Chapter Four: Dunkirk: Part Two
May 28, 1940
Louis was running like he had never run before. He had not even run this fast when they were retreating two days earlier. That was because he was running from something more terrible than being killed. In his mind, being alone in this dark world was the most terrifying thing. What was worse, he thought that he had killed them. He had let them die. Louis could still see Jean's bloody face.
There was no purpose to him running except to put as much distance between himself and the tragedy. He was oblivious to anything else and it was a miracle that he was not running straight into the enemy. He was so oblivious that he did not even notice that he had tears streaming down his face. He tripped many times, but just kept plowing on. He was still gripping his rifle tightly but that was only because he had been holding it so tightly when he had turned and ran. He heard shots fired, heard planes, heard tanks, and heard people. But he just kept running. And then, from seemingly out of nowhere, a man, much larger than him, tackled him from the side. Louis was finally stopped.
His mind was so far away, he did not really take into account that he had just been practically bowled over by someone he did not know. Louis just laid there spread-eagle on the ground, looking up at the sky. He was breathing heavily, and his heart was pounding inside his head so hard he couldn't hear. His vision was blurry as he stared up at the tree tops. He closed his eyes, trying to settle himself. There was another sound out there that he could not make, but when he opened his eyes again, there were three people looking down at him. One of them was talking.
"—I have no idea what you were doing but it was a good thing we caught you. You were going to run right into a whole battalion of them. But we should get going now. We need to get back to the town before the Nazis come through."
Louis started to sit up, and the three men each took a step back.
"You are a small soldier."
Louis looked up the man who had spoken. The man held out his hand.
"I am Michel," he said. "We are partisans."
Louis took hold of the man's outstretched hand and pulled himself up. He swayed some, but Michel steadied him with a strong hand on his shoulder. Michel was both tall and strong, even towering over the other two men.
"Are you okay," asked another man.
Louis nodded. "Did you say we needed to leave here?"
Michel nodded. "And quickly. We do not know how fast the Nazis are coming. Our town is not too far from here."
Louis nodded and picked up his rifle. "I will go with you."
The three men exchanged uneasy looks, but Michel nodded. "We will hide you for a time. Let's go."
The other two men led the way, and Louis followed them, with Michel picking up the rear. Louis did not know why he had so quickly trusted these men, but his mind was still replaying the scene from daybreak, over and over again in his head. He just followed the two partisans in front of him, doing what they told him, and not speaking a word. After about fifteen minutes, they came to a small farming village. There were only a few streets to it, and it reminded Louis of his home town. There were people walking about, but it was in a solemn and quick manner, as if they were afraid to be out in the streets.
Louis, Michel, and the other two partisans approached the town from behind what looked like a livery stable. They crept in through the back, and Louis realized that the partisans knew their way around here. When they were inside, they crouched down inside an empty stall. One of the partisans went quickly to the front door, and peered out. He then signaled them to come.
"It is okay," he said. "The town has not been occupied yet."
"Good," said Michel. "Let's go."
They walked out of the stable openly, though the three partisans surrounded Louis. He realized that he was most likely one of the few soldiers in the town. They brought him across the street to a little bed and breakfast hotel. Louis saw some people looking at him, and at first was worried that they did not want him there. But then he saw the church on the corner, with a French flag hanging above the doorway. He knew he was welcomed.
Once they stepped inside the bed and breakfast, a little boy came from the side, jumping into Michel's arms.
"Papa," he cried. He kissed his father on the cheek.
Michel kissed the little boy back and set him down.
"Go get Mama," he said. The little boy nodded and ran up the stairs. Michel took Louis by the arm and brought him into the kitchen. There was a table, and the four sat down.
"We will keep you here for today, and wait until the Nazis stop moving," said Michel. "Then, we will help you get to the coast."
Louis nodded. "Merci beaucoup. I am sorry I have caused you trouble."
"Non," said one of the partisans. "You are no trouble. We want to help our soldiers continue to fight. Many of the British and French soldiers are at Dunkirk, under siege. But the Nazis are spread out, and it easy to get the coast if you pick your way carefully. My name is Gregoir, by the way, and this Bernard." He gestured to the other partisan. "The three of us live in this town, and have been helping French and British soldiers get out of the area. But the Nazis have been advancing quickly and it looks like they will finally take this town."
