One of the infantrymen came up to Bertram and jammed a pistol in his belly.
Peter grabbed Henri by the collar, spun him, and put him in a headlock. Henri fought against him—until he felt the cold metal of the pistol against his temple.
Bri and Ace barked and tried to defend him, but the other infantryman stormed forward and gave Bri a sharp kick in the ribs, making her cry out and tumble to the cobblestones. Reinhardt, the other officer, picked up Ace by the back of his neck; when Ace twisted and tried to bite him, he gave the dog a hard shake, making Ace yip at having his wounds from earlier jostled.
“Leave them alone!” cried Henri, feeling hot tears pour down his face. “They’re just dogs!”
“They’re an enemy of the Führer is what they are!” snarled Peter in his ear. “If it were up to me, I’d toss them into a pit and let both of them starve to death!”
“Please,” Bertram blubbered, “please, sir, I’m just a lowly inn owner, I don’t know what you mean—”
“Quiet, you traitor!” shouted Peter. “We heard your little talk. Planning to meet up with your friends in the Resistance, eh? After we take care of you and your little traveling companions, perhaps my men and I will swing by Amiens and have a talk with the freedom fighters there.”
“No!” screamed Henri. He twisted and fought against the Nazi’s grip, but it was no use. Peter’s hold was strong, and the metal of his pistol bit into the back of Henri’s skull painfully.
“But before that,” laughed the Nazi into Henri’s ear, “we’ll show you what a real dog looks like. Reinhardt?”
Reinhardt whistled.
Along the cobblestones, Henri heard the click of toenails. The jangle of an Iron Cross collar. A low, hateful growl.
By the looks of her, Krieger had only barely escaped the explosion. Patches of the dog’s fur were singed and ashen. Her left ear looked red and raw. But her shining eyes still held all the same focus and fury that they’d had earlier in the night. As she walked toward her masters, she only gave a fleeting glance and a ruff at Bri before focusing on her real prey: Ace.
“Dinnertime,” said Reinhardt, dangling Ace in the air.
Krieger came to Reinhardt’s feet and stared up at Ace. She licked her lips, and great gobs of saliva ran from her chops and fell to the stones at her feet. Ace looked down at her with a little whimper, but then panted with his tongue out as if to say, Here it is, ya Nazi mutt. Let me know how it tastes.
Henri tried to look away, but Peter put a gloved hand on his cheek and turned his head back to the scene.
“You watch,” he snapped. “Watch what happens to the enemies of the Third Reich.”
“Krieger, sit!” cried Reinhardt in a jolly tone.
The Doberman sat. The Nazis all chuckled cruelly.
“Krieger, speak!” ordered Reinhardt.
The Doberman’s growl turned into a single, roaring bark.
“Now, Krieger,” said Reinhardt, “eat.”
He began to lower Ace toward the Doberman’s drooling mouth . . .
“HEY!”
Henri felt Peter tense behind him. Everyone froze and raised their heads at the sound of the new voice. Even Krieger hopped to her feet and looked around, as though interrupted during a private moment.
Around them, Henri heard the click of a gun being cocked.
And then he heard another. And another. And a dozen more.
A circle of soldiers closed in around them. They were dressed in the green fatigues and black strap-up boots of American paratroopers. All of them had M-16 machine guns and 9mm pistols aimed at the Nazi soldiers. At their head was an Asian American man with a furious expression on his face, who marched forward and squared off with Reinhardt so quickly that the Nazi officer took a bumbling step back.
From Reinhardt’s raised hand, Ace barked happily and wagged his stubby little tail like a madman.
The American looked up at Ace, then back at Reinhardt. “I think you have something that belongs to me, buddy.”
The Nazi handed Ace to the American soldier, who chuckled as the little dog excitedly licked his face and nuzzled his chin. The soldier glanced down at Krieger, who slunk slowly away from the confident American.
“Mean-looking animal you got there,” said the American.
“Shoot her if you like,” said Reinhardt in accented English, standing up straight and trying to appear tough. “But she will die as a loyal member of the Nazi Party.”
