Soldier Dogs #4

by Marcus Sutter

  “Ace, stop!” cried Henri. But it was no use—Ace was ready to fight, and Krieger wanted payback. Brigette barked at his side and darted forward, but the minute she put pressure on her bandaged paw, she stumbled and yipped. Krieger shoulder-checked her aside and went back to Ace.

  Ace snapped at Krieger, and the two dogs launched at each other, standing up on their hind legs. They snarled and bit at each other. Krieger seized Ace by the back of the neck and threw him against a wall. Ace slammed into it with a yelp. He immediately jumped back to his feet and barked, but Henri could see the red pinpricks from where Krieger had bitten him.

  “Henri, do something!” cried Elle, but Henri was helpless. Part of it was because he knew they should flee the scene, run off into the night, put as much distance between them and the bunker as possible . . . but part of it was because Krieger was so terrifying. Ace and Brigette were brave, but the Nazis’ Doberman had been trained as a tool of destruction. Trying to get between her and her prey might result in Henri losing a hand.

  “HEY! STOP!”

  Henri wheeled. In the moonlight, he could make out shapes charging across the countryside. He recognized their voices—it was the Nazis who had captured them.

  He thought quickly. If they didn’t leave, they might get caught again. If he didn’t use the grenade, the Germans would have all the weapons in the world to attack him with. And if he didn’t do something soon, Ace might get killed by Krieger.

  Henri turned to Elle. “Elle, when I say go, run. Run as fast and as far as you can away from this bunker. Don’t look back—just go!”

  “No!” she said. “I’m not leaving you behind!”

  “It’s the only way for us to escape,” said Henri. “This way, they won’t know who to chase. If you can, head to Amiens. Find my mother, Linda Martin. She’ll help you.”

  “Henri, please,” she said, tears spilling down her cheeks.

  There was the sound of a gunshot, and the dirt at Henri’s feet spat up a tiny cloud.

  “Next one’s in your stomach!” shouted one of the Nazis. This close, Henri could see their eyes in the dark. They were narrow and mean, full of hate and planning something terrible for Henri and his friends.

  He raised the grenade into view and watched their anger give way to fear.

  “Run!” shouted Henri.

  It all happened so fast: Elle ran into the dark. Henri pulled the string on the grenade and threw it as hard as he could into the bunker, where it rolled down the spiral stairs. The Nazis all dropped to the ground, hands over their heads.

  “ACE!” screamed Henri.

  Krieger lunged for Ace, but he was faster than her. The little dog bounded out of his enemy’s path and ran for the door. Krieger turned, snarling, and pursued him.

  Henri turned and sprinted, hoping he and Ace could make it out of range before he heard the—

  KABOOOM!

  The shockwave lifted Henri off of his feet and sent him sailing through the air. For a moment, the night around him lit up as clear as day.

  Then Henri crashed to the ground and rolled in the dirt, scraping his elbows and knees as he went. When he stopped moving, he put his arms over his head as small pieces of concrete and shell casing rained down over him.

  Finally, as the downpour of wreckage ceased, Henri looked up at his handiwork.

  Where the bunker had stood, there was only a giant fireball billowing up into the night. All of the gunpowder and grenades stored inside were catching, and every few seconds a new blast of heat and noise would light up the sky and reinforce the raging flames.

  Henri scanned the world around him. Elle was nowhere to be seen, and if the Nazis hadn’t gotten blown back by the blast, they were staying put. That left . . .

  “Ace?” he called out. “Brigette?”

  He heard a bark.

  There. Henri’s eyes found Brigette standing a few feet away. She barked at Henri and nuzzled a small shape on the ground.

  It was Ace.

  And he wasn’t moving.

  Chapter 13

  OUTSIDE FROBERVILLE, FRANCE

  TUESDAY, JUNE 6, 1944

  1:34 A.M.

  Ace sniffed the air. What were those familiar smells?

  The blur in his vision came into focus.

  It was the house in Cleveland!

  Ace finally put the smells together—the grass from the yard, the rust from the tire swing’s chain, Reggie’s baseball glove sitting on the front porch, the lake off in the distance. He was back home!

