Soldier Dogs #4 Read online

  Dedication

  To all the soldiers who lost their lives taking back France.

  You are gone, but never forgotten.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Picture Insert

  Battle Facts

  Invasion Stats

  Depictions of D-Day

  Timeline of World War II

  Timeline of D-Day

  French and German Words and Terms

  Excerpt from Soldier Dogs #1: Air Raid Search and Rescue

  About the Author

  Books by Marcus Sutter

  Back Ads

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Prologue

  NORTHERN FRANCE, NIGHT

  A bolt of lightning arced through the clouds like the crooked fingers of an electric skeleton. Thunder rippled across the sky.

  But when the storm died down, a different kind of thunder and lightning continued. The sounds came in deep thuds and rattling bursts, accompanied by shrieking whistles and angry whirrs. The light flickered both on the ground and in the air. And in those flashes, shapes could be seen—planes flying low, fortresses on the beach, men hanging from parachutes that billowed over them like mushroom caps.

  The storm of battle.

  The first rumblings of what would be one of the longest days the world would ever know.

  As Henri and Elle ran for their lives, every second felt like a hundred years. Ace, the energetic Boston terrier separated from his American soldier handlers, bounded at their side. Behind them, merging with the rumbling of artillery, they could hear the throaty barking of larger dogs—Nazi Dobermans, running after them with teeth bared.

  We have to outrun them, thought Henri. If we don’t, the war might be lost.

  The war had seen empires rise and cities fall. Germany had taken countless countries, but among the most important was France. Europe’s jewel of art, culture, and free thought had been captured by Adolf Hitler’s Nazi regime and his vicious, evil quest to conquer the world and make his word the only law.

  The Allied nations standing against Hitler had been bombed and battered. Now they were ready to take back the world.

  Now it was time for Operation Overlord—the plan to finally break the Nazis’ iron grip on Europe.

  In only a few hours, the beaches of Normandy, France, would be stormed by thousands of ships and submarines emerging from the English Channel. Countless Allied soldiers would rush the bunkers and fortresses along the countryside and attack the Nazi troops stationed there. They would take back Northern France and spread out into Europe, liberating people who had lost all hope.

  If . . . Henri and his friends could outrun the dogs.

  Henri’s lungs burned as he sprinted down the road. Elle had begun to gasp with every breath. Even little Ace was slowing down. Behind them, he could hear the Nazi hound’s barking getting louder and louder. Sweat ran in Henri’s eyes as he put every last bit of strength he had into fleeing the enemy—but it was no use. The Doberman would reach them soon. If the Germans caught him, he was captured, at best. And Ace was certainly done for.

  But it wasn’t just them. It was the Resistance, who needed the plans tucked into Henri’s coat pocket. It was Mother, who trusted Henri’s courage but was no doubt worried sick about him. It was France, ruined by the Nazis, desperate for the strategies it needed to fight back and breathe free once more.

  Henri wondered how he’d gotten here—running through the French countryside, carrying secret plans, fleeing the Nazis, his only friends in the world an orphaned country girl and an American dog who had literally fallen out of the sky. It made no sense. He shouldn’t have offered to go on this mission. He should be with Mother, safe and sound. He shouldn’t—

  Elle’s foot sank in the mud, and she went sprawling onto the ground.

  Henri skidded to a halt and knelt next to her. He felt icy mud soak into his pants. Ace barked urgently at them, begging them to keep running. Henri tried to help Elle up, but it was no use—she was caught.

  Henri turned his head and looked into the shadows. Ace stood there, facing the darkness with a growl. The Doberman approached fast, its eyes glittering in the flashes of light from the distant guns.

  Chapter 1

  OUTSIDE ROUEN, FRANCE

  MONDAY, JUNE 5, 1944

  12:43 P.M.

  When Henri heard barking in the distance, he almost couldn’t believe his ears. He’d thought he’d heard the sound of a dog before, but whenever he investigated it, he was always disappointed—it was just some chirping bird or creaking wheel that only sounded like her barking.

