Run! Get away from here, the little voice whispered in Paul’s mind.
“Hey, kid,” the man called. “It will just take a minute.”
Paul blocked out the voice in his skull. Instead, he thought of Papa behind barbed wire. He thought of Gerard, being shoved into a truck. He thought of Mr. Leon. And he thought of that friendly little pigeon that seemed to have led him to this exact spot.
Before Paul even knew what he was doing, he’d snatched the knife from the grass.
He tucked it into the waistband of his trousers and started climbing up the tree.
Paul climbed quickly. He felt like he was being pulled along by some invisible force, like he was a nail moving toward a magnet.
He made it up to the soldier, and handed over the knife. The man looked young, maybe twenty-five or so. He wasn’t tall, but muscles bulged under his uniform. He seemed very strong.
“Thanks, kid,” he said, flashing a smile.
He had one of those faces that was bright and open and made you feel like you’d known him a long time.
“You’re welcome,” Paul said, trying not to stare too hard.
The soldier’s uniform was covered with pockets. Pouches and bags of different sizes and shapes were strapped to his chest, his arms, and his legs. Paul spotted a tear in his pants and a nasty gash on his shin. That must have been where the blood had come from.
“My name’s Victor,” the soldier said, eyeing Paul as he sliced through one of the shoulder straps of his parachute harness. “Sergeant Victor Lopez, American army.”
So Paul had guessed right.
“Who are you?” Victor asked.
“Paul,” he answered.
Paul noticed the small silver pin on the collar of Victor’s uniform. It showed a parachute between a set of wings. And Paul understood. This man hadn’t parachuted down because his plane had crashed. He’d jumped out. There were soldiers trained to do that, Paul knew. They were called paratroopers.
“How long have you been up here?” Paul asked.
“Since about four A.M. Wasn’t a good flight. We came under enemy fire coming off the English Channel. Plane barely got me here. I had to jump out way too low, no time to steer. So I wound up stuck in this tree.”
“Coo-roo.”
Paul’s head snapped up. There was that friendly pigeon again, perched on the branch right above Victor.
“That’s Ellie,” Victor said, cutting the last string of the parachute. He dropped down to take a seat on the branch next to Paul and shook his head at the bird. “I told you to get going.”
He looked at Paul. “Ellie’s a carrier pigeon.”
Those were pigeons that carried messages, Paul knew. Paul noticed the little metal tube attached to the bird’s leg. That’s where you could put a rolled-up piece of paper.
“They sent her along with me,” Victor continued. “She’s supposed to fly back to England with a message so people know I got stuck in this tree. But she doesn’t seem to want to leave me.”
“I think she likes you,” Paul said.
Ellie gazed at Victor with her shiny gold eyes. In love was more like it.
“The army’s going to fire you, Ellie,” Victor said.
“Coo-roo,” Ellie answered.
Paul laughed without meaning to. The sound — his own low chuckle — was one he hadn’t heard much lately.
Victor cracked a smile and shook his head.
Paul had about a million questions he wanted to ask.
The most important: What was Victor doing here in Le Roc?
But then he heard the sound of a motor.
Paul looked out to the road and saw a Nazi patrol truck creeping slowly along. The truck stopped right near the gate that led into the meadow.
Paul and Victor both scrambled down the tree. They glanced around, but the whole meadow was surrounded by those thick, tall bushes. Those bushes — they were called hedgerows — were everywhere in this part of France.
But Paul knew they weren’t always as solid as they looked. He and Gerard used to play soccer here. They were always crawling through the hedgerows to find their lost ball. Paul spotted a good hiding place just up ahead.
“There!” Paul said, dashing over to the spot. He pulled some vines aside.
“Good work,” Victor whispered as they both crawled in. Ellie flew in behind them.
They were well hidden now — and just in time.
Four German soldiers appeared through the gate.
Paul’s eyes narrowed as he recognized the tall man leading the way.
