Going to the enemy’s camp. What was wrong with these human pups?
If only they could smell the danger in the enemy that Boss and her pack had been taught to recognize. If only they could feel how sick the enemy’s stench made them, how every inhale of the enemy was a slap to the muzzle. It wasn’t their fault; dogs knew that human noses and ears were terribly inadequate. But they also hadn’t received the training that Boss and Delta had. That was why they’d been able to save Juliette from the water. Boss and Delta were good dogs, meant to be soldiers.
Then again . . . the enemy had helped. He had saved the female, Juliette. Maybe that counted for something.
They reached the camp, a shoddy setup around a smoldering fire. The smells of the place overwhelmed Boss—everything stunk of the enemy, from the clothing to the metal on the kettle hanging over the fire. The raw scent of forbidden goods made her choke slightly, and she and Delta stopped before reaching the edge of the fire. Boss could feel the heat and knew that it would feel nice to lie next to the flames . . . but she hadn’t been trained as a soldier only to give in to the enemy the moment he offered them a treat.
The enemy soldier handed Juliette clothes and pointed toward his tent. As she headed over, he gestured to the dogs and spoke to Antoine, the boy pup. He answered back, and Boss caught a few words. Mainly Tank.
The enemy soldier went over to a bag by the fire and brought out a small green box. Even before he reached them, Boss could smell what was inside: chemicals, bandages, metal tools. A box like the one Gregor had used on Boss when she’d scraped her leg on a nail and needed stitches.
The enemy soldier walked quickly toward them.
Without thinking, Boss and Delta were on their feet, growling. The soldier stopped dead, raising one hand. The fur on Boss’s neck prickled. What was this human thinking, walking at them so fast? Did he think they wouldn’t attack him? The nerve!
Antoine darted out in front of the enemy soldier and said some human words. Boss and Delta picked some of them—Tank. Injured. Help. Antoine pointed to the box, then to Tank.
Boss woofed nervously. She understood, she just hated the thought of the enemy laying hands on Tank. She glanced at Delta, though, and saw that her packmate had different ideas. Her eyebrows and back fur told Boss that Delta was more afraid of Tank staying hurt than she was of the enemy.
Delta had been helpful so far. She may be clumsy, but she was dedicated to the pack.
Boss moved aside and let the enemy soldier through.
Tank growled low and whined as the enemy soldier rubbed chemicals on his wound and stitched it up, but he was in no position to attack. And anyway, Boss and Delta stood on either side of the enemy, ready to strike at any moment.
Eventually, the enemy soldier stood and backed away, and Boss and Delta gave Tank’s wound a sniff. It did smell cleaner than it had before and looked less ugly and worrisome now that it was stitched up. Tank even sat up and gave it a light lick before laying back down. At least in this situation, thought Boss, he would be saved the humiliation of wearing a cone around his neck to keep him from licking the wound or biting at his stitches.
She and Delta laid down next to Tank and shared a look. Perhaps this enemy soldier wasn’t so bad after all. She’d let him off the leash for now.
Boss huffed a breath. Delta returned it. They both understood.
If he made one wrong move, he was dog food.
Chapter 20
OUTSIDE ONEUX, BELGIUM
DECEMBER 30, 1944
9:44 A.M. LOCAL TIME
Juliette pulled the blankets close in around herself and hunched against the itchy material of the long underwear she now wore. The fire felt good on her face, and the tin mug warmed her hands. She sipped the weak tea inside, wincing at the flavor—terrible, like it had gone bad!—but savoring its heat. She passed the cup to Antoine, who silently took it and sipped without ever taking his eyes off of the figure across from them.
On the other side of the campfire sat Till. Between Juliette’s clothes on the big sticks planted in the ground where they hung drying, the Nazi silently watched them as he poured himself a cup of tea from his camping kettle. He eyed the children warily; Juliette thought he looked as scared of them as she felt of him. Behind him sat the green triangle of his tent. Boss and Delta laid farther off, snuggling up against Tank to warm him. They’d refused to enter the Nazi’s campsite, even after he’d stitched up Tank’s wound. Juliette couldn’t help but wonder if they’d had the right idea.
