Once More Unto the Breach

by Meghan Holloway

  “Handsome boy you have here.” The general rested his hand on the dog’s head for a moment and then leaned over the unconscious German. He placed a hand on Wilhelm’s shoulder and removed his helmet, holding it over his heart. “You’ve done well, son. Rest easy now.” He repositioned his helmet, smiled at Otto, and then climbed down from the ambulance. “That’s a fine German pistol you’re wearing.”

  Inwardly, I cursed my carelessness, but I kept my voice even. “I took it off a German soldier.”

  “Well done, man!” He clapped me on the back hard enough to stagger a smaller man. “Those Kraut sonsabitches will soon have neither their guns nor their lives when the Third is finished with them. Carry on.” He strode back to his command car. “Willie, come along.” The bull terrier looked up from sniffing around one of the ambulance’s tire and raced after his master.

  Charlotte leaned into me. “Was that…?”

  “Aye.”

  We watched as he shouted for a group of men to join him beside his car. They hurried over and listened attentively, glancing over their shoulders at us almost as one. Then he climbed into the Dodge, the dog bounding in after him, and roared off.

  The group of soldiers approached us, and the one in the lead spoke. “The Old Man said we’re to help you get the ambulance back in working order.”

  “We’d be much obliged,” Charlotte said, her accent thickening winsomely.

  “Private, help move their wounded,” the one in the lead instructed.

  A short, stocky boy stepped forward and climbed into the back of the ambulance to take the head of the stretcher. I took the other end, and we carried Wilhelm into the shelter of the trees. He groaned as we placed his stretcher on the ground but made no other sound. Otto took his place lying at his master’s side.

  Charlotte was sliding out from under the ambulance when I returned, and I noted all six men hurried forward to help her to her feet.

  “It’s the rear right spring,” she said. “It is cracked in two.”

  “Can you fix it?” I asked.

  “No, I can only replace it. Which I could do if I had the part.”

  “We can get it for you, ma’am.”

  “Thank you…”

  “Corporal Orin, ma’am.”

  “Thank you, Corporal Orin. You can get me a rear spring? They’re longer than a front spring.”

  “Yes, ma’am, Private Edwards here is the best mechanic we have,” the corporal said, gesturing to the boy who’d helped me with the stretcher. “He can fix it for you himself.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” She smiled at the private, and his ears turned red. “But some assistance would be greatly appreciated.”

  As the private hurried away to find the part, the corporal asked, “What may we do to help, miss?”

  “Just Charlie will do, please. We’ll need to chock all the wheels save the rear right one and jack up the axle till that wheel is just clear of the ground.”

  “Currer, Ellis, you two find some rocks we can stack to take the weight of the frame once we have the jack in place.”

  “I will get my toolkit.”

  _______

  The Army’s eastward forge streamed around the ambulance while repairs were being made as if men and tanks were a ceaseless current and we were a rock on the riverbed around which the water diverged. Once the spring was replaced, we thanked the soldiers who had helped us and continued south, soon breaking free of the flow of troops. I watched in the side mirror as the ribbon of raised dust grew closer and closer to the horizon.

  Wilhelm had regained consciousness as he was loaded back into the ambulance, but he had wisely kept silent.

  The rest of the afternoon passed without event, and the shadow we cast upon the road lengthened. Twilight crept over us in the wake of the sun like a cool, dark cat pacing after a golden bird upon the windowsill.

  “It’s a risk, but the moon has been bright enough to drive by,” Charlotte said. “Shall we continue?”

  I agreed, and we drove into the night. The moon was a bright pearl clasped at the hollow of the night’s deep blue throat. The open plain across which we drove was bathed in the soft light and the road stretched before us like a pale stream.

  “Tell me a story.”

  I glanced at Charlotte. The moon seemed to caress her face and her hands at the wheel. “I have no talent for tales.”

  “Tell me about your home, then.”

