"Another of this war's secrets that will probably never be known," Dave said in a dull voice. "Why, and how, we'll never know, Freddy. But one thing is sure, according to the way I look at it. The Nazis in this area are wise to the fact that something is up. Jones dead, here. All those patrols we had to sneak around. Freddy! I've got a darned strong hunch that this particular spot is the most unhealthy in all Occupied France for us. Maybe they didn't know that Jones was to contact somebody here, but—"
"But we don't know if they do know!" Freddy finished the sentence.
"Right!" Dave whispered, and got up on one knee. "So, unless we want to beg for it, let's get distance from this spot, and get it fast. You with me?"
"Quite!" Freddy murmured, and got quickly to his feet. "I say! How about my beggar's machine gun? Think it would come in handy?"
"No, leave it," Dave replied. "Traveling fast, and light, is our best bet. If we got cornered, the gun wouldn't be much help for long. No, leave the darn thing. But let's get out of here, and—"
The rest froze on the end of Dave's tongue. In that instant he heard sounds of running feet on the road. But the sounds were from more than one pair of running feet. Freddy Farmer heard them, too. Not a word was spoken. No time for words, now. Nor the need. Hands clasped for mutual guidance, the two youths melted across the dirt road to the other side, slid behind some bushes that bordered the road, and then stole forward in a direction parallel to the approaching running feet. When the running feet were almost abreast, the two youths froze stiff, and held their collective breath. As near as they could tell, six Nazi soldiers went pounding past their place of concealment. They heard a few German grunts, but were unable to catch the words that were spoken. As soon as the squad of Nazi troops had pounded by, the two youths struck off at right angles from the dirt road, and travelled swiftly and silently northward until they reached the shelter of a thick woods. They sneaked in past the first fringe of trees, and sank to the soft ground fighting for breath, and to ease off their pounding hearts.
For several minutes they simply lay there stretched out on the ground. Then, as though at some secret inner signal, they sat up and stared brooding-eyed at the darkness about them. It was then that Dave parted his lips to speak, but stopped as they heard the faint shouting of many voices coming from the direction of the shelled church.
"That cooks it!" he spoke aloud. "That shouting means they've come across your Nazi, I think, Freddy. They know now that somebody's around who shouldn't be."
"No doubt about it!" the English youth agreed bitterly. "And it means that we'd better be getting going again. But, good grief, where? They'll be crawling all over the place, now that they know something is definitely wrong. Oh, blast it, what a fine mess we've made of things! I almost wish my parachute hadn't opened. And to lose a perfectly good Spitfire just for this! Enough to make a chap weep!"
Dave leaned over and pushed his fist against his pal's ribs.