Dave Dawson at Dunkirk

by Robert Sidney Bowen

His only hope lay in hitting the field in the center and checking the forward roll of the plane so that when it did slide over and down into one of the bomb craters the crash impact wouldn't be too violent. In his heart he knew that he stood but one chance in a thousand of coming out of the crash uninjured. But there was no other way out, the die had been cast. The engine had been hit and was dead. There was only one way to go, and that was down.

On impulse he jerked his head around and looked back. It seemed as though he had not heard Freddy's voice in a year or more, and sudden panic swept through him. Was Freddy all right? Had he been hit, and was that why he had not spoken? In the brief instant it took to jerk his head around and look back, Dave died a hundred agonizing deaths.

Luck, however, was still riding the cockpits with them. The English youth was still alive, and very much so, too. His lips were drawn back in a tight grin even though his face was white, and there was a sort of glazed, glassy look in his eyes. Being a pilot, himself, Freddy knew exactly what it was all about. He had sense enough not to try any back seat driving in the emergency. He was leaving everything to Dave, and trusting in his friend's judgment. He sat perfectly still in the seat, his arms half raised and ready to throw them across his face when they hit in order to protect himself as much as possible.

Sitting still and showing his faith in Dave by the tight grin on his lips. That realization gave Dave new courage as he turned front again. The ground was just under his wheels, now. He would not under-shoot the field, nor would he over-shoot it either. He had proved his flying skill thus far. The rest was ... was in the lap of the gods!

Ten feet off! Nine feet, eight ... seven ... six! He was hugging the Dep wheel now all the way back against his stomach to bring the nose up just a few more inches before the ship stalled and dropped. His whole body sensed that moment of stalling; that moment when the lift of the wings was absolutely nil. He sensed it now and instantly let go of the stick, buried his head in his arms, and let his whole body go limp.

For two seconds, or perhaps it was for two long years, the Arado seemed to hang motionless in the air. Then suddenly it dropped belly first like a rock. The wheels hit hard and the ship was bounced back up into the air again. It hit again, and bounced again. It hit once more and Dave felt the tail wheel catch on something and send the ship plunging crazily off to the right. He jammed hard on the left rudder to counteract the movement, but it was too late. Fate had placed a huge German bomb crater in the way. The plane slithered over the lip of the crater and charged dizzily downward.

Memory of a wild ride on a Coney Island roller coaster streaked through Dave's brain. And then the plane careened up on its side, and half up on its nose. It swayed there with its tail pointing up at the sky. It twisted twice around and then fell over on its back with a jarring thud. An invisible giant reached out a fist and punched Dave hard on the chest. The air in his lungs whistled out through his mouth, and for horrible seconds colored lights whirled around in his brain, and the entire universe was filled with roaring, crashing thunder.

The spell passed in a moment, and he found himself hanging head downward on his safety harness. His first thought was for Freddy, and he struggled to twist around and look back, but he couldn't make it.

"Freddy!" he yelled in a choking voice. "Are you all right?"

A heart chilling instant of silence greeted his question, and then came Freddy's faint reply.