Soldier Dogs #5 Page 2

  General Esser got down on one knee next to Juliette. She couldn’t see his face so much as feel it, cold and pale, next to hers.

  “Say to him, Please, Papa,” he said, making his voice high and plaintive. “Please, for my sake . . . give the general his bread.”

  Juliette locked eyes with Papa. She could tell that her father, the broad-shouldered and tidy man she’d always thought of as stronger than anything, was frightened. For himself, for her, for their whole family . . . and for something else. Juliette knew he shared the same terror she did . . . and the hope that came with it.

  If they wanted the bread, they did not know. If they did not know, then all was not lost.

  Juliette nodded. Papa blinked but did not move.

  “You may have the last loaves in the front window.” Papa sighed. “I will not have any more before morning.”

  “Much obliged, Herr Privot,” said the general. He rose and slapped his thigh, and in an instant the infantryman was at the display shelves up front with his rucksack open, jamming in the remaining loaves of Graubrot—the dense, dark rye bread the Germans insisted Papa make for soldiers. When he got to the last one, he couldn’t help himself, and he took a furious bite of it, chewing with his stuffed mouth open. The general clucked at him, and the Nazi soldier reluctantly shoved the loaf in his bag with the others.

  “We are eternally grateful, sir,” said General Esser, tipping his hat. “When our compatriots come to town, we will tell them you are off-limits. In the meantime, if you see any Americans, let me know . . . I’ll be around again, I’m sure.”

  Chapter 4

  PLAINEVAUX, BELGIUM

  DECEMBER 29, 1944

  5:29 P.M. LOCAL TIME

  The Nazis blew out the door and down the street with a clicking of boot heels. Papa waited for a full thirty seconds before he rushed over and swept Juliette into his arms.

  “I’m sorry, Papa,” she said between quick, worried breaths. “If I’d seen them . . .”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said, “as long as you’re all right.” He pulled her out at arm’s length and gave her that big, heart-warming smile of his . . . and then, slowly, it faded away to a frown. Juliette knew that face—it was time to work. Without another word, the two walked behind the counter, past the old curtain, and into the kitchen.

  The minute they got into the back, Mama launched out of the stairwell leading up to their small apartment, her face drawn and worried. When she saw Juliette she ran over, seized her face, and looked her over.

  “Are you all right?” she asked. “Where have you been?”

  “Playing with the other children,” she said softly. “I didn’t see the Germans in here until it was too late.”

  “It’s all right.” Mama sighed and then immediately turned to Papa. “What did they want?”

  “More bread,” said Papa, busily walking to his desk in the one corner of the dusty back room. “They’ve eaten all their rations, and used all their tickets, and now they want it for free.”

  Juliette sneered at the very thought. The Nazis were bullies, just like Antoine. When the Germans had occupied and taken over Belgium, everyone had been assured that they would be fair and orderly. They were issued their own rations, and occasionally they got tickets to spend at local shops. But soon they stopped listening to opinions and started barking orders. They demanded bakers make the military ration bread, Graubrot. Plainevaux didn’t have that many soldiers stationed here, so her Papa had been able to stay afloat. But now it sounded like the war was on its way, and with all the supply routes around them cut off, the Nazis were somehow becoming even meaner.

  That’s what was wrong with the infantryman, she realized—hunger. It was why he’d eaten that big bite of bread, even with his commanding officer watching. The soldiers must be starving.

  No time to worry about that now, she thought. More important things to do.

  “Do they know?” said Mama.

  “No,” said Papa.

  “Oh, thank goodness.” Mama moaned and crossed herself.

  “But he said that the war is finally coming here,” Papa said quickly. “American soldiers are invading the Ardennes, and the Germans are on their way to counter them.”

  Mama’s relief vanished.

  “We need to leave,” she said.

  “Yes,” said Papa with a nod. “Tonight. Take your time in case they’re still in the area and it looks like we’re rushing, but start packing. We’ll head to Lierneux. I’ve been told there’s a spot open there. We’ll go tonight.”