But Till didn’t seem cruel, Juliette thought. He’d saved her life and given her dry clothes. He’d helped Tank. How could a man so in league with an evil cause have any good inside him?
“Where are you two heading?” asked the soldier in heavily accented French.
“Say nothing,” whispered Antoine.
Till’s face looked hurt for a moment, but then he stretched his lips tight and nodded. “Smart boy. That’s wise.” He stared into his cup and sighed. “You are afraid of me, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” said Juliette.
Till nodded. He reached into his pocket and held a scrap of red fabric out to Juliette—a Nazi armband, obviously removed from his coat. He smoothed out the fabric so she could see the jagged black swastika in the white circle.
“Because of this?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Juliette.
“Because of what you’ve done,” said Antoine. “Because of what all Nazis have done to our country and to our friends.”
Till looked at Antoine, then down at the armband. “To the world,” he said softly. A fat tear rolled down his cheek and plopped onto the toe of his hunting boot.
The hunting boot jarred Juliette’s mind awake. It was brown leather and fur-lined, nothing like the pitch-black combat boots worn by Nazi soldiers. Bit by bit, she put little clues together. The armband in the pocket, not on the coat. The itchy long underwear he had given her, obviously made by a mother. The tent, a simple canvas model—one bought at a store before a big hike, not a single swastika on it. The far side of the Ourthe, away from the German front as it made its way south through Plainevaux. His complaints earlier in the cabin, about missing his free will, about not knowing who he was fighting for.
“You’re a deserter,” said Juliette.
Till looked her in the eye and nodded. “This morning,” he said softly, “I . . . I burned down somebody’s home.”
Juliette wanted to blurt out, We know, but managed to keep her mouth shut.
“And for some reason, that act made me think about everything I’ve done,” said Till, staring into the flames. “All of the people I’ve hurt, the lives I’ve destroyed. All for my country. And that’s only me—not to mention what I’ve heard is going on outside of Belgium.
“And I . . . couldn’t take it anymore,” he said, his voice cracking. “I ransacked a supply shed, paid a family in town for clothes and camping gear . . . and left. Whatever happens now, it happens because of me. Not because of Germany, or Hitler, but because I want it to.”
“And what if you get caught?” asked Antoine. “What if you’re asked to pay for your crimes?”
“Then it will be deserved,” said Till. He looked up to the overcast sky and sighed. “Something tells me I will have to answer for them eventually. But maybe not here.”
They sat for a moment longer, the only sound the crackling of the fire. Eventually, Till took off one of his gloves, sat forward, and squeezed Juliette’s clothes where they dangled.
“They’re dry,” he said. “You should get going.”
Juliette gathered her clothes, went into the tent, and changed back into her dress and leggings. She reached into the pocket of her jacket and exhaled with relief as she felt the cloth-wrapped bundle of the doll inside of it. When she came out of the tent, Antoine was wrapping Tank in one of Till’s blankets. Boss and Delta never took their eyes off Till, and the hair on their backs never lowered.
“Goodbye,” said Juliette softly.
“Bun anay,” said Till.
“What?” asked Juliette.
The soldier cleared his throat, and said in slow, careful French, “Bonne année. Happy New Year.”
Juliette nodded and headed off into the woods with Antoine and the dogs. She looked back once more, just in time to see Till throw his armband in the fire.
Chapter 21
OUTSIDE BATIS, BELGIUM
DECEMBER 30, 1944
10:03 A.M. LOCAL TIME
Boss trotted up to the head of the party, Delta flanking her perfectly. They didn’t even need to exchange a glance to let the other know what they were thinking. They were both so confused by the human’s actions that it was painted all over their muzzles.
Maybe the same foolishness that had let Juliette and Antoine get won over by the enemy soldier was the same thing that had made the soldier help them. The sense of kinship. The feeling that they were all one pack.
