It's manoeuvres, sir.

Territorials." "They didn't look like Territorials," objected the chauffeur.

"They looked like Germans." Protected by the deepening dusk, the constable made no effort to conceal a grin.
"Just Territorials, sir," he protested soothingly; "skylarking maybe, but meaning no harm.

Still, I'll have a look round, and warn 'em." A voice from beneath the canvas broke in angrily: "I tell you, they were Germans.

It's either a silly joke, or it's serious, and you ought to report it.