One of them with corporal chevrons on his tattered tunic sleeve stepped forward until the tip of his wicked looking bayonet was within an inch of Dave's neck.
"You are Boches!" he shouted and nodded at the wrecked plane. "We saw you dive down on us. Well, you will not dive again. We shall...."
"Wait, wait!" Dave shouted in wild alarm. "I tell you we are not German. He's English, and I'm an American. We have just escaped from Germany. We were prisoners there. We have to get to Allied Headquarters at once. We have valuable information."
The Belgian corporal hesitated and looked puzzled. His men obviously did not believe Dave. They made snarling sounds in their throats and shuffled forward a bit. Dave opened his mouth to explain some more, but Freddy beat him to the punch. The young English boy suddenly stepped forward and a stream of words poured from his thin lips. He had lived many years on the Continent and he knew how to deal with either the French or the Belgians.
"Listen to me, you lugger heads!" he ranted at them. "My friend speaks the truth. We have just escaped from Germany, and we have important information. Take us to your commanding officer at once, do you hear? Do we look like Germans? Of course not! Where are your heads, your brains? Have you not seen us risk our lives trying to reach this side of the lines? Take us to your commanding officer. He may even recommend you for a medal. You hear me? Take us to your commanding officer or I shall make a personal complaint to the Commander in Chief of British Army Staff, General Caldwell. Attention, at once! Take us to your commanding officer, now!"
Grins slowly appeared on the faces of the battle wearied Belgian soldiers. The corporal chuckled and lowered his bayonet from Dave's throat.
"The little one spits fire when he speaks," he murmured and nodded his head. "No, I do not believe now that you are Germans. But you had a very lucky escape, my two little ones. We do not feel very pleased today. Nor will we be happy for a long time to come, I am afraid. It looks bad, very bad. Come! I will take you to my Lieutenant."
"It looks bad?" Freddy asked quickly. "Can't you hold them? Aren't the British and the French helping?"
The Belgian corporal shrugged and wiped his tired eyes with a dirt and mud smeared hand.
"It is possible," he grunted. "I do not know. We hear very little except the guns and those cursed bombs. But, there are no British or French here. Only Belgians. And we cannot stop them. We have not the men, or the guns, or the tanks. And planes? Where are all our planes? Look at the sky! It is filled with nothing but Boche planes. Yes, my little one, it looks very bad. But we are not afraid to die. No!"