He paused for breath. “Well, got to get going. Lieutenant!”
Carson emerged from inspecting the bullet holes in the plane, again chattering rapidly. “How are we going to get this boy home, sir? He can’t walk. It’s too far.”
The general snorted. “Send him in a jeep, of course—with some new orders for Captain Dobie.”
An iron-faced sergeant appeared and saluted.
“Oh, there you are, Streukoff,” shouted the general. “Take this boy to Captain Dobie. Boy knows where his command post is, over there somewhere.” He jerked a large thumb toward inland Normandy.
At the plane, he called back, “And mind you get a receipt for him.”
Carson called to André, “We had fun, eh? Be seeing you,” and opened the throttle.
Half an hour later, a jeep bearing André in the front seat, rocketed around a line of trucks and soldiers into André’s own village.
He had been busy for some minutes thinking how he was to explain his trip to Captain Dobie.
As the jeep rolled down the village street André saw that something unusual had happened. The neighbors were running toward a little gathering of people.