Once More Unto the Breach

by Meghan Holloway

  I did not pause to aim. I unloaded the three remaining bullets in the direction of his arm. The second found its mark in his forearm before he could plunge the knife into the dog.

  I tossed the gun aside, strode over, and kicked the German in the face. He fell back in a limp, loose sprawl, but when I knelt over him, he smiled up at me. His nose was crushed, and his lips and teeth were dark with blood.

  “Heil Hitler,” he wheezed.

  I leaned down until I could whisper in his ear. “Fuck you and Hitler.”

  He laughed, a gurgling, maniacal sound. He was still laughing when I snapped his neck.

  I sat back, hands shaking, heart thrumming at a pace I felt in my ears. I reached out to Otto, whose jaws were still clamped around the man’s arm.

  “That is a good lad. Well done, Otto. Well done.”

  At the low, soothing tone of my voice, he slowly released the dead man’s arm and came around to me. I ran my hands over him, relieved to find no injuries, though a fine tremor crawled through the muscles beneath flesh and hair. I petted him in long, sweeping strokes down his spine and sides, and the tremors soon faded. “There is my big, soft cariad.” His tail wagged, and he nudged his head against my chest.

  The night had settled back into its natural stillness, and an owl called mournfully for its mate somewhere in the darkness. I gained my feet, found the Luger, and started across the uneven shoreline. Charlotte stepped to the edge of the tree line as soon as I came into view.

  Otto loped to meet her, and she rested a hand on his head. “Are you hurt?”

  “No. You and the children?”

  “They are frightened, but fine.” She gazed across the shore. “Who were they?”

  “A small band of Germans.”

  “The same from the north valley?”

  “No, I think these men were not the same.”

  “Are there more?”

  “I would rather not find out,” I said. “We need to move. I prefer to avoid any predators that may be here. Human or animal.”

  “I will gather the children.”

  I reloaded the Luger with the ammunition taken from the abbey, and then we packed the rucksacks once more and set out. I carried Simone on my back, Charlotte held Anne-Marie, and the rest of the children fell in line between us as I picked a different path around the lake, staying away from the trail that gleamed like a stream in the starlight. The moon was bright even in its last quarter as it listed in the sky toward the horizon, but I led my small band through the shadow of the trees. The way was steep along the ridge, and snow was gathered in the recesses of the woods. We reached the mountain track when the night was still swaddled in darkness.

  I lifted Simone from the rucksack, placed her on her feet, and waited for Charlotte to reach me. “Let us hope this is the dawn we have been waiting for.” I turned from scanning the track when she did not answer. She stood with a hand braced against a tree, bent forward slightly at the waist. “What is it? Are you hurt?”

  “No, I am merely winded.” She straightened. “I have not done any training for climbing the Alps.”

  I smiled at the crispness of her tone. “Bed the children down. Let them rest. Dawn will arrive within the hour.”

  The sky was beginning to lighten in the east when I heard the sound of an approaching engine. I glanced at Charlotte. She sat leaning against the trunk of a tree with four of the children using her outstretched legs as a pillow. Anne-Marie was curled against her chest. She appeared to have fallen asleep, so I grasped the toe of her boot and shook her foot. Charlotte was slow to wake, and I had to shake her foot again to fully rouse her.

  “A vehicle approaches.”

  She nodded and gently woke the children. In the pale light of the approaching morning, their eyes seemed particularly wide and haunted. Hugo leaned against me, and I rested my hand on the back of his head as I watched the road.

  The sound of the vehicle laboring up the steep, winding mountain road drew closer until a large, wooden-sided farm truck rounded the bend. The vehicle completed the arduous climb and turned around to face downhill. A smile tugged at my mouth at the sound coming from the back of the truck.

  Charlotte glanced at me. “Are those…?”

  “Sheep,” I confirmed.

  The truck idled on the road, and two older women climbed down from the cab and moved to the back on the pretense of checking the bleating sheep. I moved to stand, but Charlotte put a hand on my shoulder and gained her feet.