"Will you fight," asked Louis.
"Non," said Michel. "We know that it is no use. There is no cause for more bloodshed. Besides, we have faith that our soldiers will come back with the British, and we will be liberated one day."
"Oui," said Louis. "My name is Corporal Louis LeBeau. I am from outside Paris."
"You are a long way from home," said Bernard.
"If I were close," said Louis. "I would shed this uniform and join the partisans of my area. I do not want to leave France."
"But you must," said Michel. "The more French soldiers who get free, the more who can come back later and liberate us. France's government may fall, but her spirit which lies with the people will not."
"Do you mind me asking what happened to you," asked Bernard.
"Bernard," reprimanded Gregoir. "That is for himself."
"Non," said Louis, with a wave of his hand. "C'est bon. Our unit was scattered in the retreat. I was with two others. We were headed to the coast, when we came upon some Nazis. We had to make a run for it. My friends…they did not make it. I do not know why I kept running. I am coward I suppose."
"No man in our army is a coward," said Michel, his voice full of pride. "If you had stopped running, you would have been killed."
"Perhaps," said Louis.
Just then, the little boy came back in, with his mother in tow. She was a beautiful lady with long blonde hair pulled into a tight bun. Her apron was hanging around her waist, and Louis noticed some blood smeared onto it. She kissed Michel quickly.
"I am so glad you are back," she said. "The British soldier you brought in last night, he did not make it. Henri and Raul are taking him outside to bury him with the others."
Gregoir scoffed. "He was weak anyway."
Michel scowled. "Do not speak of them like that. He was wounded badly." He looked back to his wife. "Do not worry. We did all we could. Right now, we could use some food. We have a guest, as you can see. This is Corporal Louis LeBeau. He was split from his unit. We will be taking him out tonight."
Michel's wife smiled to him, and then looked down at the little boy. "Remy, go get some milk."
"Oui, Mama," he said, and he scampered off.
Louis watched him go with a small smile. He looked to Michel's wife. "Is there a place I could wash up some, Madame…"
"You can just call me Annette," said Michel's wife. "And you may wash in le salle de bain. It is across from the stairs."
"Merci," said Louis. He got up from the table and left the kitchen. Directly in front of him was the stair case. And coming down the staircase were two men, carrying a stretcher. On the stretcher was a young man in a British Infantry uniform. His jacket as bloody over the chest, but they had made him as presentable as they could. Louis went to the door and opened it for them. They continued out solemnly.
In the bathroom, Louis threw up everything that was left in his stomach. It was not very much due to the fact that he had not had much to eat the past couple of days. He did not think he was vomiting because he was physically sick. But he was now sick of the blood he continued to see. The image of Jean lying on the ground, his handsome face so torn up…he retched again.
Afterwards, he tried to refresh himself by splashing cold water on his face, and thoroughly scrubbing his hands and arms. When he went back into the kitchen, the three partisans were seated at the table still, with mugs in their hands. Annette was at the stove preparing le déjeuner. Louis sat back down, a shade paler. Bernard pushed a warm mug into his fingers. Louis absently took a long gulp. He blinked at the fiery sensation that went down his throat, but otherwise he was expressionless. Across from him, little Remy had sat down with a large mug of milk. He imitated Louis drinking, ending up with a large milk mustache, and grinned sheepishly.
"Wipe your mouth Remy," said Michel.
Louis smiled when the little boy wiped his mouth on his own sleeve.
"Are you okay," asked Bernard.
Louis nodded. "These past few days have just been tiring."
They nodded with agreement.
"I am five," said Remy, happily, not sensing the comber tone. "Yesterday was my birthday. It was the first time Mama would not let me have friends over for my birthday. She says that the fireworks are enough."
"The fireworks," asked Louis, slightly confused. He looked at Michel, who whistled like a bomb coming down. He winked at Louis. "Oh, oui, fireworks are more than enough. Besides, you got to spend time with your family, non?"
