softly.
A few minutes passed and the orderly returned with a squad of armed soldiers led by a lieutenant. They stomped past the boys and into the office. When they came out they were marching a captain and a major before them.
Five more minutes passed and the orderly came out. He seemed much agitated.
“You will come now,” he said in husky English.
The boys followed him into the office. Herr General was a burly fellow with a bald head and a narrow chest. He had a monocle screwed into one eye which made him look fierce and tough. He glared at the boys, then snapped an order to the orderly. The man scurried away.
“Come up to my desk, you,” the general snarled.
The boys moved up and stood waiting.
“I have checked the answers you gave to questions asked you when you were captured. You said an invasion will come at once. Why did you say that?”
Stan stared at the officer. “We didn’t say any such thing,” he answered evenly. He decided that the general had heard some of their conversation over the listening device.
“Sure, an’ you got big ears, General,” O’Malley said.
Stan kicked him on the shin. The general jumped and puffed out his chest. He fixed O’Malley with a cold glare.
“Pig! Fool! Keep a civil tongue in your head or you will regret it much.”
“If you brought us here to get information, you will be disappointed, General,” Stan said. “We will not talk.”
“I brought you here to tell you that we intend to make you talk,” the general barked. “I merely wished to warn you and then to let you have a little time to think it over.”
“We are prisoners of war,” Stan reminded him.
“The code provides for disciplining prisoners of war. We have some very effective methods. You will talk and be glad to. Now get out.”
Stan and O’Malley turned toward the door. Two armed men stood waiting for them. They marched out with the guards close behind them.
“Sure, an’ this is a nice mess,” O’Malley grumbled.
“Could be worse,” Stan said.
The guards left them after passing them into the yard of their house. They headed for their room. Passing through the outer hall, they saw that the lecture was still going on in the living room. They went up the stairs.
Stan opened the door and O’Malley shoved into the room close behind him. They stood looking at Sim’s bunk. The straw ticking of the mattress had been slit open and some of the straw was scattered on the floor. Sim was not in the room. Stan walked over to a little table. One small light bulb was flooding the room with light.
“He was here and left in a hurry. He didn’t turn off the light.”
“I’m gettin’ out o’ here,” O’Malley growled.
“Sit down. We’re staying,” Stan said sharply. He pulled off his coat and tossed it across his bunk, then he seated himself on the foot of his bed.
“We’re going to get it in the neck, anyway,” O’Malley scowled.
“Do you know where we are, in what part of Germany?”
“Somewhere near Berlin,” O’Malley said.
“Sure, but where? We need more dope on the grounds and on the country around us. We wouldn’t get a mile from this prison farm if we did break out.”
O’Malley sat down on his bed. “Sure, you’re right. We should have had Sim tell us something about this deal.”
“Now that you mention it, Sim never told us anything,” Stan said.
“Probably didn’t know anything,” O’Malley growled.
They sat looking at each other, waiting, trying to discover some lead that might help them. Finally Stan said:
“We’ll have to clean up that straw and fix Sim’s bed before anyone comes in here snooping around.”
“Yeah,” O’Malley said but he did not move.
CHAPTER VIII
FLIGHT
Stan began cleaning up their room so that the guards checking rooms that night would not notice Sim had gone. He wanted to give Sim as much of a start as possible. While he was brushing the straw under Sim’s bunk the door opened. Both boys turned quickly. In the doorway stood Sim. His lips were parted in a thin smile.
“Sim!” Stan took a step toward the door. “We thought you had gone.”
“Quiet,” Sim whispered. “Come with me.”
He turned and moved out into the hall with Stan and O’Malley at his heels. They walked down the hall and into a corner room. Sim crossed the room and opened a window. They saw a rope dangling over the sill.
Stan peered into the darkness below but could see nothing. “There should be a guard right under this window,” he whispered.
“He has been taken care of,” Sim hissed. “You go down. We will follow.”
“Didn’t you get any guns or grenades?” O’Malley asked.
“No,” Sim answered sharply. “Hurry.”
Stan climbed through the window and slid down the rope. When his feet hit the ground he wiggled the rope. A minute later O’Malley was at his side. Sim arrived within another minute. He caught the boys’ arms and began moving away from the house.
Sim led them to the wall and along it until they came to a gate. It was open; Sim paused and Stan and O’Malley peered out. A small light burned above the gate. The light revealed a truck filled with cans. Stan grinned in the darkness. The truck was a garbage lorry. The night breeze carried that information to him. The truck smelled very strong.
“We hide among the cans,” Sim whispered.
At that moment two men appeared carrying a can. They heaved it into the truck. One of them fastened a chain across the back opening, then they moved toward the cab of the truck.
“When the light is snapped off!” Sim whispered.
From the kitchen of the house a voice shouted something in German. The truck driver answered. The light snapped off and Sim started forward with the boys beside him. The truck was sputtering and backfiring, pouring out rank smoke as they reached it. They went into it as it lurched forward. All of the cans came clanging back against the chain, almost shoving the boys out.
Quickly the three moved cans until they were up in the front of the truck next to the cab. There they crouched down with their knees pulled up. The cans made so much noise there was no danger of the boys being heard.
“’Tis a sweet smellin’ cab ye called,” O’Malley observed.
“The smell will keep the Germans from examining it very closely,” Sim answered and Stan heard him chuckle. “When we come to a lighted town we’ll each have to get into a can.”
“They’re full o’ garbage,” O’Malley protested.
“We’ll empty three cans,” Sim said. “Might as well do it while we’re on this rough country road.”
The truck was bouncing and the cans were banging. The noise was terrific and the darkness total. Stan got hold of a can. It was heavy, but with O’Malley’s help he was able to lift it up and tip it over the edge. The contents poured out on the side of the road. Two more cans were dumped.
“There goes a lot of meals for the prisoners in the ghetto,” Sim said and laughed.
“You mean to say the skunks feed prisoners garbage?” Stan asked.
“I’ve been told they let the prisoners of the lowest class pick over the garbage,” Sim answered.
Stan felt his stomach begin to turn over. O’Malley said nothing. For once he was stumped for words. They
