by Kate Messner
For Penny Smith and the readers at
Hornell Intermediate School
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1: The Longest Night
Chapter 2: Early Morning Thunder
Chapter 3: Race to the Waves
Chapter 4: Chaos and Sand
Chapter 5: Rescue from the Sea
Chapter 6: A Promise Kept
Chapter 7: Smoke and Bombs
Chapter 8: Danger in the Shadows
Chapter 9: Enemy or Friend?
Chapter 10: Through the Minefield
Chapter 11: Up and Away!
Chapter 12: Into the Flames
Chapter 13: Not Another Step!
Chapter 14: Raise the Balloons
Chapter 15: Saying Good-bye
Chapter 16: Coming Home
Author’s Note
Further Reading
Sources
About the Author
The Ranger in Time Series
Don’t Miss Ranger’s Next Adventure!
Copyright
“Hold on!”
Walt Burrell clung to the railing of the ship as it rocked on five-foot waves. Three dozen men were packed together on his landing craft. It was one of thousands crossing the English Channel on a mission to free France from the Nazis. The Allied invasion had begun.
Last night, as Walt and the other men boarded the ship, they’d been handed an order of the day from General Eisenhower. “You are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward which we have striven these many months,” the order read. “The eyes of the world are upon you. The hopes and prayers of liberty-loving people everywhere march with you …”
Walt had folded the order and tucked it in a pocket. He’d climbed on board with the other men to begin the longest night of his life.
The sea was stormy and rough. Home seemed a lifetime away. Walt’s stomach churned as the ship surged over another wave. He squeezed his eyes shut against the wind and rain and tried to remember his papa’s farm in Virginia. For a moment, he could almost smell the rich earth and baking corn bread he’d left behind when he joined the army. He was only sixteen, but he’d lied about his age and enlisted to fight for his country.
Walt’s unit, the 320th Barrage Balloon Battalion, had spent months at training camp in Tennessee. Like many other soldiers, they’d woken up before dawn to go on twenty-five-mile hikes through the woods. They’d run obstacle courses, crawling with their rifles under barbed wire fences. But this unit had a special mission — handling the enormous barrage balloons that would fly over the American troops in France, keeping enemy planes away. Walt and the other men had practiced launching and maneuvering the car-size balloons. The plan was to raise them over the beaches of Normandy, where the balloons would form a sort of defensive curtain in the sky, protecting Allied troops from German planes.
And now it was time.
The night journey across the sea had been dark and murky, but suddenly, the sky lit up in the distance. Searchlights swept the cliffs. The air thundered with the pounding of bombs. Allied forces were trying to knock out German defenses before Walt and the other men came ashore.
“You ready, Big Walt?” his friend Ernest shouted over the waves.
Walt almost smiled at the joke. He was the skinniest man in his battalion. The nickname that had felt so lighthearted at training camp felt different here. Not a single man on the landing craft seemed big enough for what they were about to face on the beaches.
The blasts grew louder and louder as Walt’s boat passed the battleships firing at shore. The sky was growing lighter now, even in the clouds and rain. The sea was crowded with smaller landing vessels like the one Walt was in. Waves sloshed over their sides and tossed them about as if they were toys in a bathtub. German machine gun fire blasted over the water.
Walt’s heart thudded through his jacket. Would they even make it to land?
Already, two shells had exploded just feet from his boat, sending up great sprays of salt water. The gunfire was almost constant, but the landing craft pushed on toward the beach.
Finally, someone shouted, “It’s time!”
The ship’s ramp dropped with a great splash.
“Let’s move!” another voice boomed. “Go!”
Walt and the other men hurried down the ramp. One after another, they plunged into the frigid sea.
The water was up to Walt’s chest. Other men leaped into the waves and disappeared. Had their heavy packs pulled them under?
Walt hesitated. A deep voice from behind him boomed, “You’re not a rescue ship! Get onshore!”
“Keep your gun dry!” someone else shouted.
Walt held his rifle high over his head and stumbled forward. All around him, men staggered and fell. He didn’t know if they’d been shot or knocked over by waves. There was no time to find out.
He had to keep going.
He had to make it to the beach.
In a village just over the ridge from the sea, Leo Rubinstein sat up in bed. Thundering booms rattled the windows. Was there a storm? His sister Rebecca’s black-and-white cat, Belle, jumped from his mattress to the floor.
“Henri!” a deep voice called from the kitchen.
Leo stood up. He was finally getting used to being called Henri. When Mémère, his grandmother, had dropped him off at this farm two years ago, he’d understood that it was no longer safe to be Leo Rubinstein, the Jewish boy from Paris. Now he was Henri Blanc, a Catholic boy staying with his uncle in Normandy for a while to help out on the farm.
Leo felt the lie poke at him every time he had to tell it. But the truth was too dangerous. Nazi soldiers and the French police who worked with them were rounding up Jewish people all over France, taking them … well, no one was certain where. When Leo asked, Mémère only told him to pray that the Allies would come soon to defeat the Nazis so they could all be free again.
So Leo had prayed. He’d wished and hoped and prayed some more. He’d listened to the BBC radio reports when it was safe. He’d even tried to learn English from one of his father’s university books, so he could talk to the American and English soldiers if they really came.