"Well, I did," said Remy. "But then Mr. Raul interrupted our cake dinner. He said that someone as coming over. Mama told me that the man was coming to celebrate my birthday too. But guess what he was doing the whole time?"
"What," asked Louis, faking apprehension.
"Sleeping," pouted Remy.
Louis gasped, dramatically indignant. But inside he saw the British Infantryman lying dead on the stretcher.
"And then Papa had to leave," Remy went on. "But he brought back you. Are you going to celebrate my birthday too? The fireworks will begin soon, but they are never good until night. You can't see them during the day, but you can hear them. And sometimes we even see les avions flying over. I have never seen so many. They drop fireworks too, but always in the fields. I'm not allowed to go into the fields anymore. I might get hit by the fireworks."
Louis saw inside again an image of his unit running through a field, tank shells hitting all around them.
"Have you ever seen fireworks," asked Remy.
Louis nodded. "Many times."
"That is enough talking now Remy," said Annette. "How about you escort Mr. Gregoir and Mr. Bernard home? Their families will want to see them." She gave the other two men a look that only a wife can give. They both got up, saying good-bye to everyone. Remy grabbed both their hands and walked them out the door.
"You have a lovely boy," said Louis.
"I am sorry he talked so much," said Annette.
"Do not worry," said Louis. "It was good for me to hear an innocent voice again."
"Have you been away from home long," asked Michel.
"Non," answered Louis. "Actually, I have not. It seems much longer, but it has only been eight days."
"That isn't long at all," said Michel. "If this were a normal eight days. But eight days in battle…that is long. It is good that you will be able to rest here."
"Oui," said Louis. "And I will forever be in your debt."
"Do not worry," said Annette. She brought over some bowls of steaming beef broth and some bread. "What are countrymen who do not take care of one another? I apologize that I cannot give you much of a variety, but ever since the attacks, food has become scarce."
Louis shook his head fervently. "S'il vous plaît, do not say such a thing. This is more than enough." He took a large spoonful of the broth and smiled at marguerite. "And it is so good as well. Mon oncle has a restaurant in Paris, and I do not think he could have made a better broth."
"You flatter me, Corporal," said Annette, returning to the stove.
"S'il vous plaît, call me Louis," responded Louis. He continued to eat and drink with Michel. The kitchen was silent and peaceful, something Louis had been longing for days. But suddenly, it was shattered when Remy burst through the back door and leapt into his mama's arms.
"Mama," he cried. "Mama, there is a big car coming down the street, and there are men, and—"
He was interrupted when Bernard ran back in. "They're here."
()()()()()()
The townspeople gathered out on the main street, as did farmers who were further out. They huddled together, holding one another. Some people were crying. Others were angry. Others were staring passively. The receivers of these looks were the soldiers of a Nazi Panzer Division that was coming through the town in a full display of force. The soldier's boots clinked against the cobble roads. In the first tank, a man obviously of rank, was standing up, his head and shoulders out of the hatch. He was surveying the town and the people with an arrogant and confident expression. He held up his hand, and the procession stopped in front of the church.
The officer climbed down from his tank and came to stand in front of two men: the mayor and the priest.
"This town and the neighboring farms are now under the control of the Third Reich," said the officer in fluent French. "To ensure that no unnecessary civilian blood is spilt I will ask your people only once to give up any arms they may have, and to turn over any British or French soldiers they may be hiding. If any soldier is found being harbored in a home later on, their home will be torched and the head of the family will be executed. Do I make myself clear?"
The mayor and priest nodded. "You do," said the mayor.
"And you Father," said the officer. "You must remove that flag from your church, and replace it with this." A soldier walked over with a folded Nazi flag. The officer held it out to the priest.
But the priest shook his head. "Non. I will not do as you say."
"Excuse me," said the officer. "You can no longer refuse anyone, Father. You must replace your flag. This town is no longer a French town. It is now under the rule of the German Third Reich."
But the priest shook his head again. "I will not remove the French flag, which stands for what I believe in, and replace it with a flag that stands for things that make me sick." He spoke the last phrase as if he was spitting up poisonous acids.
