Once More Unto the Breach Page 6

  “Help me bring the German in. Then I’ll open the other crates.”

  She straightened and turned to eye the blankets and lantern. “At nightfall, we can light the lantern.”

  We carried the German into the church on a stretcher with Otto trotting ahead of us.

  “Is he a war dog, then?” Charlotte’s voice was strained as we climbed over the rubble, but her grip never faltered.

  The poodle navigated the rubble with agile ease and darted into the ruins of the nave.

  “Aye, I wager so.”

  We laid the German in the corner of the choir. His eyes were open but glazed, and he struggled to focus on Charlotte. “Analise.” He sighed and closed his eyes but continued to speak to the woman he thought was present until his voice faded along with his consciousness.

  “I do not understand why you are trying to save him.”

  I followed her back to the ambulance and gathered our satchels and bed rolls while she disabled the vehicle. “I am not saving him.”

  “But you—”

  “He is beyond saving. The man is dying. It is only a matter of time. I do not know how he has lasted this long.”

  Her brow was knit as she turned to me, and her voice was heated. “He is the enemy.”

  “Aye. But I could not leave him to that fate, Charlotte. Deserved or not, I could not leave him to such a grueling end, alone with animals picking at his flesh before he is fully gone.”

  She sighed and rubbed her forehead, looking away.

  “I know you are angry, and I—”

  “I’m not angry,” she said. “I am frightened. Here, I will take the bedrolls.”

  I relinquished them and remained rooted to the spot where I stood, watching as she crossed the sun-dappled meadow, light and shadow playing over her, and then disappeared into the church.

  _______

  While Charlotte went through the crates in the apse, I set snares in the woods and caught two rabbits and a quail. I dressed the game and cooked them over a fire in the twilight. As Charlotte and I ate—each of use sharing our portions with Otto, who took the food delicately from our fingers but ate enthusiastically—the German awakened.

  I tucked two blankets under his head and shoulders to prop him up.

  “Danke, danke. Ich heiße Wilhelm.” He jerked a thumb toward his chest. “Wilhelm.”

  “Wilhelm?”

  “Ja.”

  “Rhys.”

  Charlotte touched my shoulder, and when I looked up at her, she handed me one of the canteens. “He may be thirsty.” She nodded to the man and smiled, though it was strained at the edges. “Charlie.” She glanced at me, and her smile became easier and brighter. “Or Charlotte.”

  The man drank messily, water spilling down his chin, and we both ignored the liquid pooling in the gore of his abdomen.

  “Night is falling,” Charlotte whispered, looking up at the empty arch of windows. The sun was taking her last breaths, bleeding into the sky the deep red and purple of her last light of day before the cool balm of moonlight soothed the wound of her passing. “This must have been a lovely church once.”

  “Aye. We best light the lantern.”

  I covered Wilhelm with a blanket, ensuring all traces of his uniform were hidden from sight. I met his gaze and held a finger to my mouth. He nodded in understanding.

  Charlotte and I secured the lids on the crates. Twenty-six sculptures were secreted away in the midst of the ruins. If Charlotte sought a specific piece, she did not find it here. Though she recognized some of the works, sharing the history of the ones she knew with me, she did not linger over them and did nothing more than study them.

  I knew more than curiosity drove her to check the contents of each crate. And I knew she searched for something, because her brow was pleated with disappointment as we drew the canvas back into place to shroud the hidden art and retreated from the apse.

  The night had deepened to pitch before I heard movement from outside the church. Charlotte and Otto sat in the floor beside me. She was working her comb through his coat, but the dog sat up now. He did not growl, but he stared into the darkness toward the fallen bell tower, alert and watchful. I touched Charlotte’s shoulder. “Someone comes,” I said, voice low.

  She tensed and moved the skirt of her dress aside to show me that her gun rested on the stones beside her. I fought a smile.

