“My apologies, Madame Martin,” said Monsieur Tardivat. “But still, the issue remains. This puts everyone you know in danger. Your husband in Paris—”
“Antonin is safe with the Paris Resistance,” said Mother. “He can handle himself, and he respects me enough to know I can do the same.”
“Very well, then,” said Tardivat. “But then what are we to do? We are meant to bring these plans to Fécamp and then meet the rest of the Resistance fighters at Amiens tonight. Without the truck, the journey will take hours, perhaps even a day. The Resistance fighters in Amiens will get nervous and might abandon their post. Our contacts in Fécamp will not know where to meet the Allies coming their way. And now that the Germans know who you are, our chances of talking our way into a ride cross-country are poor.”
Mother frowned at the men but said nothing. Henri knew that face—she didn’t want to admit it, but they were right. Now that the Nazis knew that Linda Martin was the White Fox, Mother couldn’t sneak her way through blockades the way she used to.
He was also right that they had to act fast. Anselle and Tardivat were important men, but if they showed up in Amiens without Mother, it would be a problem. The White Fox was more than just a spy, she was a symbol. Her presence meant they had a fighting chance, that they were under the guidance of one of the Resistance’s best. But first, they needed to get to Fécamp and deliver plans for navigating the upcoming invasion by the Allies. Getting discovered at the checkpoint could throw their schedule off dangerously, especially if the rumors Henri had heard—that the Allies were planning a massive assault in the next twenty-four hours—were true.
Henri thought. There had to be a solution. They needed to go to both Fécamp and Amiens at the same time, but the Nazis were looking for Linda Martin and her Resistance fighters.
But, he thought, they weren’t looking for him.
“I’ll go to Fécamp,” said Henri.
All eyes turned to him.
“What?” asked Monsieur Tardivat.
“I will bring the plans to Fécamp,” said Henri. Part of him wanted to take back his offer the minute he spoke it, but he held fast. “The Germans will be so busy looking for the White Fox that they won’t notice some French boy wandering through the countryside. This way, you can meet up with the Resistance cell in Amiens while I get the plans to Fécamp.”
For a moment, Mother seemed pleased by Henri’s bravery—but then the scowl returned to her face.
“Absolutely not,” she said.
“I second that,” said Monsieur Anselle. “The boy cannot keep from talking in his sleep. It would be foolish to trust him with such a valuable mission.”
“My son has seen more missions than you ever will,” snapped Mother, but then quickly added, “though that does not mean he should go on this one. I brought him along to get him out of Paris, not to send him into the countryside alone. Besides, the soldiers who just recognized me will no doubt spread the word that a little boy came with us.”
Henri looked to Monsieur Tardivat, who rubbed his chin in deep thought. Since Paris had been occupied and he began helping his Mother with missions, many Resistance fighters had scoffed at Mother bringing a child into the fold . . . except Tardivat. Tardivat had always been friendly to Henri. He taught Henri to fight, swim, and distract oncoming soldiers.
“It might work,” mumbled Tardivat.
“It will not work, because it won’t happen,” said Mother.
“Linda, listen to me,” said Tardivat. “There are lots of French children in the countryside—orphans whose parents have been captured by the Nazis. Henri could easily be mistaken for one. If anyone can get to Fécamp and give our contact his information, it’s Henri.”
“He’s . . . easily distracted,” said Mother, looking away from Henri. Henri felt stung that she would put him on the spot like this, in front of two members of the French Resistance. Was this about the time he’d left the stove on? Half of the curtains had been burned!
“Linda, if they had caught us back there, they would’ve caught him too,” said Tardivat. That got her: Mother closed her eyes and breathed out slowly at the idea. “This way, he is separate from us. We go to Amiens and help our men prepare for the Allies landing in the morning. Our contact in Fécamp gets his information and arranges the meeting points along the coast.”
Monsieur Tardivat went to Henri and knelt in front of him. Tardivat had a tough-man’s face, thought Henri, with sleepy eyes, a firm chin, and a small mouth drawn in a tight little line. But somewhere behind that was what the Resistance was made of—a love of life, a hatred of bullies, a belief in freedom.
