The paddy wagon turned a corner and hit a thick patch of green ice (the new term for multiple frogs affecting driving conditions). It wavered in its course, then gave in to its high centre of gravity, toppling over. One small crash for men, one giant leap for the fatalities of frog kind. The statistics were staggering, but no matter how many herps hopped to that great lily pad in the sky their numbers were always bolstered seemingly by some ancient hyper hydra spell, remove one frog and a million would take its place. Not even rabbits could procreate this quickly, even if you couldn't do the math, something didn't add up.
Erhard crawled out of the back of his transportation. Hadn't this happened in Commando, except Arnie was liberated by a rocket launcher that blew up the vehicle without causing him injury? The cops in this ride had been spared the fate of their movie counterparts, but were out cold in the front. Erhard managed to emerge relatively unscathed. This could be the hero turn he was looking for.
Ironically the frogs were Erhard's mini saviours, he could've bundled them all up there (the ones that had aided him in his miraculous escape) and showered flowery German kisses over every one -- if they hadn't already been smeared like a healthy looking yet strangely off putting condiment across the tarmac. There was no time for this sentimental sniveling, action was required, but first he needed to get his bearings. He decided to ask the peculiar couple who were fidgeting around and trying on the public rubbish bin?