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Experimentally, he pressed the click twice. After a moment, an answering click came from directly ahead.
He splashed through the water. He smelled vomit. In a low voice he said: "Who's there?"
"Patrick Timothy."
"Lieutenant Dewar here. Follow me."
Timothy had been second to jump, so Woody figured if he continued in the same direction he had a good chance of finding the others.
Fifty yards along he bumped into Mack and Smoking Joe, who had found one another.
They emerged from the water onto a narrow road, and found their first casualties. Lonnie and Tony, with their bazookas in leg bags, had both landed too hard. "I think Lonnie's dead," said Tony. Woody checked: he was right. Lonnie was not breathing. He looked as if he had broken his neck. Tony himself could not move, and Woody thought the man's leg was broken. He gave him a shot of morphine, then dragged him off the road into the next field. Tony would have to wait there for the medics.
Woody ordered Mack and Smoking Joe to hide Lonnie's body, for fear it might lead the Germans to Tony.
He tried to see the landscape around him, straining to recognize something that corresponded to his map. The task seemed impossible, especially in the dark. How was he going to lead these men to the objective if he did not know where he was? The only thing of which he could be reasonably sure was that they had not landed where they were supposed to.
He heard a strange noise, and a moment later he saw a light.
He motioned for the others to duck down.
The paratroopers were not supposed to use flashlights, and French people were subject to a curfew, so the person approaching was probably a German soldier.
In the dim light Woody saw a bicycle.
He stood up and aimed his carbine. He thought of shooting the rider immediately, but could not bring himself to do it. Instead he shouted: "Halt! Arretez!"
The cycle stopped. "Hello, Lieut," said the rider, and Woody recognized the voice of Ace Webber.
Woody lowered his weapon. "Where did you get the bike?" he said incredulously.
"Outside a farmhouse," Ace said laconically.
Woody led the group the way Ace had come, figuring that the others were more likely to be in that direction than any other. He looked anxiously for terrain features to match his map, but it was too dark. He felt useless and stupid. He was the officer. He had to solve such
problems.
He picked up more of his platoon on the road, then they came to a windmill. Woody decided he could not blunder around any longer, so he went to the mill house and hammered on the door.
An upstairs window opened, and a man said in French: "Who is it?"
"The Americans," Woody said. "Vive la France!"
"What do you want?"
"To set you free," Woody said in schoolboy French. "But first I need some help with my map."
The miller laughed and said: "I'm coming down."
A minute later Woody was in the kitchen, spreading his silk map over the table under a bright light. The miller showed him where he was. It was not as bad as Woody had feared. Despite Captain Bonner's panic, they were only four miles northeast of Eglise-des-Soeurs. The miller traced the best route on the map.
A girl of about thirteen crept into the room in a nightdress. "Maman says you're American," she said to Woody.
"That's right, mademoiselle," he said.
"Do you know Gladys Angelus?"
Woody laughed. "As it happens, I did meet her once, at the apartment of a friend's father."