The officer's nostril's flared. He handed pulled out his pistol. The crowd gasped in unison, and the soldiers raised their rifles up in case of a revolt. The officer put his pistol to the priest's head.
"I will only tell you once more, Father," said the officer. "Replace the flag or you will be shot and your church will be burned. Do you want me to burn a house of God?"
The priest took a deep breath and replied calmly. "Hanging your flag over our house of God would be just as bad as burning it. It would be sinful. And the Lord Christ says that should your hand make you sin, cut it off. I will cut away this building so that my people are not sinful in praying beneath that flag. You may kill me now, officer, because I will never recognize the authority of such terrible things."
The town was quiet. The only sound was the constant shelling in the background. The silence was suddenly snapped with the crack of the pistol. The priest fell to the ground beside the mayor.
"Verbrennen Sie die Kirche," said the officer, as he put his pistol back into its holster. "Suchen Sie die Stadt. Wenn irgendeine Brite oder französische Soldaten gefunden sind, schießen Sie sie, und verbrennen Sie das Haus." (1)
The soldiers began to move around quickly, pushing people out of the way, and barging into the houses and businesses. They began to tear up each place. Some of the townspeople tried to resist but were roughly moved aside. Families huddled together out of fear. More people began to sob as the church was engulfed in flames. The French flag that hung alongside the crucifix went up quickly, disappearing in smoke and ashes. The officer watched it go, with a slight smile. As soon as it did, he gave the order for the swastika to be hung up around the town.
Off in the distance, Louis, Michel, Bernard and Gregoir looked back at the town. They could see the church burning.
"Les dégoûtants," spat Gregoir. "How could the burn a church?"
"Hurry," said Michel. "We must get to the next town quickly."
The four started running again, headed for the coast.
()()()()()()
May 29, 1940
"Quickly, they are gone," the old farmer whispered.
Louis followed Michel out the barn door, and into the woods, Gregoir and Bernard right behind. They each thanked the farmer silently and disappeared into the darkness. They had been moving almost non-stop since their narrow escape from the village. It was now late at night. Their path towards the coast was now overrun by Nazis, and most of the towns and villages along the way were now occupied. But the Nazis were still spread somewhat thin over the spacious region. The local people could still get around secretly if they were careful enough. They were now just two days away from the coast, and were planning on making a long leg of their journey with the remainder of darkness.
It was a lot of countryside from there on. There were still spots of trees, though, that were good cover to pick through. They had a target town that they hoped to get to about mid-morning. Fortunately, they did not run into too much trouble. They had to dodge patrols, and Nazi camps, but they were still able to make good progress. At dawn, they took a break in a shopkeeper's cellar. The town was supposedly occupied, but only a few police had been left, as the troops had moved on.
The townspeople were more than eager to help soldiers get to the coast. It was decided that morning that a new guide would take Louis to the coast. Michel, Bernard, and Gregoir would head back to their own town, in hopes of finding their family well, and their homes and businesses in working order.
Then, the dog fight came.
It was a little after noon on May 31. Michel, Gregoir, and Bernard were preparing to start their journey back to their village. Around the occupied town, numerous small battles were going on. Above, British bombers began to come in with their escorts, bombing the countryside to try and stall the Nazis movements. The people in the town listened from their cellars, but some insisted on watching. Anti-aircraft guns began to sound off from the Nazis, taking out British fighters and bombers. With the arrival of Messerschmitts, more British aircraft fell.
Louis, Michel, Bernard, and Gregoir were watching from the side of a barn. As they watched they were checking their weapons. They were about to go out into the field and help as many downed airman get to safety as they could. Suddenly, a deafening explosion was heard directly above them. They looked up, covering their heads from the debris. A bomber had been struck underneath, now plummeting to the ground. It crashed in a patch of woods not to farm from them.
"Hurry," said Michel. "Let us go see if there are any survivors."
()()()()()()
Someone was screaming. And they wouldn't stop. They would start moaning, and then scream again, and then moan again, and cry out, and start screaming again. They were screaming for their mum, help, their dog, their home, for God, even though they were damning Him through impotent streams of curses.
