21
Chapter 2 – "What happened…"
Doc was awakened by a loud voice. He got up and cautiously crept down the hall to see what was going on. At the back door, the doctor and his wife had their robes pulled tightly around them as they tried to calm an agitated man. Finally, the doctor said something that seemed to satisfy him, because he quickly left. Mme. Angolis was shaking her head when she turned around and saw the medic standing in the archway.
"Is everything alright?" he asked.
"Men! You are so useless at times like dese," Julia said with disgust. She turned to her husband "You know, Robert, women have been having babies since long before dere were doctors!"
The doctor laughed. "Yes, my dear. And, if men had to have de babies, de human race would have come to an end a long time ago."
Doc realized the couple had had this discussion before.
"Still…" Dr. Angolis began.
And, Julia finished, "I know, you must go. But, you can wait a few minutes to have breakfast."
"Yes, dear…Doc, would you like to accompany me? We will have to walk, but it is only two or three kilometers."
The medic began to answer, "Well, I…"
"I will fix breakfast while you two get dressed," responded the force of nature.
Kirby groaned as his eyelids fluttered. He started to roll over, but was hit by a wave of nausea. So instead, he lay very still and tried to remember what had happened.
'There was the poker game…I was the big winner…the cognac…did I have too much to drink? No, not likely. The MP…the cool night air…that was it. It was stupid not to have stayed with the rest of the soldiers.'
He felt the lump on the back of his head and groaned again.
After a while, he pushed himself to his knees. Everything was spinning, and he knelt there for a long time with his eyes closed, trying not to puke. Finally, the spinning slowed down and, leaning against the side of the building, he used the crates to pull himself to his feet. He padded his pockets and was not surprised to find that all of his winnings were gone. He closed his eyes again and tried to figure out what to do.
From what the BAR man had seen, every French town had a central square with a fountain. He decided he would wait there until one of his squad mates wandered by. He thought it was a good plan, especially since it was the only one his aching head could come up with.
He staggered to the end of the alley and asked the first soldier who passed by where the center of the town was.
Littlejohn awoke before the rooster crowed. He intended to head back to Berot at first light, but the old woman was already up. He could smell the fresh baked bread. She had eggs ready for him for breakfast. After he ate, he chopped more wood for the stove and watched as she started doing some repairs around the farm. Before he knew it, he was working at her side.
They didn't talk. If they needed to exchange information, they pantomimed the action because they didn't speak the same language. But, the big private thought, in reality, they did speak the same language, the language of the farmer. For the first time in a long while, he felt at peace. When he paused to wipe the sweat from his brow, he also took the time to listen to the sounds of nature.
The scout opened his eyes. For a moment, he thought he was back at the front and he listened for the sound of small arms fire. But, that wasn't what he heard. It was voices, French voices. He had no memory of what had happened after he and Odette left the café. Odette? Where was she? Was she all right? He had to find her, to protect her. They had established a special bond. Maybe after the war…
He grabbed hold of the cart's wheel to either move it or pull himself out from under it. That's when he noticed that his ring was pushed down on the wrong finger. Reluctantly, he felt for his wallet. It was gone. He realized that their connection hadn't been so special after all.
His head was pounding, but he forced himself to stand and then walk unsteadily to the end of the alley. It was already mid-morning. If he headed to the bivouac area, he might have to wait until dusk, or even later, for his squad mates to appear and loan him some money. And, he didn't even know where they had left their gear, so it would be impossible to find them. He decided to make his way to the center of town and hope that, eventually, one of them would wander by.
The Cajun was surprised to see Kirby sitting, hunched over and dejected, at the fountain.
"What happened to you, mon ami?"
"I got rolled. What happened to you?"
"I was…" What? Taken for a sucker, drugged and robbed by a lovely French girl? He decided to keep it simple, "…robbed, too."
The two comrades sat, slumped and despondent, as a sea of happy GIs continued to swirl around them.
They heard the horn and the cursing of the soldiers who had to jump out of the way before they caught sight of the jeep.
Caje had to smile. 'Only Lt. Hanley would be crazy enough to drive through the streets of a town full of soldiers on R&R,' he thought.
And, sure enough, it was the lieutenant who brought the jeep to a halt in front of the fountain. Caje and Kirby stood, although both were still wobbly.
The lieutenant immediately noticed. 'Kirby, I expected it from him, but Caje should have had more sense,' he thought.
"WHERE'S SAUNDERS?" Hanley bellowed.
Both men reached to cover their ears. "Please, Sir, not so loud," Kirby said with a moan.
"Lieutenant, we haven't seen him," answered the scout.
"I checked the hotel where I thought he would be staying, but they said he never showed up."
"He's taking Cpl. Long's death pretty hard, Sir. When we got here, he told us to leave him alone and he just took off," said the Cajun.
"Well, he needs to get over it." Hanley immediately realized how harsh that sounded when it was said out loud, even though it was, unfortunately, their everyday reality. He sighed and shook his head.
The two privates looked at each other.
"Alright, you two will have to do. Your passes are cancelled. Get in the jeep."
