“How far are we from Visé?” he asked the driver.
The man pointed with his whip. “You see that black knob over there?” he said.
“Yes.”
“That’s a clump of trees just above the Meuse. Visé lies below it.”
“But how far?”
“Not more than two kilomètres.”
Two kilomètres! About a mile and a half! Dalroy was tortured by indecision. “Shall we be there by daybreak?”
“With luck. I don’t know what’s been happening here. These damned Germans are swarming all over the place. They must be making for the bridge.”
“What bridge?”
“The bridge across the Meuse, of course. Don’t you know these parts?”