Soldier Dogs #4

by Marcus Sutter

  He couldn’t get distracted now. Too much was at stake.

  Henri could see the road from the edge of the woods, and he picked up the pace. He had to try and gain as much ground as he could before it got dark. The last thing he wanted was to get caught in the rain in pitch blackness.

  As he got close to the road, Henri pulled out his map and studied it again . . . but then he saw something out of the corner of his eye that made him freeze.

  Chapter 5

  OUTSIDE RICARVILLE, FRANCE

  MONDAY, JUNE 5, 1944

  6:37 P.M.

  By the side of the road crouched a little girl. Her dress was stained with dirt and sweat, her shoes were worn, and her bob of dark hair was tangled and clumped. She was clawing through the grass, looking for something . . . but what?

  Henri watched as she grabbed a few strands of tall grass and yanked them up out of the ground. At the end of them was a small white bulb, covered in dirt—a wild onion.

  The girl brushed it off with her hand and brought it to her mouth.

  “Hey!” said Henri. The girl leaped and spun to face him, putting the onion behind her back. As he walked toward her, Henri could see her green eyes staring wide and bright from under her ratty bangs. She was afraid of him.

  “What are you doing?” he said. “You can’t just eat that out of the ground! You have to wash it off first. And you should cook it too.”

  The girl was silent for a moment, and then she said softly, “Where can I cook it?”

  “Why . . . your home, of course,” said Henri. “Your mother can . . .”

  The girl’s eyes gleamed with tears. The words Monsieur Tardivat had spoken to Mother came back to him. This must be one of the children he’d mentioned, who had fled into the countryside when the Nazis had come for their families. No wonder she was looking for wild onions—she might not have eaten in days.

  Henri was torn. On the one hand, he felt sorry for this little girl and wanted to help her. On the other, he couldn’t get sidetracked. He had to get to Fécamp as soon as possible. He had to go now. All of France was counting on him . . .

  But, he wondered, what good was he as a savior of France if he couldn’t help one little girl?

  “Here,” he said. He tucked his map under his arm, fished around in his coat pocket, and found the half a baguette and piece of cured beef that Mother had given him for the journey. He ripped a piece off of each and held them out to the little girl. At first the girl didn’t move . . . and then she darted forward and snatched them from Henri’s hand!

  Before Henri could say a word, the girl shoved the food in her mouth and made little whimpering noises as she chewed them.

  “Slow down,” he said. “If you don’t chew enough, you’ll get sick.”

  “Thank you,” said the little girl, spitting crumbs.

  “You’re welcome,” said Henri. “What’s your name?”

  “Elle,” said the girl.

  “You should find a hiding spot,” said Henri. “There are Nazis in this area, and there’s rumor of a big attack by the Allies coming soon. You need to get somewhere safe.”

  “How do you know the Allies are coming here?” she asked.

  “I’m a resistance fighter—” Henri slapped his hand over his mouth. What was wrong with him? He’d just blown his cover to a stranger! She could be a Nazi spy, posing as a lost little girl! This was exactly what Monsieur Anselle had talked about!

  If Elle was a Nazi spy, she didn’t act it—instead, she cocked her head and frowned at Henri. “You don’t look like a Resistance fighter. You’re just a kid. They don’t just let boys as small as you fight for the Resistance.”

  Henri’s cheeks burned. He wasn’t small! Who did this girl think she was? He opened his mouth to tell her she didn’t know what she was talking about—

  When the sound of a horn in the distance made him stiffen.

  Henri looked over his shoulder to see a Nazi convoy heading their way.

  What could he do? Part of him wanted to bolt into the countryside. But that went against Monsieur Tardivat’s training. Never run if you don’t need to, he had taught Henri. Keep your cool. Running just lets them know you’re up to something.

  He turned back to Elle, to tell her to be quiet and let him do the talking. Before he could, she threw a handful of dirt on to his shirt and smeared some on his cheeks.

  “What are you doing?” he hissed, slapping her hands away.

