“We’ve got to get those bridgeheads. Move!” Captain Dobie pounded the table. “Orders!”
Sergeant Weller turned on his heel, shouted commands to round up all the men, and left.
But just outside the door he jerked Slim aside. “You stay,” he ordered. “I’m not gonna leave the cap’n here alone with a broken leg. What would he do if some Nazis came along?”
“You’ll get me courtmartialed yet, Sarge,” Slim objected.
“If you don’t beat me to it. Stay out of sight.”
The sergeant barked a command, and guns and men moved away through the mud.
It was nearly full daylight now. When André turned back into the house he saw by the clock that it was quarter to six.
What would his family say if they knew he had not been to bed at all? He wondered sleepily whether to lie down quietly in a corner.
The captain was looking at his watch.
André had taken a step toward him when the house was shaken under a dreadful blast of sound.