Nathan waited for the impact of bullet or bayonet stab to finish him. His terror was so great he was physically paralyzed. The fortunes of war! The end had come! He was interested to see what Death would be like. Let it come—quickly.
But the entire Bolshevik army lifted itself from his back. He was yanked to his feet. In front of him, lighted by the wild, barbaric flames was a huge, bearded man in a high, outlandish, lambskin hat pushed over one ear. He jabbered at Nathan crazily.
“N’panam’ayu!” (I don’t understand!) cried Nathan frantically.
But his contention had small effect on the Russian. Nathan protested hysterically that he did not understand.
The big Bolshevik grew angrier and angrier. Then a tall, lithe figure, girt with a huge cavalry sword, jammed his way forward. He looked like a Cossack, though the Cossacks were considered pro-Ally.
This man took note of Nathan’s uniform. To the boy’s stunned astonishment he spoke in broken Germanic English.
“You are American?”
“Yes,” cried Nathan. He could scarcely make himself heard amid the increasing tumult all around.
“You are American soldat—yist?”
“I’m a Y. M. C. A. man!”