Things had just gone from bad to worse for the scout and the BAR man. It was their turn to sigh and shake their heads. They climbed into the jeep, closed their eyes in an effort to maintain the delicate balance they had managed to achieve with their stomachs, and hung on as the lieutenant quickly maneuvered through the town to the bivouac area. Once they had retrieved their gear and returned to the main road, Hanley pressed down on the accelerator and the jeep roared to life. To the two soldiers' dismay, he seemed to think he had to shout to make himself heard, which only added to their discomfort.
"A CAPTAIN FROM S-2 NEEDS AN ESCORT FOR A RENDEVOUS WITH THE LOCAL MAQUIS. THEY THINK THEY'VE DISCOVERED SOMETHING IMPORTANT, BUT WOULDN'T RISK A RADIO TRANSMISSION. RECENTLY, THERE HAVE BEEN SOME PROBLEMS WITH SOME OF THEIR MISSIONS. THEY THINK THE KRAUTS MIGHT BE LISTENING IN."
"You want us to escort him, Lieutenant?" asked Caje.
"YES. YOU KNOW THE AREA; MOLINEAUX, WHERE YOU JUST DID RECONNAISSANCE."
"Ain't we lucky," said Kirby.
"WHAT DID YOU SAY, KIRBY?"
"THAT THE CAPTAIN'S LUCKY…I MEAN, THAT WE KNOW THE AREA."
"YOU'RE RIGHT."
Caje turned around, looked at his friend and shook his head. Kirby leaned over the side of the jeep and puked.
As they walked along, Dr. Angolis explained to Doc that the young couple were members of the resistance, but had returned home when the Americans arrived so that their baby would be born in the same house as its mother and her mother before her. The doctor gave a hearty laugh.
"Dat is why young Louis is so nervous, probably more so dan when he was fighting de Boche. He has to face not only his wife, but also his moder-in-law, and he feels helpless."
Doc smiled, but there was no joy in it. This Louis didn't know what helpless was.
They walked in silence for several minutes.
"I served in de French army until dis." Dr. Angolis touched the empty sleeve. "It is not a good job, to be a medic or a doctor in de army at a time of war."
The medic looked at him, but didn't respond.
"You feel helpless. Dead is everywhere, and you can do noding."
"But, you're a doctor. Surely you were able to save lives."
The doctor smiled sadly. "If I did not try to save de more seriously wounded, I was condemning dem to dead. But, if I spent too much time trying to save one soldier, anoder one died. I had to make decisions dat only God should make."
"I've always thought that if I can just keep them alive to get to an aid station, they'll be all right. So many times, I can't even do that. All I can do is…" Doc looked away.
"…be wid dem so dey do not die alone. I, too, have sat at too many bedsides as young men cried out for deir moders, and died wid dat cry on deir lips."
They walked the rest of the way in silence.
Louis ran out of the house to meet them. After he and the doctor exchanged a few words, the three men went inside. Mme. LaRue looked up from the large pot she was tending on the stove to see who had entered. She shook her head and returned to stirring.
The medical men followed Louis into a small bedroom. He knelt at the side of the bed where his wife, Anna Marie, lay and held her hand. She raised her head and smiled at the doctor. The medic thought she looked radiant.
Dr. Angolis shooed the other two men from the room and closed the door. Doc stood awkwardly in the middle of the main room of the house while Louis paced and Mme. LaRue continued to stir whatever it was she was cooking on the stove.
When the doctor finally came out, he told Louis he could go sit with his wife. Then he went to Mme. LaRue and they had a long talk. Lastly, Dr. Angolis motioned to the medic to join him outside.
Once they were away from the family, the doctor smiled broadly.
"Anna Marie is fine. It is her first baby, and she is only in de early stages of labor. It will be many hours before de delivery. Doc, it would be most helpful if you would stay here and keep Louis calm. I have a few patients to check on and den I will go back to de office. In de evening, I will return and we will spend de night here, if necessary."
Doc looked stunned. "But, I don't know anything about delivering babies! What if she doesn't wait for you to get back?"
"Do not worry. Mme. LaRue had nine children and she has delivered many more babies dan I have. Dere was really no need for Louis to come for us, but dis is his first child and he is very nervous." Dr. Angolis added with a laugh, "You do know what to do if someone faints, do you not?"
When they went back inside, the doctor explained to Louis and Anna Marie that he had to leave, but that Doc, a medic in the American army, would stay behind. He pointed out the red cross on Doc's helmet and on the brassart on his left arm. That seemed to give the young man confidence and he nodded his agreement. The doctor waved a cheery good-bye to Mme. LaRue as he opened the door to leave.
"Do not worry, Doc. Everyding will be fine," he said just before he closed the door.
The old man had been awake for hours. He was sitting against a tree with the rifle he had carried since joining the militia in 1893 laying across his lap. He had much to think about as he watched the sergeant sleep.
At first, he thought the American was a deserter. But, a deserter wouldn't have stopped to help him, so he dismissed that idea. As he had watched the sergeant gently lay his granddaughter and the baby in the grave, he had finally decided the soldier was just tired of the war and of all of the death it had brought.