  He turned and stared down a Paris street. The cobblestones stretched off into a deep gray mist that draped over all of the city, turning the Eiffel Tower into a tall smudge of black.

  Could it be?

  A dark shape trotted out of the fog. It paused, barked again, and started running toward Henri. As it came nearer, the mist faded away, and Henri felt tears in his eyes.

  Brigette! Somehow she had escaped the Nazis and found him! He couldn’t believe it!

  Henri ran with all his might, grinning ear to ear. After all this time, Brigette had found a way to come back to him . . .

  No.

  Henri skidded to a halt. The dog running toward him was far too big to be Brigette. In fact, it was getting bigger by the second, until it was monstrous. As the fog parted from around the oncoming shape, Henri saw that it wasn’t his beloved dog at all. It was a huge black beast with glowing red eyes and a slobbering tongue that dangled out of a mouth.

  “Go away!” cried Henri. But that only made the beast run faster. He turned around and ran, but the beast was bigger and faster than he was. As it closed in on him, the whole city around Henri seemed to fall apart. Windows exploded outward, throwing shards of glass into the street. Houses shook and crumbled in billows of stone, dust, and splinters. In the distance, the Eiffel Tower was on fire and trailing an endless cloud of smoke. Giant cracks opened between the cobblestones at his feet, oozing black tar that gummed up his shoes and made him run even slower.

  Henri looked over his shoulder just in time to see the beast leap into the air with its teeth bared . . .

  “No!” he cried.

  “Shh!”

  Henri blinked, letting the image of the monster fade out of his mind. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as a warm hand wrapped around him and shook him lightly.

  A dream. He’d fallen asleep, that was all. The beast, the city falling to pieces all around him . . . it was all just in his mind.

  Not that the real world was much better.

  Mother was at his side; it was her arm that held him close to her and rubbed warmth into his chilly bones. The men who sat crouched next to them, Monsieur Tardivat and Monsieur Anselle, shifted uncomfortably. Tardivat was distracted by what was happening up front, but Anselle glared at Henri with angry eyes staring out of his sunken, dirty face. His expression made Henri press closer to Mother—though that was difficult, given how cramped they already were.

  The four of them huddled in a secret compartment in the back of a delivery truck. Pressed against Henri’s right arm was a false back. On the other side, he knew, were crates of vegetables and bottled milk, scheduled for delivery to the Germa
n soldiers stationed in the fortresses along the Atlantic wall. The bed of the truck would appear perfectly ordinary to anyone who looked inside.

  Especially—hopefully—to any Nazi soldiers searching for Jews or freedom fighters trying to flee Paris.

  “Make sure that boy shuts up when we arrive at the checkpoint,” hissed Monsieur Anselle, scowling at Henri. “I don’t want my cover blown by some brat who can’t keep his voice down—”

  “Speak about my son that way again,” said Mother in a calm tone, “and we will leave you by the side of the road.”

  Anselle’s eyes bugged as Tardivat gave him a light slap on the arm and shook his head. Henri knew that neither of them were willing to anger Mother, especially since it was she who had arranged their transport to Fécamp in this truck. Without her connections in the British and French governments, they might not have gotten out of Paris at all.

  And so far, the plan was working. Not that Henri was surprised—his mother, Linda Martin, was known for her brilliance and fearlessness when it came to outsmarting the Nazis. She had fought countless missions and evaded some of Germany’s best spy-hunters. Among the French Resistance, her cleverness and speed had earned her a nickname, le Renard Blanc—the White Fox.

  Mother patted Henri’s shoulder and smiled down at him. “Bad dream?” she whispered.

  Henri nodded. “It was about Brigette again.”

  Mother sighed. “I know you miss her, darling. But you must always remember that wherever she is, she still loves you.”

  Henri didn’t respond. He wasn’t stupid—Mother was trying to comfort him, but she was also trying to nicely tell him that Brigette was probably dead. Perhaps, he thought, it was even better that way. After the Nazis had taken her from him, Henri had worried that they would train her to be one of their attack dogs. Better Bri rest in peace than fight for the enemy.

