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France: March 1918
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PRIVATE HARRY BARNES ducked behind a pile of rubble belonging to what was once the front of a church. A German mortar exploded into the building across the street. The ground shook beneath him, sending stone and colored glass raining down. Whatever that building had been before—a store, maybe a restaurant—it wasn’t anymore.
He slowly raised his head. “Fin? George? You guys all right?” They’d been ordered to check the marketplace. The rest of their unit was spread out through the French village. So far, they’d found no survivors.
Fin dashed in from Harry’s left, sprawling next to him in the dirt. They’d grown up together, and there was no one Harry trusted more with his life than Fred Finley.
“See anyone?”
Fin shook his head. “No one alive.”
Harry held up a hand. “Quiet.”
George McLean appeared on his right. “What do you hear?” he whispered, scanning the surrounding buildings.
A single bead of sweat ran down the back of Harry’s neck. He shrugged, wiping away the distracting tickle with his collar. “There.” He nodded toward an overturned produce cart three yards south of the church. “A woman’s voice.”
They remained quiet.
“I hear her.” Fin clambered over the stones and ran toward the muffled cries.
“Look out!” Harry shot at a German soldier popping from a doorway, hitting him in the chest and throwing him against what remained of the house he’d been hiding in. His weapon slid out of reach.
Fin dove behind the broken cart. “Get him?” he called out.
The German dragged himself toward his gun. Harry fired the kill shot before ducking down by George. “Yeah. Find someone?”
“Two women. Both alive—I think.”
It was too quiet. Harry’s heart raced. He fought to slow his breathing. That couldn’t have been the only enemy soldier lying in wait. “I’m going over,” he said without looking at George. “Cover me.” He dashed across the rubble-strewn street to where Fin was tending the civilians.
An old woman was half buried under a layer of shattered wood and moldy potatoes. It was the kind of barely edible food the French had been relegated to in recent months. A young woman clung to Fin’s arm, her fast talk a struggle for Harry to understand. Why hadn’t he paid more attention in Miss Anderson’s French class? Only every few words made a modicum of sense.
Harry held up a hand. She stopped speaking and stared at him.
Fin released her grip from his arm and put a finger to his lips. “Germans,” he whispered. A bullet ricocheted off the wall behind them A shower of stones bounced off their helmets, landing on the ground at their feet.
The girl brushed dust and gravel from her hair. She gently turned the old woman’s head and whispered something in her ear, stroking her cheek. “Grand-mère,” she said, looking up to one man then the other.
Boots crunched slowly toward them. The glint of George’s gun barrel flashed in the sun. He fired a single shot. A cry, the thump of a body falling in the street, and all was quiet again.
How many more Germans were hiding in doorways, windows, waiting for them to make the wrong move?
This was just another nameless village. When he first saw it at a distance, he imagined people going about their day as if fear and death didn’t consume them, the kind of peace he knew his friends and family back in Pine Lake, Wisconsin, enjoyed. But the closer they got, the clearer the ugliness of war became. Buildings in ruins. The fog of unnatural stillness overhanging it all.
The only people left were old men, women, and children peeking out from doorways and behind shutters barely hanging from broken windows. And young girls, like the one who clung to her grandmother, once pretty but now aged and worn by fear and starvation. Almost skeletal beneath faded, over-patched dresses and torn sweaters not near warm enough, the girls would come out to greet the Americans. They offered what little bread or cheese they had, a kiss on the cheek, always with the hope of some kind of favor in return.
This village was no different than the rest, except they arrived while the Germans were still there—looting, raping, killing. Harry’s commander ordered them to infiltrate in groups of three to root out the bastards, to find and help any villagers in hiding. Since nothing inhabitable remained, anyone still living in this village would have to be taken elsewhere for shelter.
How much time has passed since the last gunshot, the last mortar shell?
Harry peered over the rubble, listening for any little noise that might mean the enemy was nearby. Nothing.
“George?”
“Yeah.” George peered from around his hiding place, hunkered down and ran, slipping on a pile of potato bits by Fin. He nodded to the girl.
She ran her hand softly down her grandmother’s face, closing the wide-staring eyes. “Morte.” She wiped away a tear then kissed the old woman’s cheek.
