The Nazi lifted blue eyes to Stan and shook his head grimly.
"Better talk, son, you are bleeding plenty."
"That would be revealing a military secret," the Nazi said in clipped English.
"I suppose you think I followed regulations and war rules in ducking down into this pile of rocks to drag you out of your crate?" Stan's eyes were cold and hard.
The Jerry coughed and smiled weakly. "I am indebted to you," he said slowly.
"If I don't get you to a doctor, you'll be as bad off as if you were still in that bonfire," Stan snapped. "Talk and I'll see what I can do. And hand me that Luger." He reached down and jerked the officer's gun from him. The Nazi had been too weak to make fast use of it.
"I suppose you are right." The officer coughed again and his hand slipped to his breast where his tunic was fast becoming soaked with blood.
"I might as well talk." Fear was showing in his eyes.
"Good. Who tipped you off?"
"A man who has quite an inside position with you. His name is—" The Jerry paused and coughed.