Because the American didn't understand French, the old man had been able to speak freely about the tragedies his family had suffered, the deaths and finally the shame at the hands of the Boche. His own granddaughter was guilty of 'collaboration horizontale.'
She had said they were married and that Hans, that was his name, would stay behind and they would all live together on the farm and raise the child she was expecting.
'NEVER!,' he had vowed.
One evening, when the Americans were getting close to Berot, he had shot and killed the Boche soldier as he was returning to his unit. Fortunately, the Boche thought the Americans had done it and there were no reprisals.
But, with the German dead, his granddaughter seemed to waste away. She had died yesterday in childbirth. He knew he should have gone for the doctor, but he hadn't. The baby, the son of a Boche, died shortly after its mother. It had died without being baptized, without even a name. The American had helped to bury them, and his shame, all together in the same grave.
Now, he had to find a way to tell this soldier about the Boche.
Billy awoke with a start. He thought he heard his mother call him to get up and get dressed for school. No, that wasn't right. It was the Sarge calling him. Then he remembered where he was and realized he had been dreaming.
He lay awake in the dark for a long time, thinking about the great time he had had yesterday with the boys. If his little brother, Tommy, had been there, it would have been perfect. Except, oddly, the more he thought about it, the more he felt like he wasn't the one who had had the wonderful time. It was the kid he used to be.
Finally he heard a bell softly chime and then the sound of shuffling feet as the other sleepy residents of the monastery began their daily routine.
The monks and the boys set about their chores in silence, with only an occasional word of instruction from Br. Michael to one of his charges. Billy tried to be useful, but he knew nothing about caring for farm animals. He gave even the youngest boy cause to smile at his clumsy attempts to help. That little fellow slipped his hand into Nelson's when it was time to walk to the chapel for morning prayers, as if the soldier wasn't even capable of doing that without assistance.
Even during breakfast, not a word was spoken. After they finished eating, Fr. Sebastian made a few announcements and then they were dismissed. The boys went scurrying to collect their books and reach their classrooms before another set of chimes sounded. The monks who taught the boys moved from classroom to classroom throughout the morning, giving instruction and listening to the students recite.
Billy stuck with Br. Michael as he taught English and arithmetic. In the English classes, the monk asked him to explain baseball, but the boys just stared at him like he had three heads.
"Don't feel badly. They don't appreciate the beauty of cricket either," Br. Michael said with a chuckle.
After lunch, Billy watched the older boys leave for their jobs on the area farms. He stayed behind with the kids.
The younger boys spent the afternoon on a nature walk, collecting bugs and leaves and whatever else they came across for Br. Michael to identify. When they were far afield, they stopped to rest in a small grove of trees, and the monk explained the solar system to them, scratching out the rotation of the planets in the dirt.
That evening, instead of talking, the boys worked on their lessons. Br. Michael gave Billy a book to read, but he soon found himself wandering outside to look up into the star-filled night sky. He thought about the other planets spinning around somewhere in the darkness.
Eventually, his mind turned to the older boys who worked on the local farms to replace the men who were interred by the Germans or fighting with the Maquis. Br. Michael had said that some of those boys even ran away to become resistance fighters themselves.
The monk's words came back to him once again. "Sometimes one does have to grow up rather quickly." He kept telling everyone he wasn't a kid anymore. But, who was he trying to convince, them or himself?
It was still dark when Saunders awoke. He waited for his eyes to adjust before he sat up. Even so, it was a few moments more before he made out the shadowy form of the old man. They both remained still a moment longer, and then the Frenchman asked, Coffee?
Saunders searched in his knapsack and found a packet. The old man removed a dented pan from his sack and they soon had a small fire going. After sharing the last of the bread and the coffee, the old man pointed to himself.
Listen, I am called Jean Pierre…Jean Pierre.
The NCO had heard Caje say the first word many times before, so he knew it meant 'listen.' He pointed to the old man and said, "Jean Pierre," and then to himself and said, "Saunders."
Jean Pierre beamed. He waved his arms around. This is called the Berot Woods.
Saunders pointed back the way he had come and replied, "Berot."
"Bon, Saunders, bon," Jean Pierre said as he cleared a spot on the ground, picked up a stick and drew a crude map. Listen, Saunders, here is the Berot Woods. Here is the city of Berot and here is the Berot River, indicating each feature as he named it.
The sergeant nodded that he understood.
"Bon, Saunders, bon." Here are the Americans. He indicated a line on the other side of the river to the northeast. He looked at the sergeant and then drew another line parallel to the first but separated from it. The Boche, he said.
The NCO again nodded in agreement. So far, the old man's intelligence was as good as that of S-2.
Listen, Saunders! He drew an 'X' on the map on their side of the river, but further downstream from Berot. He pointed to the mark and said, The Boche!
"No, Jean Pierre," the sergeant said, shaking his head. He pointed to the line of Krauts that faced the Americans. "Boche, yes," he said, nodding in agreement. Then he pointed to the 'X' on their side of the river. "Boche, no," and shook his head again.