  “I will go. Wait here.”

  I accepted the weight of the slumbering child as she transferred Anne-Marie to my arms. I tensed as she left the sanctuary of the trees and the taller of the two women grabbed a rifle hidden in the back of the truck and leveled it at Charlotte. She spoke in French and held her hands out by her sides. After a few moments of hushed exchange, the woman lowered the rifle. Charlotte turned and motioned to join her.

  Hugo caught hold of my hand, and the rest of the children trailed after me as I led them from hiding.

  Up close, I could see the age difference in the women more clearly. They must have been mother and daughter, for they bore a striking resemblance. I could tell from their surprised perusal they recognized me as Owain’s father.

  “We expected Owain and Sévèrin weeks ago,” the younger woman said in heavily accented English. “We were worried when they did not make the rendezvous. We have come up the mountain every four days since to check, but we did not want to draw attention. The other day was to be our last journey until we heard word from Owain, but…My mother was convinced we needed to come back once more.”

  How close we had come to having nine children left in our care and no sanctuary to offer them. “I am grateful to your mother, to you both. The children will be safe and cared for?”

  The older woman approached me and reached for Anne-Marie. The children hung back, clustered around Otto, whose head tilted back and forth at the sound of the sheep.

  The younger woman answered. “They will be. We will protect them with our lives. We have good homes already arranged for them.”

  I allowed the older woman to take the little girl from me, and then I assisted her in climbing over the back gate of the truck. Black faces crowded close and peered down at me curiously. I recognized the breed: Valais Blacknose. I felt a sudden longing for home and the musty presence of my Balwens.

  Charlotte spoke softly with the children, adjusting their cloaks and scarves as the younger woman and I handed them up to her mother. The children were directed to lie down in the midst of the huddle of sheep, and one by one, they disappeared under the white woolen bodies.

  Hugo clung to my leg, and I crouched down to look into his slanted eyes. “All will be well, cariad bach. You will be looked after. There is no need to be afraid.”

  His tongue wedged against his lower lip as he looked up at Charlotte as she translated. A tear slid down his rounded cheek, and I caught it with my thumb and wiped it away. “I want you to be brave now, Hugo. Help look after the little ones. Will you do that for me?”

  He nodded as Charlotte translated and then threw his arms around my neck. I held him close, and the feel of his small, sturdy body in my arms lanced my heart. I closed my eyes and patted his back before pulling away. I had to clear my throat before I could speak. “Come along now.”

  He released me and turned to Charlotte, who flinched and hid a grimace when Hugo threw his arms around her waist.

  “Are you certain you are well?”

  Her smile was strained at the edges. “It is nothing.” She addressed the children in French, and her voice was calm and gentle, but when she moved to lift Hugo into the back of the truck, she faltered with the boy’s feet only centimeters off the ground.

  I took the child from Charlotte and handed him to the older woman. He clung to my neck once more before she drew him deeper into the back of the truck and helped him settle under the sheep.

  The younger woman climbe
d up into the back of the truck and then leaned down and caught my hand. “Bless you. Bless you both.”

  I squeezed her fingers. “Quickly now.” I stepped back and raised a hand in farewell as the truck began its rumbling descent down the narrow mountain road. Otto trotted after it until I called him back to my side.

  We watched until the truck disappeared from sight around the bend. I turned to Charlotte. “Tell me what is wrong.”

  “It is not important. We should not linger.”

  I could not waste time coaxing an explanation from her, so we set off around the lake, following the trail we had blazed along the ridge. The way seemed steeper in the light, rocks rolling underfoot, and Charlotte quickly fell behind. Otto loped back and forth between us, but when he barked, I looked back. Charlotte had stopped, her head down, hand pressed against her side.

  When I reached her, I noted the sweat upon her brow and how pale her skin had become. “What—”

  She caught hold of my arm and left a wet, russet smear across the sleeve of my coat. “Rhys. I am afraid you are going to be angry with me.”

  And then she collapsed.

