Chapter 52

The medic approached me with a needle, and I shrank away. “Non! Non!” What were they giving me? No. I twisted away, but the prick and sting coursed through my veins.

Louis and I rejoined what was left of our cadet class. The sorry-looking group, dirty and discouraged from the German onslaught, huddled together, mumbling our victories but mourning the loss of our brothers. We couldn’t hold out much longer without more ammunition and help.

“Where are the others?”

I slumped against a tree and listened to the conversations swirling like smoke around me. I needed to get away and rescue Chaton.

“Shot.”

“Killed.”

“Captured.”

“Any luck?”

“I shot seven or eight,” I whispered, my mind replaying the scenes over and over. The shots, the fallen Germans, the blood, and more blood. My stomach crammed into my throat, and I retched, but I had nothing left to burn its way out of my body.

“Why did you stop?”

“Ran out of ammo.”

“I’m low too.”

“Any biscuits?”

“Non, I haven’t eaten in two days.”

“Here.” A dirty hand thrust a piece of bread into my palm. “Eat this. You need your strength.”

I tore into the bread, gagging a bit as the stale crumbs jammed in my throat, but I managed to swallow, the lump filling my stomach.

The cadets were losing the fight against the mighty German army, but it was too late to back out. Would Colonel Michon surrender?

Presently the colonel came to us. “Good job, men. We’ve kept them out of the town.” He passed out what little ammunition he had. “This is it. We will fight until it is gone. You have all done me proud today.”

I looked at the meager handful of bullets. I could kill seven Germans, but thousands kept coming. What could I do with seven bullets?

I loaded my rifle and, in a crouch, left the little group to find a position to take aim. The afternoon sun glinted off the metal of the internment camp roofs. Chaton. I needed to free Chaton before we surrendered to the Germans. We were overrun and outgunned. But we had held the Germans at bay for two days.

I slipped into the copse of trees. The trees provided a view of the river, the ant-like Germans lining the bank, and their frenzy of activity.

After a deep breath, I took a shot, aiming for the man who seemed to be giving orders. My shot caught the man in the upper chest. The Germans looked up to where I was hiding and surged forward. I slipped away from the trees, heading through the undergrowth toward the internment camp.

I smelled the camp before it came into view. The June flowers and budding trees couldn’t mask the odor of misery permeating the prison swathed in barbed wire. A figure stepped out from the trees, not a German, but our lieutenant. I would have preferred a German to this man I never liked or respected.

He put up a hand to stop me. “You are a thief and a disgrace to the Ecole de Cavalerie. We should have thrown you out while we had a chance.” He spat at me.

We looked at each other for a long time, until the sounds of the Germans coming up the hill, crashing through bushes, tore us apart.

“You are a foolish boy. Look. You have led the Germans to us!”

Yes, but it couldn’t be helped. They would be overtaking this whole area in a matter of hours.

“Oui, I was hoping they would kill you, you cruel swine!” I raised my rifle, surprised at how easy it was to do so, and took aim.

The lieutenant’s face was frozen with disbelief, his pig eyes tiny and fierce. “Do it! You are a coward!”

Then I pulled the trigger. I was no coward and didn’t wait to see where I had shot the lieutenant. I skirted the crumpled body and headed toward the internment camp and to Chaton.

“Are you my relief?” the guard asked me at the barbed fence surrounding the camp. I willed myself to act unconcerned and unhurried, but inside, I felt jittery and anxious.

“Oui, you have earned it.”

“How goes the fighting?”

“The Germans are endless,” I said.

“I will go and fight.” He left, following the sounds of gunfire, shots, and raised voices.

“And may God be with you,” I called after him.

The guard slipped away, and I hurried to the back of the camp to the deep holes holding Chaton and her family. The prisoners watched me with fear as I pushed around them. No one touched or tried to stop me. They remained to the side but watched my every move.

“The girl, Chaton. Is she still here?” I asked, breathlessly.

Several people pointed to a grate covering the ground.

A hoarse, breathless cry of “I’m here.” They were alive.

“I have come for you.”

“Thank heavens! Grandma has gone.”

I pushed at the grate with my boot. “Help me,” I croaked in frustration, dropping down to dig frantically at the hard ground around the grate.

Several internees leaped forward to help.

I worked in deep concentration, pushing and shoving at the cover, only managing to move it a few meters before I heard the telltale click.

I raised my head to see the lieutenant, his left arm bloody and hanging limply, holding a pistol.

“You should have killed me, Cadet Rousseau, because now I’m going to kill you.” He moved his pistol slightly. “And then I’ll kill her. She will starve to death in the hole for all I care.”

“Non.” I leaped toward the lieutenant as the bullet tore into my chest, a hot poker searing my skin. I raised my rifle in a futile attempt and fired.

It was then my world erupted into black and molten lava as I sank down, the sparks fizzling, then one by one extinguished.

My body collapsed and landed with a thud, all the wind knocked from my lungs. As my life blood flowed from my body, I managed to croak, “Chaton, I tried to save you, but…but I…can’t…”