The old man tried again, but still the NCO said no. There were no Krauts on this side of the river.
The old man stood up with some difficulty and pointed to himself as he emphatically said, I, Jean Pierre LaCharlette. Then he vigorously tapped his face below his eye, have seen the Boche. He pointed again to the 'X' on the map, on this side of the river.
Saunders was still skeptical. "When?" he asked. He tapped his watch and hoped Jean Pierre understood.
The old man slowly sat back down. He drew a sun and pointed to the sky. He drew another one and pointed to the grave they had dug. He drew two more suns and pointed to the final one when he said, the Boche.
The sergeant quickly ran through the possibilities in his mind. Although he seemed adamant, it was possible the old man was totally confused about when he had seen the Krauts. This side of the river had been cleared and the battle for Berot had taken place almost two weeks previously. Of course, there could be deserters or stragglers, if Jean Pierre had even seen anything at all. And, a lot could change in three days.
Jean Pierre could tell he hadn't convinced the American. Then he remembered the most important thing he had seen. "Saunders," he said excitedly, as he pointed to himself and then his eye, "LES CHARS!"
Saunders shrugged his shoulders as the old man repeated, "LES CHARS! LES CHARS!"
The Frenchman again picked up the stick and drew a square in the dirt. He added two circles at the bottom. Still, the sergeant didn't understand what he was trying to convey. Jean Pierre extended the top line, pointed to the end of it and said, "Boom."
'Les chars might mean some sort of artillery…or a tank,' the sergeant thought. He asked, "Artillery?" and got a blank look; the same with, "Tank?"
Then he thought he would try something else. He only knew the German word for one of them. He took the stick and added a loop around the circles. "Panzer?" he asked.
"Oui, Saunders, oui. Panzer! Les chars!" Jean Pierre exclaimed with a sigh of relief.
If the Frenchman had seen a tank on this side of the river, that was more serious than a few stragglers. The sergeant considered his options. He could go back to Berot, get a squad of men and do a reconnaissance of the area. He wondered how long getting the mission approved would take, based on the statement of one old man, especially since, as he had thought before, a lot could change in three days.
Or, he could have Jean Pierre show him what he had seen. It couldn't be too far. He was, after all, an old man. Since the darkness that descended with Grady's death had lifted, he knew it was one option or the other.
"Alright, we'll check it out. You lead the way," he said as he pointed to the old man, himself and then to the 'X' on the map where Jean Pierre had placed the Krauts.
"Bon, Saunders, bon!" the old man happily replied.
As the sergeant put out the fire and picked up his gear, Jean Pierre put the pot in his sack and picked up his rifle.
Today, we kill Boche, he said as he started off into the woods.
The fresh air might have cleared Caje and Kirby's heads, but it had done little to improve their moods. They wanted nothing to do with any scheme concocted by S-2. Those things never went according to plan. What the two First Squad soldiers wanted was to return to Berot and seek out the people responsible for their current state of misery.
The S-2 captain wasn't enthusiastic about them either. "Lieutenant, I was told the sergeant who led the reconnaissance mission would be my escort."
"Cpt. Billings, I was unable to locate Sgt. Saunders. These men, Pfc. LeMay and Pvt. Kirby, were on the patrol with Saunders. They're familiar with the area."
The captain sighed in resignation. He turned to the two soldiers and said, "Very well. You lead me to the outskirts of the village of Molineaux where we'll rendezvous with the Maquis. They give me the information and we return. That's it. Do you have any questions?"
Kirby and Caje looked at each other. Molineaux was the village where they thought there was a Kraut build-up, not the kind of place for three Americans to go nosing around.
"Sir, didn't Sgt. Saunders report dat we saw a build-up of Krauts at Molineaux?" Caje asked.
"Yes, that was in the report. But, the Maquis has additional information," answered the S-2 officer. "Are you ready to go? We'll take a jeep as far as we can, and then you lead the way."
Kirby looked at the scout and rolled his eyes as he picked up the BAR. He put the strap over his head and shifted the weight of the weapon so it rested more evenly on his shoulder. "We ain't gonna be ridin' very far," he said as he climbed into the back of the jeep.
He was right. They traveled less than a quarter mile when Caje signaled the driver to stop. "We walk from here," he tersely said as he got out of the jeep.
The scout's pace wasn't that fast, but it still left the captain panting as he occasionally had to trot to keep up. When he did, Kirby, who was bringing up the rear, couldn't help but chuckle. 'A desk jockey!' he thought.
Finally, the Cajun stopped. He dropped to one knee and waited for the S-2 officer to collapse at his side. Caje pointed out a little village in the distance, across a number of open fields. "Captain, dat is Molineaux. Where are you supposed to meet de Maquis?" he asked.
Cpt. Billings pulled out his detailed map and studied it. "Here," he pointed to the map. "There's a partially destroyed building."
Kirby groaned.
"What Kirby means, Sir, is dat many buildings in de village are partially destroyed," Caje said quickly as he glanced at the BAR man.
