es of terror
stricken refugees drowned him out. Like a gigantic black wave parted in
the middle they swept by on both sides of the car. The Frenchman's face
turned beet red with fury. He shouted, and ranted, and raved. But it was
all to no avail. His voice and his actions were but a waste of breath
and muscle energy. For a little while Dave tried to help him. He tried
to reason with the mass of terrified humanity sweeping by the car. He
begged, he pleaded, and he threatened, but it was as useless as
thundering at the sun to turn off its light. No one paid him any
attention. It is doubtful if anybody even heard him. Eventually he sank
down on the seat, his voice exhausted and his throat sore.

He looked helplessly at Lieutenant Defoe. The French officer was a
picture of misery, and of burning anger. Tears were in his eyes, and he
was working his mouth though no sound came off his lips. In time he got
back in the car and sank dejectedly behind the wheel.

"I am ashamed of my countrymen!" he shouted at Dave. "I am mortified
that you should see this. But this is the curse of war. The people are
like chickens when war comes. They do not stop to think or reason. They
think of nothing but fleeing for their lives. They ... they are like
children. I am ashamed."

The utter sadness and remorse in the officer's voice touched Dave
deeply. He reached over and took hold of the Lieutenant's arm and
pressed hard.

"That's okay, I understand, Lieutenant," he said. "Forget it. Look,
we'll be stuck here forever if we don't do something. Let's try and get
off to the side. I'll get out and push them aside, and you keep the car
in low gear. Okay, take it easy, Lieutenant."

Some of the anger faded from the Frenchman's eyes and the corners of his
mouth tilted in a faint smile.

"At your orders, _mon Capitaine_," he said. "Yes, you get out and warn
them away, and I shall drive the car to the side of the road."

Dave returned his smile and slid out of the car. No sooner had his feet
touched the road than he felt as though his body had been caught in the
roaring torrent of a rampaging river. Like a chip of wood he was picked
up and swept along, and it was several seconds before he was able to
regain his footing and force his way back and around to the front of the
car. There he put out both his hands and started waving the steady
stream of babbling refugees to the left and to the right.

It was tedious, heartbreaking effort, and a hundr