It was Captain Egon Stroop. He was a monster, the cruelest Nazi in Le Roc, for sure. He had personally led the roundup of the Jewish people this past March. Paul’s neighbors said Stroop had used a whip to force them into trucks, smiling the entire time.
Of course Stroop had his dog with him now, a wolflike German shepherd. It was a trained killer, Paul had heard, with jaws strong enough to crack a human skull.
Paul shivered, even though it was warm outside.
The Nazis circled the tree, looking up at Victor’s parachute.
But the dog was racing around sniffing the ground. Suddenly it stopped. Right in the spot where Paul had first spotted Victor.
The blood, thought Paul. It smells Victor’s blood.
The dog lifted its head. Its nose twitched. Its fur stood up. Its lips peeled back to show a row of gleaming white fangs. With a burst of speed, the snarling beast came charging toward them.
Paul stayed still as a stone. He tried not to imagine that dog’s teeth tearing into his neck, cracking his bones.
There was a rustling in the leaves above him. What looked like a feathered gray bullet shot out from the bushes toward the dog.
It was Ellie!
She flew up to the dog, gave it a vicious peck on the nose, and then landed on its back.
The dog stopped short and yelped in fear. Ellie took off again, flying around the dog like a tiny fighter plane, flapping her wings. She let out a clucking shriek — a pigeon battle cry.
The dog leaped up, snapping and growling, its jaws foaming. But Ellie didn’t fly away. Either she was the bravest pigeon that ever lived, or the craziest. The Nazis came running over, with Stroop in the lead. They were close enough now so that Paul could see Stroop’s face — the white, waxy skin; the thin, crooked lips; and the watery, yellowed eyes.
Paul’s gut filled with a sickening churn of hatred and fear.
Stroop gripped his machine gun and aimed it at Ellie.
Brrrrrrrt! Brrrrrrt! Bullets sprayed through the air.
Stroop missed Ellie. But now his dog was whining and crying in terror. It turned and went charging across the meadow and through the gate.
Stroop screamed out some furious German words, which sent the other three Nazis on a mad dash after the dog.
Paul looked for Ellie, but she’d flown off.
Stroop stood there, looking around. Then he stamped his foot and rushed after them. For now, it seemed nothing was more important than finding his dog.
Paul and Victor crawled out of the bushes. They stared at each other in relief, but they knew that Stroop would be back.
“Is there another way out of here?” Victor asked.
Paul nodded. He led Victor down to the corner of the meadow, through a gap in the bushes and into an apple orchard. But this wasn’t safe, either. Someone could easily spot Victor and report him. There were people in town — dirty rats — who spied for the Nazis in exchange for money and food.
Paul’s heart hammered.
Ellie appeared, and landed at Paul’s feet.
“Coo-roo,” she said.
“Think!” she seemed to be saying.
And then it came to Paul — the one place where Victor might just be safe.
“I know where you can hide,” Paul said. “And I can take you there.”
Victor shook his head. “No, Paul. You need to get home. This is way too much to ask …”
But suddenly they heard
shouting voices.
German voices.
There was no time to argue.
They took off.
Paul led Victor through the orchard. It was surrounded by hedgerows. But Paul knew a spot where they could cut through into a wheat field. They ran through the feathery stalks and scaled a stone wall.
As they zigzagged across Le Roc, Paul kept thinking of Gerard. They’d explored every inch of this town. There wasn’t a secret path they hadn’t discovered. Paul heard Gerard’s voice echoing in his mind. Race you! Paul ran faster.
Finally, after one last turn, there it was: the one place in town where nobody would go. Not even the Nazis.
The Castle Le Roc.
It was exactly as Paul remembered — the crumbling walls, the filthy blackened stones, the green vines crawling up to the windows, like thousands of twisting snakes. The tower rose up crookedly into the sky.
“What is this place?” Victor asked.
“It’s an old castle,” Paul said. “Nobody ever comes here.”
“I can see why,” Victor answered.