  Everything was just as he remembered it—the old flaking wood of the house, the fence on either side blocking out the Dericksons’ stupid cat Bobbo. The way the afternoon light warmed him and the breeze blew the grass on the lawn meant only one thing: it was almost time for Reggie to come home from school. Then they would play fetch, and afterward, Ace would get his evening meal. Then he and Reggie would curl up in front of the radio together, and he’d get some long, slow scratches behind the ear.

  Ace took a step toward the house . . .

  Ace!

  He froze.

  No. This . . . this wasn’t real. It was all in his head. He didn’t know how he knew . . . but he knew.

  He wasn’t back in Cleveland, he was in enemy territory, on the mission. The boy he was protecting wasn’t Reggie, it was Henri. Henri and Elle. They’d saved him from the tree. He’d helped them escape their cage.

  And then, when that evil Krieger had tried to attack them, Ace had faced her. He hadn’t tricked her or escaped her, he’d fought her, like a big dog. Like a hero.

  Because he was sick of running away. Because some dogs didn’t need to be tricked or taught a lesson, they needed to be fought. Because when the time came, he knew he would give everything to save those two human pups who had been so good to him.

  It was what Jake would’ve wanted him to do. Not just Jake, but the family back in Cleveland too. They would’ve all been proud of him.

  Ace!

  Henri’s voice.

  Ace looked back at the Cleveland house. It was so perfect, so beautiful. If he went there, he could just roll in the lawn and play forever . . .

  But not today. If he could hear the boy’s voice, there was still a mission. And he would let no dog say that Ace abandoned his post.

  He turned away from the house, kicked some dirt at it with his hind legs . . . and headed back to the world.

  Ace woke with a snort. He shook his head and sat up.

  Yikes. Everything hurt. That dog had really walloped him.

  He lay cradled in Henri’s arms. The boy gasped to see him wake up, and he said his name over and over again—“Oh, Ace! Ace! Ace!” He clutched Ace tight, and Ace couldn’t help but yelp as pain shot through him. He’d taken a pretty bad beating against Krieger, he knew, but there was also an ache in his one front paw that made him think things had gotten even a little crazier.

  Ace felt a lick on his snout, and he looked up to see the other enemy dog, the one who had been acting so strange in the little stone room. She sniffed curiously at him and whimpered, and he sniffed back. All he got were happy smells—happy smells for the boy, and happy smells for him still being alive. She was a good dog, he decided, and gave her a tiny lick on the nose.

  “Good girl, Bri,” said Henri.

  Aha—she was the human pup’s dog! The enemy must have captured her, the way they’d captured Ace. Wow, the enemy did not like this human pup!

  The human pup put Ace down, and though he had to bend his one paw, Ace could still hop without it hurting too badly. He took a moment and used his nose and ears to fill out the scene around them.

  The stone building sat off in the distance, spewing fire and smoke into the air. The enemy’s car had also caught on fire and was burning into the night. The whole scene was a long walk away—at least a mile. Henri must have carried him the entire time.

  Things had gotten crazy! What else had Ace missed while he was out? He turned around with a grunt, faced away from the fire and tow
ard—

  The water!

  Ace barked for joy! The ocean! That meant the beach—which is where the mission was! He was supposed to be on the beach this whole time! If he could get there now, he might still be able to find Jake and the rest of the men!

  Ace looked back to Henri and Bri and barked for them to head toward the beach. Bri understood him, but she looked to the human pup for agreement. Henri seemed unsure.

  “No, Ace,” he said. “That’s where the fighting is.”

  Ace barked—exactly!

  “No, Ace,” he said again, staring away from the ocean into the field. “We need to get moving. We need to . . .”

  Ace could see how tired the human pup was. He needed to buck the kid’s spirits up. Carefully, moving his wounded paw as little as he could, he hopped up on his back legs and spun on his legs, growling.

  Henri laughed. Ace saw a little joy come back into his face.

  “Good boy, Ace,” he said.