Then again, he’d helped Tank. She looked back at her alpha and saw his eyes wide open and his breathing steady, even if he wasn’t moving much. It was undeniable—the enemy’s stitches made him feel better. He’d even given Tank a blanket, something enemy troops weren’t in the habit of doing.
Boss huffed. It was still nonsense. It would get them in trouble if they didn’t watch their backs. But it had helped them this time.
They broke through the tree line and into a clearing in the woods, where the forest hills sloped down into a valley before rising up into another hill, and more thick forest. A road ran along the bottom of the valley, winding around the hills until it went out of sight. At least this clearing, thought Boss, was exposed to the sun and would be a little less snowy than the forests they’d been trudging through. Boss loved snow and felt alive in it, but for human pups, it was slow going. She missed Gregor and the rest of the pack. She hoped they were safe somewhere, away from the enemy, warming themselves by the fire.
For the first time since she’d left the pack, Boss wondered if she’d ever return. Maybe not. Maybe that was okay—that the pack got to safety, even if she didn’t. Her job was to help humans who needed her, and she was doing that. If she never saw the pack again, well . . . it would hurt. But she had done her job. That’s what good dogs did.
She put her nose down and began searching for new smells. Not the pack, but smells that would help them—friendly gunpowder, friendly clothing. A town, a base, anywhere they could go. This was her job now, getting them somewhere safe.
Delta whined, and Boss noticed her sniffing the air. She raised her muzzle, took in a deep breath.
Enemy clothing and bullets, definitely. There was a noise, too, a thin slicing sound that she had heard around the camp before, but which she’d never quite locked down to a specific source . . .
A new smell filled Boss’s nostrils. A familiar smell.
Wait . . . could it be?
From around one hill, a black-and-white smudge darted along the road and ran as fast as it could. Even this far off, Boss recognized the lolling tongue and graceful gait of her packmate and line neighbor, Buzz.
Racing after Buzz were two enemy soldiers in thick black-and-white uniforms. They glided over the snow on thin pieces of wood that were strapped to their feet, pushing themselves along with spiked poles they dug into the ground. Boss remembered seeing these long snow gliders stacked up in the front room of their pen back at the base. Gregor never wore them, but some of the other soldiers took them when they went out on missions. So that was what they were for . . .
Though Buzz was fast, the enemy were gaining thanks to their snow gliders. Boss loved Buzz, but she was built more for endurance than speed. And though she was keeping a steady pace, the enemy was gaining on her.
Boss looked at Delta. Delta growled and nodded.
So much for camouflage.
The two dogs lowered their heads and scratched at the ropes around their necks until they slid over their heads. Boss barely heard Juliette’s protest as she and Delta bounded down the hill, running full speed toward the enemy soldiers.
Boss was faster than Delta and reached the closest soldier just as he drew his rifle from his back and pointed it at Buzz. The man looked up from his aim only a split second before Boss launched herself from the ground.
BAM! Boss slammed into the enemy soldier’s side and knocked him to the snow. The minute he fell, she stood up over him and revealed her teeth to his face in a show of dominance. She growled and raised her back hair to let him know she was serious. Behind her, Delta had bitten onto the other soldier’s arm and dragged him to the ground with a cry.
The enemy soldiers both held up their hands . . . but their eyes weren’t focused on the dogs’ teeth. They went elsewhere, farther down the road . . .
Boss heard the thin slicing sound again.
More snow gliders!
Boss felt the cold creep beneath her coat and into her skin. She was outnumbered.
The third enemy soldier slid to a halt a few feet away from them.
He eyed the dogs for a moment, and then drew his rifle and aimed it at Boss.
Chapter 22
OUTSIDE LEVEE, BELGIUM
DECEMBER 30, 1944
10:28 A.M. LOCAL TIME
Juliette and Antoine saw the third soldier winding down the road before the dogs did. Once again, Juliette’s quick mind put together what was about to happen. But this time, for once, Antoine didn’t need her to say it out loud. It was like how the dogs seemed to know what the other was thinking—suddenly they were both on the same page.