The captain again studied his map, looking for some reference point. "There's a water tower about 200 yards to the north of the rendezvous point."
Kirby groaned again.
Caje glared at his friend. "What Kirby means, Sir, is dat dere was no water tower when we circled de village on our reconnaissance patrol. It's all open ground. Dere's no way to get close to de village without tipping off de Krauts. Are you sure de rendezvous takes place in de village?"
The captain briefly considered what Pfc. LeMay had said, but discounted it. "We'll circle around until we are north of the village and then work our way in." He stood and started moving off to the left.
"Caje, ya heard the captain, we're gonna circle 'round an' waltz right into the village," Kirby said sarcastically in a quiet voice as he and the Cajun stood and watched the officer. After a moment, they cautiously followed him.
When he was north of Molineaux, the S-2 officer waited for the two soldiers to catch up. "There was the water tower," he said as he triumphantly pointed to a twisted pile of metal and wood.
Although he had the good sense to crouch down as he began to make his way toward the pile of rubble, there wasn't enough cover to hide his movements. A single shot rang out from a guard hidden amid the debris. The captain collapsed to the ground. The sentry moved from behind his cover and started to approach the fallen officer. Another shot rang out, this time further to the left of the two American soldiers, and the guard quickly ducked back behind the rubble.
"Cover me," Caje said as he crouched and quickly ran to the captain's body. He checked to be sure that the man was dead before removing the map from his pocket.
Shouting and more shots could be heard as an exchange of gunfire drew more Krauts to the area. The scout immediately returned, and the two soldiers moved deeper into the woods.
"Americans, come." The words were spoken by a female voice.
Turning toward that voice, the First Squad men spotted a small, very pregnant young woman and her two companions.
Luc and Alain, lead the Boche away. The two men melted into the forest and a few moments later, more shots could be heard.
"Americans, follow." She took off in the opposite direction, moving, in the opinion of Kirby and Caje, surprisingly fast for a woman in her delicate condition.
When they were safely away from Molineaux, she turned to the soldiers, letting fly a torrent of French that the scout had a hard time following. Eventually, she paused to take a breath.
Caje, noting the ring on her finger, said, Madam, you are speaking too quickly. Why are you so upset? The captain was trying to reach the rendezvous location you gave him.
Me! You think I told him to enter Molineaux. It's full of Krauts. Who would be so stupid! He was told to meet us 200 meters north of the old water tower. Are all Americans such idiots?
Madam…
Don't call me that. My name is Rachel.
I'm sorry. Rachel, the captain misunderstood…
Then he was still an idiot for not questioning the location when he arrived. She looked around as if trying to decide what to do. She looked at Kirby. "Speak French?"
"No Ma'am er Mamozell; I only speak American."
"I speak not so good English. I am Rachel. You?"
"I'm Kirby an' that's Caje."
"Caje, Kerby, you follow."
Not looking to see if they were coming, she set off at a rapid pace through the woods. Finally, after close to an hour of increasingly cautious walking, she reached a path. She carefully checked to be sure there was nobody else in sight.
"I walk path. You follow in wood. Quiet. I meet Boche soldiers. Do noding stupid."
"Rachel, where are you taking us?" asked Caje.
"You see soon."
Kirby started to say, "Hey, little lady, I don't care if ya are…" but Rachel glared at him just like the Sarge did, so he shut up, out of habit.
"Follow or no. You decide." She spit out the words before wheeling around and starting down the path.
"Mon ami," the Cajun chuckled, "you should know better dan to upset a woman who is so heavy wid child. Dey are very emotional."
They traveled about a half mile when, as Rachel had predicted, the sound of German voices could be heard. The young woman slowed down and wrapped an arm protectively under her protruding belly. Caje and Kirby crouched behind cover with their weapons ready. When the patrol was in sight, she stopped and waited for the Krauts to approach.
Good afternoon, Frau, may we be of assistance? the sergeant asked, speaking slowly in French.
Rachel smiled at him and replied in German, Thank you, Sergeant. I am looking for my husband's commanding officer. Our child will be born soon, and I wanted to ask if my husband could have leave to be present.
The sergeant and all of the men in the patrol smiled at her like proud uncles.
Frau, who is your husband?
She reached up and pulled out the chain she was wearing around her neck, revealing a cross and a Boche name tag. Rudy…Oh, Cpl. Rudolph Neismann, she said as she smiled sweetly. Do you know him?
The Krauts looked at each other and shook their heads.
Sorry, Frau, but we don't. You should speak with Lt. Mueller. Our camp is less than a kilometer down the path. Would you like an escort?
Oh, that won't be necessary, Sergeant, but thank you for the kind offer. I'm sure I will be perfectly safe, with you men on patrol.
She again received kind smiles from all of the soldiers, who said, "Auf Wiedersehen, Frau," as they continued on their way. Once they were out of sight, she stepped off the path as Caje and Kirby came out of hiding.
"Camp one kilometer. I make Boche busy. You look. Here we meet."
Rachel distracted the Krauts. She talked first to the sentries. They led her past all of the soldiers, who stopped what they were doing to watch her, on their way to the commanding officer.
