The Adventures of the Flash Gang, Episode Three: Berlin Breakout by M.M. Downing And S.J. Waugh masterfully takes the history of World War II and makes it accessible for all middle grade readers, focusing on characters’ self-reliance, resourcefulness, and teamwork. Below is an excerpt from the middle grade historical fiction book:

Chapter 1
Outbound

“Ow! Pearl!”

Twelve-year-old Lewis Carter staggered sideways as his best friend, Pearl Alice Clavell, climbed onto his thin shoulders to reach a top bookshelf in the dusty file room of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette newspaper offices.

“Hang on.” She grunted, her hands gripping his head. “I’m almost up.”

“Yeah, and you’re taking my hair with you!”

“Almost,” Pearl repeated between clenched teeth as she wobbled precariously.

Then: “Okay.”

Lewis sighed in relief as she grabbed the edge of the shelf and hauled herself upright, taking some of the weight off his shaking shoulders.

“See it?” he asked.

“Patience, Nigel.” (Nigel was what Pearl called Lewis, involving a long story about her fascination with a weekly radio program named The Adventures of Lola Lavender.)

“Well, hurry, would you? We have a train to catch.”

“Uh-huh.” Pearl skimmed the books that were filed there. “Algiers, Athens, Bangkok…” she murmured.

She leaned to the right and Lewis staggered to keep his balance. “We should have swiped it from Boone’s desk before he put it back,” he grumbled.

“But then he would have known what we…Wait! I’ve—”

There was a fumble, a clunk, another fumble, an abrupt “oof!” and suddenly Pearl and Lewis were both flat on the worn rug that covered the floor.

“Did you”—Lewis hacked some carpet dust from his lungs—“get it?” He rearranged his eyeglasses and looked over at Pearl. She was beaming victoriously, arm outstretched.

“Here you are, Sir Nigel. One Berlin street map.”

Relieved, Lewis sat up, taking what was clutched between Pearl’s fingers. The folds were sharp and the paper stiff. Barely used. Few Pittsburgh reporters needed a street map to the capital city of Germany. Except, that is, for last week when their reporter friend, Osgood Boone, used the map for a very particular purpose. It would be years before anyone realized the map had now been pinched…also for a very particular purpose.

“Perfect,” Lewis announced, tucking it into his jacket. “Let’s go.”

“Open it,” said Pearl, scooting next to Lewis.

“What, now? There isn’t time. Besides…” Lewis nudged his chin toward the door.

“We must,” insisted Pearl, reaching for his jacket. “On rescue missions such as the one we are about to undertake, it is necessary to memorize all material, in case we lose anything or if…”—she lowered her voice—“we are caught and have to eat the evidence.”

Lewis fended her off. “How about we just don’t get caught? Oh, for—”

“Well, of course we won’t get caught.” Map successfully in hand, Pearl opened the first fold. “Oh.”

“What?”

Pearl cleared her throat.

“This might take a moment. Berlin is a very big city.” She peered closer. “My, these street names are quite…inscrutable.”

Lewis glanced at the study door again.

“Pearl, come on,” he urged. “We have to get outside to meet Duck. He’ll come inside to find us if we’re not there, and if Boone spies Duck, he’ll know something’s up. He already overheard Duck talking about the train station.”

“Fine.” Pearl sighed and re-folded the map.

“And if we—” Lewis broke off as the doorknob twisted. The Post-Gazette’s local events photographer, Mabel Reese, peeked in.

“Hi, kids.”

“Oh, uh…” Lewis scrambled to his feet, trying to block Pearl from view. “Hello!”

Not much got past Mabel. Her gaze went from Lewis to the rest of the room, then back to Lewis. A brow arched above her horn-rimmed glasses. “Well, don’t you two look guilty.” She pushed the door wider.

“No we don’t,” Lewis blurted, whirling back to Pearl with alarm. If Mabel figured out their plans, she’d put them under lock and key.

But the Berlin map had vanished from sight. Pearl stood batting her eyelashes at the photographer, gushing, “What a lovely dress, Miss Reese!”

“Uh-huh.” Mabel folded her arms. “What are you two up to?”

“Not a thing!” said Pearl innocently. “We were just…er…”

“Yes?” Mabel leaned a shoulder against the doorframe as if she had all the time in the world to hear about it.

Pearl gave a tremendous sigh. “All right. We were plotting.”

Lewis sucked in his breath.

Mabel looked from Lewis to Pearl and then back again.

“Plotting,” she repeated.

