The three Huns laughed uproariously. Under the temporarily exhilarating effect of the rank spirit they were beginning to forget their physical exhaustion.
"To be on the safe side," continued von Gobendorff, "it will be necessary for me to get as far away from the Nth-West African Regiment as I can. I presume that you have no objection to my leaving you, Herr Oberst?"
Von Lindenfelt grunted assent.
"Can you get clear of the colony?" he asked. "Every frontier is guarded, while since the Jaguar succeeded in running her cargo of quick-firers ashore even the coast is rigidly patrolled by those accursed English cruisers."
"Give me a dozen native carriers, rifles and ammunition, and I'll wager that before another fortnight I'll be in Rhodesia," declared von Gobendorff. "Once there the rest will be easy; train to Cape Town, mail-boat to Plymouth, our splendid unterseebooten permitting; then, having applied to a certain compatriot in London for a forged passport, I'll cross to Flushing and be in German territory three months from now."
"If you do, please don't forget to inform the authorities at Berlin that I am still doing good work for the Fatherland," remarked the hauptmann earnestly. "The War Office seems to forget us out here."
"Quite so," agreed von Lindenfelt. "We do not get even Iron Crosses, although we are still holding out after two years of incessant guerrilla warfare. Only the other day——"
A junior officer stood in the doorway, his flaccid features working with excitement.
"Pardon, Herr Oberst," he exclaimed, as he saluted. "An English aeroplane——"
"Donnerwetter!" interrupted the German excitedly. "Is that so? Von Argerlich, I trust that there is a positively bomb-proof shelter available? How far away is the accursed machine, Herr Schmidt? Is it flying in the direction of M'ganga?"