Stan thought fast. He wanted the others to escape. They had to get away. He was getting set for another dive when the searchlight found him and pinned him to the bank like a trapped animal. Guards with machine guns covered him threateningly. He didn’t have a chance. An officer was shouting at him in German.
“Hold your fire, I’ll get out,” Stan shouted. He wanted to hold the attention of the men until his friends got away.
“A Britisher,” the officer shouted. “Get out on the bank!” His English was a bit thick but understandable.
Stan climbed out and was surrounded by armed men in an instant. He was marched up the bank and halted under the floodlight. The officer stood glaring at him.
“Where do you come from?” he demanded.
“I came out of that canal, and it was a bit chilly,” Stan answered. “I’d appreciate some dry clothing.”
“American!” the officer exclaimed. “A spy dressed in the clothes of a farmer.”
“I just borrowed these. I’m not a spy. You can check up on that.” Then Stan clamped his lips shut. If he revealed his identity now, the Germans would know where to look for O’Malley and Sim.
“A spy, no less,” the officer snapped. “Come with me.”
“Gladly,” Stan said.