Escape From Stalag VIIIB

A Little Trading

Jahr drei , Tag zweiundvierzig

Somewhere along the Rio Negro, Amazon Tributary, Nearing Manaus

“That was one big Mud Monster!” said Taffy, “I still haven’t gotten most of the bastard off of my clothing.”

“Yeah, nice of the little buggers to set a trap at the portage for us like that. Too bad the Germans aggravated relations with the natives so badly, or else they mighta been more of a help than a hindrance during this little walkabout…” replied the Padre.

“Hey guys, we’re coming up on something around this point here.” yelled Terry from the helm, “Looks like some smoke rising behind that low ridge of rock.”

Joining him on the small bridge, Piotr looked, “Too little smoke for a big fire, too much for a campfire. Maybe it is the trading post the radio referenced?”

“Well, nothing to do but stop by and say ‘Hi’, eh mates?” Taffy said from the main deck below.

“Righto, chief. Making course for the smoke…”

(two hours later)

“Well lads, that Eric fellow at the trading post could have been more helpful.” Taffy snorted.

“As it was, after we all decided not to shoot each other, we came out ahead.” Terry answered, “In addition to taking some supplies, and his radio, so he couldn’t warn the Nazis we were coming, we also acquired a new ally,” he turned and clapped Francois on the shoulder, “our fine expat Frenchy here and his seaplane will come in very handy, I’m sure!”

“Just remember, mon ami,” said Francois, “you promised me payment…”

“No problem, my friend. No problem. Stick with us and the skies the limit!” laughed Terry.

“Shouldn’t that be his line?” chuckled Wulf



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