D-Day_Battle on the Beach

by Kate Messner

  The pillbox sat quiet and undisturbed.

  Carefully, slowly, Leo crept down the hill on his knees and elbows, belly to the ground.

  Ranger followed him. He was good at staying down. He’d practiced climbing under obstacles in his training with Luke and Dad. Soon, they were down the hill, beside the bushes at the edge of the little building.

  Leo crawled toward the entrance to the pillbox. “Belle?” he whispered. “Are you in there, girl?”

  Ranger sniffed the air. He caught the scent of several men who had come this way. But those scent trails weren’t fresh.

  “Belle? Come on out!” Leo whispered as he approached the door.

  Ranger crept closer to the concrete box and lifted his nose again. Smoke choked the air and made it harder for him to pick out other smells, but … There!

  A man smell drifted out from the box.

  Ranger barked. But it was too late.

  “Don’t move!” a rough voice shouted.

  Leo froze. A soldier appeared in the doorway, aiming a rifle down at him.

  Leo stared up at the soldier, a tall, skinny man with short black hair and brown skin. His uniform didn’t look like the ones worn by the German soldiers who patrolled Leo’s village. Could he be one of the Allies?

  “S’il vous plaît, Monsieur! Je cherche mon chat!” Leo blurted. He lifted his hands so the soldier could see he meant no harm, and spoke the words in English, too. “Please, sir … I am looking for my cat.”

  The man’s face softened, but he didn’t lower his gun. He motioned for Leo to come into the boxy shelter. Ranger went, too.

  “Is this dog yours?” the man asked in English.

  Leo was so relieved to know this wasn’t a German soldier that he almost forgot to answer. When the soldier pointed to the dog, Leo said, “No. I thought he was one of the war dogs.” Leo had heard about dogs that helped soldiers in battle.

  The soldier lowered his gun and held out his hand.

  Ranger sniffed it. This was the Walt man from the ditch on the beach. He’d lost his helmet and gotten a lot dirtier, but Ranger recognized his scent. He licked the man’s hand, and the soldier gave him a rough pat on the head.

  “Must be,” Walt said. “Dog was on the beach first thing this morning. Lord knows what became of his handler.” The soldier looked out of the pillbox and over the sand. The gunfire had quieted, but fallen men were everywhere. Walt wondered if whoever brought the dog ashore was among them.

  Leo leaned against the shelter’s cool concrete wall. Ranger sat down beside him.

  “You speak good English,” the soldier said.

  Leo shrugged. “A bit. I practiced so I could talk to the Allies when they came.” He looked up at the man. “Are you American?”

  Walt nodded. “Sergeant Walter Burrell of the 320th. Where do you live?” he asked.

  Leo pointed over the ridge toward what was left of the Blancs’ farmhouse.

  “What’s your name?” the soldier asked.

  Leo’s voice caught in his throat. Earlier today, he would have said it was Henri Blanc, just as he’d told people for the past two years. But the Allies had come. Could he tell the truth now? “My name is Leo Rubinstein,” Leo whispered. “No one here knows that,” he added. “I lived in Paris. It was bad there. When Mémère brought me here, she told me to call myself Henri, to be safe.”

  “No name’s going to keep you safe wandering around a battlefield. You’re lucky you didn’t come over that ridge fifteen minutes ago when we were flushing Nazis out of this pillbox. We need to get you home. And I have to get back to my balloon.”

  “Balloon?” Leo was confused.

  Walt pointed out the window opening. In the distance, Leo saw two men holding on to ropes, trying to control a big, silvery thing in the sky. It looked like a giant gray potato with a tail — nothing like any balloon Leo had seen. “What is it?” he asked.

  “A barrage balloon.” Walt spoke as he gathered up supplies that the Germans had left behind in the shelter. He tucked boxes of bullets and matches into his pack on the ground. “We’re raising a curtain of them over the beach for protection.”

  “What?” Leo asked. The soldier was speaking so quickly that it was hard for Leo to understand much.

  “We stagger the balloons,” Walt said. “It forces German planes to fly higher, so their aim isn’t so good for bombing. When they’re flying higher, they’re better targets for our big guns on the ground, too.”

