Reaching up, he grasped hold of the shroud lines, twisted around and glanced toward the north. He saw a faint cluster of lights that must mark Antwerp. And he was pretty sure that he could make out the Scheldt River that served as Antwerp's water outlet to the sea. He relaxed his grip on the shroud lines, returned his gaze to the shadows directly underneath him and silently praised Flight Lieutenant Wiggins' flying and navigating ability. In exact accordance with orders, the British air ace had dumped them out where they would float down to a point not too far from Antwerp, and not too close so that they might be seen.
"Dumped them out?" Dave echoed the thought aloud. "Boy, oh boy, do I hope and pray it is them! And not just him, meaning yours truly. Freddy, pal, maybe you're right close to me, and perfectly okay, but I sure wish I could see you and be sure. And how! We hit on all six when we work as a team. Alone, I've got a hunch I'd be just a foul ball. So, Freddy—"
He stopped short because his voice suddenly choked up so that he couldn't speak. He swallowed and clenched his teeth hard.
"Cut the sob stuff, the sentimental junk, Dave!" he told himself savagely. "There's a job to do whether Freddy's right there with you, or not. And he'd feel the same way about it, too. So pull up your socks, chappy, as Freddy would say, and tend strictly to your knitting."
A couple of moments later there was no more time in which to wonder about this and speculate about that. A sudden change in the mess of shadows directly beneath him told him that the ground was close, and coming up fast. Impulsively he brushed one hand across the lenses of his goggles, as though in so doing he might see objects better. Perhaps that did help some. At any rate, a split second later he caught a flash glimpse of a cluster of pointed shadows, shadows that pointed straight up at him! They were the tops of a clump of trees, and he reacted instantly to the realization that flashed through his brain.
He shot up both hands and grabbed hold of the shroud lines on the right and pulled downward with every ounce of his strength. The action "spilled" air from that side of the silk envelope over his head and caused the parachute and his dangling body to slip off to the side. The tree tops were practically touching the soles of his shoes, and he held his breath for fear he had not side-slipped the 'chute in time. A brief split second ticked past into time history, or perhaps it was an entire year. To Dave it seemed an eternity before the tops of the trees moved away from under him. He quickly jackknifed his knees slightly so that he could absorb some of the "landing shock" with his legs, and automatically threw up one arm across his face just in case there were brambles and shrubs down there. And then the ground rose up and smacked him.
White pain shot up through his left leg. Something cracked him in the small of his back. Something else rammed itself against his right shin. And then something entirely different darted out of the darkness and rapped him on the jaw. He saw thousands upon thousands of colored stars dancing around before his eyes. Then suddenly all was dark and peaceful, and very silent....
When he next opened his eyes, he found himself staring straight up at a vast expanse of smudgy grey. He had the sensation of looking up at a poorly whitewashed ceiling. Only it wasn't a ceiling at all. It was the sky, and it was a sort of dirty grey because the last of night still lingered and the Goddess of Dawn had not yet wiped the heavens clean with her veil dipped in sunlight.
For a few moments he continued to stare upward, vaguely conscious of the fact that he was lying stretched out on dew-drenched ground, but not caring much about it. Presently a dull pounding in his head awakened memory. He sat up straight, groaned from the effort, and cradled his head in his hands. That stopped the aching considerably. He took his hands away and looked slowly around. It was then he saw what had happened. Fifty yards away was the clump of trees he had missed by a whisker, but two feet from him was a jagged stone wall he had not missed. The silk of his parachute clung to it in shreds, and the shroud lines were wrapped about jutting rocks like a spider's web. He unbuckled the harness about him and got painfully to his feet. His left trousers leg was ripped from the knee down, and there was a nasty scratch where a point of rock had left its mark. The right shoulder of his coarse jacket was also torn. And to top everything off, he was smeared with mud and dirt from head to foot. He looked down at himself and shook his head.
"Gee, if I don't look like a refugee who's been wandering around plenty long," he breathed, "then there just ain't no such animal!"