And, Henri saw, a belief in him.
“What do you think, my friend?” he asked. “Are you up for it?”
Henri felt scared of the idea now that it was becoming a reality—but he swallowed his fear. This was war, and there was no time to be scared at war. He wanted to help however he could.
“I’m in,” said Henri.
He looked to Mother. Her tough expression was totally gone; now she stared at him with soft eyes glistening with tears. After a moment, she wiped them away with the backs of her hands and huffed a frustrated breath. She was the White Fox once more.
“All right then,” she said. “Anselle, get out the maps. My son must know where he’s going if he is going to help bring down Hitler once and for all.”
Chapter 3
MYRTLE BEACH, SOUTH CAROLINA
MONDAY, JUNE 5, 1944
7:00 A.M.
Ace was just dozing off when Jake came barging into their room. At first, Ace just raised his head, a little annoyed at having his nap interrupted. But then he picked up on Jake’s grin, heard the fast beating of his heart, smelled the sweat on his brow.
It triggered something in Ace, and he leaped to his feet and gave Jake a quick questioning bark.
Could it be? Could it finally be? No, no way. Ace shouldn’t get his hopes up. He’d thought it might happen before, and then it got canceled . . .
But when Jake spoke to him, Ace couldn’t believe his ears.
“Ace,” said Jake, “it’s time. It’s time to go”—Jake’s grin grew a little wider—“on the mission!”
The mission!
Finally! It was happening! Oh boy! Ace ran around the bed in a circle, barking for joy!
How long had they waited? How long had Jake trained him? How long had they eaten this base’s terrible food, waiting for some sign that it was finally go time? There were only so many nights Ace could sneak into the same bag of stale oats before he needed a little more!
Adventure! Activity!
His own parachute!
It was finally happening! Ace was beside himself. No more practice runs, no more flights to get him used to the noise, no more close calls—he was parachuting into battle!
Ace leaped into Jake’s arms, and Jake laughed and fell back on the bed, wrestling Ace back and forth and lifting him in the air while making plane noises. Ace could tell that Jake was as ready to go as he was—or at least close to it. NO ONE was as ready for the mission as Ace! But Jake had suffered through it all with him. It had been a full six months since Ace had left his family in Cleveland.
There had been a lot of emotional ups and downs since he left the family. First, Ace was scared to be leaving everyone. Then, he was frantic to get to work. THEN, he was sad when he had a hard time getting used to the noise of the plane—and then he was overjoyed on his first parachute ride down! Finally, he’d been disappointed to learn that their previous missions had been canceled.
But now it was all happening!
As Jake jumped up and began raiding his closet, Ace danced around him and barked. Good old Jake, as smart and fun as any human Ace had ever encountered. He couldn’t wait to get to work alongside his friend.
“We’re scheduled to land just after oh-one hundred hours, Ace,” said Jake. “Air support first, with amphibious craft following. That is, if the weather holds. It’s supposed to storm like crazy!�
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Ace just barked agreeably. He couldn’t really understand Jake’s human speak, but he got to land, air, and weather, so he had the basic idea.
Jake grabbed Ace’s tin and tossed Ace one of his favorite snacks, a Judy Junker’s Tasty Treat! That had to be a good sign—Ace only ever got one of those if he was a good boy or if Jake was about to ask him to do something dangerous and stupid.
If it was time for the mission, that meant both!
Ace jumped and caught it in midair to show Jake just how ready he was. He savored the salty, fatty tang of the treat; it reminded him of week-old bacon from behind the trash can, only better. Jake laughed and gave him a pat on the head and a “good boy.”
See? It was time!
Then the fun part! Jake got down on his knees and held up Ace’s parachute harness.
Ace knew he shouldn’t waste any time getting ready for the mission—but he couldn’t help himself. He danced back, crouched, and stuck his wagging tail up in the air to make sure Jake saw it.
