There was Mr. Spire, an older man with a limp, who’d been friends with Paul’s grandfather. Pierre the policeman was back. And there was Mrs. Bernard, a gray-haired woman who had the prettiest voice in the church choir.
Paul would never have guessed any of these people would be in the resistance. And of course the person he’d least suspected was sitting next to him.
Maman.
She’d arrived a couple hours ago. Mr. Leon had spoken to her first; then she came to find Paul. They’d sat for a moment alone, holding hands, wiping away tears. But not much needed to be said. Now Paul knew all about Maman’s secret life. And whether Maman liked it or not, Paul was a part of it.
And anyway, there was no time for tearful talk.
Mr. Leon had gathered them to discuss an urgent mission, the one that Victor had come to Le Roc to help with. The Nazis were keeping some deadly weapons in Le Roc. These weapons needed to be destroyed.
“The Allies have sent us another message,” Mr. Leon went on. “They want these terrible weapons destroyed tonight.”
It was Maman who had brought this message, Paul had learned. There were people in town who’d been given secret radios they used to communicate with the Allies. One of Maman’s jobs was to pick up those messages and deliver them to other resistance members in and around Le Roc.
“These are one of the Nazis’ most powerful weapons,” said Mr. Spire. “More destructive than anything I remember from World War One.” He’d actually fought in that war with Paul’s grandfather. “They can kill one thousand men in minutes.”
A chill went up Paul’s spine. Victor had told him about these weapons earlier. They were a kind of powerful cannon with six barrels. Each one could shoot one hundred exploding rockets in a minute. The weapon was called a Nebelwerfer, a German word that Paul didn’t understand. But he knew it must mean something evil. When the rockets hit, they exploded, killing everything in their path. This made Nebelwerfers one of the most feared weapons the Nazis had.
“The Allies have told us that this mission is urgent,” Mr. Leon said. “That’s why they took the unusual step of sending Victor. He is one of their best men. Victor is not simply a soldier. He is a special agent, trained in explosives.”
Victor nodded, and now Mr. Leon stepped aside so Victor could take over. Victor stood up and explained that the mission should be simple.
“I have brought a new kind of plastic explosive. It’s called C-Three.”
He lifted a block of what looked like dull yellow clay.
“This explosive is very light. Just a small amount will cause a powerful blast. We can slice off a bit and put it in one of the cannon barrels. Once the Nazis try to fire the cannon, the whole thing will explode.”
“We will turn their weapon of death against them,” said Mrs. Bernard.
Paul eyed her, surprised to hear these harsh words coming from the same mouth that sang their Christmas carols.
“Exactly,” said Victor.
“Any questions?” Mr. Leon asked.
He leaned forward and looked at each person, one by one. It was the same look he used at school, the one that made Paul feel a little smarter. Like suddenly he could accomplish anything he set his mind to.
“I have a question,” Marie said, putting down her mug of cider. “We informed the Allies that there were Nebelwerfers here months ago. Now they’ve sent Victor and we must destroy these weapons tonight. What changed to make things so urgent?”
The others murmured their agreement, and Maman nodded her head. Paul had been wondering the same thing.
Mr. Leon glanced at Victor, who looked down. Paul sensed there was something they weren’t sharing with the rest of the group.
Mr. Spire put his hand over Mr. Leon’s. “Jacques,” he said. “Are the Allies about to attack France? Is the invasion about to happen? Is that why they want the weapons destroyed?”
“Are the Allies coming here, to Normandy?” Pierre chimed in.
The room seemed to shimmer, though nobody moved.
Mr. Leon was still for a moment. And then he slowly nodded.
“The day has finally come,” he said softly. “I don’t know everything; this is still top secret. If the Germans find out, the invasion will almost certainly fail. I can tell you that the Allies are sending a massive force across the English Channel. This will be the largest invasion by sea in the history of the world — thousands of ships. They will arrive at dawn. Tens of thousands of men will be coming ashore on the beaches of Normandy, including right here in Le Roc.”