  Leo stared out at the men wrestling with the balloon on the windy beach. It tugged and pulled at its ropes. Leo was searching his mind for the right English words to ask more about it when he heard a jingle in the bushes.

  “Belle!” Leo ran from the pillbox, dived into a bush, and pulled out the black-and-white cat. She let out an angry “Mrreow!” but settled down when Leo stroked the fur between her ears. He carried her back into the little shelter and announced, “I found my cat. I will go home now. Or …” Leo swallowed hard. Home was far away in Paris. Even his temporary home with the Blancs was gone now. “I will go back to the field. We dug a ditch …”

  Walt shook his head. “The fighting has moved over the ridge, but we may not have liberated your village yet. It’s not safe. I’ll come back when I’ve finished my work and take you then. Stay here for now.” He hoisted his pack onto his shoulders. “And stay down. Just because the Germans are gone doesn’t mean they won’t be back.”

  “Where are you going?” Leo asked.

  “Back to the beach,” Walt answered. He slapped his thigh with his hand. “Come on, dog. I need your help.”

  Walt stepped outside the pillbox. He took a deep, shaky breath and looked toward the beach.

  Just a few hours ago, he’d been one of a dozen men who marched up this sandy shelf that led to the plateau. But this stretch of beach was full of buried land mines, hidden dangers that exploded with one wrong step. Only four of the twelve men had made it through. They’d fought their way up to the pillbox and taken the two German soldiers who had been there as prisoners. The other three American soldiers had taken those men to a holding area.

  Now, to get back to his balloon crew, Walt had to cross that deadly stretch of sand again. He started walking away from the pillbox at a good pace but quickly slowed to a stop. He looked at the uneven sand in front of him. Then he looked at Ranger.

  Walt had never worked with the military dogs trained to sniff for the explosives in land mines. He’d heard that they would stop when they came to a mine. That was how it was supposed to work anyway. He could only pray this dog was trained well.

  Walt gave Ranger a pat on his neck. “Go ahead, dog.”

  Ranger looked up. He could tell the soldier wanted him to do something, but he wasn’t sure what. “Go ahead, dog” wasn’t a command he’d learned from Luke or Dad in training. The soldier didn’t seem to be looking for anyone. He just seemed worried about the sand. What was Ranger supposed to do about that?

  “Go on, then.” Walt patted Ranger’s backside and pointed over the stretch of beach.

  Ranger sniffed the air. It was still smoky, but at least most of the booming had stopped. He took a careful step forward. The sand was wet from the morning rains. It felt squishy and gritty under his paws.

  Ranger took another step and sniffed at the sand. It smelled wet and earthy and fishy, just like the beach at home. But here, there were other scents, too. Boots and gasoline, sickness and sweat and blood.

  Ranger stepped forward again. Walt stayed close behind him.

  He kept his nose low, creeping over the beach.

  There!

  Ranger stopped and sniffed.

  Something was off.

  Different.

  Just ahead, the sand had a strange chemical scent. Ranger had smelled it once before. After one of his search-and-rescue training sessions with Luke and Dad, some men had visited to see which dogs might be good at a different kind of work. They’d waved a package under Ranger’s nose. It had smelled a lot like thi
s sand — earthy and dangerous and sharp.

  The men taught Ranger and a few other dogs to find that particular scent. The dogs sniffed packages, and if they sat down when they smelled it, they got a treat. The next time the men came to visit, they brought a fancy spinning wheel with slots for four containers. Two of the slots were empty. One had food hidden inside — it smelled like hot dogs to Ranger — and one had a package with the funny, sharp smell. Ranger was good at finding the scent. Almost every time the men spun the wheel, Ranger pawed at the right slot, sat down, and earned his treat.

  Here in the sand, the smell was mixed with other things, but it was the same scent. Ranger could tell. He sat down, looked up at Walt, and waited for his reward.

  Walt didn’t pull a dog treat out of his pocket. Instead, he squinted at the sand. After a few seconds, he let out a long, shaky breath, put a trembling hand on Ranger’s head, and said, “Good dog. Good job.”