Jake tilted his head and did his best to hide his smile. “Aaaace . . . ,” he said.
Ace barked back. Come and get me!
With a laugh, Jake launched himself at Ace—but Ace nimbly dodged out of the way! It’s what he was trained for, after all. Jake let Ace know just how happy he was by absolutely trashing the room—throwing the bed over, knocking boots and papers out of place, all while Ace easily dodged his reaching arms. Every time Ace dodged, Jake laughed a little louder.
Finally, Ace decided enough was enough, and he let Jake catch him. Jake knelt down, put Ace on the floor in front of him, and held out his harness.
“Ace!” he said. “In!”
Ace knew what to do next—he turned until he was facing away from Jake, and then he hopped up on his back legs. Jake pulled the vest around his arms, then whistled and slapped the ground. Ace hopped up on his front legs and dropped his back legs into the harness. Then Jake strapped him in, and he was ready to fly!
Once Jake was dressed in his own harness, he whistled for Ace, and the two headed out into the hall and strutted toward the hangar. As they walked, they passed other rooms where the men were putting their uniforms and parachutes on. Many of them leaned out of their rooms and slapped Jake on the arm or whistled at Ace.
One soldier, a friend of Jake’s named Tommy, came running out and put his fists up, like he wanted to fight. Ace hopped up on his back legs, spun his front paws, and gave a little growl. Tommy cackled, put his hand on Jake’s shoulder and said a lot of fast, loud human words. Ace understood the important ones—Mission. Ready. Fight. It’s time!
Ace couldn’t be more ready. His mind reeled with questions: Where were they were flying to? What smells would be there? Would other dogs be there? His training told him there would be—mean dogs, enemy dogs that were trained to attack them.
Well, let ’em come! Ace didn’t care. As long as he was by Jake’s side, everything would be all right.
He could smell the rubber and gas of the big plane room down the hallway when a master stepped out and called, “Jake Tanaka?” Ace recognized this master by his smell—he was an older master named Holloway, who didn’t much like Jake, and especially didn’t like Ace.
Masters like Holloway, Ace knew, never came with good news. He hoped Jake would be okay.
Holloway approached Jake, and they spoke some human words—and then they both looked down at Ace. Holloway gave Ace the usual mean eyes, but Jake looked at him with sadness and worry. Holloway kept talking, but Jake just kept looking sad.
Ace gave a little whine and tilted his head. What was wrong? Someone in trouble? Another dog he had to work with? Whatever it was, they could handle it. He and Jake against the world, right?
Jake turned around. Whistled for Ace. Walked back to the room.
Oh no! Ace jumped in front of Jake and barked. It couldn’t be! No mission? But—but it was finally time! What was wrong? Jake shouldn’t listen to that Holloway master, he was all bad news and old smells!
They got back to the door to the room. Jake opened the door, pointed inside.
“Go, Ace,” he said, sounding sad.
Ace looked into the room, then back at Jake. He didn’t get it. Why him first?
Oh. Oh.
There was still a mission, but it was a Jake mission.
Not an Ace mission.
Jake knelt down and petted Ace’s head. Ace could tell it was hurting Jake inside almost as much as it hurt him.
“I’m sorry, Ace,” he said. “No mission today. This one isn’t for dogs.” He sighed. “You would’ve made a great soldier, Ace.”
Ace’s heart sank. He whined like some little puppy. It was embarrassing, but he couldn’t help it. All this time, it had been about the two of them together, and now . . .
“TANAKA!” called Holloway. Jake looked to the voice, then back to Ace. He knelt, picked up Ace, and hugged him close. Ace licked his face . . . but it was no use. Jake put him down and mumbled, “Good boy, Ace.”
Then he closed the door behind him.
Ace jumped at the door and barked. No! It wasn’t right! How would Jake make it through the mission without Ace? Who would look for booby traps or do a perimeter check? Who would pee on the enemy’s stuff, to let them know it belonged to Jake and Ace now? This was a disaster!
Ace whined. He knew that being a good boy meant lie down and go back to sleep.
