The silence, broken only by the steady drone of airplane motors in the skies overhead, was shattered by the stuttering explosions of sub-machine guns. The bullets thudded into the thick, hard clay walls of the hangar.
Suddenly three rifles and a pistol were thrust through the windows at the rear of the hangar and they fired repeatedly—into the air! Then a white flag was thrust from the middle window on a long pole, so quickly that it must have been ready for the purpose.
“We surrendair!” called a voice from the hangar. “Les Américains—zey have conquered us!”
“All right,” shouted Lieutenant Scotti, advancing from the smoke screen about ten feet. “Toss all guns out the window.”
“Oui, oui, at once!” came back the voice.
Half a dozen rifles, three automatics, and two light machine guns were thrust from the windows and clattered to the ground. By this time two other groups of American soldiers had appeared, one to the right and one to the left of Scotti’s group.
“It’s all over,” he called to them. “Hold your fire! They’ve surrendered.”
“My golly!” cried a voice from the group on the left. “What did we come along for—just to take a ride?”
But Lieutenant Scotti had turned his attention back to the hangar.
“Now come out that side door,” he called. “One at a time, with your hands up.”