"Will there be street fighting?" someone asked. "I don’t know." "Jus’ lemme sleep," said Zinc, liking his cup of coffee. God, it smelled good. "The Germans are burning their towns as they retreat," someone said. "We’ve got them on the run!" said Vic. Vic and Pete ate, others left the table, an officer was asleep over his food; medics sat down, complaining of lack of supplies. Dennison and Zinc bedded down on hay and straw, a light from a Coleman somewhere in the distance, Red Cross men aiding the wounded, a GI on guard, in case of fire. Soon every sag in the hay and straw slept a man. A sergeant had his bazooka beside him. Someone, screwed up in his fatigues, curled up tight as a ball, had a puppy in his arms. There was no such thing as a peaceful interval: men came and went throughout the night: a wounded man died: a patrol was lugged in on a stretcher: doctors whispered and hovered: toward morning there was a lull and during that lull water began to spread throughout the church. Someone thought it was the rain ... but it was not raining. The fire guard saw straw drifting on the water, then he observed a man’s boot floating by: getting up he splashed about, mumbling, asking questions, mumbling: "Lie still over there ... I’ll find out what’s wrong ... no, it ain’t rainin’ ... maybe it poured somewhere nearby ... sure a lot a water comin’ in from somewhere..." With his flash he waded outside: water had inundated the yard in front of the church and it seemed to be inches deep: as the guard stood on the lowest step a GI splashed by, with a lantern, rifle crooked in his arm. "Heh, what’s up?" "River’s flooding," the GI bellowed. Someone with a racking cough warned the guard the Roer was rising rapidly: Nazi’s are flooding us out. Inside the church the guard began waking men, asking everyone to spread the word: already the water was ankle deep. The wounded had to be shifted at once. Lights and flashlights took over. All of the pews had water around them. The general hubbub woke Dennison. "We’re being flooded out," someone explained. Dennison woke Zinc. Grabbing his shoes and jacket, he scrambled higher on the pile of straw and hay; putting on his shoes he hollered at the men around him. "Where do we go?" "Outside." "What for?" "Everybody out!" "Almost dawn." "Yeah, gettin’ light." Dennison spotted Landel and waded across flooded straw to wake him: he woke with a groan and grabbed at his head and neck. "We’re being flooded ... it’s the Nazis ... they’ve opened steel flood gates up the river ... the Roer’s flooding ... it’s on the radio," Dennison shouted. Icy water eddied about Landel’s pew where other men lay: the swift moving water carried straw, hay, a man’s jacket, wood chips, towels, bandages. "Too many flashlights!" somebody yelled. "Douse the lights!" "Give a guy a chance!" "There’s a hill behind the church ... everybody’s going there!" Men were evacuating GI’s on stretchers.