Lt. Mueller didn't know her husband, but he did offer her a small glass of schnapps while she rested. He was very apologetic that he couldn't call other units, but he had orders not to break radio silence. He suggested she ask at Molineaux and they would be able to help her. When she politely refused his offer of an escort, he was kind enough to write a brief note granting her safe passage, in case a patrol should stop her.
While all eyes were on Rachel, Caje and Kirby carefully worked their way around the camp, noting the pile of building supplies, the stockpile of fuel drums and a couple of rutted roads leading off in different directions. But, there were no tanks or other vehicles that might require such a large quantity of fuel. There was only a single, small flat-bed truck being loaded with some of the building supplies. The camp was well hidden among the trees, with camouflage netting covering everything, so it wasn't surprising that it hadn't been spotted on any reconnaissance flights. Its purpose, however, was a mystery to the two soldiers.
"Maybe they was movin' all this stuff to Berot before we kicked 'em out an' now they're movin' it to Molineaux," Kirby whispered to Caje.
"Maybe," the Cajun replied. "We'll let S-2 figure it out."
Later in the afternoon, the two soldiers saw Rachel waddling up the path. When she reached their position, she cautiously looked back to make sure there were no Boche in sight before she joined them. She signaled them to follow as she moved deeper into the woods. When she felt it was safe, she said, "Wait," and disappeared behind a large, leafy bush.
The men exchanged glances, but stayed alert; watching and listening to be sure they hadn't been followed. When she reappeared, she was wearing a pair of trousers and the baby 'bulge' was gone. In her hands were the skirt she had worn and a pillow. She tossed the pillow to Kirby and the skirt to Caje.
"You carry," she said.
The soldiers didn't move. They just stared at her.
"What? You dink Boche is husband? I have Boche baby!? I no collaborator! I spit on Boche!"
"Well, ya had his dog tag," said Kirby.
"Huh," she snorted. "Six months ago I slit throat and take," she answered sharply.
"But why dis deception?" asked Caje.
"Woman not big, not strong like man. Woman use brains," Rachel answered sarcastically. Then she laughed and patted her belly. "Boche help poor girl find soldier husband. Americans also fool easy, no?"
The scout and the BAR man again exchanged glances, each knowing that he would have tried to help her.
"You look Boche camp, no?"
"Yes, but we're not exactly sure what to make of it…all dat fuel but no vehicles…" said the Cajun.
"…an' the buildin' supplies," added Kirby.
Rachel smiled. "Strange, no? We go." With that, she headed off into the woods, in a direction away from the Boche camp.
Kirby turned around and Caje stuffed Rachel's pillow into his knapsack, then Kirby did the same for him. When they were finished, both men hurried to catch up with her.
Littlejohn gave a contented sighed as he stretched and arched his back, trying to work out some of the kinks. He was no longer used to farm work. He and the old woman had spent much of the afternoon weeding the large vegetable garden that lay behind the house and barn. He wondered how she kept the goats from eating the succulent young plants. He had repaired the fence that surrounded the garden in the morning, but it certainly wouldn't keep the little critters out. He looked up at the sky. There was still enough daylight left for him to walk back to Berot.
The old woman also stopped working. She left the garden, walked over to the pump, and began working the handle until water gushed out into the trough. After she had filled a bucket that sat nearby, she called the goats and they came running to her. She reached into her pocket and offered them a few small carrots she had pulled as she thinned the plants. The goats daintily nibbled on the treats and then drank thirstily from the trough as she petted and talked to them. She saw the big soldier watching her as she dipped the ladle hanging from the pump into the bucket and took a long, slow drink.
She raised the ladle and called, Soldier, come and drink.
As the big private ambled over, he watched the goats continue to nuzzle her hand and the pocket, seeking more treats. She said something to them, and they stopped their search and wandered away. He wondered how long it had taken her to train them. They were more like pet dogs than any goats he had ever seen.
That was what a farmer needed and never seemed to have enough of…time…time and peace. He thought of all the farms the squad had already walked over and how many more were to come; all of those farmers driven from their land by the war. It wasn't right.
And, slowly, a smile appeared, because the big soldier from Nebraska finally made sense of why he had been pulled away from his family and the land he loved and sent across an ocean to fight.
The old man walked slowly, but his pace was steady, so the two unusual companions were able to cover a reasonable distance in the morning. When the sun was high in the sky, they stopped for a break. Saunders pulled a bottle of wine and the last of the cheese from his knapsack for their lunch. When they finished eating, they set out again.
It was late in the afternoon when the old man halted. At first the sergeant thought his stamina had at last given out. But, Jean Pierre signaled to quietly follow and he led them in a new direction, first around the base of a small wooded rise and then, crouching low, up the side. When they neared the top, Saunders wanted the old man to wait while he crawled forward to investigate, but Jean Pierre insisted on going, so the two of them slowly advanced.
