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“Dodging across the alley, covered by the blackness, the three men maneuvered to the front of the next hut. The air was still, soundless. It was so quiet that Tommy thought that every infinitesimal noise they made was magnified, trumpet like, a klaxon noise of alarm. To move silently in a world absent all external noises is very difficult. There were no nearby city sounds of cars and buses or even the deep whomp-whomp-whomp of a distant bombing raid. Not even the joking voices of the goons in the towers or a bark from a Hundführer's dog creased the night to distract or help conceal every footstep they made. For a moment, he wished the British would break into some rowdy song over in the northern compound. Anything to cover over the top of the modest noises they made.” — John Katzenbach