  “They need to think you are an orphan, like me,” whispered Elle. “You look too clean right now. Just rub the dirt around. You’ll be fine.”

  That’s actually a good idea, thought Henri, though he felt a little offended by having to be told what to do by some orphan. There was no time to argue—the sounds of the trucks’ motors filled the air. Henri smeared dirt on his face and hoped he looked hungry enough to pass as Elle’s brother.

  There were eight trucks in all. On the doors were painted huge white circles with black swastikas in them, and in the back of each truck sat about thirty German soldiers with rifles. The soldiers all glared at him as they rolled by. Henri noticed that some of the soldiers had dogs too—Doberman Pinschers, with sharp upright ears and pointed faces. It was hard to believe that a dog as soft and sweet as Brigette had been the child of a dog so angular and scary-looking as a Doberman.

  The first seven trucks passed them . . .

  And then the eighth stopped.

  The whine of the brakes made Henri cringe.

  His map, tucked under his arm, tumbled from his grip . . . and dropped slowly into the mud.

  Chapter 6

  OUTSIDE RICARVILLE, FRANCE

  MONDAY, JUNE 5, 1944

  6:51 P.M.

  “You! Boy!”

  Panic shot through Henri. The map sat at his feet, half unfolded. The Nazis were yelling for him. The directions were written in French, not German, but one of them could no doubt speak French.

  He had to hide it . . . and there was only one way he could think of.

  Henri felt his heart ache as he moved his foot over the map and stomped it into the mud. Then he forced himself to look up at the Germans.

  The truck sat rumbling in front of them. Soldiers filled the back, as well as two Dobermans with hard black eyes and Iron Crosses dangling from their studded collars. They all eyed Henri and Elle with utter contempt.

  The soldier who spoke to him leaned out of the truck’s passenger window. He carefully observed Henri and Elle from behind round spectacles.

  “What are you two doing on the road?” barked the soldier in heavily accented French. “Do you have your papers on you? Where are your parents?”

  Henri searched for the right words, but it felt as though his mouth were full of gum. He was messing this up!

  Thankfully, Elle stepped forward and spoke. “My brother and I are on our way back to Dieppe, sir,” she said. “Our parents sent us out to look for wild onions for their soup.” She raised the dirty onion she’d almost eaten.

  “Well, you’d better start heading back there if you want to make it home before dinner,” yelled the soldier. “And tell your parents not to let their children run wild throughout the countryside.” A cruel grin grew across his face. “Don’t you know there’s a war on?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Elle. “Are you going to Dieppe? Perhaps you can give us a ride home—”

  “I can’t be taxiing every lost child across France,” said the Nazi. “Just head home now. And tell your parents to keep you inside, or else you might catch a bullet. As long as you stay east of Le Havre, you should be fine.”

  The soldier gave Henri one last long look, and Henri was terrified that the soldier had heard stories about the White Fox traveling with a small boy . . . but then he sat back in his car and gave his driver a swat on the arm.

  “Heil Hitler,” he snapped, and then the truck roared off down the road. It followed the other trucks in the convoy around a bend . . . and out of sight.

  At once, Henri fell to his knee
s and dug the sodden map out of the mud. He tried to be careful with it—but as he lifted it, the soaked paper ripped in half in his hands. He held the torn pieces for a moment longer before letting them fall back into the dirt.

  Henri felt as if he were falling down a bottomless pit. This couldn’t be happening. He tried to remember the instructions on the map—the crossroads was . . . through the forest? Was there another road before this one? No, that wasn’t right. Was Fécamp east of Le Havre? No, he didn’t think so . . .

  Tears stung the back of Henri’s eyes, and his breath hitched in his chest. He was lost. He had failed Mother. If he ever got to Fécamp, it would be too late. The Resistance wouldn’t know where to meet the Allies, and France would never be free of the Nazis . . .

  “Are you all right?” asked Elle. “What’s that paper?”

