Dave Dawson in Libya

by Robert Sidney Bowen

"No," Freddy said for them both. "They did not jump. They glided the plane down and crashed when they tried to land. The plane caught fire. It was about a mile away from where we were standing. When we reached it, it was too late to do anything."

"It is as I told you, Herr Colonel," the major said to his senior officer in German. "If those British aviators saw anything, they died before they could take the information back to their base. Yes, undoubtedly they were simply sent out to hunt for these two standing before us."

Dave kept a dumb, blank look on his face, as though he didn't understand a single word the German was saying. Inwardly, though, he was smiling happily to himself. Thank goodness he had made the suggestion to Freddy that they act as though they didn't speak German. And thank goodness, too, they had decided to wear infantry uniforms, and to admit readily they had seen a British plane crash and burn up, in the event they were captured. It was all working out perfectly.

A moment later, though, when the colonel replied in the same tongue, the smile died in Dave, and little fingers of worry and fear began to clutch at his heart.

"Perhaps," the senior officer grunted. "Then again, perhaps not. These two young swine puzzle me. I feel sure their story is made up of lies. Four, six days in this cursed desert? I doubt that very much. Yes, very much, indeed."

"But just look at them, Herr Colonel!" the major protested. "Both are ready to collapse at any moment. They are completely exhausted. I agree that perhaps they lie a little. But I think they speak the truth about wandering about the desert."

"For six days?" the colonel echoed harshly, and gave him a scornful look. "It is evident you have had no experience with the desert. I have spent a lot of my life in this part of the world, Herr Major. Look at their boots! Six days of sand and sun would do more than that to a pair of boots."

It was all Dave and Freddy could do to refrain from looking down at their boots. Boots! The one item that hadn't even occurred to them. Of course the German colonel was right. Six days, or even four days of tramping across the desert would unquestionably wear their boots paper thin unless they had taken special care of them such as rubbing them with grease or oil to stop the leather from drying up and cracking, and mending each little crack or cut before it was too late. Their boots showed none of that kind of care, however. And the fact they had no packs was proof they hadn't had any shoe oil or grease in the first place.

"You're right, Herr Colonel," the major said as he scowled down at the boys' boots. "They do not look very much the worse for wear, at that."

"That doesn't prove anything, however," the German colonel grunted, and Dave's heart started sliding back down out of his throat. "We shall see, however. I have thoughts about these two, and I will find out soon enough if my thoughts are true ones. Meantime we will get as much out of them as we can."