“They’re takin’ us to another prison in a few minutes. The guard says we get to eat before we’re locked up again. We have to be questioned by the Gestapo.” O’Malley leered angrily.
“You mean German Intelligence,” Stan corrected.
“All the same. Himmler runs ’em both,” O’Malley answered.
They were interrupted by a shout from the hallway. A burly German officer stamped into the room and stood looking at the men.
“Get to your feet!” he yelled.
The men slowly rose and stared at the officer. He glared at them, his eyes moving over them slowly.
“You should be treated as swine, you bomb cities and kill non-combatants. Der Fuehrer does not like this,” he snarled.
“We are only following the example you set at Warsaw and Rotterdam,” a British major said as he stepped over and faced the German. “We are prisoners of war and you’ll treat us as such, my fine fellow.”
Stan moved forward quickly. The R.A.F. major stood with his feet planted well apart, facing the German. The German lashed out suddenly with a knotted fist. The major swayed a bit and ducked the blow. He started a right cross for the German’s jaw but Stan dived in and pinned his arms.
“Swine! Dog!” the German bellowed. “You will pay for this.”