"Two English prisoners, Herr Colonel," he said. "We found them stumbling across the sand. They seem surprised that we were not of their own forces. I have taken their guns away from them. Here they are."
The corporal went forward two steps and placed the boys' automatics on the tables. The German colonel didn't give them so much as a glance. He kept his slitted eyes on his prisoners and stared at them as though they had just popped out of some museum. Dave stared back weary-eyed at him, and tried to read the look in his eyes. Did he see surprise, chagrin, or angry wonder there? He couldn't tell, because the lids were drawn so close.
"Where is your unit?"
The colonel suddenly spat out the question in German. The boys were perfect actors. They looked blank, shook their heads, and shrugged.
"Do you speak English, sir?" Dave presently said. "And could we have water, and—"
He cut himself off short as Freddy Farmer quickly played up to him. The English youth groaned, swayed on his feet, and would have fallen if Dave had not grabbed him. The little exhaustion act fooled the German colonel completely. He spat out a few words in angry annoyance, and then ordered the corporal to help Dave and Freddy to chairs just inside the tent, and to give them water. The boys gestured thanks with movements of their hands, and accepted the water canteen from the corporal. The two officers watched them in keen-eyed silence and waited until they appeared to revive a bit.
"Yes, I speak English," the colonel presently said, and surprisingly enough, without the slightest trace of an accent. "Where is your unit? I see from your uniform badges you are from the Sixth London Regiment."
"We don't know, sir," Dave mumbled as he lowered the water canteen from his lips. "We are lost. Two hours ago we saw this camp. We thought this was our regiment's post."
"How did you get lost?" the colonel demanded. "How long ago?"
"Four days, sir," Freddy spoke up. "We were on advance patrol and—"