Peter wanted them to stop. His head was hurting too much. He was too uncomfortable to have screams echoing in his ear. His arm felt like it was melting. He wanted whoever was screaming to stop.
There was a bang, and the screams stopped.
Peter welcomed the silence.
He could not see, but he was okay with the darkness. He felt like he was suffocating, though, and struggled to move. But something was pressed against him, as if telling him to stay there, so he held his breath and did.
There was another bang, which startled him, but he did not move, because he was still pinned down. He did not know how long he lay there, because time was irrelevant, and he could not feel it. He thought he might have drifted off back to sleep, and then woke up again.
Then: "C'mon Gaffer, wake up."
Gaffer? Who the hell was Gaffer?
Someone was patting his cheek lightly, but in an annoying way.
"Gaffer, you need to get up. Jerry'll get you if you don't."
So he was Gaffer. That was interesting.
Whatever was pressed up against him was moved, and he took a deep breath, which sent him into a coughing fit.
"That's Gaffer. C'mon Ash, let's get him out of the plane."
They tugged on his arms, and he was dragged out. There was a horrible stench…gasoline, burning metal, burning rubber…were they at the base? Great, he was sleeping and planes needed to be fixed. He forced his eyes open and tried to sit up urgently.
"Whoa there," said someone. "Not too fast."
Peter's vision adjusted to what was around him. In front of him, Ash and Scouser were kneeling, looking at him questioningly. Behind them were the mangled remains of their bomber. There was a small fire in the cockpit, but that was all.
"You okay, Gaffer," asked Scouser.
Peter nodded. It was all coming back to him now. In fact, the past two weeks were coming back to him. He remembered being called Gaffer now.
"Is this it," he asked.
"Yea," said Scouser, standing up. "Some Jerries came by, looking for anyone not dead yet. Ash and I were hiding near the fire. I thought they'd never leave. But Davy was hurt bad. His leg was almost severed off completely. He was making a lot of noise. Jerry just shot him between the eyes.
Peter frowned, thinking of the screams ending so abruptly. "Who else?"
"They shot Jackie, but I think that was out of spite," said Scouser. "I think he was already dead. And Skip and Tommy, they died in the plane, ya know. Hatter did as well."
Peter nodded. Ash helped him up. Something warm dripped down his face. He touched his temple and winced. His fingers came away wet with fresh blood. His chest and right shoulder hurt as well. Scouser was hobbling around, his left leg apparently bothering him. Ash's left arm was bloody, and Peter saw that his wrist was slightly deformed and swelling badly.
"I guess we ought to get goin'," said Peter. "I think our guys were 'eaded to the coast."
Ash nodded. "But we're behind lines now. Best take it carefully."
They had not taken more than one step, when there was a shot, and Ash hit the ground, clutching his neck.
"Ash," cried Scouser.
He and Peter hit the ground as well, and belly crawled to Ash. Blood was pouring through his fingers. Scouser started to put some pressure on the fatal wound, but Ash went still moments later. Peter and Scouser stared at Ash in shock for a moment. Then, more bullets showered around them, snapping Peter out of his frozen state of mind. He grabbed Scouser's sleeve, and started crawling through the brush, away from where the bullets were coming. About ten yards away, the bullets came in less, so Peter jumped up and ran for it. Scouser was right behind him. A few moments later, more bullets were whizzing by them, striking trees and the ground around them. They could hear the foreign voices behind them.
And then, the voices were in front of them. Peter started to stop, when suddenly, a smaller soldier stepped out in front of him. They smacked into each other, and both fell to the ground. The smaller soldier jumped up, looked directly at Peter, and then rolled behind a tree for cover. Peter's eyes were wide, believing he had just run into the enemy.
A bullet hit the ground next to him, and he rolled off and started crawling the other way. He kept staying down as more bullets sprayed around him. Then, he came to the end of the trees, and at the beginning of a field. There was a ditch right in front of him. Exhausted, he slipped down into it, crouched down warily. For a moment, he was still, breathing hard. Then, a wave of dizziness and exhaustion came over him. He let himself fall back, and his back hit the side of the ditch. Looking directly up, he could see the nice, blue sky dotted with clouds, and swarming with planes. Around him, he could hear the ground battles, the explosions.
