ROGER'S FABULOUS VOYAGES, PART 3, CHAPTER 7. (standard:humor, 1435 words) [7/10] show all parts
Author: Danny Zil	Added: Jun 18 2012	Views/Reads: 2183/1585	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Roger is captured by the Germans as they all try to leave Klyzemadex.

SEVEN 

Next morning they rose early and got into their disguises. Old clothes,
work boots, faces blackened with coal dust, knitted swastika armbands. 
Doris had her hair tucked up under a flat cap. It was difficult to spot 
that she was female under her disguise. It was difficult to spot that 
she was female without her disguise. 

Roger's big concern was that he might say something out of order should
they meet any Germans and he and Doris had been warned to keep quiet. 

After emotional farewells to Valory and Wilf, the latter being left
several alien's brain poultices just in case, they left by the French 
windows and walked out into the fields. 

“It's goin well so far,” admitted Thropely as they strolled along. 

“Aye it is,” agreed Stan. “No sign of any Krauts.” 

“So ye reckon we should reach yer Ship in about half an hour, lad?”
Thropely asked Roger. 

Roger nodded. “Yes. It's straight on, near a patch of jungle.” 

“Oh I know place,” said Doris. “Got some lovely flowers an plants growin
there.” 

“Yes, I remember,” agreed Roger. “That's what drew me in. Then I got
lost.” 

Thropely and Stan sniggered at Roger's mishap and he grinned back at
them. As they made their way through some tall thick bushes however the 
smiles were wiped from their faces. There was a clearing on the other 
side of the bushes and as they stepped through the last of them they 
saw the checkpoint. 

There was a small hut at the far side of the clearing with a swastika
flag flying from it and some bored looking soldiers loitering around. 
An old Army jeep was parked next to the hut. 

“Christ, Germans!” cursed Thropely. 

“We can't double-back,” said Stan. “Bastards have seen us.” 

Indeed they had. One of the soldiers pointed at them and called out. The
others unslung their rifles and pointed them at the group. 

“Right, we'll just have t' try an brass-neck us way through,” said
Thropely. “My Ship's not too far past them,” Roger told him. 

“Alright lad. Just remember – try t' keep mouth shut,” Thropely warned
him. “You too, our Doris. Let me an Stan do talkin.” 

As the four ragged miners strolled across the clearing towards the hut
they could see a young Lieutenant coming out, pulling on his cap. He 
buttoned up his tunic, strolled forward a short distance then stood, 
hands on hips, waiting for them. 

“Guten morgen!” he called, as they approached. 

Thropely doffed his cap to him. “Allo lad. We're english. No speak
german.” 

“Ach so...english,” said the young Lieutenant, his voice heavily
accented. 

“That's right, lad,” Thropely told him. 

They reached him and halted. Behind him, over by the hut, the bored
group of soldiers grinned and nudged each other. An air of expectancy 
hung over them and their boredom vanished. 

“So,” began the young Lieutenant, “you...you are...you,” he trailed off,
obviously struggling for the english words. He turned to the group of 
soldiers. “Was ist english fur Bergarbeiter?” he asked. (What is 


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