Weller limped painfully to the jeep and Slim spun him gently around and into the back seat.
“You sure did, sir,” Weller said. “But you forgot to tell them Germans to keep away from me.”
Not far behind Weller, a line of Nazi prisoners were coming across the field, hands on head. With them, on each side, strode Americans with Tommy guns ready.
Marie was examining the injury to Weller’s leg.
“That bullet will have to be taken out,” she said. “It’s not in very deep. It won’t hurt much.”
“It’s gonna stay right there,” Weller said. “It’s probably the only proof I’ll have to show my kids I was ever in this war.”
André had been saying, “Sir,” at intervals. But he had trouble saying it loud enough to make the captain hear.
When the prisoners had been herded together under guard a little distance away, Captain Dobie sank back in his seat and smiled down.
“André,” he said, “I’m too glad to see you alive to tell you what I ought to.”