When André asked a truck driver what was happening on the beaches, the driver said, “A blasted hurricane. The sea is standin’ on end. No landin’ barges can get ashore. Pretty bad, ’cause General Bradley’s howlin’ for ammunition.” Frenchmen coming to the village from the shore said tons of supplies had been swept away and sunk. The storm raged for four days, and André went sadly about his duties watching the road now nearly empty of trucks. Two days after the storm subsided, André heard that General Eisenhower had ferried across the Channel to look over the destruction. “He’ll talk to them army engineers an’ get deliveries speeded up--or else,” a soldier said. But the Americans were driving hard to capture Cherbourg. They needed the port more than ever since the storm had stopped supplies coming across the beaches. On June 28th, Leon came, and shouted through the door, “André! Marie! _Cherbourg has fallen._ Normandy belongs to us again!” Then, on D-day plus 29--four weeks after the 82nd paratroopers had first drifted down into the Gagnon orchard--Slim clattered up in a jeep. André saw him from the hallway and raced out to grab his hand and pump it up and down--as the soldiers did. He asked, “Where are Captain Dobie and Sergeant Weller? Has the 82nd been relieved? Did you win your battle?” “What you mean, mister?” Slim growled. “Did we win our battle? The 82nd always wins its battles--Africa, Sicily, Normandy. You know that.” André took Slim into the house to see the rest of the family. He translated Slim’s “American” as well as he could for his father and mother. “This is my last errand this way,” Slim told them. “I’m on my way to the Utah airstrip to fix the cap’n’s passage home.” Before he left, he promised to bring Weller and the captain to see them on the way to the plane. The storm had at last blown itself out, and traffic on the road was again heavy. Now the Allies were getting ready to break through to Paris--to free the rest of France. The British and Canadians were fighting hard around Caen. The Germans were bringing up more and more tanks--better in some ways than the British and American ones--and the battle was rough. But the Invasion armies were moving toward the breakout into the farther parts of France. The spirit of Liberty swept slowly but excitedly across all Normandy. July 14th, Bastille Day, which was the symbol of French Liberty, would soon be here. “This year we will celebrate Bastille Day with good heart,” said M. Blanc to Father Duprey. And Father Duprey, who was very practical, asked, “How?” “Ah, that I have thought about,” M. Blanc answered. “And I have a plan for our little village. Alone, we cannot do justice to such a great event as this Liberation. We will join with Ste. Mère Église to celebrate. We are not without talent in this village.” He looked mysterious and whispered his plans to the priest, so that no one could overhear.