  Juliette blinked, not understanding. “But . . . we need to go warn them,” she said, pointing out their small back window, to the woods and the secret within them.

  Papa swallowed and shook his head. “It’s too dangerous right now. The general may be watching us. I’m sorry, Juliette.”

  “But,” said Juliette, “but Masha—”

  “That is final,” boomed Papa, though Juliette heard the crack in his voice. “Get your things. Only what you can carry. We leave in an hour and a half.”

  Juliette trudged up the stairs to her family’s flat, feeling numb.

  They were just going to leave them out there.

  She stormed through their tiny apartment, ignoring the fireplace and table, the garlands of green holly on the mantels left over from Christmas, looking pale and sickly. She went straight to her room and dug the cloth-wrapped package out from under her mattress. Inside the wrappings sat a small knife and a hunk of wood that, if you squinted at it right, looked like a little girl.

  Juliette stared at the carving and let the cold wash over her.

  Somewhere inside her, flint struck.

  No.

  She wrapped the package and crammed it in the pocket of her coat. She ran to the kitchen, grabbed their last hunk of bread from the sideboard, and shoved it in the other pocket.

  If there was one thing she could be, she knew, it was fast. She could run for the back door and be out before her parents even saw her.

  And if she ran quickly enough, she could get to her family’s secret before the Germans did.

  Chapter 5

  OUTSIDE PLAINEVAUX, BELGIUM

  DECEMBER 29, 1944

  7:21 P.M. LOCAL TIME

  A foot of snow lay in the woods outside of town, and though Juliette was nimble on the cobblestone street, she couldn’t exactly race through the knee-high layer over everything. On top of that, she forced herself to walk in zigzags, like Papa had taught her, so as to not leave obvious tracks in the snow. Now, deep in the Ardennes forest with the night closed in around her, her feet were close to going numb, and try as she might to hug warmth into herself, a chill found its way down her neck.

  She should’ve thought this out better. She should turn back. She—

  No.

  Juliette put her head down, set her jaw, and kept trudging through the snow.

  She had to warn them. And she had to do it fast.

  If there was one thing she’d learned since the war started, it was that everything could change in an instant.

  She’d been only seven when Germany had occupied Belgium and their lives had changed. She’d grown up loving her small town, enjoying school, helping out at the bakery, and playing with Alix and the other kids down the block. Things hadn’t always been perfect—she’d fought with Antoine, and there were months when the bakery wasn’t making as much money as it needed to—but they had been nice.

  And then, just like that, Belgium had fallen. Nazi soldiers stormed in and started dragging the Privots’ Jewish neighbors out of their homes and shoving them into the backs of trucks. Papa had told her about the ghettos, miserable towns built to house Jews . . . and then one day he’d refused to talk any further, as though seeing so many of his friends taken from their homes had cast a shadow over Papa. Suddenly, all he wanted to do was survive. He did what the soldiers asked, he made their Graubrot . . . whatever it took to protect his family.

  Until that one night a few weeks b
efore, when he’d come blustering up to their flat, taken Juliette and Mama by the fire, and whispered a secret to them.

  There, up ahead. She could just spy the roof between the branches.

  The cabin had belonged, Papa told her, to an old hunter who had let Papa rent it once when he was a boy. It certainly wasn’t a very nice place—old, wooden, covered in patches of moss and clinging with dead ivy—but it was a fine spot to hole up in if you were looking to hunt rabbits.

  Or avoid the Germans.

  He’d found the family in the alley behind the bakery one night, eating scraps out of the garbage. Dirty, starving, exhausted, and terrified. A couple and their two children, a boy and a little girl. They said their names were Kraisman. They said they’d come from Antwerp, one of Belgium’s biggest cities, and that the Nazis were looking for them.

  Papa knew harboring them was dangerous . . . but it was December. Christmastime, a season all about honoring a family lost in the wilderness.

  He had remembered the cabin. So he’d taken them there.

  Juliette couldn’t stop herself—she jogged the last hundred feet, crashing through the snow, excited to show them what she’d been working on and to warn them that they were no longer safe in—

  Juliette froze.

