Ziegler stood at the curb while Bayer opened the back door of the staff car. He scanned the village square and studied those who studied him, all averting their eyes when his gaze met theirs. There weren’t many, six or seven and a few German soldiers. But the residents seemed to realize that their lives had changed forever and there was nothing they could do about it. He glanced up at the church steeple, where a mysterious blonde woman may have transmitted a radio message only an hour before. They were getting closer.
“Which direction?” Bayer asked, as he started the engine.
“Take the dirt road that leads to the French border.”
Bayer left the town square, drove a few blocks down cobblestone streets, and then out to the dirt road. “Troops were here when we first arrived. I could see them
