CHAPTER TWELVE
A new snow was lashing in. They would have to get off the road soon. They’d have been run down already except for a piece of outright luck; the Sherman just behind had broken a tread on a Teller mine. Franz Koerner held his hands close together at the top of the steering wheel, ready to yank suddenly either way.
He hadn’t given up yet and he had no intention of giving up. They were at the moment going away from the Meuse, imprisoned in the sluggish heave of the U. S. Army inside which they had successfully lost themselves. But nothing could alter the fact that they had reached the Meuse once and been no more than one blown bridge-piling from getting across and might conceivably if not probably make it back for another try.
The main direction of the Ami traffic, and thus t
