Chapter Thirty-Three

Rohde touched his side, then took his hand away, staring in disbelief at the blood running off his fingers. The sight of so much blood — his own blood — instantly made him feel lightheaded. Fear gripped him. Was he going to die?

He inspected the wound, noting the spreading stain across his tunic. If he could just get some help, perhaps he would be saved. He was still on his feet, after all.

"Just a scratch, Carl," he said, trying to reassure his brother, whose presence he suddenly felt. The bullet wound was much more than a scratch, but he did not want his brother to worry. "I will be fine."

Soldiers swarmed around him, rushing alongside the tanks moving to attack the American forces. He cursed the American sniper who had shot him. Deep down, Rohde had to admit that the man was good. But if he'd been better, Rohde would already be dead. If only the attack hadn't come between them, perhaps Rohde would have had another chance at the American sniper. Who was the better man? Now, it seemed like he would never know.

"Medic!" Rohde shouted, glancing around desperately for one of their white helmets. Sometimes the medics also wore white tunics emblazoned with a red cross, making them look like medieval knights. None was in sight. "I need a medic!"

He tried to stop a soldier who was running past.

"You there, get me a medic!"

The soldier was young, hardly more than a boy, and looked terrified. His new uniform marked him as a recent replacement. "Are you hurt?" he asked stupidly. Then he saw Rohde's wound and his eyes grew big. The soldier’s reaction told Rohde what he already knew.

A sergeant pushed between them. He gave the young soldier a shove. "Go! Go!" He turned to Rohde. "He can't help you, you damn idiot. Get to the rear, assuming we still have one. Or better yet, surrender to the Amis. You'd better throw away that sniper rifle first if you do that."

Then the sergeant ran on, rejoining the assault. Within a minute, Rohde was alone on the field.

Or not quite alone. Several other wounded men lay there, along with a burning Sherman tank. A charred body lay near the tank, still smoldering. Rohde detected the horrible smell of burned human flesh.

Quickly, Rohde made up his mind that he would not surrender. Prisoners of war did not receive the Iron Cross. He still held out some dim hope that the medal might be his. More than that, he'd be damned if he would give up the Gewehr 43 rifle that had cost him so much. His only choice was to do as the sergeant had suggested, which was to make his way to the rear.

What he needed was some sulfa powder, some clean bandages — and a drink of water. Then he'd be as good as new. At least, that is what he told himself.

Rohde slipped his arm through the sling of the rifle and started toward where he thought the rear must be located. He hadn't gone more than a hundred meters when he stopped. With each step, his insides threatened to leak out of the gunshot wound. He pressed a hand against it to keep everything in. His fingers could not stop the blood, however. No way was he going to reach the rear.

And there was no guarantee that he would find any help there. The final fight for Falaise had left the entire countryside in turmoil. The German field hospital could be a mile away. Or it might no longer exist.

However, Lisette’s cottage was not that far away. She would have bandages and water. There, he could patch himself up enough to rejoin his own forces.

He turned around.

"No, Carl, she's not going to be happy to see me," he agreed. "I will get some bandages and be on my way. And something to drink. I am awfully thirsty."

Painfully, Rohde recrossed the field, careful to avoid the burned body and the flaming ruins of the tank. Even from a distance, on a summer day, he felt the heat radiating from the furiously burning hulk. This time, he definitely smelled the bodies in the flames. The smell caught in his throat and made him want to gag.

He entered the woods through which he had chased the American sniper not more than twenty minutes ago. His side definitely felt as if something was trying to squeeze out. He pressed harder, causing yet more blood to ooze between his fingers. He had to get some bandages on that wound, and fast.

Each step seemed harder and harder. The thought occurred to him that if he simply lay down here among the trees, his body might go undiscovered forever.

More blood leaked out of him, now almost black in color. Rohde realized that he was probably dying.

He paused and leaned against a tree. The woods felt peaceful.

"It wasn't like this for you, was it, Carl? They tied you to a post and made you wear a blindfold. Those SS bastards. I know that you were not a deserter. You were no coward."

When he looked up through the branches at the sky, everything seemed to circle and swirl above him. Black spots swam in his vision and fear came flooding back. He did not want to die. He pushed away from the tree and forced himself to keep going. As long as he kept moving, there was still some hope.

Then the farmhouse came into sight. There was the body of the American by the water trough. Farther off, Hauptmann Fischer still lay slumped across the low stone wall where they had lain in ambush. Otherwise, the farmhouse and surrounding barnyard appeared quiet and untouched.

As he approached the house, he was still fifty meters away when Lisette's old dog spotted him and barked a warning.

* * *

Inside the cottage, Lisette had been trying to calm everyone down. Just twenty minutes before, the two American soldiers had gone walking out the kitchen door, only to be shot at.