  “Leave me alone,” said Henri, doing his best to swallow back his sobs. “My map is ruined. My mission is over. I’m totally lost. I’ll never make it to Fécamp in time without it. I have no idea where to go.”

  “I know how to get to Fécamp.”

  What? Henri’s eyes darted up to Elle as a flicker of hope lit up inside him. For her part, the little girl stared down at him as though he were some sort of bug she’d never seen before.

  “You . . . you do?” He sniffed and rose to his feet. “Can you lead me there?”

  “Sure,” she said, waving him along. “You gave me some of your food—it’s the least I can do. Quickly, though, it’s a long walk.”

  Elle started walking, and Henri jogged up next to her. This was amazing! The mission was saved! He still had a chance of getting to Fécamp and giving the plans to Mother’s Resistance contact. To think that if he hadn’t been nice to this girl, he might be stuck out here alone, surrounded by Nazis and unfamiliar countryside.

  Henri’s spirits began to pick up. Life had a funny way of working out. He wasn’t a failure, he’d just had to think on his feet. And hey, he’d also learned some vital intel—as long as they didn’t go east of Le Havre, they had a good chance of being unbothered for the rest of the night. If he stayed the course, and Elle knew where she was going, this should be an easy journey.

  As they walked out into a grassy field, Henri felt the first raindrop plop coldly against the back of his neck. Elle must have felt one too, because she looked up at the sky and frowned.

  Well, maybe it wouldn’t be so easy after all.

  One by one, fat raindrops began plopping down onto Henri and Elle. Soon, the sound of their drumming filled the countryside. Then all at once, it was pouring, the rain beating down on them, the ground turning muddy beneath their feet. Thunder boomed in the sky.

  “It’s not so bad,” Henri told himself, trying to stay hopeful. “It’s just a little rain. Nothing to worry about—”

  BOOM! With blinding flash, a bolt of lightning struck a tree some hundred yards away, sending a shower of sparks into the air. Then Henri and Elle ran, hoping to find shelter, as the terrible storm seemed to attack them from all sides.

  Chapter 7

  OVER THE BEACHES OF NORMANDY, FRANCE

  MONDAY, JUNE 5, 1944

  10:36 P.M.

  Ace knew what was about to happen long before they opened the door to the plane. Over the new rush of sounds and smells—the booming outside the plane that made the walls rattle, the sharp peppery blasts of powder and carbine—he picked up on the soldiers’ nerves. Their hearts were pounding. Their toes were tapping. Even Jake, at whose feet Ace rested, was sweating profusely.

  Ace didn’t understand. Only hours ago, when he’d come trotting out of the ammo compartment, Jake had been overjoyed. All the men had been, laughing and petting him and cheering him on for finding a way on board. He’d even fake-boxed with Tommy a little. But now they were terrified. That made no sense.

  Besides, this was the mission, right? This was what they’d been waiting for, for months! Why would they be frightened? Sure, it was dangerous, but that’s why they’d been training . . .

  One of the other masters shouted at the men. At once, they all stood and created a line in front of the plane door. Jake was last, and he looked back at Ace with wide, frightened eyes.

  “Ready, Ace?” he said.

  Ace barked at him. Of course he was ready! Why wouldn’t he be? What was the big deal about—

  The master in front threw open the door to the plane, and the noise blasted in. The air howled, and in it screamed and roared dozens of bombs and giant artillery shells. It was so loud that Ace couldn’t help but jump a little.

  This was much scarier than training.

  Maybe he wasn’t so ready after all . . .

  One by one, the men leaped out of the plane and vanished into the night sky. It was exactly like the exercises they’d performed back at the base . . . only it was so much darker beyond the door than it had been during training. The noises coming from the sky outside were closer than they’d ever been.

  Without meaning to, Ace whined and began inching away toward the back of the plane.

  One of the other masters tapped Jake’s shoulder and pointed at Ace. Jake looked back and tried to smile at Ace. But Ace could tell it wasn’t a real smile—it was fake, the same smile Jake gave Ace when Ace had to go to the vet or be locked up for the night.