Peter wanted it all to end. He wanted to go home. He wanted to see his sister, dear ole Mavis. He wanted to go back to that shabby ole apartment he'd been in since birth and just sleep. He wanted a lot of things, and knowing he could not have them, he hoped he could find some peace in sleep. He closed his eyes, his last thoughts in consciousness being that he hoped no one would disturb him.
()()()()()()
The last shots were fired and then there was silence—at least in this section of the woods. Louis stepped out from behind the tree he had taken to for cover. He was nearly out of ammo, and was glad that the skirmish as over before he had emptied his small supply. Not far from him was Michel. He nodded to the other man, and the cautiously stepped out, their rifles at the ready in case there were any Nazis left. Bernard and Gregoir walked on over.
"We found the body of one of the airmen," said Bernard. "He was dead. Shot in the back."
Michel sighed wearily. "Let's go check the plane."
They walked warily towards the plane. They found nothing good. A few paces away from the bomber was an airman's body, shot in the neck. Closer to the plane, there were others: two with bullets in between their eyes; the two pilots' corpses could vaguely be seen burning in the fire that engulfed the cockpit; another man laid half in and half out of a gun turret.
"There were two that ran," said Louis. "We should look for the other one."
"He is probably still running," said Gregoir with a smirk. "You should have seen his face when he ran into you. I think he thought you were a German."
Gregoir chuckled some, but Michel's glare stopped him. Louis swallowed; in his mind's eye he saw the terrified look on the airman's face, and the blood that had been dripping from his forehead.
"Non," said Michel. "We should find him. Which way did he run?"
"Towards the town," said Louis.
"Maybe he made it there," offered Bernard hopefully.
"Maybe," said Michel. "Come."
They headed out the woods, and came upon the ditch. Louis was the first to spot the blue airman lying in the ditch.
"Mon Dieu," he cried. The others looked over.
"Is he dead," asked Bernard.
Louis dropped down into the ditch. He could easily see the Briton breathing. "Non. He must have passed out."
"Bernard, Gregoir," said Michel. "Pick him up. We will bring him to the town. Le médecin will look at him." (2)
Gregoir reluctantly complied. Louis watched the partisan closely. He had no idea why Gregoir was acting so ill towards the airman. Sure, he was British, and Louis was not all too sure about him either. But he was a soldier and ally. Like Bernard had said earlier to Louis: every man they got out was another man that could help liberate France in the future.
They pulled the Briton out of the ditch, and then set out back to the town. Once there, they were glad to find that the Nazis had not passed through just yet to take complete control of the citizens. They were able to get the Briton to the local doctor. Louis remained to keep watch outside the doctor's house, while Michel, Bernard, and Gregoir left to go seek out more downed airmen. About an hour later, the doctor came out saying that he had given the Briton some stitches and he was now awake.
Louis went upstairs to find the Briton sitting in a chair. His head was wrapped as well as his right wrist. He was bent over, his head in his hands, and looked very tired.
"C'est bon voir tu éveillé," said Louis as he stepped into the room. The Briton's head shot up in surprise. Louis smiled slightly. "J'étais de partir tu ici."(3)
All he got was a blank stare from the Briton. Louis realized his error.
"Ah, pardon moi," he said. "I suppose you do not speak French."
The Briton shook his head. "Sorry," he said softly.
"It is not a problem," replied Louis. "I know English."
"Obviously," said the Briton.
Louis scowled. "Well, we will be travelling together," he said. "I guess I will be your translator."
"I guess so," replied the Briton. "Where are we goin'?"
"The coast," answered Louis. "Dunkirk. They say that the soldiers are evacuating there."
"When are we goin' t'leave," asked the Briton.
"We will wait for some partisans to get back," said Louis. "If they do not return in time, then a guide from this town will take us right at sundown."
"Sounds good," said the Briton.
