"Then you're elected," Dave said. "So let's go!"

In less than a minute they were back in the scouting car and Freddy was kicking the engine into life. The instant it roared up he shifted into gear and sent the car rolling around to the left in the direction the dead Belgian Sergeant had indicated.

"I hope he knew what he was talking about!" Freddy yelled above the sound of the clashing of gears. "After that crazy ride I'm not sure at all where we are. But, I'll recognize that Namur road when we come to it. One of the few decent roads in Belgium. Well, we're off!"

The English youth punctuated the last by ramming the car into high and stepping on the gas. Dave's head snapped back and he grabbed wildly for a hold and found one.

"Gosh, you and that Sergeant!" he gasped. "But, it's okay, now. Let her rip, Freddy. Say! It's plenty different riding in the front seat of one of these things, isn't it?"

It was different, too. It was much easier on the bones and tender spots of the human body. Though the car was racing across a rough uneven surface, Dave didn't get half the bouncing around sitting up front. But suddenly when a group of trees came rushing at them and Freddy yanked down on the wheel and swerved past with but a couple of feet to spare, Dave felt his hair stand up straight on his head.

"It's fun driving one of these things!" he heard Freddy shout. "A Renault's a good bus. My father has one."

"Sure, but I'm the pa.s.senger, don't forget!" Dave shouted back. "How about some lights? It's getting pretty dark."

"I guess we'd better," Freddy replied and flicked up a switch on the dashboard.

Two pale beams of light swept out in front of the car. They helped some, but they were considerably dimmed so as not to be easily spotted from the air. And they most certainly didn't put Dave much at ease. Dark objects continued to whip into view and then go slipping by as Freddy skillfully wrenched the wheel this way or that. And then suddenly they bounced out of a field onto a dirt road. They had actually turned on to the road and were tearing along it toward the west before Dave realized they were on it.

"Holy smokes, you're good, and no fooling!" he cried. "You sure know how to drive. Well, the Sergeant was right about this road anyway. Wonder how far it is to the main road? Hey, what's the idea of stopping?"

Freddy had suddenly slammed on the brakes, swung to the side of the road, and switched off the lights.

"Planes," he said. "Hear them? They might see our lights. Thought so.

They're German, and low, too!"

"And coming right toward us!" Dave said as he twisted around in the seat. "Gee, you've got ears, too!"

Throbbing, pulsating thunder was rolling toward them out of the sky. The planes were not more than a couple of thousand feet up in the sky, and from the sound there were at least a couple of squadrons of them. The two boys squinted up at the now dark sky, and then suddenly they saw the armada of wings sweeping forward against the stars. They showed no lights, but it was easy to pick them out by the bluish glow of the engine exhaust plumes trailing backward.

"Gee, there's a hundred of them, at least!" Dave breathed. "They look like Heinkels to me. Wonder where they're headed? Gosh, look at them, Freddy. Aren't they something?"

Freddy didn't reply. He sat peering up at the death armada as it winged by, and Dave suddenly saw the frown on his friend's face.

"What are you frowning about?" he asked.

"I'm wondering," Freddy replied. "Unless I'm mistaken those chaps are heading for the same place we are. Namur. Yes, I'm almost sure of it!"

"So what?" Dave murmured.

"So I fancy there'll be very little of it left," Freddy said. "I'll bet you five pounds they know Belgian G.H.Q. is at Namur, and they're going over there to knock it out. Well, all we can do is keep on going, I guess."

The roar of the bombers was fading away to the south. Freddy started the car again and switched on the lights. At the end of five minutes or so they suddenly came upon a well paved broad highway.

"That poor Belgian Sergeant was right, bless him!" Freddy shouted happily and turned south on the road.

"Yes, but look!" Dave yelled and pointed ahead. "Look at that red glow way down there. Gee, it looks like the whole horizon is on fire. And, hey! Hear that? Hear those sounds. I bet that's those planes dropping bombs."