Paul held his breath. The largest invasion in history?
Mr. Leon paused and looked around. “I don’t have to tell you what those Nebelwerfers could do to those men trying to come onto the beaches. It will be a slaughter.”
Marie and Pierre both leaped to their feet.
They turned to Victor.
“Let’s go,” said Marie. “We must destroy the weapons tonight!”
The hours crept by.
Paul sat in the radio room with Maman, Mr. Spire, Mrs. Bernard, and Mr. Leon.
Victor, Pierre, and Marie had left the moment it was dark. Victor said they should be back within two hours.
Paul watched the clock on the table.
Maman and Mrs. Bernard sat in front of the radio. Mrs. Bernard spun a bicycle wheel that powered the radio. There was no electricity in the castle, of course. Their light came sputtering from just a couple candles set up by the far wall. They couldn’t have them near the windows for fear of the Nazis seeing the flickers. Their supper — bread and stewed onions — was cold.
The radio was tuned to the BBC, the London station. That’s how the Allies sent many of their most important messages to the resistance. Mr. Leon said a new message was coming soon. But right now there was music playing. The jolly sounds of pianos and horns brightened their dim and chilly room.
Paul kept rushing to the window, to peer up at the sky. Mr. Leon had explained that the Allies would be sending thousands and thousands of paratroopers ahead of the ships. These soldiers would keep German troops from getting to the beach to fight the Allies.
“See anything yet?” Mr. Spire asked him.
Paul shook his head. The only thing coming from the sky right now was a light, spitting rain.
“The paratroopers won’t arrive until after midnight,” Mr. Leon said. “And I don’t know if any are coming this close to the beaches.”
Paul kept watch anyway. He just wanted a sign that this invasion was real and not just a dream.
An hour crept by. Two.
Paul was so restless he didn’t know what to do with himself.
“Paul,” Mr. Leon said finally. “Come sit.”
Maman smiled up at him as he passed. She was tailoring a jacket for one of her customers, a reminder that even resistance fighters still needed jobs. Nobody was paid for spying on the Nazis or blowing up trains. No matter what Maman was doing for the resistance, she still had to earn money to buy food for herself and Paul.
Mr. Spire pushed his chair over to make room at the table. Mr. Leon was studying a map. He showed Paul the beaches where the Allies would be landing.
“This invasion is just the start,” Mr. Leon said. “After the Allies take control of the beaches, more troops and equipment will be coming from England. The Allies will take back our towns and cities. They’ll take back Paris. Then they’ll battle their way across Europe, all the way to Germany.” Mr. Leon ran his finger across the map, and Paul imagined it was magically sweeping the Germans away.
If only beating the Nazis would be that easy.
Paul knew the Nazis would fight back ferociously.
“Do you think the Nazis suspect anything?” Paul asked.
“We hear that Hitler is on vacation in the mountains of Germany,” Mr. Leon said.
“I’m afraid his vacation is about to be ruined,” Mrs. Bernard quipped.
They all laughed.
But just then the music stopped.
“Thi
s is it,” Mrs. Bernard said.
Paul expected a voice to say, “The Allied invasion has begun!” or something like that.
But instead, the voice read what sounded like lines from a poem. Something about someone sighing, and violins, and the autumn.
Mr. Leon jumped up. “Yes! That’s it!”
Paul looked at Maman.
“It’s a message to resistance groups all over France,” she said. “It’s telling us that the invasion is about to start.”
She told him how, all over France, resistance groups had been waiting for this message. “And now they’re springing into action,” she said. Each group had been given a different assignment by the Allies. Roads to dynamite. Bridges to destroy. Ammunition warehouses to blow up.
“We have another small team here in Le Roc that has been listening for this message,” Maman went on. “Their mission is to cut the telephone lines so that local Nazis won’t be able to speak to their generals.”
Maman put her arm around Paul and hugged him.
“It’s happening, Paul. If all goes well, this war — this nightmare — could be over.”
Paul’s heart rose up.
But then a voice rang from the hallway.