"Do you think that the soldiers are still out there?" Madame Pelletier asked, clutching the front of her sweater in one hand.

"No, I saw them run off."

Madame Pelletier did not look relieved. She sank into a kitchen chair, apparently with no thoughts of returning to her own home down the road. Who could blame her, now that the war had come to their little corner of the countryside?

"I should be going," Madame Pelletier said half-heartedly, as if reading Lisette's mind.

"Please stay here and help with the children," Lisette said, knowing full well that the old woman would accept. "In a little while, we shall have something to eat."

Lisette had no doubts that it had been Rohde who had ambushed the Americans. He had stopped by yesterday, looking for her, and unwittingly, old Madame Pelletier had informed the German that she had received a phone call informing her that Lisette would be back in the morning, escorted by two American snipers. Armed with that bit of intelligence, he must have laid his trap.

It was small consolation that a dead German lay across the stone wall on the other side of the barnyard. One of the Americans was now dead, lying in the dirt beside the water trough. The other soldier, named Cole — the one with the cold eyes — had escaped through the trees beyond the barn. From a distance, she had seen the German sniper pursue him. It had to have been Rohde.

She had not gotten a glimpse of his face, but there was something about the way that he moved that looked familiar. She and Rohde had been lovers, after all.

A shudder of revulsion ran through her at the thought.

The children did not appear overly concerned about events at the farm. They seemed to view it all as a big adventure. Even Leo seemed not too worse for wear, given all that he had been through. Children were more resilient in some ways than adults. It helped that the American GIs had spoiled him with attention, not to mention chocolate and chewing gum.

"Tante, we are hungry!" Sophie said. "Did you bring us something good to eat?

Lisette took a deep breath and tried to calm herself, ignoring that fact that there were two dead men in her yard. The Americans had, in fact, given her a few tinned goods to bring home, along with some more Hersey's chocolate. Sharp-eyed Sophie must have noticed.

"Yes, let's have something to eat. We may need our energy before the day is through."

She busied herself unpacking the cans, and handed Madame Pelletier a can opener. She noticed that the old woman's hands were shaking.

That's when she heard the dog begin to bark.

She had forgotten the dog was out there. He had run off at the sound of gunshots, but must have returned.

"What now?"

Leo was already at the door, and opened it before she could stop him.

Almost immediately, he slammed it shut. He turned to Lisette, his face ghostly white.

"The German sharpshooter is here!"

Rohde had returned. Did it mean that he had killed the American?

Lisette felt her blood run cold. She struggled to remain calm for the children's sake. Behind her, Madame Pelletier gasped.

What could Rohde want? Considering what he had done to her, and to the Americans who had helped her home, it could not be anything good.

A wave of emotions washed over Lisette, from shame to fear. Shame that she had allowed herself to become involved with the German sniper in exchange for food — and if she was honest with herself, to satisfy her own desires and expel her loneliness. Fear, because Rohde's return could only mean nothing good.

To her surprise, the emotion that she settled on was anger.

Rohde had come back to her house? To harm her niece and nephew? How dare he!

"Get under the table," she ordered the children. There was no time for them to hide anywhere else, but the thick tabletop would stop a bullet if the German came in shooting. "Now!"

Desperately, she looked around for something to defend herself. She realized that she still held a wooden spoon in her hand. She tossed it away.

In two steps, she was at the door into the hallway, which was normally open. Behind it, she kept the ancient shotgun that Henri used to scare off foxes. She grabbed the shotgun now. For safety's sake, the shells were kept on a high shelf, out of the reach of the children.

The shelf was higher than eye level, so Lisette reached up, but felt nothing but dust.

Her heart hammered in fear. Where were those shells?

Her hand searched farther back. Out in the yard, the dog barked more furiously.

She heard Rohde shout her name. He must be right outside the door.

There. She touched the scattered shells, knocking them to the kitchen floor in the process. Lisette practically dove after them.

She saw the children huddled under the table with Madame Pelletier. The old woman had taken refuge there as well. She had her eyes closed, and her lips moved silently. The old woman was praying.

Lisette picked up the shotgun. Her hands did not shake at all as she worked the lever to open the breech, just as Henri had taught her. She slid a shell into each barrel, and snapped the gun shut.

Then she opened the door.

There was Rohde. He staggered toward the house. He was bleeding heavily from an ugly wound in his belly. There was so much blood that his tunic looked black. The circle of dark blood was big as a dinner plate. He was a dead man walking. She felt no pity, but only anger at what he had done to her and to Leo.

Lisette screamed at him and leveled the shotgun.

* * *

Rohde had not expected a warm welcome. He had thought that he would force himself inside and take the medical supplies that he needed. It had not occurred to him that perhaps he would not get inside at all, if that stout cottage door was locked against him. He knew that he lacked the strength to break it down.

