CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Battle for St. Sauveur
THE idea of Captain Dobie’s staff going away came as a shock to André.
“B-but—” he stammered.
Captain Dobie and Weller consulted maps and papers. At last, the captain sat back and lit a cigarette.
“You’ve seen Father Duprey? What did he have to tell you?” he inquired mildly.
“Not very good news, sir,” André replied. “But nothing especially bad ... I wish my family could get home,” he said irritably.
Captain Dobie cocked an eyebrow.
“I wish they could, too,” he said. “And, as long as I am responsible here, maybe you’d like to tell me why you went off with that pilot in his plane.”
At this unexpected shift, André flushed.
“You did not tell me not to, sir,” he said shyly.
“I did not tell you not to ride an elephant to Afghanistan, either,” the captain retorted. “How could I know you had any intention of flying over the enemy?”
“I did not know it myself.” André could not help smiling. “It just happened.”
“Well, you’re lucky to be back. I don’t suppose it really matters if I turn gray worrying about you,” said the captain.
A bark from Patchou in the kitchen gave André an excuse to bolt away.
Although Captain Dobie’s colonel had ordered the post moved closer to the fighting, the change would not come until other units were in position.
During the next couple of days André’s mind turned more and more toward St. Sauveur. If he could only go forward with Dobie and Weller and Slim, to be near when that town was liberated. Other French children were in the battle zone. And, after all, he had been under fire himself.
St. Sauveur, Weller explained, was directly in the path of the Americans who were hammering through to the coast to keep the Germans from sending help to the fortress at Cherbourg. The 9th Division and their own 82nd Airborne were working together in this drive for the showdown.
Weller came home from an errand to the beach on Tuesday, the 13th, whistling gaily, off key.
“Good news?” André asked.
Weller replied, “Tops. We wiped the Nazis out of that gap between Utah and Omaha beachheads. Now we can roll! And boy! You ought to see our new Utah airstrip. Planes goin’ to London out of there—like ferries—with the wounded.”
Captain Dobie, talking to his colonel on the phone, hung up, looking cheerful.
“The towns along the Merderet River seem to be pretty well mopped up,” he reported. “We hold the bridges. So the way to the Douve River’s clear now.”
Later that day Weller made a fast trip to the new command post. He came back to report that a small stone farm building near a crossroads north of Pont l’Abbé had been found for Captain Dobie.
“We got a pair of new lieutenants takin’ the places of a couple that got wounded,” Weller said. “Good fighters, these replacements, Schoenfargle an’ Ouvarski.”
André grew more silent as the captain’s leaving day drew near.
St. Sauveur was to André a pretty little town where his family were. As each day went by he felt more anxious about his mother. And finally he decided he must follow Dobie and look for her.
On the last evening, Captain Dobie said, “I’m leaving Slim here for a few days, on orders, André. He’ll be in touch with me, so send us word if anything is wrong.”
Weller echoed, “Yeah. You do that, kid, and you just tend to the cows, and mind what Father Duprey says.”
André was up and the house astir before sunrise next morning.
Maps, papers, and duffle were stacked waiting in the hallway when Slim appeared at the door and announced, “Jeep’s ready, Captain.”
This was the bad moment for André.
Dobie hobbled out to the jeep and Weller followed. Several of the neighbors, including Father Duprey and Victor, had come to say good-by.
Patchou kept up a nervous barking, shocked by the departure of friends, until André put an arm around him.
Over the noisy complaint of the jeep’s motor, Captain Dobie thanked all those gathered there for their help. And he asked that thanks be given to the Gagnons.
“I’ll see you all again,” he smiled, clutching at his seat as the jeep leaped forward.
And up to the overhanging chestnut trees rang cries of “Vive l’Amérique!” and “Vive le Capitaine Dobay!”
The last André heard was Weller’s voice, bellowing, “Vive la Frenchmen!”
The silence of the house, as the sun slid up over the trees, was numbing.
Mme. Lescot arrived to break this up, equipped with an armload of cleaning things.
“This place resembles a pigsty,” she announced. “Mme. Gagnon must not see such a mess. Please cause yourself to be absent.”
Slim hurriedly remembered a job to be done. André pushed Patchou hastily out of doors and went to milk the cows.
