"There is nothing at Namur, except death and the cursed Boches!" one of the dispatch riders shouted. "We go to the General's new headquarters, now. Follow us and we will show you the way. But, hurry! If you did see tanks where you say, then we are practically surrounded by the swine.

There is not a moment to lose, unless you care to be shot or at best taken prisoner by the butchers!"

As though to give emphasis to their words the dispatch riders vaulted onto their saddles and opened up their motorcycle engines in a roar of sound that seemed to bounce clear up to the stars and back again. They were off like a shot and over a hundred yards ahead before Freddy could turn the small scouting car around. But once he had it turned around the young English youth didn't waste any time. He fairly flew after the two motorcycles while Dave clung fast to the side of the car and silently marveled some more at Freddy's masterful driving.

The Belgians roared a mile up the road, then swerved off to the left onto a road that led toward the northwest.

"They're heading for Brussels, I'm pretty sure!" Freddy shouted as the wind howled past the car. "That Sergeant was right when he said it looks bad. It not only looks, but _is_!"

"The Germans sure must be pretty deep into the country," Dave agreed.

"They.... Hey, Freddy! Gosh ... look! The whole road is exploding!

_Freddy_...!"

The road ahead had suddenly burst open to spout a sea of blinding light and crashing sound. The two dispatch riders seemed to melt into it and disappear. Invisible hands grabbed hold of the small scouting car and tossed it straight up into the air. From a million miles away Dave heard Freddy screaming his name. Then he had the feeling of spinning end over end off through s.p.a.ce that was filled with white hot fire and billowing thick black smoke. A hundred million wild, crazy thoughts whirled around in his brain, and then everything turned black, and became as silent as the grave.

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 pa.s.s 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 sh.e.l.l 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 const.i.tution, 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 p.r.o.nounce 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, h.e.l.lo, 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.