“The TANKS! The tanks!”
André’s heart thumped with excitement.
“Some sight, eh, boy?” Weller shouted.
With Weller, André ran out to reach up and shake hands with the tank men.
The tank commanders and the gunners, André thought, were even wilder-looking creatures than the ’chutists.
The men seemed colossal, standing in their turrets before the radio antennae that wavered nervously, like an insect’s feelers, with the sway of the tanks. Pushed-up goggles over helmets, and earphones, made drivers and gunners seem part of the weird contraptions.
“They are wonderful,” André said. “I wish I could have seen them come ashore from the ships that brought them across the Channel.”
Sergeant Weller frowned. “I don’t think you’d have liked it, son. Only a few hours ago these men came off landin’ craft that were bein’ shot at by Nazis from every direction. These guys are just the lucky ones that didn’t get hit.”
The gathered villagers cheered, and the sound of their welcome rang out far up the road.
André was still looking for Victor. But Victor had not been seen that day.