  Ace got back down on his three good legs and swung his head at the ocean with a quick bark. And this time, Henri nodded. He started out toward the sea, and the dogs followed.

  By the time they got to the coastline, Ace wondered if going to the beach was a good idea.

  To their one side, the night continued booming and flickering with gunfire, and every few seconds there was the sound of a voice shouting or screaming. Up ahead, the ocean stretched out for miles, lit by a rippling line of light . . . but Ace could also tell that it wasn’t safe there either. The ocean was dark and deep, and in it, far off, there were ships moving around.

  Ships full of Allies, yes—ships full of men speaking the same human language as Jake and Tommy—but ships of battle nonetheless.

  Ace looked to Bri, and the bigger dog shot him back a similar frown of worry. If only they could tell Henri. If only they could let him know that out on the ocean, ships full of soldiers, weapons, and destruction were on their way to this very shore? That off in the dark, more stone houses full of guns and enemy shadows were lurking in the countryside, looking to attack people like him—

  Tripwire!

  The smell of copper wire set off an alarm in Ace’s head. There, only a few feet in front of them, a length of metal was strung across the path. On one side, a wooden post held it up. On the other, buried in the ground, was a bomb.

  Ace hopped out in front of Henri and barked loudly. Henri shushed him—obviously, in the dark, he couldn’t see the danger.

  Ace signaled him the way he’d been taught to: he crouched down and began sniffing at the wire, moving back and forth in a line. Then he hopped over it and performed the same action from the other side.

  Henri only looked confused—until Bri joined in! She approached the wire, sniffed it back and forth, and backed up to Henri and whined. Henri crouched, reached carefully forward, and gently touched the wire. His hand snapped back, and he stood and took a wide step over the wire.

  “Good boy, Ace!” he whispered in the dark. “Good girl, Bri!”

  Ace joined Henri at his side, giving a little snort of approval to Bri. Maybe they couldn’t tell Henri about the noise and violence that was on its way, but they could protect him from the danger in his path.

  That was all they could do. But it was enough. It had to be.

  Because the danger wasn’t over. Ace’s training didn’t tell him that. There was no smell or sound that alerted him to it. He just knew, in that way that dogs knew things when humans didn’t. That way that told him it was near suppertime, or that an invisible bit of a master who had died remained in some part of a house.

  There was danger ahead. And they had to be careful if they wanted to survive it.

  Chapter 14

  FÉCAMP, FRANCE

  TUESDAY, JUNE 6, 1944

  3:02 A.M.

  Henri had been to Fécamp once before, when he was two. He only knew this because Mother had told him about it when they were getting ready to escape Paris. We’re heading to Fécamp, she’d said. Remember, we went there for holiday once? It’s a sweet little seaside town. We went fishing and sailing. It was so much fun. You had a wonderful time.

  Now, in the dead of night under stormy skies, Fécamp was anything but sweet. The yellow light from the gas lamps along the streets threw creepy shadows that made every alley look like a grave. The houses against the hills were all dark and looming; some were half destroyed, with piles of rubble and broken furniture where there should be walls. The harbor sloshed and sucked at the beach, and it smelled more like gas and gunpowder than it did like salt water and fish. Lines of sandbags topped with barbed wire sat along the outer streets. Here and there a red banner bearing a black swastika fluttered in the damp breeze.

  Henri pointed and whispered, “We’re here, dogs! Fécamp!”

  But the dogs didn’t seem excited. Ace glanced around and growled, while Bri shot Henri the worried expression she sometimes wore when Henri had to go to school and leave her alone all day.

  “Come on, Ace,” he said, leaning down and scratching him behind the ear. Then he made sure to give Bri a scratch, so as not to make her feel left out. Mon Dieu, first he had no dogs, then he had too many to handle. What was the expression? When it rained, it poured!

  Henri tiptoed down the silent streets, keeping his eyes peeled for patrols just as Mother and Monsieur Tardivat had instructed. He could see his meeting point in the distance—the inn, one of the few places in the town with a light still on in its window. As he got closer and closer, his heart swelled with pride, but he was also a little sad. He had reached his destination, but his journey had been hard. He had only wanted to help the Resistance, not blow up Nazi bunkers. Not get his new dog friend hurt fighting with a terrifying Doberman.