The American scoffed. “You kidding? I’d never hurt a dog. That’s cruel.”
CRACK! His fist slammed into Reinhardt’s jaw. The Nazi spun, took one unbalanced step—and then collapsed in a heap.
“A Nazi, on the other hand,” grumbled the soldier, “that’s a pleasure.”
Everything happened around Henri in a flash—the Americans closed in on the Nazis. Krieger fled into the darkness of the town with a growl. Two paratroopers pulled Peter off of Henri and dragged him and his infantrymen toward the tavern. The Nazi gave a final pathetic “Heil Hitler!” before one of the American paratroopers gave him a hard flick on the nose.
The American paratrooper approached Henri with a big smile.
“Jake Tanaka,” he said in English, extending a hand. “You Henry?”
As he shook the soldier’s hand, Henri couldn’t help but smile at the American’s pronunciation. “It’s Henri. French name, with an i.”
Jake laughed and rolled his eyes. “Henri, then. Sorry, my French is lousy. Point is . . .” He reached into the breast of his uniform and produced a bundle of papers loosely wrapped in a tarp. “Are these yours?”
“Y-yes!” cried Henri, his heart soaring. “Only—how did you get those?”
“I gave them to him!”
Henri looked past Jake to see a small figure crouched next to Brigette.
A small figure . . . wearing his coat!
“Elle!” he cried, and without meaning to he ran to her and threw his arms around her neck. Elle giggled as he squeezed her tightly and then held her out at arm’s length. It was the first time Henri had seen her smile.
“Careful,” said Elle, gesturing to Brigette. “She’s hurt.”
Oh no! Henri knelt next to his dog and petted her gently. Bri licked his hand, but he could see by how little she moved and how she was breathing that the Nazi’s boot had really hurt her. He stroked her face and cooed to her, and her tail thumped against the cobblestones.
“I think she’ll be okay,” said Elle. “She just needs to rest up.”
Henri looked from Bri to Elle to Jake to Ace. His mind spun with a million questions. He went with the most pressing one:
“What . . . happened?” he asked.
“When I was running from the bunker, I got picked up by Jake and his team,” she said. “They had trouble with my French, but when they heard the name Ace, they realized that I had found Jake’s dog. I told them your plans needed to get to Fécamp, and so . . . voilà!”
Henri couldn’t believe it! Somehow, it had all worked out—he was reunited with Brigette, Elle had survived and made it to Fécamp, and the Allies had his Resistance plans. Someone upstairs must like him!
And yet . . . even through the joy of his victory, Henri’s heart still weighed heavy. He stood and turned back to Jake, who was cradling Ace like a baby and scratching his belly.
“Have you heard any word from Amiens?” asked Henri. “From the Resistance cell there?”
“Not yet,” said Jake. “But some of us are heading there next. Hold on, let me get these plans to my radio guy so he can reach out to our Resistance allies. Then we can give you a ride.”
A few minutes later, Jake and some of his men helped Henri load Brigette into the back of Bertram’s car, and they rumbled out along the country roads. Ace sat in the backseat with Henri and Elle. Every time they hit a hard bump and Brigette whined or yelped, the little dog would nuzzle her paw softly, as though to say, Hang in there, soldier. We’ll get you fixed up. Just a little ways farther.
As morning light broke over the horizon, Henri heard sounds over the coughing of the engine. Shellfire cracking, bombs thudding, the whistle of heavy artillery shells flying through the air. Though the overcast sky only drizzled light rain, there was a never-ending sound of thunder. Henri stared out the back of the car and saw the dim morning light flicker with battle.
“I guess Operation Neptune has started.” Henri turned to see Jake in the passenger seat, staring at him with a wise expression.
“It’s happening, isn’t it?” said Henri. “The Allied invasion. We’re really going to take France back from them.”
“France, Poland . . . we’re taking it all back,” said Jake. “We’re burning their empire to the ground, kid. And we couldn’t have done it without you.”
Ace raised his head and grumbled.
“Or you, you whiner!” said Jake, and Henri let himself have a much-deserved laugh.
