Müller glances down at Marcel and the little girl.
“No, take care of her for now.” Apparently Angelique’s reaction was not lost on the platoon sergeant, as he continues,
“David, get him out of here – take him over to the barn.”
Nedjar responds by grabbing the prisoner by his wire-bound wrists and yanking him to his feat, then leading him by the arm across the farmyard to the barn, past where Pyotr crouches watchfully.
Angelique continues to clutch at Marcel’s smock as the medic moves her away along the wall.
“Where’s mommy? I want my mommy now!” she repeats in a hoarse whisper as she glimpses the blasted windows that once looked out from her family’s dining room.
- / -
The grizzled farmer tilts his head slightly at Normand, then says,
“Sling your rifles, boys.” All three slip the rifles over their shoulders, and Mantz, the farmer, holds out his hands as if to say,
Happy now?
From over Normand’s shoulder come footsteps followed by the voice of Sgt. Katsourianis.
“Légionnaire Mador, report?”
Mantz quickly interjects,
“We’re UT, sergent. Name’s Mantz, and these here’re my sons. That’s our place ’cross th’ road.”
The section leader’s face is expressionless as he steps forward, next to Normand, his MAT-49 in his hands.
“I see,” he says.
“You know the family here?” he asks.
“O’ course,” Mantz replies,
“Joseph Rubiera, an’ his wife an’ kids.” He pauses a moment, then continues,
“They dead?”
The
sergent nods.
“There are four bodies in the basement, and two more in the farmhands’ quarters.” The Greek gestures toward the road to the west.
“And three dead gendarmes over there.”
The farmer shakes his head.
“Putain melons,” he answers matter-of-factly.
“Knew it would come t’ this sooner or later. Can’t trust ’em.” Mantz seems about to continue when the sound of engines can be heard approaching and headlights cut through the darkness along the road from town. A trio of vehicles draw near, then turn up the drive, advancing slowly and drawing abreast of where Normand, the
sergent, and the
pieds-noirs stand waiting.
In the lead is a Dodge command car, with the markings of the
gendarmerie nationale, followed by a pair of deuce-and-a-halfs. The command car stops and a mustached figure in a blue uniform and combat harness leans across from the passenger seat.
“I’m Capitaine LaCroix,” he snaps, drawing a salute from the legionnaires.
“Who’s in command here?”
“Sergent-chef Müller, mon capitaine,” Kat replies. He turns to Normand.
“Légionnaire, go get Sgt. Müller at the farmhouse,” he orders.