  Beneath them, the truck stopped, making their bodies rock. Henri felt it inch forward and stop again. From his left side, he heard loud voices speaking in German. Mother had taught him enough German words to get the basic idea: the soldier at the checkpoint wanted to know what the driver, Monsieur Barteau, had in the truck. Monsieur Barteau said vegetables and milk. The driver wanted to know if there were any extra supplies he could “borrow.” Monsieur Barteau laughed and said there might be, but he wouldn’t know until he came back through. The German snapped, and Monsieur Barteau finally said yes, fine, look in the back, but don’t take too much.

  “Is he mad?” whispered Monsieur Anselle, his cheeks reddening. “Why would he send one of them back here?”

  “Because people who get what they want don’t look very hard for anything else,” whispered Monsieur Tardivat.

  “Silence,” commanded Mother.

  Henri sat still as a statue as Monsieur Barteau led the German around back and opened the rear of his truck. They listened to the heavy boots of the soldier move through the truck and stop—right outside the door to their secret compartment!

  Fear shot through Henri, cold and sharp. He took a long, quiet breath through his nose and held it.

  The clinking of bottles. A chuckle. “Ah, fresh milk,” mumbled the soldier on the other side of the compartment. “My favorite!”

  “Max, let’s get going!” cried a voice outside. “All that milk is why you’re so fat!”

  “Yeah, well, who asked you,” grumbled the soldier.

  Henri exhaled slowly. They were safe, finally . . .

  A crash made them all jump. Milk came spilling under the false back of the truck and into their compartment. Henri felt it soak into his pants, adding to the chill of fear that ran through his body. Monsieur Tardivat clamped a hand over his mouth and closed his eyes.

  “Oof, I’m such a tollpatsch . . .” Henri didn’t get that last word. He heard the German soldier begin picking up pieces of broken glass . . . and then the noise stopped.

  “Wait . . .” said the German. “What . . . what’s this—”

  The door to their compartment jostled. The thin bolt on their side held.

  Silence.

  Maybe he’ll go away, Henri thought.

  A sharp yank. The bolt bent, and the door swung wide open.

  Chapter 2

  OUTSIDE ROUEN, FRANCE

  MONDAY, JUNE 5, 1944

  12:12 P.M.

  Henri felt his eyes hurt, they were so wide open. But by the looks of the German soldier, in the green uniform of a low-level infantryman and clutching a head of lettuce and a bottle of milk, his eyes hurt too.

  At first, the Nazi stared at the huddled figures like he didn’t understand what was happening . . . but when he saw Mother, a small smile crept over his face.

  “Guten Tag . . . Madame Martin,” he said, and reached for the pistol on his belt.

  Henri gasped.

  He knew who Mother was. She’d been discovered, finally, after all this time . . .

  And yet when he glanced at Mother, all he saw was calm hatred in her eyes.

  “Henri,” said Mother calmly, “shins.”

  Henri knew the drill—pushing his back against Mother, he kicked out both his feet into the German soldier’s legs. The Nazi cried out and stumbled to the floor. In an instant, Henri leaped over the fallen German and jumped out of the back of the truck, with Mother and her companions hot on his heels.

  Henri’s eyes scanned the countryside and found a patch of woods at the top of the hill to his left.

  “To the forest,” he said. “We can hide there.”

  They ran as fast as they could. Behind him, Henri heard shouts in German, then the familiar sound of a pistol firing. A bullet zinged past his head. The Nazi was a good shot, but not good enough.

  They kept running into the trees, the shadows of the forest swallowing them up.

  “I think they’re leaving,” whispered Mother.

  Henri peered around the tree root behind which he and Mother huddled. She was right—the two German soldiers were walking back to the checkpoint, kicking at grass angrily as they went. From what he could hear, even Monsieur Barteau, their driver, had safely escaped while the soldiers were focused on them.

