Dave leaned his head back and sighed restfully. It sure made a fellow feel good to have been of some help. And it made him feel twice as good to have a pal like Freddy Farmer along with him. Freddy had certainly proved his mettle in the tight corners. And regardless of what he'd said, Freddy probably would have done a better job of flying that Arado, too. At every turn the English youth popped up with a new side to him. He sure was glad Freddy and his ambulance had come along when they had. And, gee, just how long ago was that, anyway? Three days, or three years? It had been plenty long ago anyway.
At that moment Freddy suddenly sat forward and tapped the Sergeant on the shoulder.
"Why are we heading east?" he asked and pointed at the last rays of the setting sun. "If you're trying to get to Namur, you're going in the wrong direction."
"That is so," the Sergeant called back. "But, it is necessary. The Boches have cut the road, and we must go around them. Soon it will be dark. It will not be so hard when it is dark. Do not worry, my little one, we shall get there."
Freddy started to argue but seemed to think better of it. He sank back on the seat scowling thoughtfully at the setting sun. Dave looked at him a moment, and then spoke.
"What gives, Freddy?" he asked. "Do you think the Sergeant doesn't know what he's doing?"
"No, he's probably right," the English youth said. "If the Namur road has been cut by the Germans we've got to go around them, of course. But I've spent several summers in this part of Belgium, and...."
Freddy stopped short and leaned forward once more.
"Why can't we circle around them on the west, Sergeant?" he shouted. "Can't you cut over and take the road leading south from Wavre?"
The Belgian let out a yell of consternation and stopped the car so suddenly he almost pitched the two boys right over the back of the front seat.