Another blast shook the sky. Was this the day?
Leo dressed and rushed downstairs. Mr. and Mrs. Blanc were in the kitchen, loading a basket with dried meats and bread.
“What’s happening?” Leo asked.
“It has begun.” Mr. Blanc tucked a satchel of coins into his sack. “The Allies are here to liberate France.”
“They really came!” Leo’s heart leaped.
But Mrs. Blanc said, “Now is no time to celebrate, with bombs falling from the sky. We must go!” She picked up the basket, made a sign of the cross, and pushed Leo toward the door.
“Go where?” If they weren’t safe in the sturdy farmhouse, Leo couldn’t imagine where they would be.
“The radio said find a ditch or make one,” Mrs. Blanc said as they hurried through the morning rain, past the garden. “I sent the older boys out to start.” She pointed. Leo spotted Pierre and Michel digging with shovels way out in the field.
“You go on,” Mr. Blanc told his wife. “Henri, come with me to free the animals.”
“What?” Leo was shocked. Last year, German soldiers had taken away the Blancs’ horses to transport supplies. The family depended on their cows and chickens. Since the war started, there was never enough food to buy at the market. They were even forced to give away their milk. The Germans demanded five liters a day. Pierre and Michel always stuck their fingers in the milk to put germs in it before they delivered it to the soldiers. “How will we get milk if we let the cows go?” Leo asked.
“Better to set the
m free than see them crushed under debris when the next bomb falls,” Mr. Blanc said as they ran to the barn.
The animals already knew something was wrong. The chickens were squawking and fretting. The cows stomped nervously at the dirt. When Leo opened the gate, they practically stampeded into the road.
When the last animal was freed, Mr. Blanc told Leo, “Go to the ditch now. I need to help old Mr. Dufort with his horses. I will be there soon.”
Leo nodded. He started running through the mud toward the ditch. But he paused to look up at the house. Could it really be bombed as the Allies advanced? How could the people they’d been waiting and hoping for end up doing them harm?
Then Leo caught a flash of black and white in the window. Belle!
He darted back into the house and scooped up the cat. “You must come with us. Rebecca would never forgive me if I let harm come to you.” Leo swallowed hard. He didn’t know when he’d see his parents or sister again, but taking care of his sister’s cat felt like a promise that it might happen someday.
Leo ran to the window and searched the sky for planes. There was smoke, but nothing else he could see. So instead of going straight to the ditch, he ran down to the basement and pulled a flour canister from the shelf.
Leo set Belle down carefully beside him and unscrewed the lid. The can wasn’t really full of flour; it held the crystal radio that Mr. Blanc used to listen to the BBC radio broadcasts from England. That was forbidden by the Nazis, so every time the Blancs wanted news, they sent Leo out to the garden to play. Really, he was watching for German soldiers. He’d run inside to warn Mr. Blanc if any were coming.
Leo fiddled with the radio, hoping for news.
Was it really happening now? How long would it take the Allies to defeat the Nazis? Where was his family, and when would they be together again? Leo turned the buttons, but there was only static.
Belle let out a meow, and then Leo heard another sound. A low buzz. It wasn’t coming from the radio.
Leo dropped the radio, grabbed the cat, and raced up the stairs to a window.
Two warplanes roared through the sky.
They were headed straight for the house.
“Race you to the water!” Luke called across the beach to Sadie, who was working on a sand castle.
“No fair! You got a head start!” Sadie shouted. She jumped to her feet and ran after him, splashing into the lake. “Come swim with us, Ranger!”
Ranger looked up from the hole he was digging in the sand. Lakeshore holes were the very best kind to dig. The wet sand was soft, and no one yelled at him about messing up the garden. But the water looked like fun, too.
Ranger backed out of his hole and started toward the waves. But then a white-and-gray bird caught his eye.
Seagull!
Ranger barked and ran toward it. The seagull started running, too.
Ranger ran faster. He’d almost caught up when the bird unfolded its wings and flew away over the sand. Ranger barked once more. Then he headed for the water to join Luke and Sadie.
“Nice try, Ranger!” Luke said as Ranger splashed up to him. “But birds are even harder to catch than squirrels. Flying and all.” He gave Ranger a damp pat on the head.
Ranger knew about birds and flying. He loved chasing seagulls anyway, just like he loved chasing squirrels at home. That was the reason he was playing at the beach today and not off on an official search-and-rescue mission somewhere.
Ranger had done all kinds of search-and-rescue dog training with Luke and his dad. He’d learned to track missing people by following the scent trails they left behind. He’d learned how to search for people who were hurt in fallen-down buildings and how to bring back help. But in order to be an official search-and-rescue dog, you had to pass a special test. You had to follow a scent and ignore everything else in your path. Even hot dogs! Even squirrels!
Ranger had managed to trot past the hot dog on his test day, but when a twitchy-tailed squirrel ran across the field, he’d taken off chasing it. Ranger knew there wasn’t a real person in trouble that day. It was just practice again. If a real person had needed help, Ranger would have left the squirrel alone and helped.