  Henri thought of Elle, the girl who had helped him get across what felt like half of France and had comforted him when he felt scared. He worried about Mother, who may have heard that he had not reached Fécamp in time. He hoped they were all safe, that Mother and Elle had not been intercepted by the Nazis.

  Henri sighed. All this war. All this hate and pain. He just wanted to take his dogs and go home. But these were the times, he knew, when you had to keep going. When you had to sacrifice all you had for something bigger than your comfort or your safety. Because it was right.

  Henri got to the inn’s front door and rapped it three times—bang, bang, bang. And seconds later, a man with a big round belly and a mustache opened it and stared down at him with a smile.

  “Why, a little boy and his dogs!” he laughed in a kind voice. “What are you doing here?”

  “I am looking for Bertram, owner of this inn,” said Henri.

  “I am Bertram,” said the man, snapping his suspenders proudly. “And yes, this is my inn. But, my boy, this is no place for children at this time of the night! The tavern is closing soon, and our kitchen has been silent for hours. If your father is in here, I promise I will send him home with a cup of coffee in him—”

  Henri spoke the secret code Mother and Monsieur Tardivat had taught him, word for word: “I have been told that white foxes only hunt at night.”

  Bertram’s smile dropped. His air of fun and kindness vanished. “What is this? Who are you? Where is Linda? Where is Tardivat?”

  “I am Henri Martin, Linda’s son,” whispered Henri. “She has sent me in her place.”

  Bertram glared at him suspiciously. Finally, he said, “You have the plans?”

  Henri opened his mouth, reached for his coat pocket—and felt the blood drain out of his face.

  The plans. The plans were in his coat pocket.

  His coat was on Elle.

  He couldn’t believe it. All this way, and he had forgotten the one thing he was supposed to bring to the Resistance. Somehow, despite defeating a group of Nazi soldiers, saving an orphan, and finding his long-lost dog, Henri had still managed to get distracted and ruin the mission. Right now, maybe the most important document in all of France was running around the countryside in a damp coat on a frightened gir
l.

  He stared up into Bertram’s expectant face.

  What could he possibly say to this man?

  “The plans . . . are gone,” he mumbled, his lips numb. “I was in danger, and they were in my coat . . . and my coat was lost.”

  For a moment, Bertram looked livid with rage—but then he huffed and shook his head.

  “Where is your mother?” he asked.

  “In Amiens,” said Henri in a shaking voice, feeling suddenly very cold and very alone. “We split up so I could get the plans here while she met with our contacts in Amiens. But . . . but . . .”

  “That was smart,” rumbled Bertram. “Meeting the Resistance group in Amiens was more important. All right, look, from what I’ve heard earlier tonight, the Allied invasion has already begun. Let me get my jacket. I will drive you to Amiens, and we will meet with your mother. She’ll know what to do—”

  All at once, Ace began barking at the top of his lungs and hopping around on his healthy legs. Henri shushed him, but the small dog kept yipping in a panic.

  “Shut that dog up!” hissed Bertram. “We can’t be discovered now!”

  Henri heard the click of a pistol hammer.

  “I think, mein Freund,” said a familiar voice, “it’s a little late for that.”

  Chapter 15

  FÉCAMP, FRANCE

  TUESDAY, JUNE 6, 1944

  3:26 A.M.

  The pit in Henri’s stomach grew deeper and deeper as he and Bertram put their hands up and stepped out in front of the inn.

  The four Nazis from the bunker—Peter, Reinhardt, and the two infantrymen—stood around them with Luger pistols raised. Peter had the barrel of his gun inches away from Henri’s face. All the men looked like they’d been left in the oven too long. The edges of their coats and uniforms were singed and blackened, and they had dark ash smeared on their faces.

  “I guess you were a little too close when I set off that grenade,” said Henri, glaring at Peter.

  Peter’s mouth curled into a smile that had no warmth in it. “A sense of humor until the very end.” He nodded to his men. “Now.”