Paul didn’t mention the dragon. And he especially didn’t mention the creepy story he’d heard last summer. People said that a burned body had been found at the base of the tower. The police had searched the property but still had no idea who — or what — had killed the person.
Paul wasn’t sure what to make of that story. But this much he knew: The castle was creepier than ever. It was the perfect place for Victor to hide.
Ellie swooped down and landed next to Victor.
Paul wondered how she’d do against a dragon.
Just then there were footsteps behind them.
Paul turned as a masked man with a rifle leaped out from behind a tree.
“Don’t move!” the man shouted.
He pointed a rifle at Victor’s chest.
He wasn’t a Nazi; he was speaking French, and was wearing regular clothes. Paul had no idea who he could be. He wore a blue scarf across his face, like a bandit — or a murderer.
Paul’s heart stopped.
He must be working for the Nazis!
He’d collect a big reward for catching Victor. And Paul? He’d get extra for him.
Victor tried to talk to him. “My name is —”
“Shut up!” the man said, his eyes darting all around. “Is anyone else with you?”
“No,” Victor said.
“You better hope so. Now move it!” the man said.
Before Paul knew it, they’d been shoved through the front door of the castle, pushed down a long, cold, and dark hallway, and thrown into a room.
The door slammed shut. Paul’s teeth were chattering, and not because it was cold in there.
A foul smell of dead mice and centuries of rot rose up.
If this wasn’t a dungeon, Paul didn’t know what it was. It felt haunted.
But right now he wasn’t afraid of any dragon or ghosts.
All he could imagine was Stroop’s yellowed eyes and smiling face when he shoved Gerard into the back of a truck.
“Paul,” Victor said quietly. “Stay calm. I think I know who that man is.”
“You do?”
“I think he’s in the resistance.”
“The resistance?” Paul asked. “I thought the Nazis killed them all.”
Victor shook his head.
“No, Paul. There are still thousands left.”
“But aren’t we on the same side?”
“Yes,” Victor said. “But they can’t trust anyone. We may have stumbled into some kind of resistance hideout.”
“This castle?”
“It makes sense, doesn’t it?” Victor said. “You said it yourself. It’s the one place the Nazis won’t go.”
Paul was afraid to feel hopeful, but then the door swung open. Standing there was a tall man with wild gray hair, glasses, and a thick mustache.
Paul’s knees went weak. It couldn’t be … could it?
Mr. Leon was supposed to be dead.
Mr. Leon looked equally stunned.
Victor’s voice broke the silence.
“I’m Sergeant Victor Lopez,” he said. “American army. And this boy here is — ”
Mr. Leon stepped forward and grabbed Paul into a crushing hug.
And now it was Victor’s turn to be shocked.
Paul held his teacher tight, fighting back tears.
“We’re old friends,” Mr. Leon told Victor when he and Paul finally stepped apart. Mr. Leon took off his round glasses and wiped away his own tears. He put his glasses back on and held his hand out to Victor.
“A pleasure to finally meet you, Sergeant Lopez,” he said in that deep, cheerful voice that Paul knew so well.
But wait. How did Mr. Leon know who Victor was?
“Welcome to the headquarters of the Le Roc resistance,” he said.
Victor had been right!
“I know why the Allies sent you,” Mr. Leon continued. “We are ready to help you with this mission. We had our people out looking for you last night. But they couldn’t find you.”
Paul turned to Victor. A mission? With the resistance? That’s why Victor had come to Le Roc?
It seemed so.
“I would have been captured,” Victor said. “If it hadn’t been for Paul.”
He told Mr. Leon how Paul had climbed the tree, how he’d helped Victor escape.
“This kid is brave,” he said.
“I’ve always known that,” Mr. Leon said proudly. But then his eyebrows pressed together with worry.
“Paul, how did you possibly know to come here? Did you know that this was a resistance base? Did you have any idea that I —”
“No, sir!” Paul exclaimed. “I thought nobody would be here. And, Mr. Leon, I was there when you got shot. I thought you …”
He stared at his teacher, and it all came back — those three shots. The screams. The sight of Mr. Leon’s lifeless body sinking into the river.