  The cabin door was open.

  Chapter 6

  ALONG THE FRENCH–BELGIAN BORDER

  DECEMBER 29, 1944

  5:20 P.M. LOCAL TIME

  Noise everywhere. Wind on all sides. No smells.

  No smells? That couldn’t be right.

  Boss raised her head and blinked awake. She lay curled in one of the uncomfortable bucket seats within the plane, a web of seat belts holding her down. Her vision blurred, and she had to shake her head and give a preliminary Rrf or two before she could really tell what was going on.

  The whole pack was strapped into their bucket seats. The sled sat between them, huge and heavy, loaded with crates and supplies. Outside, propellers blazed with the most awful noise she’d ever heard. She could see light between the cracks around the door, but it was dim—they were definitely still in the evening, wherever they were.

  Boss shook her head and tried to think. She couldn’t believe this was actually happening. She couldn’t . . .

  Boss yawned hard. Why was she so sleepy? She realized she was wheezing, her tongue hanging out. There was something going on in the air. She could never really get her fill, no matter how fast she breathed. Was she sick?

  “Boss.” A hand touched her ear, and she looked up to see Gregor looking down at her. He gave her a big smile and shushed her, somehow knowing what she was feeling. He cooed more human things, but then said two words she understood: down and parachute.

  The hum of the plane deepened, and Boss felt her stomach go weird. Bit by bit, the air got better, and she could breathe again. She let out a relieved bark, and noticed that one by one the other members of the pack opened their eyes and raised their heads.

  The plane flew on for a few minutes before the human up front called back to Gregor, and Gregor walked down the aisle unsnapping their seat belts and letting them move around. When he released Boss, she jumped down onto the floor of the plane, shook off, and stood at attention, doing her best to ignore the roaring propeller and the cold floor beneath her paws.

  Gregor walked down the length of the plane, making sure their harnesses were on tight. At the end of each check, he gave the dogs a clap on the back, to let them know it was go time. When his hand hit Boss, she felt an instant surge of energy run through her. This was it. There was no more training, no more hiking. Just the mission.

  Gregor made his way to the front of the pack, finishing with Tank and Tank’s partner, Dash. He gave the two lead dogs a clap on their backs, went to the door in the side of the plane . . . and yanked it open.

  Suddenly, the inside of the plane rushed with noise and wind. The snow outside blasted the dying sunlight painfully back at them. A couple of her packmates barked and stepped back from the sudden hurricane of noise, light, and smells.

  Gregor whistled, and Boss stood at attention. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Delta doing the same, and hoped she was standing straighter and looking meaner than the other dog.

  “Ready?” shouted Gregor, just like in training.

  The pack lined up single file. Boss danced back and forth on her feet. She couldn’t believe this. They were about to jump, in real life. “And . . . GO, GO, GO!” shouted Gregor. Tank ran up, Gregor grabbed him by the waist, and WHOOSH—he was gone out the window. The other dogs followed, one by one getting tossed into the open air by Gregor. When it was Boss’s turn, she lowered her head, leapt, felt the tug as Gregor pulled her cord, and—

  WHOOSH!

  Chapter 7

  OUTSIDE PLAINEVAUX, BELGIUM

  DECEMBER 29, 1944

  7:37 P.M. LOCAL TIME

  Juliette crept slowly forward, trying to peer into the darkness beyond the door. She did her best to focus her hearing but could only make out the soft shushing of the swaying branches, the occasional plop of snow falling off a tree.

  “Hello?” she said, feeling even smaller and more scared as she heard how tiny her voice sounded in the huge forest.

  Her heart pounding, Juliette crept up to the door, peeked in, and saw . . .

  Nothing.

  “Hello?” she tried again, a little louder. She walked into the house and surveyed the scene. The front room stood dark and heavy with shadows, the huge overstuffed armchair looking like a coffin in silhouette. She had to be careful—for all she knew, there could be Nazi soldiers hiding in every corner—but she got the feeling she was all right. Something in her gut told her that there was no one else in the cabin.