Harry scanned the street for any movement, any unexplained shadow. “We have to get out of here. Can you walk?” He looked back at her, pointed, and made a walking motion with his fingers.
She carefully pulled her legs out from under the cart. “Oui.”
“You speak any English?” Fin asked.
“A little.” She held up her thumb and first finger.
“Good.” Harry let out a breath, nodded, and smiled. “Your little bit of English is probably better than my little bit of French.”
They ducked when the sound of boots approached, not one pair but many.
Was the whole damn German army coming for them?
“Barnes!” It was their commander. “Finley! McLean!”
They helped the girl to her feet and picked their way out of the pile of broken wood and moldy vegetables.
“Good work men. Any other civilians? Germans?”
“Not alive, sir.” Harry sighed. A handful of villagers followed behind the rest of Harry’s unit.
“We’ll take them to the next village. Hopefully, they’ll be safer there.”
The girl fell into line with them. Harry lit a cigarette. Drawing in a deep breath, he exhaled long and slow, letting the smoke linger first in his throat before releasing it in a perfect blue hazy ring above his head.
The girl laughed. “Please?” She pointed to the pocket where he kept them.
“Here.” He tapped the pack against the side of his hand and held it out for her.
She placed it between her lips and leaned in for a light. She exhaled with a slight moan of pleasure, winking at Harry. “Thank you.”
He smiled, remembering a night in Paris not so long ago and a pretty young whore who’d moaned in that same way once he got her alone.
She turned to Fin and wrapped an arm around his.
He pulled free. “I got a girl back home.”
She shrugged, turning her attention to George. “You?”
“N-no, ma’am,” he stammered.
Harry laughed. George always stuttered when in the presence of a lady. Although Harry was getting to be of the opinion this girl might not be much of a lady.
“No girl?” she asked, leaning in closer and taking hold of his arm.
George tried to step away. “You’re pinching me.”
“What’s your name?” She blew smoke in his face.
“G-George McLean, ma’am,” he croaked between nervous coughs.
“Paulette.” This time she turned her head away before exhaling. “I could be your girl, Georgie.”
He blushed, stammered.
“Sounds like a good idea to me,” one of the other men said.
Paulette stepped in front of George, blocking his way. “Take me to America, Georgie,” she purred. “I’d be a good wife. Cook, clean, make love. Oui?” She smiled her most appealing smile and pulled her dress aside to show a teasing hint of what lay barely hidden beneath what once passed for a dress. She traced a finger softly down his cheek, leaned in, and kissed the other. George pushed her aside and kept walking, eyes down, cheeks blazing.
“Yeah, George,” another soldier yelled. “You could use someone other than your right hand to keep you warm at night.” The others laughed, joining in the fun.
Harry shook his head. The guys were all right, for the most part, but when they got bored . . . He turned to see what Fin thought of all this. His friend wasn’t much on confrontation. Fin was keeping a close eye on George and the girl.
“Oh, yes,” the girl agreed, a spark in her eyes. “My hand much nicer than yours. I show you.”
He shoved her aside. “S-stop it,” he sputtered.
“Don’t you like me, Georgie?” Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes.
How long had she practiced before she could cry on cue?
“I’d be a good wife,” she repeated, scrambling to keep up with the march. “Give me a chance. I show you.”
Another soldier slapped George on the back and gave his shoulder a friendly shake. “How about it, George?” He dug in his pocket. “I’ll even pay for this one. My treat.”
Paulette shrugged and stuffed the few coins into her pocket. “Marry me, take me to America. I do for you every night.”
One of the officers steered his horse between them, pushing Paulette aside with his boot. “Get back with the others.”
Frowning at the officer, Paulette disappeared through the ranks.
The officer leaned forward and scowled at George. “Best advice I can give you, McLean, is stay away from these village girls. They’ll welcome anyone who gives them the time of day. You’ll end up with a disease you won’t want to explain to your mother before you end up with a wife.”
“I didn’t . . .” George argued, but was cut short by the officer’s glare. “Yes, sir.”
“Keep moving, men!” He spurred his horse up along the ranks. “Show’s over.”
Harry fell into step next to George. “Don’t let the guys bother you. I know sometimes I give you a hard time, but we’re friends. Those guys are not your friends.”
“And Sarge’s right about village girls.” Fin slapped him on the shoulder.