When they reached the top, spread out before them in the little dell were four Kraut tanks and two half-tracks concealed among the trees and under camouflage netting. Saunders had no map to mark down the coordinates, so he looked around for landmarks. He wished he had binoculars as he slowly surveyed the scene. There were a few Krauts moving around, but, after he had studied the set-up, he decided they were the vehicle crews. There didn't seem to be any infantry.
'I'll bet this is the armor that supports the infantry unit we tangled with in Berot,' he thought. 'That's why the Krauts didn't blow the bridges. They were waiting for their tanks to get across the river, probably to come in behind us, but our armor got there first. Now, they're stuck on this side…or are they?'
Jean Pierre brought his rifle up to firing position, but the sergeant yanked it out of his hands and signaled him to start down. When they were safely away from the rise, Saunders returned the weapon. The old man started back, but the sergeant caught his arm.
Let me go. I have come all this way to kill Boche.
Saunders didn't know what he had said, but he understood what the old man had in mind. He shook his head 'no.' He knelt, picked up a stick and began to scratch another crude map in the dirt.
"Boche," he said as he pointed first to the drawing and then toward the rise.
Jean Pierre nodded.
Next he pointed out a wiggly line. "Berot River."
The old man understood.
"Berot…"
Yes, Jean Pierre agreed.
Now, Saunders hoped he could make Jean Pierre understand. He drew two lines across the Berot River at the town. "Berot bridge," he said.
The old man pondered the drawing. Then he smiled and took the stick the sergeant had been using. He scratched in another set of lines and held up two fingers. Two bridges, then he threw up his hands, making a sound like an explosion and he rubbed out both sets of lines. Finally, he drew in another set of lines and said, American bridge.
Saunders smiled and nodded. 'Good,' he thought. 'The old man understands.'
The sergeant took the stick and made another set of two lines further up the river, across from the Kraut tank position. First he pointed to the bridge at Berot and said, "American bridge." Then he pointed to the new set of lines and asked, "Boche bridge?" Did Jean Pierre know what he was asking?
At first the old man looked puzzled. He knew there were no other bridges across the river where the sergeant had indicated, so he shook his head 'no.' However, after a moment, a smile slowly appeared on his weathered and wrinkled face.
Soon it would be getting dark, but the old man thought they could make it before night descended. With difficulty, he stood and then pointed, Berot River, and headed toward it.
The sun was just setting by the time they hear the sound of rushing water. Saunders didn't want to stumble upon any Krauts or miss something important in the dark, so he pantomimed sleep to Jean Pierre. They moved back, found cover and settled down until dawn.
For lunch, Mme. LaRue served fresh bread to sop up the soup she had been making when the medic first arrived. After they finished eating, she said something to Louis. When the young man didn't respond, she repeated what she had said in a tone that the medic thought left no doubt as to who was in charge. Doc gave a small smile. With nine children, she was used to giving orders and having them obeyed. Louis got up from the table and went out the door. It wasn't long before they could hear the sound of wood being chopped.
That was how they passed the afternoon, with Mme. LaRue giving Louis chores to do, and him sullenly completing them. Doc could see that she was trying to keep the anxious young man occupied, although the medic didn't think Louis understood or appreciated what was happening. She left the medic alone, and he sat quietly in the main room or went into the bedroom every so often to check on Anna Marie.
The contractions seemed to be coming closer together, but Mme. LaRue didn't appear to be concerned. She sat by her daughter's bedside and talked soothingly to her as she worked on repairing tattered pieces of clothing, patching one item with pieces of another that was in worse condition.
As the young woman's cries became more intense, Doc thought they should prepare, but other than putting some water over to boil, he couldn't think of what else he should be doing. So, he started to pace. The next time Louis came into the house, he joined the medic.
Finally, Mme. LaRue left her daughter's side to fetch a worn looking bag from behind a curtain in the main room. Doc could see that the curtain gave a little privacy to the nook that was her bedroom. She turned and sternly spoke to Louis and the medic, waving her hands to shoo the two men out of the house.
Louis looked scared, as scared as any replacement Doc had seen in the moments before the sergeant gave the order to advance and engage the enemy. As he often did at that moment, the medic put a steadying hand on the young man's shoulder and steered him out the front door. As they waited and paced in the gathering twilight, the stillness of the French countryside was broken by the cries of pain coming from the house and Louis' answering sobs of, "Mon Dieu, mon Dieu."
Then, for a moment, there was only silence. The two men looked at each other, both frozen in place. The strong wail of a newborn testing its lungs for the first time broke the spell. Louis dropped to his knees. Doc thought he was saying a prayer of thanksgiving, because that was what he was doing.
When they cautiously re-entered the house, the bedroom door was still closed. Louis looked anxiously at the medic, who again put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. The door finally opened, and Mme. LaRue appeared, carrying a small bundle which she gently placed in Louis' arms.
She beamed as she said, A son, Louis…you have a son, and I have a grandson.
Louis carried his child into the bedroom and closed the door. Doc imagined the new parents were counting the fingers and toes of their first born. Mme. LaRue produced a bottle of cognac and poured a glass for herself and one for the medic.