  Ace whined. He wanted to be brave. He was brave. But . . . he was scared!

  The master yelled something. Jake walked back to Ace and picked him up.

  “Don’t worry, Ace,” said Jake. “It’ll all be okay. I promise.”

  Ace whined. He wasn’t as ready as he thought he’d be. If he could just have a few more minutes—

  “Three . . .” yelled Jake.

  Wait . . . no! Ace began to wriggle in Jake’s hands.

  “Two . . .”

  Jake stepped up to the door.

  Oh no. Ace felt his heart beating so fast he was worried it might burst. He whined without meaning to. His feet spun in the air. They were—Jake was—

  “One . . .”

  Ace barked—Wait, wait, wait!

  And then Jake jumped, and in midair he let Ace go.

  Wind filled Ace’s ears and stung his eyes. He howled as the night rushed around him, a blur of black. There was a swooping noise, and then—

  TWANG! The straps on his harness pulled tight.

  Ace was airborne! He sailed through the sky at the end of his parachute. Now that he wasn’t falling, it wasn’t so bad! It was just like training!

  A shell whizzed past Ace and exploded behind him, making him yelp. Okay, maybe not exactly like training.

  He looked around him, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. On his sides, the men were hanging in the sky from their blown-out parachutes. In the clouds between them, light flickered—both long strings of lightning and quick bursts of gunpowder. And down on the ground below, Ace could just barely see the men landing, discarding their parachutes, and running for cover.

  That’s where they needed him—on the ground, with Jake, doing his job! Ace sniffed the air, trying to pick up Jake’s scent again. All the other sounds and smells were too much for him, though, and he couldn’t get ahold of Jake’s smell.

  Oh no! Had he lost him? Was he already ruining the mission?

  If only he could get down on the ground quicker!

  Ace wriggled and bounced, hoping to make his descent go a little faster—

  SNAP!

  One of his parachute straps broke. Ace swung hard to the side. All at once, a gust of wind hit him and yanked him away from the men, off into the chilly darkness of the clouds.

  Ace spun and whipped through the air. He barked, but no one responded to him. He couldn’t smell Jake, or the men, or the plane—or anyone! The whole world spun around him as he plummeted into the night.

  He was going down!

  Chapter 8

  OUTSIDE RICARVILLE, FRANCE

  MONDAY, JUNE 5, 1944

  11:11 P.M.

  The sky gave them everything it had.


  Rain pounded the earth. It swept across the countryside in waves. Huge gusts of wind blew up, blasting droplets directly in Henri’s face. He hunched his shoulders and tried to remain calm, but he felt as though he might burst into tears at any minute.

  Elle had led them to the crossroads, and the flame of Henri’s hope had roared when he saw signs for Fécamp. But as the rain got worse, the road had become a swamp of giant puddles and miniature rivers that rushed by at surprising speed. Meanwhile, the grassy countryside along the roadside grew loose and muddy, threatening to suck the boots off his feet any time he left the packed dirt of the road.

  They found a ramshackle barn along the side of the road and stopped to dry off a little and catch their breath. They shared the remainder of the meat and baguette, though the bread was soggy. Henri found an old piece of tarp in one corner and wrapped it around his secret plans. He stuffed them deep in his coat pocket and hoped that was enough to keep them safe from water damage.

  As Henri stared out at the lightning streaking across the sky, his thoughts turned to Mother. A veil of worry dropped over him that felt as cold and wet as his soaked clothes. He hoped Mother had made it to Amiens safely, and that she wasn’t too worried about him. He knew he should just focus on the task at hand—Mother was an excellent spy, and she could handle herself—but he couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened to her. Hearing that Nazi soldier recognize her had shaken his resolve a little. Suppose they caught her on the road. Suppose she stopped at a farmhouse and asked for directions, and the farmer had ratted her out to the Nazis. Suppose . . .

  He had to stop. He couldn’t think about it. It was too terrible, and it didn’t help him at all. Getting to Fécamp was all that mattered.