After a few minutes of silence, Harry leaned closer. “So, George, you’ve never . . .?”
“Have you?” George snapped.
“No,” he lied.
Fin snorted and shook his head.
“Whores don’t count.” Harry turned his attention to George, continuing his story. “But there was this one time, down by the lake, a girl named Betty. She was practically naked.”
Fin turned on him, fire in his eyes. “Was this before or after you asked Alice to marry you? If you hurt her, I swear . . . Alice is the best thing that ever happened to you.”
“Before,” Harry assured him. “It was a beautiful summer afternoon, and my Alice, Fin’s Lizzie, and Betty went to the lake for a picnic. I followed them, hid in the trees to watch. It was an awfully hot day. Betty waded into the water, but she must not have wanted to get her dress wet, see, so she took it off.”
George’s jaw dropped.
“She took off her shoes and stockings, too, and waded into the lake holding her petticoat up above her knees.”
“You saw her bare legs?”
“Yup.” Harry blew out one last, long, blue smoke trail then ground the butt into the mud with the toe of his boot. “And that’s not all,” he continued. “When she got out, she knelt on the blanket, reached over to get an apple from the basket, and the top of her petticoat drooped down so I could see everything. Mmmm. Small with little pink tips.” He cupped the air in front of him, imagining, again, what it would feel like to hold those breasts for real. “And you know what’s best?”
George shook his head, eyes wide, sweat beading on his forehead. He licked his lips.
“She knew I was watching because she looked right at me and smiled.”
“W-what did you do?”
Harry grinned. “Why, I snuck off where a man can be alone for a while, if you know what I mean.” A few of the men who’d been listening to Harry’s story laughed and elbowed each other.
“What about Lizzie?” Fin shoved Harry into the men marching behind. Harry took a swing at his head. Fin ducked to one side, and Harry’s fist grazed his ear.
“Problem here, Private Barnes, Private Finley?” This time two different officers slowed their mounts to either side of the row.
“No, sir.” Fin fell into step and stared straight ahead.
Harry waited for the officers to leave. “Take it easy, Fin. No reason to get all hot under the collar. I guess Lizzie and Alice weren’t interested in a swim. They stayed on shore, fully clothed. Unfortunately.”
“If Alice ever knew . . .”
“She isn’t going to know. Unless you tell her, and you’re not going to tell her, are you?” Harry glared and raised his fist again. His next swing would be more carefully aimed, less in haste.
Fin shook his head. “No, but only because I care about whether or not she gets her heart broken.”
“Besides, it’s not like I touched them,” Harry explained with a chuckle. “I only looked, and then only because Betty made certain to show them to me. So not my fault.”
“Privates, less talking and more marching. We have a lot of ground to cover before dark.”
They marched for hours before coming to a village where the civilians could be safely left behind. Harry was glad to see Paulette gone from their ranks. He knew trouble when he saw it, and she was nothing but.
* * *
THE AFTERNOON SUN DIPPED low in the sky, sending long shadows across the fields and over more bombed and burnt-out farms. They passed a lake so clean and seemingly out of place, it reminded Harry of a different spring day. Alice had packed a picnic lunch. He still tasted the cold apple cider and rich chocolate cake. She recounted for him, in great detail, the plot of the motion picture the girls saw the week before. But he didn’t hear a word she said. He was bewitched by her hair, soft and smelling of warm sunshine. He loved the way it changed colors in the sun, one minute the soft red of a deer, the next shimmering with golden sparks. He wanted to run his fingers through it, loosen it from the pins and let it fall. The flash of her green eyes when she laughed and her white-stockinged ankles tempting him to touch. What would it be like to let his fingers trace their way up under her skirt hem?
She was so beautiful he’d proposed marriage on the spot, but before he could claim her as his wife, he’d been called to serve, and their future was put on hold.
A nudge in the arm from Fin brought Harry back to ugly reality. “The war can’t last forever.” He always seemed to know what Harry was thinking. “We’ll be home soon. Married. Children. It’ll be like none of this ever happened.”
Harry was counting on it.
* * *
THE MEN HUDDLED IN the dark. Gathering clouds blocked the full moon from shining through, aiding them in hiding from the enemy while also making it more difficult, if not impossible, to spot them in return. Harry shimmied under the shelter of some bushes. He was cold and hungry, but there would be no fires to warm them or cook their dinner. Tensions ran high, pricking under the skin like a thousand hot needles. Every little sound a possible enemy soldier. They ate cold rations from tins and drank the last of the now tepid water from their canteens. In time, fatigue took over, and one by one they slept.
