Sergeant Miller's squad was ordered to probe a sector of the Siegfried Line rumored to be lightly held. It was a "quiet" night patrol, the most dangerous kind. They moved like ghosts through the tangled dragon's teeth.
They found the bunker empty, abandoned in haste. Inside, beside a cold stove, was a carefully laid-out meal on a crate: two cans of American Spam, opened, with German black bread. A white cloth served as a tablecloth. In the center sat a battered harmonica.
Miller's point man, Jenkins, a musician from Tennessee, picked it up. On an impulse, he blew a few soft, bluesy note