could think of to say.
'I'm sure of that. Just as I am sure you had no alternative but to fire on your own troops... You have... very strange concepts of your calling in this war, do you not?'
Scarlett was beginning to understand.
'This war... is over.'
'I have a degree in military strategy from the Imperial Staff school in Berlin. I'm aware of our impending defeat... Ludendorff will have no choice once the Mezieres line is broken.'
'Then why kill me?'
The German officer came from behind the huge rock and faced Ulster Scarlett, his pistol pointed at the American's head. Scarlett saw that he was a man not much older than himself, a young man with broad shoulders - like himself. Tall - like himself, with a confident look in his eyes, which were bright blue - like his own.
'We can be out of it, for Christ's sake! We can be out of it! Why the hell should we sacrifice each other? Or even one of us... I can help you, you know!'
'Can you really?'
Scarlett looked at his captor. He knew he could not plead, could not show weakness. He had to remain calm, logical. 'Listen to me... If you're picked up, you'll be put in a camp with thousands of others. That is, if you're not shot. I wouldn't count on any officers' privileges if I were you. It'll take weeks, months, maybe a year or longer before they get to you! Before they let you go!'
'And you can change all this?'
'You're damned right I can!'
'But why would you?'
'Because I want to be out of it!... And so do you!... If you didn't you would have killed me by now... We need each other.'
'What do you propose?'
'You're my prisoner...'
'You think me insane?'
'Keep your pistol! Take the bullets out of mine... If anyone comes across us, I'm taking you back for interrogation... far back. Until we can get you some clothes - If we can get to Paris, I'll get you money.'
'How?'
Ulster Scarlett grinned a confident smile. The smile of wealth. 'That's my business... What choice have you got?... Kill me and you're a prisoner anyway. Maybe a dead man. And you haven't much time - '
'Get up! Put your arms out against the rock!'
Scarlett complied as the German officer took Scarlett's revolver out of his holster and removed the cartridges.
'Turn around!'
'In less than an hour others'll be coming up. We were an advance company but not that far ahead.'
The German waved his pistol at Scarlett. 'There are several farmhouses about a kilometer and a half southwest. Move! Mach schnell!' With his left hand he thrust Scarlett's empty revolver at him.
The two men ran across the fields.
The artillery to the north began its early morning barrage. The sun had broken through the clouds and the mist and was now bright.
About a mile to the southwest was a cluster of buildings. A barn and two small stone houses. It was necessary to cross a wide dirt road to reach the overgrown pasture, fenced for livestock which were not now in evidence. Chimney smoke curled from the larger of the two houses.
Someone had a fire going and that meant someone had food, warmth. Someone had supplies.
'Let's get into that shack,' said Ulster.
'Nein! Your troops will be coming through.'
'For Christ's sake, we've got to get you some clothes. Can't you see that?'
The German clicked the hammer of his Luger into firing position. 'You're inconsistent. I thought you proposed taking me back - far back - through your own lines for interrogation?... It might be simpler to kill you now.'
'Only until we could get you clothes! If I've got a Kraut officer in tow, there's nothing to prevent some fat-ass captain figuring out the same thing I have! Or a major or a colonel who wants to get the hell out of the area... It's been done before. All they have to do is order me to turn you over and that's it!... If you're in civilian clothes, I can get us through easier. There's so damned much confusion!'
The German slowly released the hammer of his revolver, still staring at the lieutenant. 'You really do want this war to be over for you, don't you?'
Inside the stone house was an old man, hard of hearing, confused and frightened by the strange pair With little pretense, holding the unloaded revolver, the American lieutenant ordered the man to pack a supply of food and find clothes - any clothes for his 'prisoner.'
As Scarlett's French was poor, he turned to