same thing, but Dave and Freddy were closer than any of the others, and they reached there first. Killing his speed as much as possible Dave worked the craft inch by inch toward the cluster of heads that were now bobbing out from under the edge of the cloud of smoke. Then when he was real close he throttled all the way back and let go of the wheel and raced with Freddy to the stern of the boat. They grabbed the first hand stretched up toward them and pulled the dripping figure into the boat. No sooner was he in than they let him shift for himself and grabbed for the next outstretched hand. Then another, and another, and another, until there were no more bobbing heads close to them.

By then other craft had arrived and were picking up survivors from that doomed vessel. As Dave straightened up he stared out across the water just in time to see the last bit of the vessel's bow slide down below the waves and disappear. One look and then he was pushing through the soldiers he and Freddy had rescued, to the wheel at the bow bulkhead. Cheers and praise filled his ears but he was too all in to even so much as grin. And, also, memory of that U-boat was still fresh in his mind. If one slipped past, why not two, or even three? Dunkirk was behind him, and a sky battle was raging high above him, but he did not know what might be lurking in the waters under him. The sooner he got the boat away, the better it would be for all concerned.

He reached the wheel at the same time Freddy did. And hardly realizing it, both grabbed hold. Dave shot out his other hand and opened up the throttle. Together, as one man, they guided the power boat in and around the other rescue craft until they were clear and heading straight out into the Channel. Once there was nothing but open water ahead of them they both relaxed, looked into each other's eyes and grinned.

"Well, that _must_ be the last surprise, Freddy," Dave said. "There just isn't anything else that could happen that would startle me."

"Nor me, either!" Freddy breathed. "The excitement's all over for us, now. In another hour we'll be in England."

And then suddenly a hand was clapped down on each of them, and a hoarse voice boomed,

"Well, of all things! You two!"

They both spun around, then stopped dead and gasped in bewildered amazement. There standing in his water-soaked uniform was General Caldwell, Chief of British Staff. His piercing black eyes bored into theirs, and his teeth showed white in a broad smile.

"Good heavens, you, General!" Dave finally managed to gulp out. "Why, I didn't even know we'd hauled you aboard!"

"But you did, and thank God for that!" the General said fervently. "And do you know, it's the strangest thing ever! I was telling the captain of that boat about how you stole that plane, when the blasted torpedo struck. By gad, it's incredible. But how in the world did you get here? and in this boat, too!"

"Later, sir, if you don't mind," Freddy spoke up and put a hand on the General's sleeve. "Please tell us the truth. We've got to know. The information we gave you wasn't any help? You got it too late?"

General Caldwell stared at him hard, and then shook his head.

"You're dead wrong, Freddy, if you think that," he said in his oddly soft voice. "I spoke the truth to you in the Lille hospital. Look back there, both of you."

They turned and with their eyes followed the General's finger pointing at the beach at Dunkirk.

"That's the last of the British Army to leave France," he spoke again. "We've been getting them out for days, and against terrific odds. The only reason I was on that boat that was torpedoed, instead of being back there to be the last man to leave, was because I had my orders to return at once and start getting things reorganized. But they will all be in England before this fog gives the Stukas the chance they want. And praise to dear God for the fog and the rain he has sent us in these days of heroic effort. But, what I am trying to say to you, is this. Had I not received your information in time, thousands upon thousands of those brave chaps would never have been able to reach Dunkirk in time to be taken off. They would now be trapped in France and in Belgium. No, boys, it was not too late. And to you two England owes a debt she will never be able to repay."

"I'm glad," Freddy whispered softly. "I'm glad it was not too late."

"Gosh, me too," Dave mumbled, and tried to say more but the words wouldn't come.

And so the three of them: two boys and the General stood there with their faces turned toward England while the boat cut through the dawn-greyed swells and the light fog. And then after a long time the fog lifted and they saw it there ahead.

"Dover!" Freddy said in a choked voice, and tears trickled down his cheeks. "The chalk cliffs of Dover. England!"

"Yes, the chalk cliffs of Dover, and England," General Caldwell murmured huskily. "We've taken a pretty bad beating, but it's far from being all over. We may even take some more beatings. Perhaps several of them. But in the end we will win. We must win, for there will always be an England. Always!"

