“They are trapped,” André whispered, “and do not know how to get out. We must bring some soldiers before they come out.”
Victor was loosening his shotgun with trembling hands. But his experience with farmyards now served him well.
“Without a doubt, those Nazi officers have run spank into the manure pile,” he stated with satisfaction. “They will find some troublesomeness getting loose.” He took a step forward. “You must run quickly for help.”
André thought, “The first of the soldiers from the landing barges must surely be coming across the causeways by now. Captain Dobie said they would.”
Skittering along past the gate into the grassy edge of the road, he began to run toward l’Audouville as fast as his legs would carry him.
Racing against time, André could not look back. Before he reached the turn his heart leaped.
A soldier, bulky with equipment, was coming toward him. He was moving cautiously along the roadside, rifle poised. And fanning out behind him was a spaced line of Americans.
André dashed toward them.
Unsmiling and with leveled gun, the first soldier yelled, “Halt!” He then said rapidly in French, “Who are you? And where’re you going?”
André pointed back to the Jacquard farm. “Nazi officers back there. Come get them quick—please.”