The first shell screamed overhead just as dawn broke the horizon. The once impenetrable blackness turned to gray shadow and searing red flames. The forest floor erupted in geysers of dirt and body parts torn from his sleeping comrades. Men scrambled every which way, like ants when he used to kick over their nests just to watch them run. This time he was the one trying to make sense of the chaos.
The second shell threw him from his bedroll. He hit the ground hard, showered with chunks of mud and tree splinters. His ears rang. He choked on the acrid smoke blinding him. Burning powder and the metallic smell of blood and urine filled his nose. Pain sent waves of nausea through his empty stomach, threatening to render him unconscious. He cried out when he touched the open wound that had once been the right side of his face. His hand came away wet with blood.
Men screamed and moaned all around him. Some prayed. A few cried for their mothers. The growing daylight revealed bodies strewn about, some moving, most not.
“Fin!” The night before his friend had bedded down only a few feet away. Now he wasn’t there. Harry forced himself to his knees and crawled through the smoke, the chaos.
Nearby, a body sprawled face down in the dirt turned to mud by a spreading pool of blood. “Fin?” Harry turned the man over. “Fin?”
When he saw the gaping hole where there was once a face, he scrambled away, retching sour bile down the front of his shirt. Hesitating, he crawled back to what was left of the man that might be his friend. He reached down the front of the man’s shirt and pulled out his identification tags. He closed his eyes and said a quick prayer before slowly opening his fingers to read the name.
“God, George.” He sobbed and hugged his knees to his chest.
“We gotta go.” Fin grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. “Jesus, Harry, your face.”
Harry looked up, relieved to see his friend alive. “It’s George.”
Fin flinched and turned away. “How can you be sure?”
Harry held out George’s tags. “He was just a kid. Shouldn’t have even been here.”
When a shell exploded nearby, Fin threw Harry to the ground. Another crater opened where the officers’ horses were tied a minute before. One horse was thrown at their feet. Still alive, it screamed and thrashed in pain, eyes rolling back in its head. Before its sharp hooves sliced them to ribbons, Fin pulled out his weapon and put it out of its misery.
“Did you know George was an only child?” Harry imagined the boy’s mother when she got the news. “His mother’s a widow.”
“Nothing we can do for him now, poor kid.” Fin pulled Harry to his feet. “We gotta get outta here.”
Another shell screamed over their heads. The earth shook when it hit home, and everything went black.
* * *
HARRY OPENED HIS EYES. The shelling had stopped. Only the cries of the wounded surrounded him. Fin’s body held him to the ground. He pushed him aside. Blood spilled from Fin’s side. Harry shook him by the shoulders.
He has to be alive.
Fin moaned. Gasped. He tried to push himself up but fell with a cry, slipping back into unconsciousness.
Red Cross medics appeared through the trees, stretchers and supply bags at the ready. “Don’t move. Help’s coming.” If Harry’s bearings were correct, there was a hospital in the next village not too many miles down the road. They must have seen the fighting to arrive so quickly. Shots rang out in the distance.
A medic wrapped a long strip of gauze around the right side of Harry’s face and over his eye. A second was talking to him.
“What?”
“Can you walk to the ambulance?” the medic repeated.
“Yes, but my friend here needs a stretcher.”
The man glanced at Fin and shook his head.
Harry’s jaw tightened. He would not let them give up on Fin. “I said, my friend here needs a stretcher,” he said through clenched teeth.
Fin stirred. “I can walk.”
Harry rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Lie still. The medics are going to get you a stretcher, and then we’re riding together to the hospital.” He’d promised Lizzie he’d bring Fin back in one piece, and by God, he was keeping his promise. “Now, men! Move it!”
The first medic nodded to the second, who rushed off to find another stretcher. They loaded Fin into the ambulance. Harry took a seat next to him. With a hot glare, he dared the medics to tell him to ride separate.
He took Fin’s hand in his as they started the slow, bouncing ride down the rutted road to the hospital. “It won’t be long now. The doctors are going to fix us up good as new for our girls.”