The captain and André ducked as ammunition, set off by the flames, sprayed the outside of the house.
When it was over, the captain leaned out the window, and André asked, “Did it wreck my father’s pump?”
“Just knocked down the sign that said ‘Chocolate,’” the captain said.
“That’s all right,” André laughed shakily. “We did not have any left to sell, anyway.”
Captain Dobie wiped the sweat from his face, and with André’s help, hobbled back to his easy chair and cushions.
The Germans, lined up against the wall, stared at him silently, open-mouthed.
“Are there any more tanks coming this way?” demanded the captain.
One of the Nazis, with sergeant’s stripes, said, “Nein—no more,” with surly shortness.
“Be respectful,” snapped the captain coldly. He turned to Slim. “Take them out to the yard and stand guard, Slim,” he said. “Cimino, try to raise someone on the talkie. If you can’t, get a runner to locate the colonel and tell him where we are.”
After several minutes, Cimino reported, “Some sergeant thinks our colonel’s over near the first bridgehead. He’ll pass the word along.”