  Her heart pounded. Was she too late? Had the Nazis gotten here first?

  She ran from room to room. The place had been left in a hurry, with blankets ripped off the bed. She kept hoping to walk in on them, to find the little girl, Masha, staring up at her with her big, dark eyes . . . but no. The house was empty as a tomb.

  Her foot knocked against something on the floor, and she picked it up. It was a kind of wooden candelabra, painted gold. Papa had told her about this, about the holiday Jewish people celebrated instead of Christmas—Hanukkah, the festival of light. They lit candles on the candelabra, one every day for eight days. Masha said it was called a menorah.

  Her heart weighed heavy as she turned it over in her hands. If they’d forgotten this, they must’ve left quickly. She placed the menorah gently on the ground. How long had they been gone? She hadn’t seen any tracks.

  Carefully, Juliette pulled the bundle from her one pocket and laid it out. The doll she was carving for Masha smiled up at her, only now its smile felt unfair, and cruel. Juliette felt sick that she’d never be able to give it to—

  Boots in the snow.

  Juliette jerked her head. Had she imagined it, or—

  There. Again. And a cough.

  Someone was coming. And by the sounds of it, they were right outside the door.

  Juliette panicked. She spun around the room, looking for something to help her, somewhere to go or to hide. Her eyes locked on the dark space under the bed, and without thinking she grabbed the menorah and her doll and rolled underneath. Dust and cobwebs blew up into her face. They made her eyes itch and her nose feel funny, but she managed not to sputter.

  The door opened, and heavy boots wandered into the front room. They paused . . . and then made their way slowly and carefully into the bedroom.

  Juliette glanced out from under the bed. The black leather boots were dripping with icy snow and had hiking trousers tucked into them—whoever they belonged to, it was certainly not Mr. Kraisman. They walked slowly over to the edge of the bed and stopped, so close that Juliette could feel the cold from outside still radiating off of them.

  Juliette felt her heart pounding in her ears. The intruder was right on top of her. She breathed quickly, trying to keep silent.

  Dust tickled her n
ose, and before she could stop herself, she sneezed.

  The boots jumped a little, and Juliette heard a gasp. Panic gripped her. She had to get out of here, now, to warn Mama and Papa. She wouldn’t let the Nazis take her, like they’d taken their neighbors.

  She’d go out fighting.

  Chapter 8

  OUTSIDE PLAINEVAUX, BELGIUM

  DECEMBER 29, 1944

  7:59 P.M. LOCAL TIME

  Juliette grabbed her whittling knife. With a cry, she jabbed it out from under the bed, poking a hole in the trousers above the boot. The intruder screamed, stumbled back, and fell to the ground with a thud. Instantly, Juliette leapt out from under the bed, brandishing her whittling knife at . . .

  Antoine, who glowered up at her from the floor, clutching the side of his leg, his eyes wet with tears.

  The two neighbors froze for a moment, breathing heavily and staring at each other with hurt, confused looks. As always, it was Antoine who made a fuss first, leaping to his feet and glaring at Juliette.

  “What are you doing here?” he whispered.

  “I—I was . . .” Juliette paused. Could she trust him? She wasn’t sure—Antoine’s father was a respected lawyer in town, one who sometimes befriended high-ranking members of the German government to gain his family favor. And Antoine . . . well, he was just a rude idiot who thought girls were meant to stay in the kitchen all day. But was he really a bad person, deep down?

  She noticed the basket at his feet.

  “What are all those?” she said, kneeling down to go through the contents.

  “Leave that alone!” Antoine chided, but it was too late.

  “Blankets?” she said, looking through the wicker basket. “Scarves?”

  Juliette looked up at Antoine and saw the fear in his eyes—the same stark fear she’d felt earlier, when she’d walked into her family’s bakery and found the Nazis waiting for her. She reached into her other pocket and removed the last loaf of Graubrot to show Antoine. His shoulders fell and a long, relieved breath escaped him.