He had just put the milk to cool when Mme. Lescot hailed him from the kitchen door. “Breakfast!” she called.
When Slim and André drew up to the table, Mme. Lescot produced a breakfast of army supplies she had found on a shelf.
“It is not my business,” she said shortly, “to complain about God’s behavior. But I cannot help believing He has encouraged the American Army to habits of extravagance. Do you leave good food behind, everywhere you go?”
When this was translated into English, Slim laughed.
“No, ma’am!” he said emphatically. “This army eats everything it lays its hands on. Weller’s just repayin’ the Gagnons for the use of their house, I guess.”
After breakfast, Slim called for André and the trumpet. Fitted in between his duties, Slim gave André more lessons in American tunes. The old house trembled under the blasts.
In the midst of one of Slim’s Texas songs, an ambulance full of wounded from the fighting at St. Sauveur drew up and stopped.
The driver had a message about Captain Dobie.
“Cap’n’s got himself shot in the shoulder,” he reported.
André and Slim froze.
The driver added, as he started on, “Couldn’t get him to come away and be evacuated home with these other guys.”
“What’s Weller doin’ lettin’ the skipper get shot!” Slim exclaimed. “Best I get up there quick, now.”
André had decided to “get up there,” too.
He could surely get far enough to trace Marie, and perhaps find some clue to where his father and mother were.
Late that evening of D-day plus nine, Weller returned to pick up Slim.
“Come on, Corporal,” he shouted. “The cap’n needs you.
“Looks like we’ll take St. Sauveur in a couple of days,” he told André. “Then, as soon’s we cut through to the coast, the big push up to Cherbourg starts off. Won’t be long now.... Take care y’self, kid.”
The two waved from the jeep. “Be seein’ you,” they called.
André answered, “Oui—yes. I think so. Soon.”
Because of his own plans, Slim’s departure did not leave André quite so lonely as he might have been.
The question of how to get near St. Sauveur was the problem. André thought he might ask some pleasant-looking officer for a lift. He might—
In the end it was Victor who solved things very simply.
The Lescots’ married daughter’s home had been burned out. She had just sent word that she was at a farm near Picauville, a hamlet just outside Pont l’Abbé. The message begged her father to come, please, and get her.
On the morning after Slim’s departure, Victor arrived at the Gagnons’ door with La Fumée and the cart. He explained his journey to André.
“But,” André cried, “I must go with you, Victor. You cannot speak English any better than you did when we went to Jacquard’s.”
“That is true enough,” Victor admitted.
“Good. I go. I translate when soldiers try to stop you,” André announced.
“It is an idea,” Victor agreed.
“Well, then?” André cried.
“The cows,” Victor chided.
André paused. “Raoul?” he suggested. “Do you think he would milk them?”
“Most certainly. And steal the milk, equally certainly,” Victor said.
“I’ll ask him,” André decided. “Wait, please.”
“I will wait.”
Victor sat impatiently in the cart and polished his glasses while André raced across the field.
Ten minutes later André was back. Raoul had agreed. And La Fumée was plodding steadily toward Ste. Mère and the clatter and shriek of gunfire. Crouching under a blanket at André’s feet lay Patchou.
The Gagnon house stood silently empty for the first time in weeks.
About noon a black motorcycle rolled to a stop beside the Gagnon pump. Marie, in dark slacks and a man’s cap similar to the driver’s, dismounted.
“The house looks empty, Leon,” she said, alarm in her voice.
She pushed open the door and called, “André.” There was no answer as she entered the empty hallway.
Hurriedly, she ran through the house in a panic, and returned to the door.
“He isn’t here, Leon,” she cried. “The house is empty. Even Patchou is gone.”
Leon looked at her calmly. “Perhaps you are not the only adventurous one in the family,” he laughed.
Aghast at the thought of André wandering who knows where, Marie paused.
“I did hope he had a letter from Maman telling us where the hospital has moved to. And now I don’t even know what has happened to André,” she cried.
She looked wildly around the village.
Darting between passing trucks she came to the Lescot kitchen. A few minutes later she returned to Leon, breathless.
“André has gone off toward St. Sauveur with Victor,” she explained. “Perhaps we can catch up with them on the road to Pont l’Abbé. We must hurry.”
The black motorcycle shot off in the direction of Ste. Mère.