Rohde was hurting now, getting weaker. He looked behind him and saw that he was leaving a trail of blood across the muddy farmyard. He was leaking that much.

He need not have worried about the door.

The thick door opened and Lisette stepped out. In her hands, she held the ancient shotgun she kept around to ward off foxes and hawks. Her face looked hard and set.

She held the shotgun at hip level, and pointed it right at him.

"Lisette?"

"Batard!" she screamed again.

With weakening hands, Rohde hurried to unsling his rifle.

* * *

As if in a daze, Lisette watched Rohde raise his rifle, practically falling down from the effort. Was he actually going to shoot at her?

Rohde shouted something at her in German, but the words were unintelligible.

He was swaying wildly as if blown by some unseen wind, but managed to get the rifle to his shoulder.

Lisette realized, with a sense of shock, that he was going to pull the trigger.

He fired.

The bullet struck the stone wall near her head and ricocheted away. Rohde really was trying to kill her.

The recoil of the rifle made him stagger. Reeling like a drunken man, covered in blood, Rohde was struggling to bring the rifle to bear once again.

Lisette did not give him a second chance. Bracing the shotgun against her hip, she leveled the gun at him and pulled both triggers at once.

* * *

Ten minutes later, a vehicle drove into the farmyard. Peering from the cottage window, Lisette recognized it as an American Jeep, similar to the ones that she had seen the day before at the command post. She did not, however, recognize the uniform of the soldier driving it, but she was relieved to see that he was not German.

Then the man in the passenger seat got out. She did recognize him — it was the American sniper, Cole. With a sense of relief, she could see that Rohde had not shot him, after all.

Cole was in a hurry, his rifle held at the ready. His eyes darted this way and that even as he crossed the barnyard. When he moved, he seemed to lope — almost like one of those foxes that emerged from the nearby woods.

He went over to the body of the GI at the water trough and removed ammunition from the dead man's utility belt. He straightened up, pressed a clip into his rifle, and moved toward the cottage door. He paused just long enough to give Rohde's body a glance.

Lisette opened the door just ahead of Cole. She was still holding the shotgun, loaded with fresh shells. Her ears still rang from the blast of the double barrels, but she was able to hear shooting and the deep boom of artillery. The firing was the closest that it had been.

Cole looked pointedly at the shotgun in her hands, and then out at what was left of Rohde.

"You OK?"

She knew what "OK" meant, and nodded.

"We need to get you and the young 'uns out of here," Cole said. "The whole dang war is headed this way."

Lisette did not really understand him.

Cole took a step back, waved at her with a follow me gesture, and then pointed at the Jeep. "Maintenant," he managed. "You and les enfants."

Although the words were mangled, Lisette understood the meaning well enough. She turned back into the kitchen and gathered Leo and Sophie. Old Madame Pelletier was still there, and there was no leaving her behind, so she was squeezed into the back seat of the Jeep next to the children. The dog would just have to fend for himself until they returned.

The driver shouted something in what sounded like Polish, and pointed toward the nearby field. He shouted again, an urgent tone in his voice.

At the last minute, Lisette remembered food and water and blankets for the children, and ran back into the kitchen. On the way, she had to pass Rohde's body again. Lisette had not wanted to look too closely, but she saw that the dual shotgun blasts had struck Rohde squarely in the chest. His tunic was a ruin, but his pretty, boyish face was untouched, other than having a final look of surprise upon it. His blue eyes stared.

She felt a stab of terrible regret, but had to remind herself that this dead young man had been un monstre, even if that was hard to equate with his appearance in death — a death that she had caused.

Lisette did not have time to search her emotions any further. She ran back to the kitchen, grabbing what she could. She had to abandon the shotgun to fill her arms. Cole ran after her, taking Lisette firmly by the arm and marching her back toward the Jeep.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lisette noticed movement in the field. Turning her attention there, she saw German troops, crouched low, crossing the field. As she watched, one of the soldiers pointed towards the farm and raised his rifle. He was going to shoot at them.

Lisette felt her insides go cold. All that she could think of was the children. No, no. I will not lose Leo and Sophie. She hurried to put herself between them and the German soldier.

Cole muttered something under his breath, put his rifle to his shoulder, and fired a shot. The German went down, buying them a little more time.

A few hours ago, Lisette might have gasped at the sight of a soldier being shot. Now she thought, Good.

More troops spilled from the woods and across the field. They heard the scream of a shell, and a geyser of earth erupted just beyond the barn.

Sophie and Madame Pelletier gave frightened cries, while Leo offered a boyish yelp of delight. It was all just so many fireworks to him.

Lisette scrambled into the back seat of the Jeep and took Sophie into her lap. Cole jumped in and slapped the driver on the shoulder. The Jeep spun momentarily in the mud, spitting dirt from its tires, then surged down the road, away from the oncoming assault.

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