  “Ah.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, imagining my lung were filled with the earthy aroma of soil, wet sheep, and rain-drenched heather. “I almost lost Owain once before, when he was just a small lad of six…”

  My mother met me at the door as soon as I crossed the threshold. “Are they not with you? Your father and Owain?”

  “No.” I had begun to unwind my scarf and coax my fingers from my mitts, but I halted. “They have not returned home? They should have been back hours ago.”

  She twisted her apron in her hands. “I know. I walked the lower pastures calling for them. Should I fetch the neighbors to help us search?”

  “Not yet. Let me get a torch, and I will search. You stay here, put a kettle on. It is bitter out.”

  I set back out into the waning light of the gloaming. The wind was biting, and it carried my voice away as I called for them. I searched our northern fields to no avail, climbed the last stone fence that marked the edge of the Gravenor land, and set off into the hills. The dark and the cold deepened, and it was full night by the time I reached the stone fence denoting the Driscoll’s land.

  The moon was cloaked in dark clouds that refused to relinquish her light onto the hills. I flicked on the torch and panned the beam across the field. The gleam of curious gazes of sheep caught in the light, but there was no sign of my father or son.

  Thunder rolled over the hills, and the sky to the west flickered ominously. “Ffaddyr! Owain! If you can hear me, machgen i, answer me!”

  All was quiet for several long moments, and then I heard the faint sound of barking. My knees threatened to buckle, and I braced a hand on the stones to steady myself.

  “Rhiannon! Here, fy merch!”

  The barking came again, closer this time, and from the north. I lengthened my stride and continued to call for the collie until her lean body separated from the shadows and raced into my light. I knelt as she came to me and ran my hands over her. She was uninjured, and as soon as I said, “Where are they, Rhi?” she raced back into the night along the fence line.

  I followed her some distance before my light caught on two figures. My father was slumped against the stone fence with his staff across his knees as if he had merely leaned there to rest and had fallen asleep. Perhaps he had. My father and Owain frequently reminded me of a pair of cats, always finding a pool of sunlight in which to bask and slumber.

  But it was not sleep that claimed my father. I knew even before I reached him. I staggered and bent double, bracing my hands on my knees as a sob threatened to resonate through my chest like thunder did over us in that moment. The small figure at his side stirred, visibly shaking, prodding me from the welling grief.

  “Owain.” My throat was tight.

  “I cannot get Tadcu to wake, Dadi.”

  I knelt beside them and caught his small body close. He clung to me, and I stripped off my coat and wrapped it around him. “Are you hurt?” I shone my light at his tear-streaked face.

  He shook his head. “We were trying to find the lost ewe, and Tadcu said he needed to rest. I fell asleep when we sat down, Dadi, I did not mean to. And when I woke up, I could not get Tadcu to wake.” His voice trembled.

  “Hush now. Do not fret. I will take care of Tadcu. Did you not know the way home?”

  He wiped his nose on the sleeve of my coat. “I did, but I didn’t want the pwca to get Tadcu. Billy Hughes told me they roam the hills. He said they change shape and come upon you when you are not watching for them and steal you away forever.”
>
  Rhiannon nudged my side, and I rubbed her ears while I fought the urge to tell Owain that Billy Hughes might as well have stones between his ears. “All is well now. I need you to be a strong lad and follow me home. I will carry Tadcu, and I need you to stay close to me. Carry the light, and hold on to Rhi. Mamgu is waiting for us.”

  He looked up at me as I stood. “Is Tadcu going to wake up?”

  I rested my hand on his head and had to clear my throat before I spoke. “No, machgen i, he is not.”

  I carried my father down the hills to home, his weight heavy in my arms. My mother met us in the yard and swept Owain into her arms before hurrying ahead of me to open the door. She wept as I placed my father in his bed. I took Owain from her, and as we left the room, she was crawling into bed, drawing a quilt over my father’s prone form.

  I had Owain drink a cup of tea as I bathed him in the washtub. He was quiet, his head hanging as if it were too heavy for his fragile neck to hold the weight. He felt so slight in my arms as I wrapped him in a blanket and sat in front of the stoked fire with him in my lap. Rhiannon took up her place at my feet.