  3 March 1943

  Dear Nhad,

  I miss home fiercely, I do.

  -Owain

  xx

  I caught her before she fell. She was limp against me. I hooked an arm under her knees and scrambled from the precarious ridge down to the trail along the lake. I knelt and stripped off the rucksack she carried and the extra holster strapped around her waist, tossing both aside and cradling the back of her head in my hand as I lowered her to the ground. Her scalp was warm, her hair like cool, fine silk between my fingers. Otto paced around us whining.

  “Quiet, bach. Go and cwtch down.” He obeyed, curling his body around Charlotte’s head and resting his muzzle on her shoulder. My hands shook as I unbuttoned her coat and drew the fabric aside. “Esgob annwyl, Charlotte. Cachu hwch.”

  “It is bad, isn’t it?” Her voice held a quaver I had not heard before.

  Her light blue dress was stained red from under her left breast fanning down to mid-thigh around the dark hole a bullet had left in her side.

  I stood. “I will be back. The truck cannot have gone far, and—”

  She caught the hem of my trousers, her grip twisting in the fabric. “I would only draw attention to those women and the children. We know there’s a hospital nearby in France. And I…I don’t want to leave you.”

  I knelt beside her and drew a hand over my face. “Cachu. Ffyc.”

  “Are you cursing?”

  “Aye, I am.” My hands shook. “Coc oen.”

  She laughed, but the sound cut off with a gasp of pain. “I have never heard you curse before.”

  “You are right. I am angry. You foolish woman. Enaid, why did you not tell me?” She moved to touch her side, but I caught her hand. “Don’t.” I could not check the motion and drew her hand to my face, pressing her palm hard against my cheek and turning my lips into her wrist.

  She swallowed and blinked up at the sky. “There was no point in telling you. I…I think it is too late.”

  “Do not speak such nonsense.” I released her hand and shrugged the pack from my shoulders. The first aid kit seemed woefully ill-prepared for the situation at hand, and the urge to smash the tin against a nearby rock welled within me.

  Five buttons adorned her dress from the collar to the wide waist band, and I slipped them from their moorings and then used my knife to open the dress to her navel and across to the side seam.

  “You could have ripped it. I do not think I will be able to repair this one.”

  “Hush.” I carefully pulled the saturated cotton back from her skin. The wound was a small, dark hole, ugly and brutal against her flesh. With gentle hands, I rolled her onto her opposite side and checked her back. There was no exit wound.

  Blood pulsed in a steady stream from the wound. I felt her eyes upon me as I retrieved the field dressing from the kit, but I avoided meeting her gaze. She looked unbearably fragile. The lattice work of her ribs reminded me of a delicate birdcage. Her skin was pale and smooth and stained with her own blood. Pressure seized my throat, and my eyes burned. I untied the cords around her waist and thigh and tucked her holster and Colt into the rucksack.

  I cleared my throat and placed the dressing over the wound. I caught her hand and rested it over the dressing. “Hold this in place, but do not exert any pressure.” I wrapped the tails around her narrow torso. “That will do.” She moved her hand and I continued the wrapping until there was just enough tail left to tie a knot at her side. I retrieved another field dressing from the kit and repeated the process.

  When I finished, I met her gaze in time to see a tear slip from the corner of her eye down her temple. Otto snuffled her throat, and I caught the tear with my thumb before it ventured into the shelter of her hair. “Are you in pain?”

  She shook her head. “I’m frightened.”

  I swallowed. As was I. “There is no need to be. All will be well.”

  “I do not think I can walk any further, and you cannot carry me over the mountain.”

  I shrugged the rucksack back over my shoulders and then wrapped her coat about her once more. “Hold on about my neck.” I eased her into my arms, carefully regaining my feet on the uneven trail. She rested her head against my shoulder, and I pressed my lips to her hair. “I can, and I will.”

  The path around the lake seemed twice as long as it had been, and when I reached the ridge, movement near the shoreline caught my gaze. An eagle glided down from the high currents above the mountains, his image mirrored on the lake, wingtips stirring ripples in the water. He landed on the outcropping of rock the four Germans had hid behind, startling an unkindness of ravens into flight. A fox crept along the shoreline.

