He slithered more quickly now from limb to limb, and jumped. Instantly a flashlight blinded him, and a drawling voice said, “Well, what d’ya know! A little shrimp!”
The flashlight had been turned to the ground. As soon as his eyes had grown accustomed to it, André gaped at the men. Never had he seen such frightening figures: torn uniforms, faces blackened with soot, each one bristling with every kind of small arm and grenade, topped off by helmets festooned with leafy twigs.
He gasped in amazement. “Are you Americans?”
The most tattered of the men grinned. “Sure. Who you expecting? Say, how come you’re talking English?”
“My sister and I learned a lot of English from Father Duprey,” André replied, “just in case.”
“Case of what?” demanded the suspicious one.
“To help you when you came,” said André. “But sir, shouldn’t we get that man up there out of the tree?”
“It’s about time!” came from the branches near by.
André shinnied quickly up above the dangling trooper and disentangled the chute. A moment later the chutist was on the ground, unstrapping his Tommy gun.
A stocky, bristling soldier had been looking out over the highway uneasily. Now he said, “Say, Slim, we gotta get movin’. We’re supposed to get to the causeways across the flooded part. Give ’em the signal, Risso.”