Using maneuver tactics practiced the previous day, the group of thirteen, including the two women, moved swiftly across the field. Ten minutes later, they arrived at the bases of the first set of three tanks. While six fighters moved into the shadows on the opposite side to set their charges, the remainder continued north to the field of fourteen tanks.
They worked rapidly and methodically. When the first charges were finished, those teams uncoiled thin wires from spools as they headed toward the larger set of tanks. Arriving there, they ran the wires to the northwesternmost corner, carefully joined them together, and set them down. Then they moved out to affix dynamite sticks to the remaining tanks in the larger set.
When all wires had been run to the designated corner of the field and the teams were accounted for, Pierre, under Kenyon’s watchful eye, attached the wires to the plunger.
“Make sure you give us ten minutes,” Lance said.
Pierre nodded. Sweat poured down his face and he breathed heavily. While he and Kenyon prepared, Lance, Horton, and the other nine men continued on to the third field, unspooling wire as they went.
Next to Pierre, Kenyon watched the minutes tick away. When the time was reached, he signaled.
Kenyon checked the connections and gave a thumbs-up.
Pierre took a deep breath, turned the handle, and pushed. Without waiting to see the result, the two men took off at a full run to rejoin their comrades.
The explosion ripped the night. The ground shook. Flames leaped into the sky.
In the distance, sirens blared. Cars raced with bright headlights along a curved road that skirted diagonally along the depot’s eastern edge, to the site of the three tanks now jetting flames high into the night sky.
Kenyon and Pierre arrived at the third field and sprinted to their designated targets. Now the full, undivided team worked on the eight remaining tanks, setting the charges and stringing wires to the northern boundary. Seven minutes later, they converged.
Once again, Pierre leaned over a plunger, twisted it, and thrust it down. Another explosion rocked the ground and lit up the sky. The full blast dwarfed the one of the night before, the roar of flames casting infernal heat in all directions and generating its own wind. The smell of burning fuel seared the nostrils and filled the lungs, leaving an acrid taste on the tongue.
Still running wire from the third field, the group continued north to a road crossing from east to west. They approached a stand of trees on a curve.
While Pierre connected the last wires to the plunger, three Citroens emerged from the trees, flashing dimmed parking lights. They pulled alongside the group.
Three men and Elena piled through the back door of the first car while the other woman took the front seat. The car took off, crunching gravel.
Two men entered the second vehicle, one of them taking the front, while Lance and Horton waited by the rear doors on either side of it. Two others crawled into the back of the third car.
One more time, with Kenyon standing next to him, Pierre pushed the handle down. One more time, the earth shook, and a cauldron turned night into day.
Lance and Horton dived into the waiting Citroen. Its tires spun as it raced away.
Kenyon and Pierre ran for the third automobile. No sooner had they closed the doors than it took off, taking a different route than either of the first two.
Lance turned in his seat, straining to see that the third car had escaped. The small rear window prevented him from seeing it. He faced forward again, leaned his head against the back of the seat, and exhaled.
Next to him, the partisan fighter stirred. Lance looked at him. The man smiled broadly and nodded. “Merci,” he said. “We could not have done this without you and your friends.”
In the left rear seat, Horton grinned. “I’d say that went well.”
The eastern horizon showed the first signs of dawn with a fine glimmering line of red stretching across the horizon. Then, golden fingers shot into the sky and spread as the little car turned toward a village. By the time they passed through it and headed west toward the staging area, full daylight revealed the early morning beauty of the countryside. The grass along the roadside gleamed with dew.
Whether because of fatigue or spent emotional energy, no one spoke, the driver content to wend his way through the curves in the road in silence. They came to a place where trees on both sides created a canopy, almost like a tunnel.
For a second, Lance’s eyes closed, and in that flash of time, he saw his beloved Sark Island, with its wide, flat fields perched on steep cliffs rising three hundred and fifty feet above the sea. Images of his parents appeared so real, joined by those of Paul and Jeremy, and his sister, Claire. A lump formed in his throat with the realization that he missed them more than he had ever thought possible.
He felt the car rounding a curve and then slowing. He opened his eyes. The driver brought the vehicle to a full stop.
There, where the canopy broke not two hundred feet away, a German panzer blocked their path, its long, thin main gun pointing to one side. Immediately, dark uniformed soldiers emerged from behind it, rifles held waist high. They broke into a trot toward the Citroen.
The driver panicked. He ground the gears trying to get into reverse, but then he popped the clutch. The engine stalled.
The turret on the tank rotated. Its barrel dropped, lining up on the car. Its engine roared, and it rolled toward them.
On his side of the car, Lance threw the door open
