"Yes?" Stan bent and steadied him. He was afraid the Nazi would pass out before he spoke again.
"Arch Garret," the Nazi said, then went limp in Stan's arms.
Stan stared down in the gray face for a moment. His lips were drawn into a tight line and his eyes were blazing. Then he remembered his promise to the unconscious Nazi. Picking the man up he carried him to the stone fence which separated the field from the road.
An old car had halted and a man and a woman sat staring at the smoking Nazi plane and the trim Spitfire. When Stan appeared they started to get the old car into action.
"Wait!" Stan shouted.
The man recognized Stan's uniform and a broad smile came to his lips. He halted the car and waited while Stan carried the wounded man to the roadside.
"Can you get him to a doctor at once?" he asked.
"Verra easy," the man said.
"Take him to a doctor, then notify your authorities that you have a Nazi prisoner. You should get a handsome reward for such a prize. He is a pilot and pilots are valuable."
The man and the woman began to talk at the same time. Stan loaded the wounded officer into the back seat and waved to the pair. Turning, he headed for his Spitfire.