A half-mile outside of Amiens, the car began to slow down. Henri stared out the window and saw another team of American soldiers approaching them, along with what looked like several French freedom fighters.
Leading the team was a woman, her face smudged with dirt, a torn Nazi flag clutched in her fist.
Henri’s pulse sped up. He breathed fast. A sob hit the back of his throat. And before he knew it, he was reaching for the door handle.
“Hey, kid, be careful!” yelled Jake as Henri leaped out of the still-moving car. He hit the ground running and sped across the grassy countryside as fast as he could. As he ran, he watched the woman’s expression go from determined to shocked—and then she started running too.
They collided in the middle so hard that they nearly fell over. Both of them instantly burst into tears. Henri squeezed her for all he was worth. She yanked him to her shoulder and kissed him hard on the top of his head.
“I did it, Mother,” said Henri. “I did it.”
“Oh, Henri,” wept Linda. “My little hero. I knew you would.”
Epilogue
PARIS, FRANCE FRIDAY, AUGUST 25, 1944 1:00 P.M.
The sound of Brigette’s nails clicking on the stone floor of the Palais Bourbon made Henri just the slightest bit self-conscious about her being here with them. They were so loud!
But he quickly cast away such thoughts. He wanted Bri out of his sight for as little as possible. And anyway, the general had insisted she come with them. Her legend was almost as great as that of the White Fox—the Parisian dog who’d escaped capture from the Germans and survived two fractured ribs from a Nazi soldier’s boot. Rumor had it that she was so disobedient, the Germans couldn’t even use her as a guard dog. She’d earned her place in the Palais today.
“Down this way,” said their guide, a skinny boy in a military uniform that didn’t quite fit him.
“Thank you,” said Mother. She reached out and squeezed Henri’s shoulder. Henri smiled back, even though he was a little sick of being mothered lately. He would never say such a rude thing to her—he knew she was just feeling about him the way he felt about Brigette.
The scrawny soldier opened the door and ushered them into a large room covered with maps, blueprints, strategy boards, photos of well-known enemies and allies, and other bits of military data.
At the center of it all, a man hunched over a desk. When they entered, he looked up and smiled at them. He had a beaked nose, a sharp chin, and a thin mustache. But it was his eyes—bright and quick, but also a little tired—that really struck Henri. He thought that when you heard of a man having a presence, this was what they were talking about. The newspapers did him no justice.
“Linda Martin, at last,” said the man in heavily accented English.
“General de Gaulle,” said Mother with a nod.
General Charles de Gaulle circled the desk and shook Mother’s hand heartily.
“I have been told so much of both your bravery,” he said. “Thank you for granting me the honor of meeting you in the flesh.”
“Happy to oblige,” said Mother, obviously unimpressed by the general’s famed charm. “This is my son, Henri Martin, and his—our dog, Brigette.”
“Ah yes, I have heard,” said General de Gaulle. He turned to Henri and shook his hand, then crouched and scratched Bri around the face and neck. “The young man who crossed many kilometers and avoided capture by the enemy. His childhood dog, who escaped the clutches of the Nazis and defected to rejoin her young master. It is like a storybook, no?”
“They certainly surprised us all,” said Mother, beaming at Henri.
“Well, Madame Martin, with Paris finally free from the enemy, I want to congratulate its liberators,” said General de Gaulle, standing. “If it would be all right with you, I would like to make you an Officer of the Legion d’Honneur.”
Henri couldn’t help but gasp. His mother blinked a few times, obviously surprised. The Legion of Honor was France’s highest military order, and only the most celebrated soldiers and freedom fighters were given such an opportunity.
“Thank you, General,” said Mother, sounding, Henri thought, a little kinder than she had when she’d first entered.
“Monsieur Martin, I wish I could bestow the same honor upon you, and upon Brigette,” said General de Gaulle, “but alas, you are too young, and she is a dog. Such is life, eh? What I can tell you is that France is eternally grateful for your hard work. We could not have made it out of this war without you.”
“Merci, General,” said Henri. Then, to Bri, “Hear that, girl? We’re heroes!” Brigette barked excitedly, getting an odd little smile from the general.
