"You heard me!" Dave said firmly. "Look, Freddy. Figure it out. Jones is gone. We're on our own now. So what are we going to do? Let these darned Nazis chase us around Occupied France all night? Or head straight for von Staube and von Gault, and—well, trust to luck that we'll get a break somehow? Me, I'm for direct action, even if it does seem hopeless. Darned if I'm going to stumble around in this darkness a couple of steps ahead of a bunch of Nazis. Jones is gone. So that puts it squarely up to us. I say, let's give it a whirl. Heck, Freddy! That's the only thing we can do! Right?"
"Of course you're right, Dave," Freddy said quietly. "Sorry I acted such a fool just now. No doubt we're mad to think we can accomplish anything. But—well, as you say, let's give it a whirl."
"Atta boy!" Dave murmured, and squeezed Freddy's arm. "But for cat's sake, let's first get this cork black off our faces and hands. It won't help us now. And when I think of that Nazi snapping that light in my face—Boy! I died a thousand deaths in that split second. That's enough for one night. We play strictly Jerry officers from now on. And Jerry officers don't go wandering around with cork black all over them. So let's get it off."
Five minutes later both youths had removed every trace of the cork black with their handkerchiefs and some water from the small canteen fitted to their German army belts. They stood up and studied Dave's compass with its radium-painted needle.
"North and bear a bit left," Dave said, and slipped the compass into his pocket. "We're a good half mile from the shelled church. So we can't be more than a mile from the edge of Evaux where the H.Q. is located. Well, I guess there's nothing to do but get started."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Vulture Nest
Dave Dawson stole a glance at his watch and saw that there was little more than an hour and a half until daylight. An hour and a half in which to accomplish something which, if things had only gone as planned, should have been cleaned up a good two hours before! He clamped his lips tight to choke back the bitter groan that rose up in his throat, and peered out from behind the thick clump of bushes at the scene that lay before him.
He was hugging the ground on the south side of a small yet billiard table flat field. On the other side, and not two hundred yards from where he lay, was a group of small buildings which marked the beginning of the outskirts of the French village of Evaux. In front of the group of small buildings were half a dozen German Staff cars, motorcycles, a couple of armored cars, and a hundred or more Germans of all sizes and ranks. Busy bee activity was in progress, too. Cars were rushing up a road that led out of some woods, to brake scream to a halt in front of the buildings, where the occupants would leap out and go dashing inside. A dispatch rider would come tearing up on his motorcycle, and practically throw himself from it in his haste to get inside with his dispatches. And twice an Arado army cooperation plane slid down to a landing on the small flat field, and quickly taxied over to join the general hubbub.