Margot came bustling past with an armload of bandages, but when she caught sight of Frenchie, she paused long enough to press close to him, hip to hip, and the look that passed between them was unmistakable. If Margot and Frenchie were not already lovers, then they were about to be. There were enough sparks there to start a forest fire. For a moment, they both seemed completely oblivious to their surroundings.
The spell was broken only when Margot turned to Cole and said something to him in French. He looked at Frenchie, who translated: “Margot says that she hasn’t seen you since you went into the forest to look for her brother this morning. She wants to know if you found any sign of them.”
Cole could hardly believe so much had happened in one day. He had gone into the woods shortly after dawn. The gloom of the day had thickened, indicating that it was getting close to evening.
Along with Margot, Vaccaro and Frenchie both looked at Cole expectantly.
"I didn't find her brother," Cole said, after a moment’s hesitation. "I did find Pierre, the village mayor. He and those other men were hell-bent on joining the Resistance, so I don't expect you will see them back anytime soon.”
Frenchie interpreted, and Margot received Cole’s report with an exasperated sigh.
"Ce vieil imbécile!" Margot said, although her voice held a tinge of pride. She asked another question.
“She said Pierre is an old fool,” Frenchie said. "But what about Marcus and his friend?"
"Pierre told me them boys done run off to Paris," Cole said, and Frenchie passed on the news.
"Paris!" Margot exclaimed.
"Oui, Paris," Cole said. He told Frenchie, "Some Resistance fighters came by in a truck, and said they were going to help liberate the city. They asked them boys if they wanted to go along. I reckon they're halfway there by now."
Frenchie explained to Margot, who nodded, wiped away a few tears, and smiled. She said something that Cole couldn't understand, and once again Frenchie translated.
"She said those crazy boys won't want to come home once they get to the big city, but maybe it will be better for them there than in a little village. I told her that maybe they'll send a postcard once they get there."
"Gonna be a long time before any mail gets through," Cole pointed out. "But she can rest easy knowing her kid brother is on his way to Paris."
Someone cried out in pain, and both Margot and Frenchie broke away to help. Cole and Vaccaro gladly left the sounds and smells of the makeshift hospital behind and walked outside.
Back in the village square, Vaccaro turned and looked at Cole. "Those boys didn't really go to Paris, did they?"
"No," Cole said. "The Germans found them in the woods and killed them, along with Pierre and the others.”
Vaccaro absorbed that news, then nodded. "So now, you’ve fixed it so that Margot is always going to think that her brother is alive somewhere, maybe off in Paris, too busy having adventures to write home. She’ll always wonder what happened to him, but she’ll have hope."
"I reckon she will."
"You're a good man, Caje Cole."
Cole slung his rifle. "Don't let word get out.”
Any chance of the clouds finally lifting for good disappeared when a fog drifted up from the river. Just before nightfall, they heard the sound of vehicles on the road toward town. The remaining GIs scrambled to take up defensive positions, so tired that they felt as if they were running through concrete instead of the misty air. They had hoped against hope that the Germans were done, but exhausted as they were, they prepared to fight back.
"Hold your fire, boys!" General Tolliver shouted, although he had drawn his .45. Like the others, he had detected a difference in the sound of the approaching vehicles. German and American motors had different sounds to them. But there was no ignoring the fact that they were also hearing the ominous clanking sound that could only be a tank or half-track. If a Panzer came up the road, they were done for. "Make sure it's the Jerries before you shoot!"
What came into sight was not a German vehicle, but a Sherman tank. The name “Beast” was painted prominently on the side, along with a caricature of a hairy monster. Maybe a werewolf? Tolliver stepped out into the road and waved. The tank hatch opened and the tank commander's head popped out.
Although Tolliver wore no insignia, he had the swagger of an officer. Two days ago, he had moved and acted more like the administrative pencil pusher that he claimed to be.
"Where are we, sir?" the tank commander shouted. "We've been following this road for two hours and we don't know if we're still within our own lines."
"Who are you, son?"
"Second Armored Division, when we're not lost."
"General Tolliver," the general said. Upon hearing that the officer in front of him was a general, the tank commander's eyes visibly widened. He forgot battlefield protocol and pulled his arm out of the tank hatch to salute.
"Sir!"
"You're not lost anymore, Sergeant. You are in American lines. We hold this village," Tolliver said. "You don't know how glad I am to say that. Almost as glad as I am to see that Sherman."
"There's more behind me, sir. What do you want us to do?"
"We are going to figure out a way across this river, Sergeant. And then we're going to kill us some more Germans."
"Yes, sir!"
A chunk of the bridge span was destroyed, but the villagers and local farmers were a resourceful bunch once Tolliver explained what he needed. The next morning, huge timbers and planks were hauled into place, bridging the gap created by the blast.
Cole went down there to see how the bridge was going to be pieced together, but he had another purpose, as well. He was hoping to find some evidence that the German sniper had died in the explosion. Several enemy bodies had been found in the debris on the bridge, and these had been carried to the side of the road leading to the bridge for burial. The German sniper was not among them. A few bodies had washed up along the shoreline, and Cole scanned these, but the sniper wasn’t there.
Cole figured that the sniper had gone into the river and his body had been carried downstream. Cole doubted that anyone could have survive the explosion, but he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that maybe, just maybe, that German sniper had more luck than he deserved. The critter deep down inside him growled uneasily.
He heard a tank approaching, and stood by to watch it pass. The resulting makeshift bridge was rickety, and it creaked and groaned ominously, but it was enough for a single tank to pass across the Moselle.
One by one, the handful of tanks that had arrived in Ville sur Moselle made their way across the river. They were followed by Tolliver's Jeep and the remaining GIs, including Vaccaro and Cole. Frenchie had been ordered to stay behind and help the wounded until they could be evacuated to the nearest field hospital. By some miracle, West still clung to life and there was some hope that he would make it now.
German forces continued their retreat toward the Fatherland and the vaunted Western Wall of defense. That, too, would fall in time as Allied forces pursued the battered Wehrmacht and SS troops.
After the intense fighting that had separated units and even individual men, some of the confusion was sorted out. Cole and Vaccaro found themselves reunited with Lieutenant Mulholland and were assigned to sniper duty. Orders came down for General Tolliver to rejoin headquarters and get back to supply and logistics, which Cole thought was a shame. But orders were orders, and as with most things in the Army, it was likely that there were some politics involved. But no matter. It was enough to know that somewhere back at headquarters, there was a bean-counting supply officer who had risen to the occasion to make a fine battlefield general, commanding like a god on earth.