McGurk got them in a line. Then he motioned to the worst marksman among the Maquis. "You. Go fifty yards up that hill. Kill someone."

The young Maquis scrambled up the hill and without catching his breath, fired off a shot. It caught a German guard in the shoulder. The other prisoners fell to the ground, covering their heads with their hands and bringing their knees up into their stomachs. It looked like a road littered with grown foetuses.

"Keep going," McGurk yelled up the hill. "You'll fire until you kill him."

The next shot went wild. The shot after that took out part of a stomach. The next shot after that was wild. The young Maquis was crying.

"I don't want to kill like this," he yelled.

"You kill him or I kill you," said McGurk and raised his carbine to his shoulder, pointing it up the hill. "And I'm no crummy frog marksman. I'll take out your eyes."

Crying, the young Maquis fired again, catching the downed German in the mouth. The head was nearly severed from the neck.

"All right, goosy fingers, you got him," McGurk yelled. He lowered his carbine and turned to another Maquis who had been firing rather poorly in practice. "You're next."

Duffy sidled up to McGurk and said in a hushed voice:

"Bill. Stop this now."

"No."

"Dammit, this is murder."

"That's very right, Frankie. Now button your lip, or I'll put you in the shooting line too."

The German guards were dispatched in short order and only the French drivers were left. McGurk waved another Maquis up the hill. He refused to go.

"I will not kill Frenchmen," he said.

"I don't see how you little shits could tell the difference if it wasn't for the uniforms," said McGurk.

Suddenly, a Maquis standing nearby raised his carbine and walked it into McGurk's lean stomach.

"We will not kill Frenchmen."

"Okay," said McGurk. A sudden broad grin appeared. "Have it your own way. I was just testing you."