CHAPTER SEVEN
Tricolor over Ste. Mère
ANDRÉ hesitated. “You wait for me at your house,” he said. “First, I have one thing to do.”
Victor stole a searching glance at the boy, then, almost reassured, he nodded and left the springhouse at once.
André filled a pitcher with milk and started for the kitchen door.
Ranged along the barnyard wall lounged half a hundred German prisoners surrounded by a semicircle of muddy guards bristling with carbines and Tommy guns.
André found a mug in the kitchen, and carried the milk in to Captain Dobie.
He noticed that the officer’s leg was badly swollen, but the captain seemed unaware of it.
The room was crammed with soldiers. Several neighbors, men and women, pressed through the crowd, begging to give help. Many wounded villagers lay sheltered under the trees, they said. But they and the small neighborhood children were being cared for and fed. The captain welcomed them and advised the elders to get deep cellars ready. They must keep the children close to them in case the fighting broke out in the village.
“The Germans are fighting hard everywhere, and we must silence each Nazi gun no matter where we find it,” he explained. “Until we get a solid foothold here, we cannot help liberate your country.”
André listened, and when he caught the captain’s eye, offered his jug of milk. With a grateful smile, Dobie drained the jug thirstily.
“Are things going all right, sir?” André asked.
The captain seemed reluctant to reply. But after a moment he said, “The landings are the hardest, son. The Nazis made the coast tough with their underwater obstructions, and the sea has been a lot rougher than we’d planned on. But it’s going along well. You ought to be seeing heavy equipment coming along the roads soon.”
Sergeant Weller clumped in with two soldiers and a battle-weary young Frenchman. “Look, kid,” Weller shouted to André. “D’you know who this character is? I can’t make head or tail what he’s sayin’. He says he’s speakin’ English, but, boy, it’s nothin’ I ever heard in Brooklyn.”
The young Frenchman called to André in French, “You are Pierre’s son, no? Tell them quickly who I am. Make them see my urgency, I beg you.”
André looked at the man’s flashing eyes, the beaked nose, the shock of dark hair.
“Yes, I know him,” he said quickly. “This is François, the famous Maquis leader. You can trust him.”
“You sure?” Weller demanded.
“I’m sure,” André said. “I have seen him and heard my father describe him often. One moment—”
In French, François told André his story: “I was coming to your father to get more Resistance help. My band is too small. We discovered Nazis coming up behind your father’s orchard with a mobile gun. They are going to blow up this house because it is an American headquarters.”
“Translate so far,” Weller said, and André obeyed.
Weller scowled. “Yeh? Well, in that case....”
He made his way to the captain, and a moment later André heard him shouting orders.
When Weller returned he put out both hands and the Frenchman shook them warmly.
The squad Weller was forming was hastily gathering up grenades, bazookas, and other equipment.
André asked the Maquis anxiously, “Can you tell me anything about St. Sauveur? How is the battle going beyond Ste. Mère?”
François looked solemn, but answered quickly. “St. Sauveur, we think, is still mostly outside the fighting. Not all of Ste. Mère has been cleared of Germans yet. But the center of the town is under control. At least, the Americans have the French flag flying from Ste. Mère Église’s town hall. None of the Allied tanks have come through yet and they are badly needed. Also, in some places the Americans are running short of ammunition. And the Nazis are building up their forces near the bridges over the Merderet River, west of Ste. Mère.”
He broke off at Weller’s signal, and with the sergeant’s squad slipped out through the barnyard.
“The French flag flying from Ste. Mère Église’s town hall!” André repeated it aloud. And a familiar voice at the doorway echoed the great words.
Raoul Cotein stood just outside the door. His arm and forehead were bandaged, and in his hand was a package wrapped in a napkin.
He took a step forward. “My wife—well, she is troubled because your mother and sister are not here. If you will just accept these few sandwiches?”
The squad gathered up grenades, bazookas, and other equipment
André took the packet with a puzzled “Thank you,” and stared at his suddenly subdued neighbor.
“W-what happened to you?” he asked.
Raoul looked down at his arm bandage. “You mean this?” he replied. “Tiens, André. Do you know, I found I was almost the only man in this village who was not of the Resistance? I have merely been remedying the situation.”
“Do you know now my father is a Maquis and not a collaborationist?” André demanded, and Raoul nodded. “I have discovered so. I—”
If he had meant to apologize further for his past bad behavior, his words were lost. A shell overshot the house and everyone ran for cover.
When André slid out from his hiding place, Raoul was gone.
For a moment the boy stood alone. “Well, now, what is my duty?” he considered. “Victor? No.... Patchou.”
He went to the kitchen, gave the dog food and water, and hastily ate Raoul’s sandwiches. Meanwhile Patchou gamboled for a few minutes around the room.
André thought that he had better go to Lescots’ and tell the old man, once and for all, how foolish his plan was. Even Victor would see that now.
Victor stood near his barnyard gates crossly watching the distant scene.
A broad, fawn-colored Percheron stood harnessed beside Victor. A shotgun was strapped to the horse’s back-pad alongside the looped-up traces.
André slipped over the wall and whistled.
At the sound, Victor jumped, steadied his glasses, and chattered, “Oh, it’s you at last. La Fumée is beside herself with impatience.”
André interrupted firmly. “I came only to tell you the thought of going toward the coast is an insanity. The fighting has grown intense.”
Victor fanned out his hands. “Then my cart ... you think it is a trifle to be ignored....” His eyes snapped. “Which I have paid for, please recall!”
“But Victor—” André sighed.
“From infancy I have indulged you, because of my love....” Victor chided gently.
He patted the mare’s smooth flank and climbed up on her back. “There will be many Americans down there, I presume. No doubt they will help an old man.”
“Victor, you know I can’t let you go alone,” André exploded. “Pull me up behind you.”
A few moments later, André, clinging to Victor’s ribs, was mounted and jogging around a corner of the farm wall.