  A man stepped from the shadows and stood at the edge of the dim pool of light emitted from the lantern. He appeared ancient, stooped and gnarled with age, his face weathered by time and long years spent working in the sun. He carried a staff and leaned heavily on it, but when he spoke, his voice was strong.

  “Demain, dès l’aube, à l’heure où blanchit la campagne, je partirai.”

  Charlotte’s brow wrinkled.

  “What did he say?”

  “He makes no sense. He is quoting poetry: ‘Tomorrow, at dawn, in the hour when the countryside becomes white, I will leave.’”

  I stood. “Sir, I—”

  He squinted and moved further into the light. “Owain?”

  “His father.” I looked to Charlotte.

  “Son père.” She brushed off her dress as she gained her feet and translated and then listened to the old man’s response. “He says the resemblance is startling and that you should have a care. It could be dangerous to be mistaken for your son.”

  I gestured to the pew I had vacated. “Please.”

  The man moved at a shuffle, his staff ringing against the stone. He sat, passing a hand over Otto’s head before resting both over the gnarled end of the cane. He thrust his chin at where Wilhelm lay and spoke.

  Charlotte hesitated, glancing at the German before responding. They exchanged words for a moment before she turned to me. “His name is Benoit, and he owns the land this church is on.”

  “How does he know my son?”

  While they spoke, I glanced at Wilhelm. His eyes were closed. I did not know if he truly slept or merely feigned it. Otto padded across the room and lay by his side with his chin on the German’s shoulder.

  “He says it was Owain who approached him several years ago about using the church. It is a safe haven, a resting point. He said that the site has been part of your son’s network since ’42. He said the Germans have never suspected and have never come to question him.” I could see the effort it took her to not look to the pallet in the corner.

  His network. “Ask him why it would be dangerous to be mistaken for Owain and where I can find him.”

  Charlotte relayed my question. “When he was last here, Owain told him it would be his last transport, that the Americans were coming and it would be different once the Germans were driven out. He says he last saw your son in June and expected to see him on his return, but he should have been here weeks ago. He never returned. He is afraid of what may have happened to him.”

  “Returned from where? Does Benoit know where Owain goes from here?”

  When Charlotte asked the man, he met my gaze. “Vichy.”

  _______

  Benoit returned in the morning with food, petrol, and a rifle. He handed me the latter. It was a Lebel Model 1886, an 8mm bolt action rifle I recognized from the Great War.

  When he spoke, his voice was somber. Charlotte translated. “He wants you to have the rifle. He lost all three sons in the last war and a grandson in this one. He said from what he knows of Owain, he is a brave man, and he knows you must be a good man to come so far to find your son. He says he would be proud for you to carry his rifle.”

  The words struck me. “I am honored.”

  He and Charlotte conversed further. “He says to find the librarian at the missionary house in Vichy, that she will be able to aid us.”

  A groan came from the corner and the three of us glanced toward the pallet. Wilhelm’s head tossed restlessly, but thankfully he uttered no other sound. Charlotte looked at me from the corner of her eye but responded calmly to Benoi
t’s query.

  He bade us farewell and clasped my hand tightly in a gnarled, work-roughened grip. When he was gone, Charlotte turned to me. “He wanted to know if our friend was injured. I said merely ill.”

  “We need to get rid of the uniform.”

  The trousers would be covered and would not garner notice, but the coat was undeniably German. I undid the top four buttons. He wore a plain shirt underneath. The bottom half of his coat had shredded with the exit of the bullet.

  Charlotte knelt at his head and lifted his upper body onto her lap to ease the garment from his shoulders. I used a knife and carefully cut away the cloth from where it had crusted and dried into his wound. I did not want to tear it free and renew the bleeding.

  Wilhelm moaned as we worked to the remove the identifiable outer layer of his uniform, and Otto whined where he lay across his master’s legs.

  “All is well, bach,” I said. I sliced up the sleeves and worked the coat from under him.

