Tully spotted the gunman first. The sunlight had caught the metal of a long barrel in the shadows of a window, flashing its glinting reflection right into the Kentuckian's eye. "Sarge," he said. "Second story, third window from the right. You see what I see?"

"Yeah," Troy said from behind him. "I see it. Can't do anything about it yet, though."

"Why not?" Tully moved his matchstick from one corner of his mouth to the other. "Pretty soon he's gonna know we're here anyhow."

"True enough," Troy agreed, and swung the machine gun around so the muzzle pointed toward the window. Then he fired. Bullet holes peppered the building's wall and a strangled scream was cut off suddenly as a body plummeted to the ground. There was a moment of silence as the jeep rolled through the archway and into the town. Then from every direction the Arabs began to shoot at them. Tully lurched forward over the steering wheel to avoid getting hit as Troy swiveled the machine gun around to return fire. The soldiers in the halftrack ahead of them were scrambling every which way while their own guns blazed; Brahl was shouting orders over the din, and Erich seemed to be having quite a time using the .50 cal in Hitch's jeep. Troy glanced over his shoulder down the narrow road at the rest of the halftracks, which they'd left parked just outside the town. The gunners there were carefully tracking the Arabs as they leaned out of windows to fire, and the muzzles of the Germans' MG34s flashed with each pull of the trigger.

"We're doin' good, Sarge!" Tully yelled. "Where do we go now?"

A loud explosion blocked out Troy's answer and the jeep jerked to a stop. The space between them and the halftrack erupted in black smoke and flames.

"Potato masher," Troy hollered. "The Arabs definitely found the supplies on Dietrich's halftrack. Tell Hitch to go down the next street on the right. That's where Dietrich went."

"Got it, Sarge," Tully replied. "Hitch," he said after fumbling with the radio. "Turn right at the next street."

"Yeah," came Hitch's garbled reply. "Radio. . .got hit. Can't. . ."

"Roger, out," Tully cut him off. He threw the handset down and took a firmer grip on the wheel. "What about Brahl, Sarge?"

"His radio's out too. But he can just follow Hitch. Watch out for that archway."

"I see it," said Tully imperturbably, unbothered by the streaking onslaught of lead he was navigating his beloved jeep through. "You just fire that thing and leave the drivin' to me."

As the Germans' and Americans' guns methodically went over each building and each window, the hail of bullets slowed and finally stopped, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of their allied opponents. Out of the corner of his eye, Troy saw the remaining Arabs disappearing into the shadowy alleyways between the buildings.

"Get ready for a second wave," he warned Tully.

But as the two jeeps and the halftrack turned the corner and pulled into the courtyard where Dietrich's vehicle sat, no second wave came. Brahl's men, except the soldier at the MG34, leapt from the halftrack and lined up, eight in all. One had his bloody arm held against his chest but still stood doggedly at attention. Brahl issued instructions to them and they fanned out, watching the buildings around the courtyard. Troy and Tully exchanged glances.

"German discipline," the moonshiner chuckled around his matchstick. "We'd better start lookin' around for Moffitt, Sarge."

Troy jumped down from the jeep, accepting the Thompson that Tully offered, and made his way over to Hitch.

"You stay here with Erich, all right? Keep an eye on him; he looks almost as nervous as you."

"Hey," Hitch protested. "This is kid's stuff to me. I've done this lots of times."

"But he hasn't," Troy said, "so keep an eye on him."

"Yeah, Sarge," Hitch responded with a resigned expression. He went over to the other jeep and hopped up behind the .50 caliber. "This is how you do it, Erich," he called. "Relax. You'll get stiff if you're tense for too long."

"Man kann nicht hier sich entspannen," Erich muttered, looking around nervously.

"Brahl." Troy motioned for the German to come over. "Look, Lieutenant, Tully and I are going to go inside. You got anyone who can come with us?"

Brahl studied him for a moment through narrowed eyes. "Ja," he said at last. "But he does not speak English."

"He doesn't need to speak English, he just needs to be smart enough to go where we direct him."

The lieutenant wisely ignored the insult. "All right," he agreed reluctantly. "Unteroffizier Steigler may go with you." He motioned a tall young man over and spoke to him briefly. The newcomer nodded fervently and turned a pair of expectant eyes to Troy.

"Okay," the American sergeant said, glancing at Tully. "Come on. We've got quite a job ahead of us."

He slipped through the arched doorway into the dark building, followed by Steigler and Tully. The shadowy hall was long and had only two doors, one at the end of the hall and one near the archway. Troy signaled for Steigler to go past him toward the far door. The German moved soundlessly down the corridor and paused with his MP40 raised.

"Jemand ist innere," he whispered. Troy glanced automatically at Tully for clarification but the Kentuckian just shrugged and then surreptitiously tried the doorknob.

"It's unlocked," he said quietly. "I'm guessing that they're in that far room there."

Troy moved to the opposite wall and pressed his ear against the door. he could hear low voices speaking a language that definitely wasn't English. "Arabs," he muttered. He listened a moment longer to ensure there was no one else inside. "Tully, grenade."

Tully dropped one into his outstretched hand and then took his Thompson. Troy nudged the door gently with his foot to make sure it would open easily, then motioned for Steigler and Tully to slip outside into the courtyard. Troy pulled the pin, kicked the door open, and threw the grenade inside the room. He leapt out of the way as the Arabs realized what had happened, but tripped as he passed through the archway and fell to his knees. The first thing that came to mind was the thought that he was far too close to be safe from the explosion. Then he was thrown forward and slammed into the dirt just as the grenade went off.

Lucky thing, he decided later after the wave of debris had roared over his head, pelting him with bits of metal and stone that had lost their killing momentum after the blast's concussion was absorbed by the wall he had landed in front of. Lucky thing that somebody up there liked him.