Dave Dawson at Dunkirk

by Robert Sidney Bowen

"See them flames?" he said. "That's Dunkirk. About two miles it is. And it's time for me to go in from my patrol anyway. I got a motor-bike and sidecar over there, yonder. You two can ride in the car. But we'd better hop it. It's getting toward dawn and the Stukas will be coming over to raise merry Ned. But, wait a minute, mates. Who are you and what were you doing at Niort? Why, you ain't even in uniform."

"This is Dave Dawson, an American," Freddy said. "And my name is Freddy Farmer. We've been trying to get back to England for days, and...."

"What's that?" the soldier cut in excitedly. "Dawson and Farmer? The couple of American and English nippers, that stole a plane and all the rest of it? Blimey! Why didn't you say so? Why you lads are heroes! The whole blinking army's been talking of what you nippers did. Come along! If there's two lads that's going to get a boat ride back home, it's you. Yes, by George! I'm that anxious to get back home so's to tell the lads, I'm fair ready to swim the blinking Channel, orders or no orders. Come along!"

Without waiting for either of the boys to so much as open their mouths the soldier grabbed them each by the arm and hurried them off through the dark to the right. He must have known the way well, for they didn't bump into a single thing. Presently he let go of them and dived into some bushes. He was out in almost no time pushing an army motorcycle and sidecar. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and straddled the seat.

"Hop in, lads!" he barked as he kicked his engine into life. "And hang on for your lives. The beach where they're taking them off onto the ships ... and man, they're bringing over anything that can float ... is on the far side of town. But the blinking town's afire, and we have to go right through it. Here we go, and a double-double to the blasted Jerries!"

Though the two boys had wedged themselves down tight in the sidecar, the soldier tore off in such a rush that he practically rode right out from under them. Yelling any complaints would have been just a waste of breath. Besides, the soldier wouldn't have heard them in the roar of his engine. So the boys simply concentrated on trying to stay in the sidecar, and breathed a prayerful hope that the soldier was an expert driver.

He was more than that. He was a miracle man on a motorcycle. He raced through the darkness without slackening his speed the fraction of a mile. The rain slithered down and the street glistened in the faint glow of his dimmed light. It looked like so much slippery black ice, and a hundred times Dave closed his eyes and waited for the sickening crash that never came. When, he dared open them again they were still hurtling forward making as much noise as a whole division of tanks.

The two miles to the ancient Channel city of Dunkirk was covered in just about as many minutes. In the last hundred yards the fog seemed to come to an end, and the rain to pass on behind them. Dave looked ahead and caught his breath sharply. Dunkirk looked like one gigantic horizon-to-horizon wall of licking tongues of flame and billowing smoke that towered high up into the sky. It was as though he had walked out of a dark room straight into the open mouth of a blast furnace. He impulsively cast a quick side glance at the soldier astride the motorcycle seat expecting to see an expression of alarm and dismay pass across the lean unshaven face. But no such thing did he see. The soldier simply lowered his head a bit, and the corners of his eyes tightened.

"Hang on, lads!" he bellowed without taking his eyes off the road. "Here comes the first of it, and it ain't no ice box!"

No sooner had the last left his lips than the heat of the flaming buildings seemed to charge forward right into their faces. Dave and Freddy ducked their heads as the soldier had done, and in the matter of split seconds they had the sensation of hurtling straight across the mouth of a boiling volcano that shot up tongues of flame on all sides.