  “You did a very brave thing today, Owain.” He burrowed closer to me, tucking his head under my chin. “But I would have lost you had I not been able to find you tonight, and that is something I could not bear. I was very frightened.”

  He was quiet for several long minutes, but his fingers plucking at my shirt assured me he had not fallen asleep. “I was not frightened, Dadi. I knew you would find me.”

  “I am sorry about your father,” Charlotte whispered in the ensuing silence.

  “Do not be. He died exactly how he would have wanted, had he had any say in the matter.”

  ______

  We were both quiet as the kilometers passed by under the ambulance’s wheels. We reached the outskirts of La Charité-sur-Loire some time later and parked in the deep shadows cast by the ramparts at the far edge of the village.

  An owl called hauntingly into the night and remained unanswered as I sat at the back of the ambulance and watched Charlotte and Otto roam along the ancient wall. Woman and dog were merely shadow against shadow, but the murmur of Charlotte’s low voice reached my ears and I smiled to hear her conversing with the canine at her side.

  “I thank you for looking after Otto.”

  I froze at the heavily-accented but clear English words spoken behind me, my hand going to the pistol holstered at my hip. Wilhelm sighed and rolled his head toward me as I stood and climbed into the back of the ambulance.

  “He has been my closest friend, like a child, for many years now, and I did not want him to stay with me as I died in the woods,” he whispered. I shut the door behind me. He must have sensed my mind racing over everything said within his earshot. “I mean you no harm.”

  “You have been able to understand us this entire time.”

  “I am an officer and an educated man. I speak many languages.”

  “Why tell me now?”

  “Because I do not wish to die in silence.” We both glanced toward the closed door at Otto’s playful bark and Charlotte’s laughter nearby. “Do not tell the woman. It would only cause her more suspicion.”

  I nodded. “Do you have family, anyone I should try to send word to?”

  His smile was bittersweet, and the low lantern light deepened the lines in his face. “Only the dog you have agreed to care for.”

  “He will not be abandoned,” I promised.

  “I know.” He shifted, features pinching in pain, and I adjusted the blankets over him when a shiver coursed through his frame. “Thank you. For everything. Your son should be proud to call you father.”

  Before I could respond, Charlotte opened the door and glanced between the two of us. “Is everything well?”

  “Aye. He was restless and fading into delirium again. I did not want the sound to carry. We do not know who may be listening.”

  Otto leapt into the ambulance ahead of her and settled with a sigh across Wilhelm’s legs. She closed the ambulance doors behind her as she climbed in and opened the vents before kneeling and drawing out a satchel from beneath the stretcher bearer. She fished within and extended a handful of leather to me.

  “German or not, it is safer if you keep the pistol hidden. You can wear this under your shirt.”

  I unbuckled the hip holster and set it aside before turning my back to her as I unbuttoned my shirt. I shrugged it off my shoulders to allow it to hang around my hips, caught by the shirt tails tucked into my trousers. I wore an undershirt and slipped the shoulder holster on over it. I felt a touch at my back and the fit of the holster changed as Charlotte adjusted the straps.

  “Your draw will be slowed tremendously, but it is a risk we will have to take. It is less risky than the wrong person seeing you with a pistol.”

  The fit was comfortable, and the Luger fit snuggly within the pocket. I shrugged out of the holster and placed it beside my bedroll before buttoning my shirt. When I turned back to Charlotte, her cheeks were pink but she did not avert her eyes.

  “Is this how you carry the Colt?” The curiosity had plagued me since Paris.

  “A thigh holster and a false pocket,” she said, smile full of cheek. “I had no desire to part with my Colt and equally no desire to be executed. Carrying it hidden was my solution.”

  She was a remarkable woman, even with her secrets, and when she allowed me to lift her onto the raised stretcher bearer over Wilhelm, her hands lingered on my shoulders while mine lingered at her waist. I forced myself to withdraw and extinguished the dim light of the lantern before settling onto the bearer on the opposite side of the ambulance.

