Camp X (21 page)

“No, it's not a test, honestly.”

“Look, boys, even if we did believe you—”

“And we don't, not for a second,” the other added.

“Yeah, but even if we did, we can't take you anywhere . . . not to headquarters, not to the gatehouse, no place.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Orders. We're to stay right here at our position.”

“But why?”

“They don't tell us why,” the first soldier said.

“Yeah, it's on what they call a ‘need-to-know basis,'” the second added.

“And apparently we don't need to know much,” said the first, and they both laughed.

“But what if something really, really important happened?”

“It doesn't matter if the Prime Minister of the whole darn country walked up to us and told us to drive him to headquarters. We'd tell
him
no, too.”

“The Prime Minister . . . he isn't here now, is he?” I was remembering what Mr. Krum had said about them trying to get at somebody important.

“That would be another thing that would be on a need-to-know basis.”

“And even if he was,” added the second, “and we knew about it, we wouldn't be telling you two.”

“So he could be here?” Jack asked.

“Could be.”

“Has been before,” the second soldier chipped in. “Him and
people even more important.”

I struggled to think who could be more important than the Prime Minister. I turned to Jack. He looked back at me desperately. What could we do?

“You're not just going to stay here all night, are you?” I asked.

“Could be. Could be only another five minutes. Depends.”

“Depends on what?” Jack asked.

“The radio. They'll call and let us know when we can move.”

“The radio!” I gasped. “That's right, you have radios in the jeeps! Can you just call and tell them what we're telling you?”

“No can do. We're under orders to maintain radio silence.”

“Radio silence? What does that mean?”

“It means that we can't make calls. We can only listen and wait for them to give us orders.”

“Jeez!” exclaimed the second soldier. “We'd better get back to the jeep in case they've been trying to reach us.”

“Yeah, come on,” the other soldier said, reaching out and grabbing me by the arm. The first soldier grabbed Jack, and he howled in pain.

“What's wrong with you? I hardly laid a glove on you.”

“You grabbed my arm . . . my wrist . . . I think it's broken.”

“Broken? How'd you do that?”

“When we were trying to get out of the chairs where we were tied by the Germans.”

One of the soldiers switched on a flashlight and aimed it at Jack's hand. The wrist was grotesquely swollen!

“That sure does look broken,” one of them said.

He ran the flashlight up Jack, passing his ripped shirt, and stopped at his face. Jack tried to shield his eyes with his good hand, but that didn't block the view of the side of his face. It was as badly swollen as his wrist, and it looked like he could barely see out of the one eye.

“It looks like somebody smacked you around!”

“Somebody did!” I snapped. “That's what we've been telling you! After they tied us up, one of the German agents, I think he was the leader, hit Jack when he wouldn't talk!”

“And then George got his hand all cut up getting us out of the ropes.”

The light was switched to me. I held out my hands. One was bloody from sliding down the cinder embankment, but the gash on the other glowed even brighter red, and my shirt and pants were painted with blood and mud and marked by rips and tears.

“That looks bad, George,” Jack said.

“You both look bad. You need to get to a hospital,” one of the soldiers told us.

“We need to speak to the Lieutenant-Colonel!” I insisted.

“And we have orders not to let—”

“Forget the orders!” I snapped. “Do you think we'd do all this to ourselves if we were just trying to make up a story to fool you? We're telling you the truth about everything, and if we can't warn people then they're going to be in big trouble! People will die!”

Neither soldier said anything. The flashlight was turned off.

“You have to believe us,” I said.

“I just don't know,” one of the soldiers muttered.

“Please.”

“Both of you go to the jeep,” the first said.

“You're going to drive us?”

“I didn't say that. You two go and sit in the jeep while we talk about this . . . we have to figure this out.”

That wasn't the answer I wanted, but it was the closest I'd come to it.

“Come on, George.”

Jack and I walked slowly toward the jeep. I turned my head and looked over my shoulder. The two soldiers walked away a few dozen paces and then came to a stop and began talking. In the still night air I could hear their voices above the sound of the gravel crunching under our feet. I strained to hear but could only make out the voices and not the words.

I hopped over the side and into the back of the jeep. Jack climbed in more carefully through the door and then squeezed in between the seats and sat beside me.

“Can you hear what they're saying?” he whispered.

“Not really . . . but it sounds like an argument.”

“We don't have time for an argument. We don't have time for anything.”

“Look,” I said, pointing to the radio that sat between the seats. “Do you know how to use it? Maybe we could call in.”

“Even if I did know how to use it, don't you remember what Mr. Krum said?” Jack asked.

“I remember lots of things . . . what do you mean?”

“About him listening in on the radio. If we called, he might hear us.”

“I guess you're right.”

“Besides, I do know how to use this jeep.”

“The jeep?”

“The keys are in the ignition.”

“You can't be serious! You're going to steal the jeep?”

“Not steal it. Just borrow it.”

“Come on, Jack, let's just wait. Maybe they're going to take us!” I pleaded.

“And if they decide not to? This may be our only chance. Climb behind the wheel.”

“Me? Why me?”

“My hand. I can't steer and change gears with just one hand. You've got to do it.”

I didn't even know what to say. He wanted me to steal the jeep.

“Hurry up, George.”

“I don't even know if I can drive it.”

“It's the same as our old tractor. You drove that a thousand times.”

“But this isn't our tractor. This is a jeep. An army jeep, and you want me to steal it!”

“Keep your voice down!” he hissed.

“I don't know.”

“What's to know? Just turn the keys, throw it into first, pop the clutch and spin the wheel to get us out of here.”

“Do you know how much trouble we'll get in?”

“Do you know how much trouble could happen if we don't warn them?” Jack asked.