  Within the pine forest of the ridge where we had made camp the last few nights, I stopped and placed Charlotte gently on the ground. Her eyes were closed, and the skin around her lips and eyes was tense with pain. Otto sniffed around her head, nudging her forehead when she did not respond to him as she usually did. I patted her cheek and caught her slim wrist in my hand. The flutter of her pulse against my palm had me closing my own eyes for a moment in relief.

  “Charlotte,” I whispered, brushing the wisps of hair back from her forehead.

  Her eyes opened. “You are the only one who calls me that.” She gave a weak chuckle when Otto licked her cheek and ear.

  “Enough, bach,” I said. “Charlie is a boy’s name. It is not fit for a beautiful woman.”

  She smiled up at me. “I like it when you call me Charlotte.”

  I unbuttoned her coat and moved the shorn panel of her dress away from her side. Blood had seeped through the layered bandaging over the wound. I dragged a hand over my face. “You are losing too much blood, you are.”

  Her throat worked as she swallowed. “I know.”

  I cleared a stretch of ground down to the dirt just outside the tree line and proceeded to build a fire. Kindling was readily available, and the flames caught and held. I added thicker branches until the fire blossomed into red and orange flares that released sparks to the morning air.

  My back was damp with sweat, but Charlotte shivered, her skin pebbling in the cool mountain air. I shrugged out of my coat and covered her and then shook out the heavy blanket rolled into the bottom of the pack and wrapped it around her legs.

  She watched me the entire time, eyes large and dark in her wan face.

  “Are you warm enough?”

  “Aye.”

  I smiled at her attempt to mimic me.

  “I am sorry I lied to you about your son.”

  “It is already forgiven. I understand why you did not tell me.”

  “You should leave me,” she whispered.

  I looked away, studying the fire. “I am not leaving you.”

  “I have slowed you. You cannot afford to—”

  “Enough.” My voice w
as sharper than I intended, and I made an effort to soften it. “Enough. There will be no talk of me leaving you. I will not hear of it.”

  I used an iodine swab on the knife, and when the fire had burnt down, I placed the blade in the coals. While the metal heated, I broke a stick down to hand’s length.

  “Are you going to remove the bullet?”

  I swallowed. “No. I do not know how much damage it has done, and I won’t be prying around in a wound not knowing what I am doing. I am going to stop the bleeding.” I met her gaze as I offered her the stick. “Put this between your teeth.”

  Her breath quavered in her chest and her eyes were dark with fear and pain, but she obeyed.

  I lifted the soaked bandages and used another iodine swab to clean the area around the bullet hole. Blood still welled from the wound, and she flinched under my touch.

  When I checked the knife in the coals, it was not quite glowing red. I retrieved it from the fire and returned to her side. I met her gaze. “Bite down now.”

  She clenched her teeth around the stick and turned her face into Otto’s side. I took a deep breath and gently pressed the flat side of the hot knife onto the wound.

  Her skin hissed and sizzled, and she screamed, the wrenching sound muffled against the makeshift wooden gag. When her scream cut off suddenly and her tense, shaking body went limp, I knew she had fainted and was relieved.

  Otto leapt to his feet and whined, pacing around her head. I lifted the knife and pressed it in short increments over the wound until it was sealed and the blood flow ceased.

  I tossed the knife aside, gut roiling, and rubbed my shaking hands over my face. It took me several tries to open another iodine swab and clean the now-sealed flesh. My stomach tried to creep into my throat at the sight of the raw, angry wound and the smell of burnt skin that still hung in the air. I swallowed repeatedly as I used the last bandage in the kit, binding it around her waist so her clothing would not chafe against the wound.

  I pulled her stained dress back around her and buttoned her coat and mine all the way to her chin before I consolidated the food and supplies into one rucksack. I left behind all of the bedrolls save one and swaddled Charlotte in the blankets.