André’s suspicions leaped up. Dirty brown coveralls, the strange cap, the German-looking, tow-colored hair. And the plane. André had never seen one like it, and the star insigne could be a Nazi fake. André stood his ground, some distance away. When the pilot flung open the side door and jumped out, André stepped back. In a swift glance over his shoulder, André saw Raoul reach the bottom of the ladder. He shouted, “Run get Slim, Raoul. And tell the captain.” “For the love of Mike, kid, what gives with you? You think I’m a German?” the pilot demanded. “You could be,” André retorted. “Holy mackerel!” the pilot laughed. “That’s what I thought you were, at first. I didn’t even see you were a kid when I pulled the gun. Forget it.” “Well,” André admitted after a moment, “you do talk like an American.” “How come?” André laughed uncertainly. “Germans don’t say ‘How come,’ for one thing,” he stated. “But what _are_ you doing here? It looks as though you were lost.” “Lost is right--and out of fuel, too,” the pilot replied with angry disgust. “Now I’ve got to find more gas and get over to Utah Beach in a hurry. Where am I, anyway?” “You are about four miles from the nearest invasion beach,” André said. “But I’m not sure of the different names you Americans have given them. Someone will be here soon. Captain Dobie can’t come himself, he has a broken leg.” “Is this Dobie’s command?” the flyer exclaimed. “Well, I’m in a hurry. Cripes! I can’t keep the general waiting. He’ll give me hoop-la for navigating myself into this mess--fog or no fog. Here’s somebody now.” It was Slim, at a gallop, followed by two armed guards. They fell in on each side of the pilot. Slim took a quick look at the flyer and the plane, and asked, “What outfit _you_ with?” “Army Liaison Squadron, Lieutenant Bill Carson,” replied the pilot. “You with the 82nd Airborne?” Slim nodded and asked sharply, “Now, what’s up here? Don’t you guys use landin’ strips any more?” “Don’t pile it on, buddy,” Carson said. “I’m in bad enough already. I got myself lost good, in this weather. And this kid here thought I was a German--” Slim turned sternly to André. “You can overdo this takin’ prisoners without consultin’ us, you know, son,” he muttered coldly. He explained to the pilot, more mildly, “This André and an old Frenchman helped catch a car full of Nazi officers once. But once is enough.” The lieutenant stared at André. “Say,” he exclaimed, “are you the French kid I heard about? Trapped those German staff officers? I bet my general’d like to shake hands with you. He’s the one who questioned them.” Slim put on his best corporal’s manner. “Best we get back to your business here, Lieutenant. How are you going to wangle your jalopy out of this corner, now you got her wedged in so good?” The pilot shrugged. “Get me some gas, and I’ll fly out okay. Might have to wait till the fog lifts a little.”