“Yes.”
The farmer pushed himself upright. “Come.”
I followed him outside. We crossed the dirt yard where the chickens scattered in front of us flapping their wings and clucking. The farmer pulled a key ring from his pocket, found the one he wanted and inserted it into the padlock on the barn door. The farmer lifted the wooden slat and the door swung open. Weak light spilled in but I caught a glint of metal. Slowly, my eyes became accustomed to the gloom and I took a few steps closer. Before me, sat a German motorcycle and sidecar with twin machine guns mounted on the handlebars.
I let out a low whistle. “And where did you get it?”
The farmer snickered. “I retrieved it from a German officer. I can also give you a jerry can of petrol.”
“It is in working order?”
“Of course.”
“How much?