“Let’s go,” said Antoine.
They bolted down the hill, Juliette loving how well they could run now that there was less snow. The growling of the dogs and the sound of the soldier’s skis drowned out their footsteps, until they crouched behind a tree near the Nazi ski trooper just as he stopped and drew his gun.
Antoine was quick—he gathered up a handful of snow and packed it tightly.
“HEY!” he shouted.
The soldier froze and looked up at them.
Antoine pitched the snowball right into the soldier’s face. The ski trooper reeled, windmilling his arms, and finally flopped hard onto his back. His head bounced against the ground with a THUD that made Juliette wince, and then the Nazi lay back and gave a dazed moan.
In an instant, Juliette crouched on top of the soldier. Energy and anger raced through her. She snatched the whittling knife from her bundle, brought it out, and pointed it at the Nazi’s face. The first thing the soldier saw when he wiped his goggles clean was her blade inches from his face.
“Little girl,” he said in clipped French, “put that knife away—”
“Why, so you can shoot me?” she shouted. “So you can kill me, like you planned to kill this poor dog? Or so you can take me away like you took my friends and neighbors?”
The ski trooper scowled. “This is war,” he said.
“You’re right,” she said, jabbing the knife forward. “Maybe I should just—”
“No!” cried the ski trooper, putting up his hand.
“No,” she said finally. “I’m not like you. I won’t take your life.” A smile sprouted on her face. “But we will take your skis. Antoine, go get the rope.”
Slowly but steadily, they tied the Nazis’ hands behind their backs and their legs together using lengths of the rope Juliette cut off with her whittling knife. They weren’t perfect bonds—the soldiers would probably wriggle out of them in an hour or two. But they’d hold long enough for her and Antoine to get away. The dogs stood by the troopers, growling into the soldiers’ frightened faces as Antoine and Juliette tied them up. Juliette wondered if the huskies looked like wolves to the soldiers, and Antoine and she appeared to be feral children living out in the wild.
They gathered the ski equipment and split it up between them—a pair for Juliette, a pair for Antoine, and a pair for Tank to slide on. Juliette’s were huge and unwieldy, and the foot straps fit loosely, but she managed to get them tied securely enough. She�
��d never skied before, and fell twice, but Antoine lifted her up both times. Eventually she got the hang of the poles. Both she and Antoine tied one of their poles to Tank’s new sled and pulled him along as they slid their way across the countryside, Boss, Delta, and the new dog, Buzz, bringing up the rear and occasionally giving Tank a nudge with their heads.
As the wind whistled past her ears, Juliette looked out at the snowy countryside rushing past her and wondered how she’d gotten this far in so short a time. One moment, she was stealing bread from her own family and worrying that the Kraismans would get caught by the Nazis; the next, she was ambushing German soldiers and racing across Belgium on a cross-country ski trip.
She also noticed something had changed in Antoine. He no longer mocked her or got snippy with her. When she had trouble with her skis, he was patient. And when he had trouble with his skis, he asked for help. She could see that he was still having a hard time not criticizing her at every turn—there were several moments where his face would scrunch up, but he always stayed quiet. Maybe nearly dying on the ice had changed his mind about what was important.
She stopped herself. Those were worries for when they were safe. And besides, the events of the last two days were clouding her mind. Of course Antoine seemed nice while they were trapped in the forest together, because he wasn’t one of the many people actively trying to kill her. But he was the same boy who’d talked about her as though she were an insect two days before, and whose father made merry with the Nazi officers she’d seen around town. This was war, not real life. She shouldn’t get the two mixed up.
“I recognize that farmhouse,” said Antoine, pointing into the distance.
“Good,” she said, still unable to shake the worry that she was only seeing the Antoine he wanted her to see out in the woods.
The forest soon grew thicker, and the paths between the trees got narrower. Juliette and Antoine abandoned the skis, kicking snow over them and their poles so the Nazis wouldn’t find them. They decided to keep Tank on his skis because it was easier to move him around, and Juliette and Antoine pulled him with two remaining ski poles.
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