"Catchin' them?" queried Micky.
"Ay, jist like catchin' canaries. But, listen, when thae chaps turn their backs, mak' a jump for it. Nae killin', though. Haunds up, and then gie them a lump o' breid."
"Breid?"
"Dae whit yer tell't. I'm fed up wi' yer questions. If yer feart, awa' hame." This sharp retort ended Micky's fears. For the next ten minutes they lay watching their prey. Then came their chance. The two sentries met and turned their backs to have a chat. With a light bounding step, Spud and Micky reached their men. The startled [pg 254] sentries turned and then jumped for their rifles, which were leaning against a tree. Too late, though. A glistening bayonet and a low command, "Haunds up," ended their service in the German Army. Both held their hands up in terror, expecting a sudden despatch to the heavenly land, at the same time tearfully muttering, "Don't hurt me—Don't hurt me," for, like nearly all Germans, they spoke English well.
"Here," said Spud to his man, handing a lump of bread and a sausage. The man grabbed it like a hungry wolf. His comrade did the same with Micky's peace-offering. This bait reduced them to a state of friendliness and civility. Indeed, the attitude of Spud and Micky amazed them. They had been told that the British Army were murderers and barbarians. When they had finished their simple repast, Spud casually inquired—
"Whaur's yer picket?"
"Back there," said one, pointing to the end of the wood.
"Hoo strong?"
"About a hundred."
"Any Maxims?"