  He turned Ranger away from the strange-smelling sand and waited for Ranger to go ahead again. Ranger crept forward, sniffing at the beach. He understood what his job was now. He tried not to pay attention to all of the other smells. He and Walt passed close to two men sprawled in the sand, all crumpled and still. But he kept going.

  Twice more, Ranger found the earthy chemical smell in the sand just ahead of them. Both times, he stopped and sat down, and Walt circled them around the spot.

  “This should be about the end of it,” Walt said. Ranger stayed in front, but they moved along more quickly. The sand grew rockier, with smooth pebbles mixed in. The rush of the sea grew louder. Ranger paused and lifted his head. The ocean was so much closer now! It had swallowed up most of the beach that had been there this morning.

  “Walt! Hurry!” someone shouted over the roar of the sea. Two men were staggering through the waves, walking one of the giant, silvery balloons to shore from a boat. The balloon tugged at its cables as if it were a wild, flying dog on a leash.

  “Hold on!” Walt started forward, but Ranger darted in front of him. He was supposed to go first. That was how it worked.

  Ranger sniffed at the sand.

  There!

  Ranger sat down, but Walt’s eyes were fixed on the balloon men. He didn’t stop and circle carefully around. He nudged at Ranger. “Go on, dog! They need my help.”

  Ranger barked again, but it didn’t matter.

  Walt pushed forward through the sand.

  Ranger barked again. He’d given the signal. Why wasn’t Walt listening?

  No!

  Stop!

  There!

  Ranger jumped up on Walt and pushed him backward with his paws. Walt stumbled but didn’t fall.

  Ranger sat and kept barking.

  Walt froze. His eyes darted back and forth from Ranger to the balloon men. Then he stared hard at the patch of sand just ahead and sucked in his breath. “Good job, dog.”

  Slowly, Walt and Ranger circled around the funny-smelling spot. Walt stayed back and waited for Ranger to sniff their way through the rest of the sand.

  The strange smells faded away. Ranger stayed alert, but he moved more quickly, and soon they reached the ridge of smooth stones where they’d taken shelter before. The two men with the balloon still struggled to control it. Whipping winds threatened to rip the cables from their hands.

  “We need to bring it down for now!” one of the men shouted.

  “Hold on!” Walt called. “I’ll grab the other mooring line!” He threw off his pack and pulled out two pairs of gloves — one made of rubber and one made of leather. Pulling them on took precious time, but both were crucial. Without the leather gloves, the cables would rip his hands. The rubber gloves underneath saved him from getting shocked by static electricity when he handled the steel lines.

  Another gust caught the balloon. The men struggled to hold on. One of the soldiers lost his footing in the wet sand and fell forward. He clung to the cable, and the balloon dragged him over the beach. The other mooring lines whipped in the wind.

  Ranger raced to one of the loose cables. He tried to catch it, but the wind twisted it away. The gritty, sandy metal slapped against Ranger’s snout, but he leaped into the air again. This time, Ranger caught the end of the cable in his mouth. He turned and raced toward Walt. The steel cable scratched at Ranger’s mouth, but he held on until Walt caught the line firmly in his gloved hands.

  “Got it!” Walt pulled the cable as tight as he could.

  The other soldier had never let go, even as the cable had jerked him over the sand. He scrambled to his feet and shouted, “Let’s bring it in!”

  “Careful now!” Walt called. Together, the men pulled in the cables. Finally, the wind seemed to give up on the balloon, and they brought it down onto the top of a truck. They covered it with a net and secured the lines to sandbags on both sides to keep the balloon weighted down.

  Ranger sat on the beach and watched the men do a final check of the lines. His mouth was all scratched and sandy from the cable. He was thirsty, too, but the only water here was the salty ocean. Ranger felt a wave splash his tail and turned around. The sea had crept up behind him while the men worked. Waves lapped at the pack Walt had dropped on the beach.

  Ranger barked, but Walt was busy lugging sandbags. Ranger trotted over to the pack, took the strap in his teeth, and tugged it out of the waves. He dragged it all the way to Walt’s feet and barked again.

  “You got that mutt trained pretty well, don’t you?” one of the other men said.

