CHAPTER TEN
“Here Come the Tanks!”
LONG before dark, André, too tired to care any more what happened, had stumbled into his old bed in the kitchen. During the night he roused at times to hear the hum of trucks and clumping feet. He did not hear the squadrons of planes coming in to drop relief troops and much-needed ammunition to the hard-pressed ’chutists.
At dawn he awoke completely fresh, and went to look at his now unfamiliar Normandy landscape.
Women tramped to damaged houses, distributing hot food and blankets. Two small boys were investigating a badly smashed glider which had settled on a hedge.
André had just decided to run to the Lescot farm, to inquire whether Victor had come home, when Weller called to him to come to breakfast.
Afterwards, he went about his usual farm chores.
Troops from the beach landings filtered through the village that day. Their officers paused briefly at the Gagnon house to exchange reports with Captain Dobie.
“Well, at any rate, our tanks are beginning to come across the causeways now,” a newly arrived major told the captain. “That’ll help the airborne boys.”
“It will be a great relief,” Captain Dobie said. “Our parachute fellows have been fighting hard without any rest.”
The major nodded. “The only trouble is,” he said, “somebody overlooked the way these thick French hedgerows stop our tanks cold. We’ve got to find a way to cut through them.”