"I am Corporal Louis LeBeau, by the way," said Louis, walking over to the Briton and holding out his hand.
The Briton stood up. "I'm Corporal Peter Newkirk." They shook hands.
"You 'ave a funny accent, Corporal," said Louis.
"You do too," retorted Peter.
"I am French," replied Louis, as if that were the answer to everything.
"Well, I'm English," replied Peter.
"You do not sound like all the other Englishman I 'ave seen," said Louis.
"Well, all the ruddy Englishmen who come to France are the toffs, mate," answered Peter. "Ya know, rich people. Folks you've got too much money."
"Et tu," asked Louis.
"Me," said Peter. "I'm from London East End. Ya know, where the docks an' the trash is kept."
"Oh," said Louis, as if realizing. "You are one of the Cockneys. Ma sœur, she saw one in a picture, and thought your accents were cute." (4)
"Cute," repeated Peter. "Look mate, it's anythin' but cute. Now, 'ow about we drop this an' get some grub?"
"Do you mean food," asked Louis hotly. Oh, he knew that was what the Englishman meant, but he decided to play with him.
And Peter knew it."We mawn-sur."
Louis scowled and turned and left the room. Peter sighed, and followed.
They ate a little meal in silence, sitting across from one another. Peter had his little sandwich down in a minute. He thanked the doctor's wife with a sly grin, making Louis want to punch him. The Frenchman proceeded to eat his sandwich as eloquently as he could, which seemed to be driving Peter up the wall. They appeared complete opposites: Louis was sitting up straight in his chair, eating in small bites and keeping the crumbs in his plate. Peter was sitting back in his chair, fingering his mug, his eyes closed some as if he was about to fall asleep. But he wasn't. He had taken up his you-think-I'm-not-watching-but-I-am look.
But suddenly, all shenanigans stopped when a teenage boy came busting into the room. He spoke rapid French. Louis jumped up, his rifle at the ready.
"Wot," asked Peter, jumping up as well. "Are they 'ere? Jerry?"
Louis nodded. "We will escape out the back. Come."
"Wait," said Peter. "You got any kind o' weapon I can put me 'ands on? All I've got is a knife."
Louis nodded. He tossed a pistol to Peter, who caught it and stuck it in his trousers. He nodded and they ran out the back of the house. They came into a small alley. There were some screams echoing off the buildings.
"You know your way 'round 'ere," asked Peter softly.
"Non," said Louis. "I am not from 'ere. But I know 'ow the town is lain out. Allons."
The hurried down the alley, and then they went through a door on the opposite side. They came into the back of a house. A woman, an old man, and three children were huddled in the small room. The old man hurried up. He spoke quickly to Louis.
Louis translated for Peter. "'E says that if we can get to the Valères' farm, we will be able to hide there for awhile. When it is dark, someone will take us. The farm is on the west side of town, and the largest. 'E says we cannot miss it."
Peter nodded. "If we can't miss it, then sure as gyp Jerry won't miss it either. Do we 'ave a safe way to get there?" (5)
"We will 'ave to stick with the alleys and 'ouses as much as we can," answered Louis. "That is the safest."
"Nothin' new then," said Peter. He tipped his head to the old man out of thanks and went back out to the alley.
"Merci," said Louis quickly, and then left, shutting the door behind him.
They ran down the alley, stopping as it came out onto a side street. They looked both ways quickly, and then dashed across, right into another home. The residents hardly batted an eye, as if they knew that they had been coming. An older man led them through the house, bringing them to the next street. He opened the door slightly, while Peter and Louis kept back for the all clear signal. The man waved his hand.
"Across the street. Rapidement et bon chance," he said, pushing them through the door.
The scurried across the street, keeping low, and went into the home directly across from them. In this house, they found no one. They moved quickly through it, climbing through a back window into another alley. Looking down one end of the alley, they could see outside the town, and into fields. On the far side of the field, they could see a barn and a house.
"I bet that's it," said Peter.
"Moi aussi," said Louis. "And even if it is not, it is something to 'ide in."
"Right," said Peter. He looked down the alley the other way. "Let's go."
