Beckoning, he turned to run.
“Just a minute there,” the soldier shouted. “Come back here, petit garçon. What’s this you’re talking about?”
André was terrified by the wasted minutes.
He shouted, “Come! A car full of Nazi officers just drove into a farmyard back there. Hurry! You can take them, but hurry.”
The scattered scouting party began to move ahead warily.
“It’s a chance the kid is okay,” the sergeant called back. “We’ll have to take a look. Keep your eyes open—and keep separated.”
The sergeant quickened his pace, but cautioned, “Take it easy, kid. Let us get ’em.”
Before they reached the Jacquard gate, sheltered by bushes, André fell to his knees and crept toward it.
He had not quite reached it when two quick shotgun blasts rang out.
“That’s Victor’s gun,” he said. “The Nazis must have started to leave.”