said the General. “Far more effective against concrete bunkers than aerial bombardment. I remember just before the Bulge, the glamour boys dropped everything they had on a Jerry pillbox, and didn’t even chip it. So I called back to First Army Headquarters. ‘Send up some 240s,’ I said. Well sir…” Haley nodded, and turned his face toward the sunroom windows to hide his yawn from the General. Nothing moved in his line of sight save Mr. Banghart, who bobbed in the distance on the springing seat of a moving machine, circling again and again a shrinking island of standing alfalfa. It was Saturday afternoon; an afternoon, as the bulletin board decreed, for “recreation and cleanup.” Haley had tuned in a concert broadcast on the sunroom’s small radio, but when the General had started to shout war stories above the music, Annie had turned it off. From overhead came a muffled scuffing, Kitty and Hope moving about their rooms, tidying them up. Annie sat in a rocker near Haley, attentive to the General’s words, and seemingly very entertained. Haley wondered if he should tell the General about Mr.
