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Chapter 31

In June 1940, history seemed to slip back to its primal slime, reason disappeared, and chaos ruled in its place. Flight was the word that gripped everyone's imagination. Flight! To save one's skin, and to save one's nerves. One single passion remained-to keep alive; let those who had mixed the devil's brew choke on it! When the war was over the peace-loving citizen would return to the simple pursuits of his daily life, to his soft bed, to his glass of wine, to the pleasure of fishing in the Seine...

The exodus began along the roads that ran like black ribbons among green fields and vast plains, along the courses of rivers and streams, cutting through towns and villages and extending ever onward.

Driven by the primitive instinct to save one's self-and leave one's fellow to his fate-hordes of fugitives trampled over the young, the sick and the dying. And all the while, high above in the sky, the winged enemy roared and bombed in sadistic glee. Wipe them out, cut them down, so that there will be no one left to resist! Lose no time, you supermen; swoop down upon them, dropping terror from your wings. Turn your machine guns upon them, slaughter them! Don't worry, there'll be plenty to serve you champagne in bubbling glasses on golden trays!

Down with the God of Mercy! Down with all the angels of grace! Here on earth we will set up a new kingdom of our