* * * * *

Three days after the world-thrilling evacuation of Dunkirk, Dave Dawson sat in the living-room of Freddy Farmer's house in Baker Street in London. Freddy was there, of course, and so was his dad. And so was Dave's father. Within an hour after touching English soil the British War Office had contacted Dave's dad in Paris where he had gone hoping to pick up the trail of his missing son. And, now, the four of them were waiting because of a phone call from General Caldwell. A phone call stating that the Chief of Staff was on his way there, and for them all please to wait.

"Boy, I wish he'd get here!" Dave exclaimed for the umpteenth time.

"He didn't say why he wanted to see us?" Freddy asked his father for the umpteenth time, too.

"No, Freddy," the senior Farmer replied patiently. "He didn't say a word about it."

"Gee, do I hope, do I hope, _do I hope!_" Dave breathed and pressed his two clenched fists together. "Do I hope he has fixed it for us to get into the R.A.F., even though we are a bit under age. He said he'd do everything he could. And, Dad?"

Dave turned and looked into his father's face.

"Yes, Dave?"

"I sure hope it really _is_ okay with you," Dave said. "I mean getting into the R.A.F., if I possibly can. It's.... Well, it's just that nothing else seems important now, except trimming the pants off the Nazis. And I want to help, no matter _what_ kind of help it is."

"I understand, perfectly, Dave," his father said with a smile. "I know exactly how you feel, because I feel the same way. I'm staying over here to help, too. In the government end of things."

Dave's exclamation of surprise was cut short by the ringing of the door bell. Freddy's father answered it and came back into the room with General Caldwell. The Chief of Staff greeted them all and then handed Dave and Freddy each a small package.

"And with life-long gratitude from the bottom of my heart," he said gravely.

They opened the packages to find an expensive wrist watch in each. And on the back of each watch was the inscription:

To One Of The Two Finest And Bravest Boys I Ever Met General H. V. K. Caldwell

"And, now, the real reason I came here," the General said before they could even begin to blurt out their thanks and appreciation. "Their Majesties, King George and Queen Elizabeth, are waiting to receive you at Buckingham Palace. And your fathers, of course."

"The King ... and the Queen?" Freddy said in a hushed voice.

"Oh boy, meeting the King and Queen in Buckingham Palace!" Dave breathed. And then he couldn't hold it any longer. "General Caldwell!" the words rushed off his lips. "What Freddy and I asked you about? I mean ... the R.A.F. Is there any chance?"

The General tried to look stern, but he just couldn't keep the grin from breaking through.

"Among other things," he said in his soft voice, "Their Majesties wish to be the first to congratulate their two new members of the Royal Air Force. So, I suggest we do not keep them waiting, eh?"

Dave and Freddy looked at each other without speaking, but their eyes spoke volumes. The dream had come true. Or perhaps it was only beginning. Either way, though, one thing was certain. Beginning with this moment they would have the chance to do their share as pilots of the Royal Air Force in the battle for Britain. And that chance was all they asked. Nothing more.

----THE END----

See next page.

_A Page from_

DAVE DAWSON WITH THE R.A.F.

At that moment a short, savage burst from Flight Lieutenant Barton-Woods' guns snapped Dave's eyes back to the Junkers. They were still quite a ways off but the Green Flight leader had let go with a challenging burst hoping that the Germans would give up thoughts of escape and turn back to give battle. However, it was instantly obvious that the Junkers pilots and their crews didn't want any truck with three Spitfire pilots. The nose of each ship was pushed down a bit to add speed to the get away attempt. And a moment later Dave saw the flash of sunlight on bombs dropping harmlessly down into the rolling grey-green swells where the Channel blends in with the North Sea.

"Not this day, my little Jerries!" Flight Lieutenant Barton-Woods' voice boomed over the radio. "Let's make the beggars pay for dropping bombs in our Channel, Green Flight! Give it to them!"

The last was more or less the signal that each pilot was on his own. Dave waited until he saw his flight leader swerve off to slam in at the Junkers to the right. Then he touched rudder, and with Freddy sticking right with him, swerved off after the other German raider.

Transcriber's Notes: Page 73: Changed probaby to probably Page 184: Changed fairly to fairy Page 216: Changed aways to always

End of Project Gutenberg's Dave Dawson at Dunkirk, by Robert Sydney Bowen