She responded to the urgency in his voice. "What is it?"

"You've got to get out of here."

"Why?"

"They're coming-- probably to check on the others." He pushed her. "Go!"

"What about you?"

"I'll get out of here too," he said, "but right now someone has to cover the retreat."

"No! I won't go alone!"

"Honey, this kind of stuff is what I'm paid to do. You're not. Think about your parents. Anyhow, I'd just slow you down. I'm better off digging in and defending us from here."

"No!" she yelled. "I'm not going alone."

Herbert realized that there was no point arguing with the young woman. Jody was scared, exhausted, and probably as hungry as he was.

"All right," he said. "We'll go together."

Herbert told Jody to retrieve the gun he'd used up in the tree. While she did, he wheeled over to Karin's body. He picked up her gun, then used his flashlight to search for the SA dagger she'd been holding. He slid it under his left leg, where it would be handy, then checked Karin's gun to make sure it still had a few rounds left. Then he went over to Manfred's body. He took the German's knife and felt for other weapons. There weren't any. He took a moment to examine the contents of Manfred's windbreaker pockets under his flashlight. Then he rejoined Jody, who was waiting several yards from the bodies.

Most of the time Bob Herbert felt like someone from Wheelie and the Chopper Bunch, a cartoon show he used to watch when he was in the rehab center. It was about a freewheeling hero in a souped-up stunt racer. Now, for the first time since he lost the use of his legs, Herbert felt like Rambo. A single-minded man with a mission and the will to enforce it.

Over a half-century before, a black man, Jesse Owens, had embarrassed Hitler by outracing his Aryan athletes in the Olympics. Tonight, Karin's angry pursuit had shown just how much Jody's survival had undermined her authority. Now, if a man in a wheelchair managed to escape these tough guys, it could very well end the myth of the Nazi superman. Certainly among this group.

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

Thursday, 10:41 P.M.,

Toulouse, France

Hood didn't know what to expect as they marched toward the fortress which had become a factory. As his own small group crossed the ancient walkway behind Ballon and his men, he wondered how many besieging armies had come this way over the centuries. How many of them had enjoyed success and how many had met with disastrous failure.