Later, when Dr. Angolis arrived, he found the medic sitting in an old stuffed chair by the unlit fireplace, staring at the little miracle of life he was holding in his arms.
Ah, Doctor, the new grandmother said, you are just in time for supper.
While they were eating, the grinning new father came out of the bedroom.
Tonight, I am the happiest man in all of France. Soon, the fighting will be over and my son will grow up as a proud, free Frenchman. I have promised him this. He bent over and kissed the old lady on the top of her head. Tomorrow, I must rejoin my comrades, but tonight …tonight I can think of nothing but my son and the joy that fills my heart.
By the time the doctor and the medic started back to Berot, it was pitch black outside. They walked in silence for a while, each lost in his own thoughts.
Dr. Angolis broke the spell, speaking in a quiet voice. "When I returned from de fighting, I discovered I had an unseen wound, a wound dat pierced my soul. It also had to be mended." The medic didn't see the bittersweet smile on the doctor's face. "It was only after I delivered a baby and held it dat de wound began to heal. If you have faid, den each new life brings hope. Do you have faid, my friend?"
They continued on in silence.
Doc's faith was the only thing that had gotten him through some days. He suddenly realized he hadn't answered the question. "Yes…yes I do."
"I dought you might."
They walked in silence the rest of the way.
By the time they reached the Maquis camp, the effects of their ill-fated night in Berot had caught up with Caje and Kirby. That, and the many miles they had walked during the day.
Rachel led them to a small cave. They followed her in and watched as she was affectionately greeted by an older man. Luc and Alain were also there and gave her big grins. She and Alain embraced and kissed.
"Alain," she said to Kirby and Caje, "is husband." She gave him another kiss before she turned to address the older man.
Papa, Alain and Luc told you what happened. The third American was stupid and got himself killed, but these two, Caje and Kerby, are good soldiers. She laughed. They have been well trained and follow orders. And, Caje speaks French!
Caje chuckled and translated for Kirby.
"I'll bet the Sarge will be glad to hear that!" the BAR man said dryly.
Rachel's father stood and shook hands with the Americans. I am code-named 'Arrow.' You saw that the Boche are up to something. We don't know what, but it must be important. That is why we had to show you. You understand?
Yes. We'll let S-2 know what we saw, Caje replied.
Good. Tomorrow, Rachel will take you back to your lines. When she returns, she will have the orders for what my unit is to do. But, tonight we celebrate.
Kirby's head had been bobbing back and forth as he tried to follow the conversation and to stifle a yawn. However, he was unable to do either.
Papa, they are tired. Rachel said.
Like us. They can rest after the Boche have been defeated.
He hooked arms with the two soldiers and led them out of the small cave and toward a larger one nearby. Inside were other members of his unit of the resistance, a few young men, two no more than boys, but also some older ones, and two other women. They were gathered around a fire which had a large kettle suspended above the flames. Several bottles of wine, as well as bread and cheese, were being passed around.
Arrow ladled some stew onto plates and handed them to the Americans. The bread and cheese were passed to them, and they broke off hunks of each. When the wine reached them, Kirby took the bottle and happily took several long swallows before handing it to the Cajun. He wiped his mouth on his field jacket sleeve.
"Ya see, Caje, since we gotta be in France fightin' this here war, we should be doin' it the way the Frenchies do, with wine at every meal."
Caje laughed and said, "Well, mon ami, why don't you suggest that to de sergeant."
"I might just do that…sometime."
Caje continued to laugh. "Let me know before you do. I want to make sure I have a front row seat to see Saunders' reaction."
Further back in the cave, someone started to softly play a squeeze box. Occasionally, a couple got up and swayed to the music, but most sat, listening to the sad songs and slowly emptying the wine bottles.
Rachel came over and sat between Caje and Kirby as they ate. At times, she softly sang the lyrics of a song.
"This sure ain't like any celebration I've ever been to," Kirby said.
She gave him a sad smile. "End of war is close."
The two Americans exchanged puzzled looks.
"Then why ain't ya happy?" Kirby asked.
"Before, only war. Now, end is close. We see all we lose…family, friends. They not here for celebrate." She looked sadly at the two soldiers. "Someday, you understand."
They sat in silence, listening to the music.
Finally, she softly said, "Someday, we happy."
One thing was for sure. These members of the resistance were nothing like the scoundrels they had the misfortune of crossing paths with in Berot. With that thought in mind, the two Americans fell asleep long before the sad songs came to an end.
The two of them made an odd pair, the old woman, stooped from her many years of toil on the land, and the big American soldier who worked at her side. Littlejohn thought no more about returning to Berot for the remaining hours of his pass. He was content to stay on the little farm.
When she returned to the house to prepare their evening meal, he chopped more wood, cutting not only enough for breakfast, but also to fill the box by the stove. He decided to gather more kindling in the morning, picking up branches to form a large bundle as he had seen the French civilians do.
After eating, the two sat outside on the chopping block. They sipped their wine as they looked up at the stars in the clear night sky. It was a beautiful evening, so quiet and peaceful, with not the slightest hint that a war raged not so many miles away.