The German convoy rumbled into Altamura in the late afternoon. Stepping out of the Kübelwagen, Bernhard put his hands on his hips and surveyed the piazza. He spun left then right, looking at the buildings that framed the square. His scrutiny was bold and possessive; it didn"t take much for the townspeople to realize he was looking for the best home to seize for his personal use.
Lace curtains were drawn; doors slammed shut. A little boy in a tattered shirt stood outside one shop, too young to be afraid of this invading force, until he was yanked inside by his frightened mother.
Bernhard sneered at the attempts to shut him out. “Italians,” he said with undisguised contempt.
“Hilgendorf,” he commanded, and pointing to a stone house in front of him. “Go in there and see what it"s like. If
