Chapter 50

After all the vehicles had cleared the bridge and an unusual quiet settled over the Loire, we heard the Germans approach. They advanced with thousands of boots marching down the road. In unison—thump, thump, thump—thunder on the ground. They kept coming and coming. I shaded my eyes to see the never-ending line of cars, trucks, tanks, motorcycles, and foot soldiers. The din of so many was deafening. Mon Dieu, would this end? The frontline Germans stopped at the entrance to the bridge, waiting for the rest of their army to catch up. They didn’t hurry and seemed almost nonchalant as they waited, lighting cigarettes and chatting. The bridge would be gone soon.

Louis and I took up positions at the other entrance to the bridge, blocked from view by the posts supporting the structure. I held an automatic rifle, and Louis had a 3 mm gun. I ran my fingers over the cold black rifle—a relic from the school’s museum. Even though ancient, it could and would kill the advancing Panzer soldiers. Could I take aim and kill a man? This was war, but still…I steeled myself. Yes, yes, I could if it meant keeping them out of Saumur.

I stopped admiring the rifle when a person wedged between us.

“Pardon.” Another soldier by the smell of smoke, sweat, and blood.

The man, his face covered with bandages, nodded toward the rifle.

“Use mine.”

His rifle was newer. I looked over at the intruder’s torn and bloody uniform.

The soldier took note of my interest.

“Groupe Franc. I’m making my way back to the front.”

“You are hurt?”

“Oui, but I want to fight. To the death if I must. But my sight. My eyes won’t focus to fire my weapon.”

I studied the man further. His face was covered in bloody bandages, and still he wanted to fight. Would I act the same way if I was in his situation?

“Oui.” I turned back to the rows of Germans stretched across the river before taking careful aim at the motorcycle riders, sitting ducks, and firing. At first nothing happened. Had I missed the target? Non, the man slumped over in slow motion as if he were asleep, red spreading across the front of his uniform, a blooming red rose. I had killed a man. I let out a shaky breath.

Next Louis took a chunk from a tank with his hefty gun. Like ants, the Germans scattered for cover, but we cadets kept firing. I aimed again and took out the retreating figures, all the while my stomach protesting and threatening to explode. The Germans returned fire.

“Bien,” the stranger said. “Captain de Neucheze would have used your skills.” The stranger clasped both our hands in his before disappearing into the trees. He had left his rifle with me.

“I’m running low on ammo,” I whispered.

“We must pull back now,” Louis said. “They’re going to blow the bridge.”

Crouching and scampering away, we took cover behind a large statue of a man on a horse. The base was five meters high. The dynamite exploded, shaking the ground as the bridge burst into flames, spitting debris over the water, the French cadets, and the fleeing Germans. I turned and threw up what little I had into the spindly grass.

I wiped my mouth and wearily sat down as the dust cleared, and all was quiet, all except the beating of my heart. The quiet was more unnerving than the shots and screams.

I sorted through the ammunition. I had about two dozen bullets left.

Next we set up our positions on either side of the statue and began firing over the wrecked bridge into the German soldiers trying to organize back into their lines after the explosion. We were joined by fellow cadets, who rushed toward us and flopped down on the ground, protected by a long-lost general on his iron horse. A few shots pinged off the horse statue, missing the cadets. We all took aim. I pulled the trigger and took out a soldier inching down the muddy bank of the Loire and climbing over the wreckage of the bridge.

“Did you see that?”

Another cadet took aim when German soldiers reached down to haul up their fallen comrade. The three fell upon one another and into the muddy river.

I nodded, my ears still ringing from the blast, before taking aim at a motorcycle’s fuel tank. The entire thing blew sky-high, taking out other vehicles and soldiers. Pieces of the bike, trucks, and limp bodies flung through the air.

“Très bien!”

The air hung thick with burning fumes, and my eyes smarted and stung.

I wiped a hand over my eyes and shook my head to stop the ringing. “It’s hard to tell the time of day.”

“Oui, I think morning still.”

My stomach rumbled in protest. It couldn’t be helped. We were finally at war, but I needed more ammunition.

“We’re going to make a run for it,” one of our cadet companions said.

“I need more bullets.”

“We’ll see what we can find.” And with that, a group of cadets left, leaving Louis and me alone again.

I looked out over what was left of the bridge.

“Do you ever think about dying?” Louis asked.

“I can’t hear you.”

Louis repeated his question.

I couldn’t imagine death itself. I wanted to live to be with Chaton again and perhaps run off together to live happily ever after. Her image imprinted on my brain dimmed a bit with each passing hour like the photos of long-lost relatives, the fuzziness overtaking their features and outlines blurred with a brown patina.

“I suppose. You?”

Louis looked at me with a quizzical expression on his face. “Of course! My sainted mother wouldn’t have it any other way!” He gave a short laugh. “My father finally looked peaceful when he died.”

My grandmother had a twisted expression on her face that didn’t soften even with her death.

“Do you love your Gypsy girl?” Louis asked.

I looked through the rifle’s sight as we talked, waiting for a clear shot, to conserve ammo. I heard his question clearly this time.

“I’ve seen you sneak away and go to her,” Louis said.

“Oui.” I looked away from the Germans and over at Louis. The thought of Chaton wrenched my gut further.

Louis took a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, offering it to me. I lowered the rifle and sucked eagerly, the smoke filling my lungs, before handing back the cigarette.

“I think so.”

“Why?” Louis asked.

“She is everything I am not.”

We sat leaning against the statue, waiting. Neither of us moved until a dozen German soldiers scrambled over the bank, sloshed through the muddy river.

“We should probably go,” I said.

The voices from the Germans in their barbed, guttural speech were getting louder and louder as we scrambled away, monkey-style. The Germans had breached the river with or without the bridge. Their armaments crossed downstream where the river flowed weakly, swirling around itself in the shallow muddy currents.

We crawled away from our position past our fellow cadets that had fallen into a heap on the ground. My eyes smarted with tears as I saw their broken and bloody bodies. They had given their lives for freedom. Louis tapped my shoulder for us to continue. He too had tears in his eyes before crossing himself. With weary sighs, we rejoined the others.