  The Nazis were mostly angry at not having caught Mother—if Henri knew his German numbers right, there was a hefty bounty on Mother’s head, more than five million francs—but they said they’d try again soon once someone showed up with more supplies and a search party.

  One word Henri heard louder than others.

  Hund. German for dog.

  Part of him wondered if they had Brigette with them, or if one of the German battalions had her as a hunting dog. He had heard stories before, about the Nazis taking dogs and brainwashing them to be vicious hounds. Bri was probably a fantastic asset, a dog who knew France very well, and would know the places that German dogs weren’t aware of.

  Henri wondered what would happen if the Germans returned with Bri on a leash, bloodthirsty and brainwashed. If his faithful dog would be sent into the woods to hunt him and Mother. What Bri would do when the rebels she’d been trained to attack turned out to be the boy who loved her more than anyone else ever could.

  His eyes stung as he remembered the day they’d taken her away. They had come by the house to question Father about Mother’s whereabouts; they hadn’t yet discovered that British journalist Linda Martin was the infamous White Fox, but Hitler’s people had their suspicions. The officer from the SS that came to speak to Father wore a long black leather coat and had a silver skull on his hat that seemed to smile wickedly down at Henri. The officer had reminded Henri of pictures he’d seen in a magazine of the actor Bela Lugosi dressed as the vampire Dracula, with his cape spread about him like a bat’s wings. That was what the Nazi officer looked like to Henri—like an angel of death, with cold eyes and black wings.

  Father had turned them away firmly, knowing they had no proof (that was Father, brave in the face of the Nazis—Henri couldn’t believe it when he’d told Mother he would stay in Paris to help the Resistance groups in the city). M
other was good at hiding her involvement in the Resistance, and she certainly never brought her secret work home with her. But Brigette, Henri’s half-collie, half-Doberman mix, had caught the officer’s eye. He’d said that such a dog would better suit Hitler’s needs than the Martins’. One of the soldiers had yanked her out of Henri’s arms by the collar, and Henri had called him a rude German word that one of the boys in his class had taught him, which made Father chuckle and the officer sneer. Father had to wrap his arms around Henri’s waist and hold him back as they dragged Bri away. Then he’d patted Henri’s hair and shushed him while Henri wept for hours.

  Bri, his sweet dog. He hoped they didn’t have her. He hoped she’d escaped, hopped on the back of a truck, and was chasing chickens on some farm in the south.

  “I think we’re all right,” said Mother. She and Henri stood and stretched their limbs. Monsieur Tardivat and Monsieur Anselle crept out from their hiding places behind trees. Tardivat smiled at Henri and pretended to wipe sweat from his brow.

  Anselle didn’t share his compatriot’s sense of humor. His eyes darted around the forest, and his hands clenched and unclenched at his side.

  “This is a disaster,” said Monsieur Anselle. “How are we meant to get these plans to Fécamp? We are done for!”

  “Oh, quit your whining, Anselle,” said Monsieur Tardivat. “This is a minor setback. We’ve been in tighter fixes than this.”

  “But not when the White Fox has been made!” said Monsieur Anselle, pointing at Mother. “That soldier recognized her. That means the Nazis are sending her picture around. She’s meant to get us out of any situation. How are we supposed to get to Fécamp if every German soldier knows her at a glance?”

  “I assure you, Monsieur Anselle, I am much more than a pretty face,” said Mother, crossing her arms. Henri did the same, standing tall and straight at Mother’s side.

  “Sadly, Monsieur Anselle does have a point,” said Monsieur Tardivat. “Now that you’ve been identified, your usefulness to us has changed—”

  “It hasn’t changed the fact that I can speak eight languages, forge federal documents, and knock a man out with my bare hands,” snapped Mother. Henri smirked. He loved watching her stand up to the men in the Resistance, many of whom thought she was less skilled because she was a woman. They didn’t know what they were talking about. Mother was a trained combatant, journalist, and spy, ready for anything. She’d seen more battle than most men had dreamed of.