  Wilhelm’s eyes opened, but I did not think he saw us. He looked up at Charlotte and smiled. “Analise, liebchen, engelchen.” He continued to murmur to his absent love.

  Though she held herself stiffly, when a tear escaped from his eye and slid down his temple, Charlotte wiped it away. Her hand trembled and then settled against the side of his face. “Shh,” she whispered. “Shh.” He stilled and quieted immediately, and she looked up at me, eyes dark and lost. “We should burn the coat.”

  I buried it instead in the rubble of the shattered nave. Wilhelm rested more easily and made no sound when we carried him to the ambulance and loaded him on the stretcher bearer.

  I started to stow the French rifle with our supplies, but instead I rounded the ambulance and placed it between the back of the driver’s seat and the spare tire. Largely hidden from sight but within my reach. While Charlotte replaced the part she had removed from the engine, I filled the tanks with petrol and then retrieved the map. Charlotte joined me at the back of the ambulance as I spread it across the floor.

  She traced a finger across the country. “The demarcation line was here. We will come upon it along the river here going into Moulins, but I do not know what to expect now. I have not ventured that far south since before the war.”

  “We may come upon Allied forces as well. And the Germans will be retreating even still.”

  We both looked at Wilhelm’s prone figure. “As long as he is with us,” Charlotte said, “I think it is best to avoid villages. He is slipping further into delirium, and as soon as someone hears him speaking German…”

  “If it happens, we will say we found him and are transporting him to authorities.”

  “People will question why we did not simply kill him outright.”

  “Let them. He is already a dead man.”

  She nodded and leaned back over the map. “I think we can make it here by the day’s end. To the east of Bourges on the Loire.” Otto hopped out of the back of the ambulance as Charlotte climbed up and latched the left door and then closed the right. He followed her around the vehicle.

  I folded the map and tucked it back into the satchel, stowing the rear steps before circling to the cab. Otto sat between us, and when I rubbed his ears, he looked up at me with his tongue lolling and mouth open as if smiling.

  Within an hour, we left the forest behind. The land stretched south in a flat, featureless expanse with only the occasional village and oasis of trees for relief.

  My jaw was not as stiff today, but the bright sun overhead produced a pulse that beat in my temples. As the sun approached its zenith, I realized the haze in the sky to the west was not simply an illusion in the rising temperatures of midday. It was dust.

  I leaned over and retrieved the rifle from where I had stowed it.

  Charlotte glanced at me, brow knitting when she saw the Lebel across my knees. “What is it?”

  “Look to the west.”

  Her hands tightened on the wheel. “That’s not a storm blowin’ up. Something approaches.”

  “Something large.”

  She downshifted, and the vehicle began to slow. “Should I—”

  “Keep going. We—” My ears pricked to a growing hum, and I scanned the sky. “Get off the road. Now.” I opened the door into the back of the ambulance, pushed Otto within, and closed it behind him.

  “Hold on.”

  I gripped the doorframe as Charlotte shifted gears and spun the wheel. We lurched off the road and into the adjacent field, bouncing violently over the rutted land. We raced toward a copse of trees in the middle of the field.

  The hum grew to a thunder, and then four fighter-bombers pierced the dusty haze and roared toward us.

  12 November 1940

  Dear Nhad,

  There were thousands of students in the processions yesterday

  along the Champs-Élysées. The Germans were brutal in their response.

  But the French have found their voices.

  -Owain

  vi

  We skidded into the shelter of trees, snapping saplings under the carriage, just as the fighters screamed past overhead. We bounced to a jarring halt, and Otto howled in the back of the ambulance.

  I leapt out.

  “Rhys!”

  “Stay down!” I shouted as I ran to the edge of the trees. I shaded my eyes and looked to the sky. Relief almost made me stagger. “Back out of the trees! It’s the Americans. They will not fire when they see the cross.”

  The planes were looping to circle back over us. The ambulance’s engine whirred.