“Against Mr. Pickering,” clarified Pearl. “We are plotting the evil steel baron’s downfall. Again.” Mr. Pickering was J.J. Pickering, Pearl and Lewis’s nemesis and the reason they were snooping for a Berlin street map in the first place.

Lewis exhaled. Mabel laughed.

“That’s all? Get in line. Anyway,” she added, straightening, “Os asked me to find you. He’s finished with your letter.”

“Oh,” said Lewis, putting on a smile he hoped didn’t look too phony. “That’s wonderful.”

“Indeed,” Mabel said, darting a glance around the room as she ushered them out.

“Os is eager for you to hear it.”

Lewis shot a secret “I told you we’d be late!” look that Pearl accepted with an apologetic tilt of her head, and then followed Mabel.

The main newsroom bustled with its usual afternoon energy. The clacking typewriters, ringing telephones, chattering reporters, and hum from the printing presses on the ground floor made a happy din. Everything looked to be normal, despite a faint dampness to the air and a lingering scent of dirty river water. Two weeks ago, the disastrous St. Patrick’s Day flood had surged several feet into the Post-Gazette headquarters, as it had into every other building in downtown Pittsburgh. Only now was the city righting itself, the newspaper back in full swing.

Osgood Boone was at his corner desk in his usual ruffled state. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, his tie was askew, and his dark hair stuck out around the pencil tucked behind his ear. He was waving a crisp sheet of paper between ink-stained fingers. The letter he’d promised to write.

“Finished,” he called cheerfully as Pearl and Lewis approached. “This should do the trick.”

Lewis took the letter from him and scanned it. Boone was a thorough, if messy, reporter but this letter was neither. It was very formal, written on the newspaper’s official stationery, dated April, 1936. That was followed by an extremely long address for the United States ambassador to Germany, including his name and department, a building, a suite number, and street before the final, prominent Washington, DC.

The rest was fairly short.

Lewis read aloud:

Dear Ambassador Dodd,

I have come upon information that Professor Harold Carter, lately of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, is being held against his will in the city of Berlin, Germany, your host country. He is said to be lodged at 16 Hornetstrasse. His family urgently requests that an Embassy officer be dispatched to investigate. You may reach me through the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette at the above address and phone number.

With Regards,
Osgood Boone, Investigative Reporter.

“What do you think?” asked Boone eagerly.

“That’s…ah…very nice,” Lewis offered politely.

It was a nice letter, a very respectful request for the U.S. Embassy to find Lewis’s father, not the dire RESCUE MY DAD FROM J.J. PICKERING’S CLUTCHES IMMEDIATELY!!! demand that Lewis had originally suggested and Boone (and Mabel) had rejected. Screaming would not work in this circumstance, they’d told him. If an alarm was sounded, word would likely get back to Pickering and then something even worse might happen to Lewis’s kidnapped father. Discretion was critical, Boone had insisted. In fact, the reason he hadn’t gone directly to the authorities with the news of Professor Carter’s kidnapping was worry that J.J. Pickering would learn of their efforts. The richest man in Pittsburgh had friends and informants in every necessary place.

“But Pickering gave me the address himself!” Lewis had grumbled privately to Pearl. “Why wouldn’t he expect us to the sound the alarm? I mean, obviously I’m going to rescue my dad.”

“It’s how we rescue him,” Pearl had replied, with all the authority of someone who claimed to be an expert in subterfuge. “If the evil boss is waiting for an alarm to be sounded, then we will sound no alarm. It is of the utmost importance that we catch Pickering unawares. We have to not do what Pickering expects us to do.”

“Hey, Lewis?” Boone waved a hand and Lewis snapped back to the present.

“Look, I wish I could have sent a telegram rather than a letter—it would be so much faster—but then I’d have to get the paper’s permission for the expense, explain the reason and all that. Editor Sturges is already terrified of what Pickering could do to the paper. One bad word from him and the Post-Gazette would have to fold.”

“Sure,” said Lewis, shrugging.

“It’s a lovely letter,” Pearl added enthusiastically. Boone raised a brow.

“No plotting, you two,” he warned.

“Plotting? Us?” Pearl asked indignantly.

“We are going to go through the proper channels, as we discussed.”

“Proper channels,” Pearl repeated emphatically.

“Lewis?” Boone asked sternly.

“Yes, proper channels,” Lewis muttered, his mind awhirl.

Related: 5 Middle Grade Historical Fiction To Help Kids Understand The Current Political Moment

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