Paul’s throat tightened, and he looked down at the dusty stone floor.
“I’m sorry, Paul,” Mr. Leon said softly. “I wish I could have let you know that I was all right. But only a few people know that I escaped. If the Nazis had caught me, it would have put the lives of many people in danger. It’s far better that the Nazis believe I’m at the bottom of that river.”
Paul didn’t doubt that.
“Victor,” Mr. Leon said, “let’s get you settled so we can get to work.”
Mr. Leon led them out of the room.
Someone was waiting for them.
“Coo-roo.”
“She’s my carrier pigeon,” Victor told Mr. Leon.
“Excellent!” Mr. Leon said. “She can send a message back that you’ve made it.”
Victor and Paul eyed each other. They’d tell Mr. Leon about Ellie later. That pigeon wasn’t going anywhere.
Mr. Leon introduced them to Pierre, the man who’d dragged them in here. He wasn’t wearing his mask anymore. Paul recognized him. He was a policeman in town.
“Sorry for the rough welcome,” Pierre said, giving Paul’s shoulder a squeeze.
Paul understood why Pierre had been so protective. But he also knew Pierre’s old rifle wouldn’t do much good if the Nazis raided this place. Hopefully the legend of the dragon would keep the Nazis away. And if that didn’t do it, the story of the burned body should scare them off.
Victor and the men disappeared down the winding hall, with Ellie fluttering behind.
Now Mr. Leon and Paul were alone.
“Paul,” his teacher said. “It’s not safe for you to leave here now. I know the Nazis are searching everywhere for Sergeant Lopez. And someone might have spotted you in that area. We need to find out exactly what the Nazis know. So I want you to stay here.”
Paul’s skin tingled. He wanted to stay. But then he thought of Maman.
“What about my mother?” Paul asked. He couldn’t just not come home. She’d be frantic with worry.
“About your mother,�
�� Mr. Leon said. “She’s due here in just a couple hours.”
He spoke slowly, like when he was explaining a math problem that wasn’t as simple as it looked. It took a moment for the meaning of Mr. Leon’s words to sink in.
“Maman?” Paul said. “Is she … is she in the resistance?”
How was that possible?
Maman? Quiet, gentle Maman?
Mr. Leon nodded. “She’s one of many people in Le Roc who are a part of this fight. She’s one of our best messengers.”
Paul thought of all those mornings when Maman left on her bicycle before dawn. When she got home late, her face flushed, peering out the curtains as she fixed supper.
Paul felt that his world had suddenly cracked open. And inside was another world, a world filled with dangerous secrets. More dangerous than Paul could imagine.
“I know your mother wanted to keep you as far as possible from all this,” Mr. Leon said. “But you found your way here anyway.”
Waves of feelings sloshed through Paul’s head and heart.
There was fear. Because Paul thought of the thousands of people in the resistance who had been caught — men, women, and teenagers.
There was some anger — how many lies had Maman told Paul over the years?
But the feelings that rose up inside Paul, brighter than all the others, were hope and pride.
Mr. Leon was alive. The people of Le Roc hadn’t given up. They were fighting back! Maman was part of the resistance!
Paul stood up taller.
“Mr. Leon,” he said. “Please let me help.”
FIVE HOURS LATER
“As we all know, the Nazis are hiding the weapons right here,” Mr. Leon said, pointing to a spot on the map. “They’re in the old barn they’ve been using as a warehouse.”
Paul was sitting next to Victor in a room in the castle basement. The small room was crowded. Throughout the afternoon, more people had arrived.
And Paul had been shocked to discover that he recognized every one of them.
There was Marie, the young woman who had served him the cookies at the bakery. Her work at the shop made her one of the resistance’s most prized spies. She’d picked up many secrets listening while the Nazi soldiers gorged themselves on cakes and tarts.
I Survived the Battle of D-Day, 1944 (I Survived #18) Page 2