“Well, unless there’s anything else, we’ll be on our way,” said Mother. “My son would like to take part in some of the celebrations going on today.”
“Please,” said the general. “Only be careful, that journalist Hemingway is lurking around the city today, and he’ll talk your ear off.”
Outside of the palais, the city was one huge party. People embraced and kissed in public. Out of every window, excited Parisians tossed confetti. American, British, and Canadian soldiers were in the streets, some marching proudly, others stopping to say hello to hordes of cheering girls. The boats on the Seine River were honking at waving pedestrians and flew banners reading VIVE LA FRANCE. The air was full of good smells, greetings, and something Henri hadn’t heard for a long time—laughter. All around was a sense of freedom, excitement, and hope. They had done it. Paris had been saved from the iron grip of Hitler and his legion of death.
But Henri wasn’t interested in all that—he had something else in mind. He scanned the crowds at the base of the palais steps, trying to pick out one soldier in particular.
“They might have forgotten,” said Linda, seeing her son’s eyes wander. “I’m sorry, Henri, it’s just a busy day—”
“THERE he is!” Henri turned as a crew of soldiers came up the steps of the palais. At the head of them was Jake Tanaka. On his shoulders sat Elle, looking almost unrecognizable to Henri in a clean yellow sundress and with a bow in her hair. Hopping by his side was Ace. Ace wore a cast on his one leg, but he still managed to leap around excitedly.
Jake let Elle down, and she first hugged Henri, then shook Linda’s hand. Henri knelt down to pet Ace, who gave his face and neck a round of licks. Jake tossed Bri one of his gross treats, which she nimbly caught in midair.
“Careful, she’s getting addicted to those things,” said Henri.
“Ah, she’ll be fine,” said Elle in her accented English. “A snack now and then never hurt nobody. Ain’t that right, Bri?”
“Your English is getting good,” said Henri, “but you sound like a soldier. People don’t talk like that in the real world, even in America.”
“Nah,” she said. “From what I hear, Cleveland is, how do you say, the tough town. I must be ready.”
“How was your official meeting?” asked Jake, nodding to the palais.
“It was interesting,” said Mother, smiling despite herself. “De Gaulle certainly thinks he’s more charismatic than he is
. How long are you in staying in Paris?”
“Ah, just for the party today, and then we’re heading back,” said Jake. “This little guy is getting honorably discharged for getting injured in battle. They’re going to send him to his forever home in Ohio. Thankfully, he won’t go it alone.” He ruffled the little girl’s hair, and she giggled.
“That’s good,” said Henri. He’d been happy when he heard that Ace’s owners had offered to adopt Elle. It wasn’t common for American families to do such things—especially during wartime—but Ace had grown so attached to her that they just couldn’t say no. Henri was sad that he’d never see her again . . . but then again, their journey together had taught him that life was full of surprises. Who knew? Maybe after the war he’d take a trip to Cleveland. Anything was possible!
Henri gave Ace a little hug and laughed as the dog licked his ear. Then he stood, found the envelope in his pocket, and handed it to Jake. “This is a letter I wrote for Ace’s owners and Elle’s new parents. It tells them just how brave he was and how much he helped me. Can you make sure they get it?”
“Of course,” said Jake, taking the letter. “I know I keep saying this, kid, but thank you so much. Ace would still be in that tree if it wasn’t for you. I’ll tell his family that too.” He clapped Henri on the shoulder, then looked to Ace and Elle. “All right, troops, we better get a move on. Thanks again, kid. If you’re ever in California, let me know.”
Elle ran to Henri and gave him one final tight hug.
“Thanks for the coat,” she said.
“Thanks for saving my life,” he said.
Jake, Elle, and Ace headed off into the crowds of parties. One by one, the other soldiers in Jake’s crew came over and shook Henri’s hand or gave him a slap on the shoulders. Then they, too, disappeared into the noise and excitement of the city.
“Can we go watch some of the parade?” asked Henri.
Mother looked exhausted even thinking about it. She ruffled Henri’s hair. “I’m a little tired, sweetheart. It’s been a long week . . . and month. I might just head home.”
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