Stan and O’Malley stepped forward.
“Come with me,” the young lieutenant snapped.
“What? No squad with fixed bayonets?” Stan asked and grinned.
The lieutenant smiled. “Where we are going there will be no need for an armed guard.” He walked away with Stan and O’Malley beside him. O’Malley kept a sharp eye open for a chance to escape. Stan was afraid if they passed an open door O’Malley would bolt through it.
They entered a long hallway and were marched to its far end where they entered a small room. There was a table and a few chairs.
“You may as well sit down,” the lieutenant said.
“You almost talk United States,” Stan observed.
“I should. I spent ten years in Pittsburgh,” the lieutenant explained.
“How did you come to get over here in Germany?” Stan asked.
“During those years I was working for the greater Germany,” the officer answered stiffly. “Heil Hitler.” He did an about-face as precisely as though he had been on parade before Hitler and marched out of the room.