  “Quickly, Charlotte!”

  “We’re stuck! Something is caught underneath!”

  “Coc oen.” I sprinted back to the ambulance, tossing Charlotte the rifle as I ran past. I shoved my shoulder against the hot metal of the front grill, ignoring the burn, and gripped the tow bar, pushing with all of my might. “Hit the accelerator!” I shouted above the growing thunder of the approaching fighters.

  There was a groan of metal, and then with an ominous crack the ambulance leapt backward so quickly I fell to my knees. “Go, go, go!”

  She sped in reverse out of the shelter of the trees and into the open daylight just as the fighters buzzed our position. All four pulled up sharply, climbing and looping away from us.

  I got to my feet, heart thrumming, and hurried to the driver’s side of the ambulance. Otto was barking wildly in the back.

  “You are hurt.”

  Charlotte blinked at me, eyes wide. “What?”

  I reached up and wiped the blood from her check. A narrow cut followed the line of her cheekbone, a layer of skin scraped off. “You have a scram here.”

  She started at the sight of her blood on my fingers and pressed the back of her hand to the wound. “A tree branch must have caught me.” She leaned back and cracked the door. “Hush your mouth, Otto. Settle now.” She climbed down from the seat and staggered when her feet hit the ground. I caught her elbow and held on until she was steady. “I think we broke a spring.”

  “Can it be fixed?”

  “Yes, but—” Charlotte’s eyes widened, and she stared behind me.

  I turned to find tanks, Jeeps, and scores of men marching toward us. The ground rumbled beneath our feet and the din of an approaching army grew.

  Charlotte gripped my arm. “Wilhelm…”

  “We could turn him over to them, but there is no need. He is a wounded soldier who is almost dead.”

  She searched my face and then nodded.

  A Dodge command car broke from the mass and veered toward us. Two flags flew on either side of the hood. Both were red and white. One had three stars; the other was emblazoned with the number 3 on it. A tall man stood in the car, and the sun gleamed off of his polished helmet. As the Dodge drew even with us, his high cavalry boots hit the ground before the vehicle had even come to a complete stop. He strode toward us in ground-eating strides with the slightly splayed stance of a man who had spent much of his t
ime on horseback. He wore a revolver on each hip, and both were ivory-gripped. A bull terrier leapt out of the Dodge and trotted close at his heels. I swallowed a chuckle when I saw the G.I. dog tags around the canine’s neck.

  I thought the decades old habit had been forgotten, but as he approached, I snapped a sharp salute.

  “What’s happened here?” His here sounded more like heah.

  “We did not realize you were American, General, sir.”

  “Those Thunderbolts and Mustangs are a damn fearful sight. Is the ambulance wrecked?”

  “No, sir,” Charlotte said. “But I think a spring is broken.”

  He focused shrewd eyes on her. “You the one driving this thing?”

  She straightened her shoulders. “I am, sir.”

  His face seemed etched in a perpetual scowl, and the lines on his forehead and around his eyes were deep. But at her affirmation, a surprisingly boyish smile split his face. “I’ll be damned. We have so many god-awful drivers it’s a relief to come across a good one. Damn fine evasive measures, miss. If you were a man, I would be proud to have you in the Third.”

  I hid a smile as Charlotte’s cheeks flushed. “Thank you, sir.”

  “You carrying wounded in the back?”

  “One,” I said carefully. “Gravely wounded.”

  “Is there anything a field surgeon can do for him?”

  “No, sir. A spine and gut shot. It is only a matter of time.”

  “Fucking shame. I’d like a word with him.”

  I saw Charlotte stiffen from the corner of my eye. “He is in and out of delirium, sir.”

  “I’ll be brief.”

  I nodded at Charlotte, and after a moment’s hesitation, she unlatched the rear door. He did not bother with the fold-out steps as he climbed in. Otto lay across Wilhelm’s legs, but he sat up when the door opened.