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Message: <blockquote data-quote="The Shaman" data-source="post: 2652491" data-attributes="member: 26473">Pyotr cuts across the farmyard as a fast trot, eyes straining through the gloom, struggling to see what triggered Normand’s outburst. Closer by, he sees Sgt. Katsourianis moving forward as well, hustling toward the trees lining the driveway.Normand keeps his rifle trained on the three men as the voice replies firmly, “Sure thing. Get up, boys. Keep them rifles high.” The crouching figures stand and all three walk forward slowly, holding their rifles overhead.As they get closer Normand can see that each appears to be a colon – the speaker, in the lead, looks to be in his early fifties, with a grizzled beard and gray hair sticking out from under a beret. The other two are younger, one in perhaps his mid-twenties, the other in his late teens – their wide eyes are visible in the fading light as they get close. All are dressed in work clothes. Each carries a MAS-36 rifle held high at Normand’s order, and wears a bandolier strapped over a shoulder.“We’re with the UT,” he repeats, still holding his weapon overhead. “We heard the firin’ an’ got our guns.” The farmer looks Normand up and down. “Anybody else bad hurt? Where’s Rubiera?”Gripping her arm, Marcel hustles Angelique through the gateway to the farmhouse yard. Inside the wall. Vidal is crouched down, his submachine gun pointed at the back of the kneeling prisoner’s head. Sgt. Müller stands on the steps of the house, looking south toward the voices heard faintly in the distance. Marcel feels Angelique suddenly jerk to a stop and hears her gasp as she sees the prisoner on the ground. The little girl throws her arms around Marcel's waist and buries her face in his jump smock</blockquote>

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