  Silence descended around us with the darkness, and I heard a rustle as Charlotte shifted on the top stretcher. My senses felt pricked toward her, and I could tell when the exhaustion of the day caught up with her. Her breathing became deep and even. I focused on that easy rhythm and allowed it to lull me into slumber.

  25 December 1940

  Dear Nhad,

  Nadolig Llawen. I miss you and Mamgu, Bess and Bracken.

  I miss home. But I cannot return. Not yet.

  I find I have a need within me to prove I am not the coward you think me.

  -Owain

  vii

  We followed the Loire south, against its northward flow, until we reached the point where the river joined its left tributary. The Loire flowed from the east, and once we found a place to cross the eastward branch, we followed the southern tributary, the Allier.

  It led us through Moulins and through smaller villages that were silent and still. We drove around unmanned checkpoints. The tree growth grew denser, and the brown river narrowed and widened as it undulated through the countryside. Along several stretches, sandy shoals served as small islands in the center of the river or as peninsular shores where the water was low. The river carved a serpentine path through alluvial forest and then gradually widened and straightened as we entered the outskirts of Vichy.

  We arrived at midday and parked in an alley at the edge of town.

  “We may need to leave in haste,” I reminded Charlotte when she moved to disable the vehicle.

  Her indecision was clear on her face. “But better to need to spend a few moments at this than risk coming back to find the ambulance has been stolen…”

  I had to concede her point, and while she disabled the vehicle, I slipped into the back of the ambulance. Otto’s cropped tail thumped in greeting, and I rested a hand on his head as I handed Wilhelm the rifle. His look was questioning, and I kept my voice low.

  “We have hidden the ambulance out of the way, but I do not know who may happen upon this alley.”

  He nodded and spoke to the dog in brisk German. Otto’s demeanor changed in an instant at the command, and he went from loving pet to trained war dog in a shift of muscle.

  I exited the ambulance by the rear doors and closed them behind me. Charlotte rounded the vehicle. “Do you know
where the library is?”

  She shook her head. “No, but I imagine near the town centre. We will head there and ask if need be. Keep your eyes open. The Milice here have a more brutal reputation than the Gestapo.”

  We moved cautiously through neighborhoods in the grip of unease. Suspicion, shame, and jubilation were stamped on each face we saw in varying degrees.

  An old woman watched us from a doorway and called sharply to three young boys playing with a hoop and stick in the street. They froze, the hoop clattering to the ground, as they watched us approach until the woman called again, and they raced past her skirts into the precarious safety of home. She followed them and secured the door after her.

  The wooden hoop lay like the sun-bleached carcass of childhood innocence in the street where it had fallen. As we passed, I picked it up and leaned it against the closed threshold through which they had retreated.

  “Rhys, that woman.” Charlotte caught hold of my arm and clung, her unease evident in the taut grip of her fingers. “Why is her head shaved?”

  I followed her gaze and saw the woman on the opposite side of the street walking with her arms folded across her chest and her shoulders hunched as if braced for a blow. She walked swiftly with her gaze down.

  “Stay close to me,” I said, voice low.

  Charlotte nodded and did not relinquish her hold on my arm as we navigated the streets. “Do you think she was a Jewish sympathizer? Is that why her head is shaved?”

  “Perhaps, but I do not know.”

  A stooped, gnarled man swept his doorstep with painstaking care ahead of us, and when we reached him, Charlotte paused. “Pardon, monsieur, savez-vous où est la bibliothèque missionnaire?”

  When he cocked his head toward her voice but peered past her shoulder, I realized his eyes were sightless. They conversed for several moments. When he finished telling her how to find the library, she thanked him and turned to me. “He said the missionary house is on Rue Mounin, near the thermal baths. The library must be part of the house.” She smiled. “He said that he has heard that the building is large and white and has the name Bethanie on it, but that has never aided him.”