Dave Dawson in Libya

by Robert Sidney Bowen

"Thanks, Freddy!" he called back over his shoulder. "I knew you could do it. Poor Major Alden! What a tough break for him. Gosh! I almost wish he hadn't spotted us. Then this wouldn't have happened to him. Can you lift him in back, Freddy, and then come up front here with me? We'll have to use your pocket compass for a course. I've lost mine, and the burst that got the major raised heck with his dash compass. Can you lift him back, or do you want me to stop and give you a hand?"

"Stop nothing!" Freddy cried in wild alarm. "Drive like blazes, Dave! Look at that sand storm! It's almost on top of us. You keep driving. I'll get him back here all right!"

As Dave turned his head and looked to the east, his heart zoomed up into his throat. The coppery sky had changed to dull black, streaked with shafts of swirling yellowish white. In that instant the whole world seemed to stand still. All sound ceased, save the roar of the scout car's engine. And its sound was twice as loud because of the sudden silencing of everything else.

"Gosh!" Dave whispered in awe as his eyes stayed glued to the hovering menace aloft that seemed ready to spring upon them in the next split second. "Holy smoke! Like the end of the world, or something. It's— Hey, Freddy, what's the humming sound? No, more like a whine, I guess."

Freddy didn't have time to offer his guess. A low hum that seemed to be sweeping across the desert suddenly rose up to a blood-curdling scream that blasted the surrounding silence to the four corners of the earth. The lull and the silence were no more. In the bat of an eyelid the fury of a Libyan desert storm swept down upon the boys in full force. The car shuddered, and rocked, and threatened to roll over on its side from the terrific impact of the wind driven sand clouds slashing against it. Dave bent low and clung to the bucking wheel with every inch of his strength.

Daylight was no more. All about him was a swirling, twisting, screaming inferno of shadowy darkness. Billions and billions of tiny pin points of pain slashed at his face and hands. They even seemed to dart through his uniform and practically scrape the skin from his body. It was impossible to keep his eyes open to see where he was driving. If he did, he would be blinded in the flash of a split second. All he could do was keep his head bent low, his face shielded from the furious onslaught of the desert storm, and hold the wheel as steady as he could and pray that he was steering a northerly course.

As the fury of the storm increased, and the high, shrill scream of the wind seemed like daggers of fire in his ears, he was tempted to swing the car around and race with the storm in the hope of outdistancing it. He checked the urge, however, because of the possible consequences. If they once lost direction in this storm, it would be all over for them. True, they had Freddy's compass and they could always find north. But from where? That was the point. If he tried to run with the storm, he might get so twisted up that he'd be racing back to the south. Then when the storm passed they would be farther than ever from their destination.

No, it was best to hold a general northerly course now, and pray they could live out the storm. At least the swirling sand would not choke up the engine and put it out of commission. That was their greatest fear, and as Dave strained his ears to catch the roar of the engine, and to feel it by the vibration of the wheel, his heart stood still, and the blood was so much sluggish ice water in his veins.

The car's engine, however, had been adequately protected for just such a situation as it now faced. And it kept roaring out its song of power that spun the wheels and sent the car rocketing forward slam bang into the teeth of the storm. Seconds totaled up to minutes, and the minutes mounted up one on top of the other until Dave felt as though he had been plowing through the raging desert inferno since the very day he was born. Wave after wave of stinging pain swept over his body. Every muscle and bone ached. His head felt three times its size and throbbed unmercifully. It was like racing down a long black tunnel filled with roaring thunder, for he dared not open his eyes. He wondered how Freddy was making out. He didn't dare take his hands from the wheel. Nor did he dare open his mouth to call out. His words would not only go unheard, but he would also instantly get a mouthful of stinging wind-swirled sand.

There was just one thing, and one thing alone to do: hang on hard to the wheel to keep the car traveling a straight course to the north.