But in times like this, sometimes it paid to be a bad dog.
Ace crawled under the bed and found the hole in the wall. It had been here when they’d gotten the room; he didn’t think Jake even knew about it. Sure enough, it led to a narrow passageway inside the wall. Ace carefully shimmied, making sure not to catch his parachute on the edge, and then he was running through the dusty darkness, using his ears and nose to guide him.
Ace made several turns, walked through huge billows of dust, and even scared away a huge rat—before he closed in on the sound coming from a slotted window.
There! Through the slots, he could see the plane room. And there, getting onto the plane, was Jake!
Ace threw his body into the metal window and felt it budge. He did it again, and it budged a little more. One more time—
BANG! The window flew off.
Across the room, the hatch of the plane was already closing. If Ace waited one more second, it would close and he’d be left behind. Head down, he ran with all his might.
Chapter 4
OUTSIDE RICARVILLE, FRANCE
MONDAY, JUNE 5, 1944
6:37 P.M.
Henri checked the compass and map he’d been given. That patch of thick woods up ahead should be the forest Mother had drawn as a big dark circle. He could skirt around the side of it, pass one road beyond it, and eventually hit a crossroads. From there, he’d head northwest, and he should reach Fécamp by midnight.
The sky overhead was dark gray and rumbled with thunder. He rolled up the map and tucked it in his coat pocket, next to the leather satchel containing the secret plans. A cold breeze blew past, making him shiver. He could smell the rain coming, somewhere between the smell of wet stone and a dirty penny. He hoped the weather would hold and keep him from getting soaked.
Henri moved faster, trying to keep himself warm and buck up his spirits. What was a little rain? Here he was, running a solo mission for the French Resistance! Not even men like Monsieur Anselle were asked to run solo missions. Being entrusted with this responsibility meant that Mother and Monsieur Tardivat believed in him as a freedom fighter. To think that someday, when the Nazis were finally overthrown, he would be remembered as a hero.
IF, he thought, not WHEN we overthrow the Nazis, but IF. That was something Mother said to correct freedom fighters getting ahead of themselves. The world owed them nothing, and you never got anywhere on luck and chance alone. Expecting things to turn out your way was dangerous.
It certainly had been, the last time France had ignored a threat.
No one had expected Hitler would ev
er rise to power in Germany. And even after he had become chancellor, plenty of people had laughed at the idea that he would attack a country like France. But then he’d attacked—first Poland, then Czechoslovakia, then France. Henri remembered the first time he’d seen Nazi soldiers in the streets, marching with their black boots sticking straight out.
And then, destruction. Violence. Nazis at every door, interrogating people the Martins knew. Dragging away friends, family, neighbors, coworkers . . .
Even family dogs.
Henri tried not to think of Brigette, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d had her for five years, since he was six. Bri had been his best friend, running with him through the streets of Paris, playing catch with him and the other boys, charging out to greet Mother every time she came back from a “business trip” (what he was meant to call her Resistance meetings).
Brigette had been wonderful—smart, kind, and loyal. Henri had trained her to jump, sit, roll over, and shake. He had fallen asleep many nights with his head lying on her shaggy black coat. He had never been happier than he was with his trusted dog. And he hadn’t been happy since she’d been stolen.
Henri felt the backs of his eyes sting. He shook his head, trying to shake away the sad thoughts. He couldn’t get distracted. Mother had told him, over and over—Do not get distracted. Don’t talk to strangers. Don’t investigate noises. Go straight there as fast as you can.
Even before Bri had been taken away, it had been a problem for Henri. He liked to daydream, to relive old memories, and to see what was going on when he heard a loud noise. His natural state was running, jumping, and bending down and peering into things. But since Bri had been taken away, it had gotten worse. All he could think about was how much he missed her, to the point where his teachers, friends, and Mother and Father had to shake him out of his bad moods several times a day. Any time he heard a noise, a rustling of papers or the tap of a branch at the window, he thought, Maybe it’s her. Maybe she’s found a way back to me.
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