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“Well, I guess that proves it,” Frangie says
“Can’t argue with facts,” Hinkley says solemnly
Ahead is the first village they’ve come across, maybe six or seven es, built on a hill, approached by a steep, serpentine road that leaves them exposed to possible fire from above
A squad is dismounted and sent ahead on foot in a cautious reconnaissance Frangie watches their progress until they round a corner and disappear from view
A rush of rag-clad children appears and surrounds the trucks, begging and staring One little boy wants to touch one of therips her hand and with his other hand touches the black skin of her aret the color to come off
An ancient narled, his spine twisted, ar stick, hobbles to Lieutenant Waterstone, standing beside his jeep There follows a conversation of sorts, in hand gestures and frustrated looks Soestures, but at least one of the girls can read a reat certainty to the map, then up at the road, then back at the map
Sergeants Green and Lipton are summoned forward, and they confer with the lieutenant and with various gesturing, nodding Sicilians who have grown into a sie’s squad and another are summarily tossed off their comfortable trucks and made to march steeply uphill into the town
“Locals say there’s a couple 88s right in the town square up ahead,” Sergeant Green explains as three dozen GIs surround hi the and don’t shoot unless you see a Kraut or Eye-tie uniform”
They for back a few hundred yards Frangie is with this second group They enter the town proper, walking along streets so narrow and overhung with balconies that the trucks would never have song voices, at first charh, the urchins fall away and a tingle clile old wo wine, a ripe pepper, and two onions
Froie hears the sounds of laughter and argument, the clatter of pots and pans, and she s fish But the shutters have been closed up, and aside froh a slat, there is not a Sicilian to be seen
No one has to tell the GIs to be alert, the air practically vibrates with menace They near what has been described to them as the town center Lieutenant Waterstone consults hisPal Lipton’s squad, down an alley, intending to flank what they believe is the German position
Silence but for the sound of boots on cobblestones Every rifle at the ready Eyes searching, searching every doorway, balcony, , and roofline
A sudden loud, braying laugh and out of a doorway steps a German soldier He has a slice of pizza in one hand, a bottle of white wine in the other, his Sch over his shoulder
The German freezes Gapes Reaches for his weapon Thinks better of it, turns to run, and Walter Green, late of Iowa, takes quick steps, runs, grabs, and hauls him backward, off-balance, by his uniform collar Green has his knife There’s a blur, a pitiful yelp that beco sound, and a fountain of blood The blood sprays across the cobbles and up the wall beneath a defaced picture of Mussolini
Green bears the ht for a round, where the rest of the Geraps between cobblestones, first spraying, then pulsating, then trickling