It was Pierre.
“They’re back!” Maman said.
But something about the sound of Pierre’s voice gave Paul a chill.
They flew out of the room.
He saw Pierre, holding Victor up. There was a trail of blood behind them. Victor’s eyes fluttered. Pierre seemed to be using all his strength to support Victor’s weight. Paul wondered how he had possibly gotten him back here.
Maman and Mr. Leon rushed over and took hold of Victor.
“What happened?” Maman cried.
Pierre was gasping so much he could barely speak.
“Victor’s been shot.”
“Where is Marie?” Mr. Leon said, his voice barely a whisper.
Tears poured down Pierre’s tough-guy face.
“Marie is dead.”
Paul followed Maman and Mr. Spire as they carried Victor to another room.
Paul grabbed Victor’s hand. Victor gave his hand a little squeeze, but didn’t open his eyes.
“Paul,” Maman said gently. “Stay with the others.”
Paul tried to go in the room anyway, but Maman started to shut the door. Ellie managed to whoosh in just before she closed it tight.
Paul’s whole body was shaking. Somehow, he made it back to the radio room.
Mrs. Bernard took Paul gently by the hand.
“Your mother has helped wounded soldiers before,” she said quietly. “Our group has helped rescue nearly fifty Allied pilots who crashed around Le Roc over the years. She knows what to do.”
Paul sat down at the table, where Pierre was telling Mr. Leon what happened.
“There were two guards in front of the barn, just as we expected,” Pierre said. He had his boot off. His ankle was swollen like a melon. It looked broken, or at least very badly sprained.
“We snuck in through a side door. But we didn’t realize there was a third soldier in back. As we were leaving, he spotted us. And then they all came after us. Marie got two of them. And I got the third … but not before he shot Marie.”
Pierre shook his head, tears streaming down his face. “It’s my fault. I should have seen him.”
“No,” Mr. Leon said sternly. “You cannot blame yourself.”
“I didn’t even know Victor had been shot,” he said. “He said nothing. And I hurt my ankle during the fight; I was worrying about myself. But then, after about a mile, I could see that Victor was about to drop. He was shot in the shoulder. It’s bad.”
Mr. Leon’s face looked calm. But his fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles were white.
“Jacques,” Pierre said. “There’s something else. About the Nebelwerfers …”
“What?” Mr. Leon said.
“They weren’t there. The barn was empty except for some boxes of ammunition. The Nebelwerfers must have been moved.”
Pierre pulled out a notebook with a swastika on the cover.
“Victor managed to swipe this from a desk. Hopefully it tells us where the weapons are. We planned to go to find them ourselves. But now …”
Mr. Leon took the notebook.
“Pierre,” he said. “You did everything you could. We have a long night ahead of us. We must gather our strength for what’s to come.”
Mr. Leon and Mrs. Bernard began to study the notebook that Pierre had brought from the warehouse. Paul looked over Mr. Leon’s shoulder. Pierre was right. The notebook was a careful list of all the weapons, with a map showing where they were placed.
“Their code for Nebelwerfer is NbW,” Mrs. Bernard told them. “Look for that.”
They paged through the book.
“There!” Paul cried as Mr. Leon flipped a page.
“Good eye, son,” Mr. Leon said. “Looks like they’ve put them on the cliffs, over the beach.”
Maman had said that this nightmare was about to end.
But Paul now wondered if a new one was about to begin.
Paul got Pierre some water and sat with him a moment.
Then he went and stood outside the room where Victor was and waited.
Maman and Mr. Spire came out a few minutes later. Maman’s dress was splattered with blood, her face slick with sweat.
“I got the bullet out and stitched the wound,” she said. “I gave him some medicine for the pain. He’ll be asleep for a few hours at least.”
She wrapped an arm around Paul as they walked back to the radio room.
“Maman … will he be all right?” Paul asked.
“I’ve seen much worse,” Maman said. “I do think he’s going to make it. We’ll know more when he wakes up.”