My point was good. His was better. Reluctantly I rose from the seat and settled in behind the wheel. I stared through the windshield at the two soldiers. They were still arguing, oblivious to what I was doing—and was about to do.

“Turn the key,” Jack said.

Just ahead in the darkness I could make out the shapes of the soldiers. I turned the key and the motor roared to life. I pushed it to first, popped the clutch and the jeep jerked forward! Over the roar of the engine I heard the sound of the soldiers yelling and saw their outlines charging toward us! I cranked the wheel and the jeep jumped off the road and roared through the field away from them, bouncing wildly, almost bucking me out of my seat. The only thing holding me in place was my grip on the wheel.

“Turn it, turn it back onto the road!” Jack screamed.

I turned it around and the jeep hit the gravel road and then overshot and bumped off on the other side. Instantly I turned the wheel the other way and first two wheels jumped up onto the gravel, and then the two on the other side!

“Change gears!” Jack screamed.

I pushed down the clutch, and pulled the gear shift back. The jeep groaned and rocked but finally settled into second, and as I pressed down on the pedal it accelerated forward.

“I can't see where I'm going!” I screamed as the wind rushed by.

“The lights! Turn on the lights!”
I fumbled around on the dashboard, searching for the switch. I knew where it was on the tractor, but here I wasn't sure. I pulled a knob and the windshield wipers jumped to life. Desperately I grabbed at another knob and the lights came on! I still wasn't exactly sure where I was going, but at least now I could see. I popped the clutch and threw it into third, accelerating even faster away from the soldiers behind us.

“All positions to the main compound!” screamed a voice over the radio, and I was so startled I almost ran the jeep off the road again.

“Infiltrators by main building! All positions to main compound!” came the voice from the radio.

“They've spotted them!” I screamed.

“Maybe!”

“Of course they have! Who else could it be?”

“Us. It could be us!” he yelled back. “Maybe they think
we're
the infiltrators!”

A rush of fear came over me. If they thought we were the people trying to break into the base, then they'd greet us with a hail of lead. Shoot first, ask questions later. For a split second I eased my foot off the gas pedal—then I plunged it down even farther. Bullets or no bullets, we'd come too far to stop now.

“Look, off to the side!” Jack screamed. “Other vehicles are coming!”

Two sets of headlights were bouncing across the field, coming in our direction.

“We've got to get to the farmhouse before they stop us!” Jack yelled.

Or before they shoot us,
I thought, but I didn't say anything.

“Faster! Go faster!”

I pushed the pedal right down to the floor. The engine roared and the wind shrieked past my head.

“More company to the right!” Jack yelled.

I glanced over and saw another vehicle charging through the night. This one was barely visible because it had its lights off. It was angling toward us, but we were moving faster and it wasn't going to catch us.

The trail curved sharply and we passed through the orchard—the compound was up ahead. I could just make out the dark shape of the big barn against the sky.

“Blow your horn!” Jack yelled.

“What?”

“Drive with one hand on the horn. We want them to know we're coming. We need the Lieutenant-Colonel to come out!”

“Are you sure?”

“Do it! Just do it!”

I took one hand off the wheel and laid it on the horn. It blared out a warning as we bounced down the road. Our headlights flashed on the barn and I turned the wheel sharply to the right to pass between the buildings and—

“Look out!” Jack screamed.

I jammed on the brakes! Up ahead, trapped in the headlights, was a group of men, all dressed in black. It was Mr. Krum and the German agents! One of them spun around and
aimed a rifle right at us! All at once, the muzzle of the gun exploded with a red flare, the windshield of the jeep shattered and I cranked the wheel to the left, crashing through some bushes. And then . . . everything went black.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I STARTLED AND SAT
bolt upright in bed.

“George! You're all right!” My mother rushed over and threw her arms around me.

“Of course I'm . . . where am I?”

She released me from her grip and I looked around. I was in a bed . . . in a room.

“You're in the hospital. You've been unconscious for almost six hours since the crash.”

“The crash . . . that's right . . . we were driving and then we saw them and . . . where's Jack?” I asked desperately. “Is he okay?”

“Jack is fine. He's in the room just across the hall. His wrist and jaw are broken but mainly they just wanted him here for observation.”

I let out a big sigh of relief.

“It was you they were worried about. How does your head feel?”

“It feels . . .” I reached up and touched my forehead. It was swollen and painful to the touch.

“You bashed it when you went through the windshield.”

“I went through the windshield?” I asked. “I remember the crash and then . . . nothing,” I said, shaking my head. “At least everybody's okay.”

“Not everybody. I'm so sorry to have to tell you, but Mr. Krum died in the crash.”

“He died? Did I hit him?”

“Of course not. He was driving the car.”

“No he wasn't, he was in my headlights and I slammed on the brakes and—”

“That's not how it happened. They said you'd be a little confused—the doctor said you had a bad concussion. One of the doctors has been sitting out there every moment since you came in. I'll go and get him. He's such a nice man.”

My mother left the room.

What was she talking about, me being in a car with Krum? My head was hurting, but there was no way that I could forget everything and—

“Little Bill!” I exclaimed, as he and another man walked in with my mother.

“I prefer that my patients call me ‘Doctor,'” he said with a smile.

“Patients? But . . .”

He was wearing a white lab coat and had a stethoscope around his neck. He did look like a doctor. He winked at me. “I'm so happy to see that you're up and around.” He turned
to my mother. “Would you excuse us while we re-examine our patient?”

“Oh . . . certainly . . . but I was just wondering how he is,” my mother said anxiously.

“I'll advise you of everything right after the examination,” the other man said.

My mother leaned over and kissed me on the side of the head. “I'll just go over and see your brother. I'll be right across the hall.”