They went quickly down the alley, slowing down a few yards away from the end. They crept up on either side, peeking across and out into the streets as carefully as they could.
"Nothing," said Peter.
"Oui, même ici," responded Louis. Peter gave him a confused look. "Same here."
Then, there was a shout, and they both spun around. On the other side of the alley, they would see Nazi tanks rolling down the next street. People had lined the sides of the street, so it was difficult to tell if any Germans had spotted them. They would not wait to find out, though.
"Rapidement," said Louis. "Get across the street and into the ditch and I will cover you."
Peter nodded and after a quick look up and down the empty street he darted across, sliding into the ditch on the other side. He covered the Frenchman as Louis followed seconds later. Keeping low, they followed the ditch until it turned into the field, and then ran across. The high grass prevented anyone from being able to spot them, as long as they remained low. They still felt that they were out in the open, though, and were running as fast as they could. Peter was a bit more presto than Louis, and he turned back once to wait for the smaller man to catch up. This surprised Louis, but neither mentioned a thing. As they neared their destination they slowed down, being mindful of the fact that they were now coming up on another clearing. They climbed out of the ditch and into the grass. They then edged to the end of the grass and as they had done before, covered one another as they ran into the barn.
Inside, the barn was dark. Peter climbed up onto the rafters and peeked out a window cautiously.
"Bloody 'ell," he whispered.
"Le quel," asked Louis worriedly.
"These Jerries could've smashed us like we was just roaches," said Peter. "Come 'ere an' see for yourself."
Louis slung his rifle over his shoulder and climbed up into the rafters beside the Englishman. He looked out the window and his jaw dropped. Looking out over the fields that lay even beyond the little town they had left, they saw large companies of infantryman and tanks plowing through. They had completely swept through the town already, and were moving on. The little resistance that was there was easily noticed. There were no signs of French or British soldiers.
"Mon Dieu," said Louis. He looked at Peter. "That is the equivalent of your 'bloody 'ell.'"
"Ta mate," said Peter sarcastically.
They both looked back out the window. Nazi flags were flying high. Louis shook his head in disgust. They stood there for a moment, watching the enemy's progression sadly.
"I'm sorry," said Peter suddenly. Louis looked at him oddly. "I can't imagine seein' this in England. I can't imagine those Krauts rollin' through London like this."
"Ou Paris," muttered Louis sadly.
"You're from Paris," asked Peter.
"Just outside," answered Louis. "My town looks like that one. And my family 'as a farm like this one."
"Don't worry," said Peter. "It won't last forever."
"L'Anglais will come back, non," asked Louis.
"We did last time," said Peter. "I don't see why we shan't do it again. Besides, Britain's freedom is at stake too. About the only advantage we've got is that we're on an island. An' who knows 'ow long that'll make a difference."
"Psst! Que vous faites?"
The two soldiers spun around guns dawn. An old man was standing on the barn floor.
"Monsieur Valère," asked Louis.
"Oui," answered the old man. "Venez sur. Rapidement. Les allemands sont près."
Louis quickly climbed down. Peter did not follow right away. Louis snapped at the Englishman. "He says we must go quickly. Les Boches are nearby." Peter jumped off the rafters with a scowl, but they exchanged no more words.
Monsieur Valère led them to the other side of the barn to a stall. Inside, a mare stood silently. He beckoned the mare out, handing the reins to Peter. Peter held the horse as far away as he could, and shuffled his feet nervously when the horse snorted and tried to sniff him. Louis could not help but smile. Valère brushed some hay aside, revealing a trap door beneath it. He pulled it up, and pointed inside. Louis dropped in. Valère took the horse's reins from Peter, and the Englishman dropped in as well. The hideaway was not even large enough for him to stand up straight in. He crouched down beside Louis and looked up at Valère. The man looked down at them.
"Tu peut pas parler plus. Je reviendrai quand c'est sûr." With that, he closed the door, sending them into pitch darkness.
"Wot 'e say?"
"Shh! 'E said that we must be quiet. 'E will come when it is safe."
"Bloody 'ell, that'll be never!"
"Shh!"