  “He’s not mine,” Walt answered. He bent and scratched Ranger behind his ear. “No clue where he came from, but he’s been looking out for me all right.”

  Ranger leaned into the scratch. He liked Walt, but he missed Luke’s scratches. Ranger was hungry and thirsty, and his nose still stung from where the cable had slapped at him. When would he get to go home?

  “Come on, dog. Let’s get to some shelter,” Walt said. He hoisted his pack over his shoulder and started following the other men back to the protected area behind the ridge of stones. Ranger trotted close beside him. It wasn’t as loud as it had been earlier. The rattle of gunfire was more distant. Every so often, a shell explosion would echo over the sand. But the constant booms had mostly been replaced with work sounds — the rumble of trucks and the shouts of officers giving orders to men moving supplies.

  Ranger tipped his head and listened for the hum of his first aid kit. Was his work done yet?

  All he heard was more men talking.

  “Hey, Big Walt!” someone called.

  Walt looked up and waved at some men unloading two nearby jeeps that had stopped side by side in the sand. “Go on, dog.” Walt patted Ranger and pointed up ahead. “I’ll be right there.” He turned and headed for the jeeps.

  Ranger walked on to the sheltered spot to wait. The shallow ditch was piled with soldiers’ things now — packs and canteens and broken radios. Ranger poked around until he found his first aid kit where Walt had tucked it before. It was half buried in smooth stones that must have fallen on top of it in the chaos. Ranger pawed the pebbles aside and nuzzled the old metal box.

  Still quiet.

  Then an explosion louder than any of the others split the air. Ranger yelped. Men shouted and scrambled out of the ditch. Ranger followed them onto the sand.

  The air was full of thick black smoke. And one of the jeeps was on fire.

  Where was Walt?

  Ranger raced toward the flames. He felt the heat of the fire on his face. Smoke burned his nose and stung his eyes. But Walt was somewhere in the middle of the chaos. Ranger had to find him.

  Men ran everywhere. Others lay still on the beach near the burning jeep.

  The fire popped and crackled. Where was Walt?

  Ranger raced around the burning jeep.

  There!

  Walt lay crumpled in the sand, not far from the jeep’s rear tires.

  Ranger ran up to him and barked. He pawed at Walt’s shoulder.

  The fire was growing hotter by the sec
ond. Ranger’s skin prickled under his fur. He had to get Walt away from here!

  Ranger barked again. He nuzzled Walt’s ear and licked his face.

  Finally, Walt moved his head. He scrunched up his face, opened his eyes, and blinked into the smoky sky. Then he put a hand on Ranger’s back and lifted himself up on his elbows. When he saw the jeep engulfed in flames, his eyes grew wide, and he pushed himself up to stand.

  Ranger barked again. He jumped up on Walt and tried to push him toward the sheltered area with the stones.

  Walt stumbled backward. His left leg burned as if it were on fire. Walt reached down, and his hand came back covered in blood. The heat burned his eyes. He was choking on smoke. But other men had fallen when the German shell landed. Two of them still lay sprawled in the sand, far too close to the burning jeep. They needed help.

  Walt limped over, grabbed one of the men under his arms, and tried to pull him to safety. But the man was twice Walt’s size. Walt leaned back with all of his weight just to drag him a few inches. Then Walt’s leg collapsed underneath him, and they both fell to the sand.

  While Walt struggled to stand, Ranger raced to the other man. He pawed at the soldier’s belly and licked his face. The man stirred but didn’t open his eyes.

  Walt braced his feet and lifted the man’s torso again. But his injured leg was too shaky. He fell back just as a loud pop came from the flames. Walt looked up. The fire had spread to the second jeep. And for the first time, Walt noticed what the men had been about to unload.

  Boxes of ammunition.

  Cans of gasoline.

  If the flames reached them, the whole jeep would explode! And anyone nearby …

  Walt ignored the pain in his leg. He scrambled to his feet, wrapped his arms around the fallen soldier’s chest, and pulled as hard as he could. He managed to drag the man back a foot or so in the sand.

  The fire crackled and hissed through the front part of the second jeep, inching its way toward the explosive cargo.