Back in the radio room, Mrs. Bernard said she’d go sit with Victor. She called to Pierre. “Come in with me,” she said. “I can wrap up your ankle.”
With the Nazi notebook in hand, Mr. Leon repeated Pierre’s story for Maman and Mr. Spire. He showed them the page with the location of the Nebelwerfers on the cliffs.
“We need to get there and destroy them now,” he said.
“But how?” Maman asked. “I ride my bicycle on those roads every day. The road to the beach is blocked off. They have guards posted near all the paths that lead to the cliffs. They’ve blocked everything off with barbed wire.”
Paul peered over Mr. Leon’s shoulder at the map once again. He pictured the exact spot where it said NbW — a grassy field on the cliffs overlooking the beach.
“I know how to get there without the roads,” Paul blurted. “There’s a way to cut through the hedgerows, cross these woods, and then climb up over a fence.”
Mr. Spire and Mr. Leon looked at Paul.
“Can you draw us a map?” Mr. Spire asked.
Mr. Leon grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil from the box next to the radio.
They watched as Paul started to sketch it out.
But he’d barely gotten started when he realized there was no way he could put his route on paper. There were too many twists and turns, too many secret cuts in the bushes that only Paul — or Gerard — would be able to see.
He put the pencil down.
“I can’t draw it or tell you,” Paul said. “I need to be able to see where I’m going.”
Three sets of eyes stared at him.
“I’ll go there. I’ll show you.”
“No, Paul,” Mr. Leon said, putting his hand on Paul’s head. “No boy should do anything like this.”
Paul knew that was right.
And no eleven-year-old boy should have his papa behind barbed wire. No eleven-year-old boy should see his teacher shot. No eleven-year-old boy should have his best friend taken in the night.
Paul looked at Maman. Their eyes locked. She gave Paul a nod.
“I’ll take him,” Maman said to Mr. Leon.
“Anna, no. You’re the only one who will be able to help Vic
tor if he takes a turn for the worse,” Mr. Spire said. “I would go. But this leg …”
Mr. Leon sat quietly for what seemed like a very long time.
Finally he stood up.
“Paul,” he said. “We leave in five minutes.”
JUNE 6, 1944
JUST AFTER MIDNIGHT
The night was very dark, with thick clouds covering the stars. They walked along the paths Paul knew so well. The night was so quiet and peaceful it was impossible to imagine what was ahead. Those ships must already be gathered in the channel, packed with soldiers. Mr. Leon said there might be close to 150,000 men, not only from America and England but Canada and Greece and other countries, too.
Paul thought of what it must be like for those soldiers, riding through the choppy waters in the dark. Would they get seasick? Paul had, the one time he went on a boat ride on the channel.
And what would happen when they got to the beaches?
The boats wouldn’t be able to bring them all the way in to the land, Mr. Leon had explained. They would have to get off their boats at least a hundred yards from the beach. They would wade ashore in the freezing water, carrying their guns and supplies.
Paul tried not to think of those Nazi machine guns and cannons poking out from the cliffs, like hungry beasts waiting for their prey.
So instead, he thought of the question he’d been meaning to ask Mr. Leon since he arrived at the castle.
“Mr. Leon,” he whispered. “What about that burned body they found near the tower?”
He glanced at Mr. Leon, and to his surprise his teacher wore a faint smile.
“We made it up,” he said, stepping over a fallen branch. “The burned body was a lie, a trick. Pierre wrote up a report in the police department to make it appear official.
“And it worked. Nobody came to the castle,” Mr. Leon went on. He looked at Paul. “Until you showed up.”
“And what about the dragon?” Paul asked, pointing to a gap in a big bush they needed to pass through. “Do you think about it when you’re at the castle?”
Mr. Leon actually slept at the castle, Maman had said.
“I do,” Mr. Leon said. “Quite a bit. But not in the way you might think. In the legend, the dragon protects the castle. And when there was a war, the people of Le Roc would rush to the castle for safety.”
I Survived the Battle of D-Day, 1944 (I Survived #18) Page 3