But that didn’t matter. Ranger didn’t pass his test, so here he was at the beach, and that was fine. Ranger loved the beach. He splashed around with Sadie and Luke and curled up in the sun until it was time to go home.
When the car pulled into the driveway, Ranger followed everyone into the house. He stopped in the mudroom to get a drink from his water dish, but it was empty. Ranger barked, and Luke came and took his dish away to fill it. But before Luke came back, Ranger heard a familiar sound coming from his dog bed.
Ranger nuzzled his blanket aside until he found the old first aid kit he’d dug up from the garden one day. It was humming quietly — something that happened every once in a while, when someone far away was in trouble. The last time the old metal box hummed, it had taken Ranger to a trembling place where a girl named Lily needed help. The time before that, Ranger had found himself in the middle of a rainstorm with a girl named Helga in a land of smoke and ash. Before that, the old box had brought him to a ship bound for the South Pole, where a boy named Jack was starting a dangerous journey.
Ranger looked up. On the wall over his dog bed was a drawing Jack had made of him. Ranger pawed at his blanket some more and uncovered a bright yellow feather — a gift of thanks from Lily after he’d helped her escape from a great earthquake and fire.
Now the first aid kit was humming again.
Ranger nuzzled its old leather strap over his neck. He whined as the humming buzzed louder. The box grew warm at his neck, and light shone out from the cracks. It got brighter and brighter until Ranger couldn’t see his dog bed or the mudroom anymore. Too bright! He had to close his eyes, and the skin on his neck prickled. He felt as if he was being squeezed through a hole in the sky.
Finally, the humming stopped. There was a quick half second of quiet before the air exploded with booms, blasts, and splashes. Deep voices cried out.
Ranger opened his eyes. Sand sprayed into them. Something whistled past his ear with a sharp zing.
Ranger’s paws sank into the wet sand. He was on a beach, but there was no time to guess where or why. He wasn’t home and he wasn’t safe. No one was.
Men ran everywhere. Shouting. Stumbling. Falling to the sand. Those who stayed on their feet were all running away from the waves, toward a shallow, rocky ditch.
Ranger raced after them.
Ranger leaped into the ditch. He skidded down loose rocks and nearly landed on one of the men — a tall, skinny soldier with dark brown skin. The young man’s green-brown clothes and pack dripped with seawater as he crouched, trying to catch his breath.
“We brought dogs in the first wave of boats?” he called to another man.
The other man shrugged and wiped blood from his cheek. “Guess so. Probably for the land mines. Captain said the whole beach up there is loaded. You got dry ammo, Walt?”
The man called Walt nodded and handed the other man a small box. While the other man loaded his gun, Walt reached for the first aid kit around Ranger’s neck. Ranger watched as he opened the box and shook his head at the little collection of bandages and gauze inside. “Afraid we’ll need a lot more than this today,” Walt said. He closed the box and tucked it away beside some other supplies.
Ranger shook the rain from his fur and looked around. Everywhere, soldiers were running, falling, stumbling into the ditch out of breath while the air seemed to explode around them. Where was he? And how was he supposed to help these wet, frightened men?
Ranger walked along the ditch, slipping through the chaotic crowd. Men shouted over the noise to one another. Some rummaged through their packs, reloading guns. One was curled up against the rocks, knees to his chest, with his eyes squeezed shut.
More and more men spilled into the ditch until there was no more room at all. Gunfire rattled over their heads. Something exploded nearby and sent another
blast of sand spraying into Ranger’s eyes.
“We have to get off this beach!” one of the men shouted. “Come on!”
“Ready?” someone else yelled. “Go!”
The men at the far end of the ditch scrambled out onto the sand and started running. Ranger climbed up a bit to see where they were headed. Something whistled past his ear and he fell back. He couldn’t tell where the men were going, but in that split second above the sand, he’d seen enough to know they weren’t safe.
Dark smoke filled the air. Soldiers raced up the beach, dodging jagged pieces of metal that jutted up from the sand. They jumped over nests of sharp, snarled wires. Everywhere, men were falling.
And the noise! Booms and blasts shook the sky. It was even louder than the fireworks at home that made Ranger duck under Luke’s bed. Here, there was no place to hide.
How was Ranger supposed to help? His other journeys hadn’t prepared him for the chaos of this terrifying beach. In all the times his first aid kit had hummed, all the times it had taken him far away to help someone in trouble, he’d never seen anything like this.
“Look out! Make room!”
Two more men came tumbling into the ditch, dripping wet, hugging their guns to their chests.
“Where’s Jackson?” one of them said. “He was right behind me on the ramp.”
The other man shook his head. “They let us out too deep! We must have lost half a dozen men soon as they hit the water.”
“We have to go back!” someone shouted.
Ranger looked up. It was Walt, the tall, skinny man he’d seen earlier.
“Come on!” Walt crept to the edge of the ditch and looked over the rim. Something exploded, and pieces of metal came showering into the ditch.
“Get down, Walt! We can’t go back! We’ll never make it!” one of the other men shouted.
Ranger pawed at the Walt man’s pant leg to get him to come back down where it was safer. But Walt hoisted himself up. He left his gun in the ditch and ran back toward the churning ocean.