"We are
on our way to camp. We saw you turn from your line of march and
come our way as though you wanted to speak to us. What do you
want?"
Frank had spoken in German and they all understood him, but there
was no answer ready, although the men's eyes glowered as they
rested on his uniform and there were muttered exclamations.
"Is there any one of you that speaks English?" Frank asked, after
waiting a moment.
Again a whispered consultation, and one of their number was pushed
forward by the others.
"Do you speak English?" Frank asked.
"Yes," replied the man roughly. "I lived for five years in your
accursed America."
The tone and words were offensively insolent, but Frank took no
notice of them.
"Then perhaps you can tell me what you and your comrades want with
us," he said.
"We want those prisoners you have with you," the man replied.
"What prisoners?" parried Frank.
"Don't try to fool us," the man answered angrily. "We saw those
men walking with their hands on their heads, and we know they are
Germans. We want them, and we're going to have them."
"How are you going to get them?" Frank asked quietly.
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