"And I bet that's Namur!" Freddy cried and speeded up the car. "Blast it, we're too late I'm afraid, Dave. Belgian H.Q. has probably cleared out long ago. We'll never find them there, if that's Namur!"

For the next few minutes neither of the boys spoke. They both sat tense in the seat staring at the ever increasing red glow that mounted higher and higher up into the horizon sky. A red glow that was mixed with streaks of yellow, and flashes of vivid orange. And all the time the _br-r-ump! br-r-ump! br-r-ump_ of detonating high explosive bombs came to them above the roar of the scouting car's engine. In a weird sort of way it reminded Dave of a movie he had once seen. He couldn't remember the t.i.tle but it was a movie about the world coming to an end. The scenic effects had been like what he was witnessing now. Only they hadn't been half so vivid nor so heart chilling as this. That had been a movie. This was real war. Way off there in the distance a city was probably dying. The bombs of war-making maniacs were smashing a living city into powdery ruins. It was like a horrible nightmare. And it was, because it was true!

Freddy suddenly slowing down the car made Dave tear his eyes from the terrifying spectacle in the distance. He looked at his friend in sudden alarm.

"What's the matter, Freddy?" he asked.

The English youth pointed down the highway.

"Lights coming our way," he said. "We'd better pull over and see what's what. I was going to stop, anyway. There's something strange about this, Dave."

"Yes, and I know what you mean, too!" Dave said as he suddenly realized.

"The highway's been empty ever since we came onto it. We haven't pa.s.sed a thing, or met anything."

"Right you are," Freddy nodded. "I've been wondering about that. But, we're meeting something, now. I say, that's not a car. The lights aren't together. They must be motorcycles."

"They are!" Dave said. "Hear their motors? Boy, are they stepping along."

"Phew!" Freddy suddenly cried out. "Supposing they're German? We'd better hop out and...."

"Too late, now!" Dave cried as the lights swerved toward their side of the road. "They've seen our lights. And, here they are, too!"

The last word had no more than left Dave's lips than two army motorcycles roared up beside the car and brakes screamed to a halt. Dave saw two shadowy figures vault from the saddles and then the white beam of a flashlight flung straight into his face blinded him. The blood running out of his face felt like cold water. He tried to shout that they were not soldiers but the words would not come. Then he almost sobbed aloud as a sharp voice spoke in French.

"Who are you? What is this? _Nom de Dieu!_ Two boys in a scouting car.

Well, have you lost your tongues? What is all this, I ask?"

"We are trying to reach General Boulard's headquarters," Freddy said before Dave could open his mouth. "We have important information. Will you please take that light out of my eyes? We are not armed, as you can see."

The bright light was lowered but it was several seconds before the boys could adjust their eyes to the sudden change from brilliant light to almost pitch darkness. Then they saw two Belgian corporals with dispatch rider bra.s.sards fastened about the left sleeve of their tunics. Each had his army pistol drawn and held ready for use.

"General Boulard?" one of them grunted. "Why do you wish to see him, eh? And what are you doing in this scouting car? So you stole it, yes?

And I suppose you were planning to take it to your family and fill it with your family's furniture? Well...."

"Nuts!" Dave suddenly yelled at them. "We're not Belgians. He's English, and I'm American. We've escaped from Germany with valuable information.

A Belgian lieutenant gave us this car, and with a sergeant to drive it.

He's back there dead. We almost b.u.mped into three German tanks, and...."

"German tanks?" one of the dispatch riders broke in excitedly. "Where?"

"Back over there a ways," Dave said and pointed in the general direction from whence they had come. "Is General Boulard's headquarters still in Namur?"

The dispatch riders didn't answer at once. They looked at each other, shrugged, and looked quite alarmed.

"If these infants saw Boche tanks," one of them murmured, "then it must be a flanking movement to cut us off from Brussels. We must continue on at once!"

"At once!" his partner agreed and turned to his motorcycle.

"I say there, wait!" Freddy shouted angrily. "Is General Boulard at Namur?"