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.
Chapter Thirty-Four
From the hills above the valley filled with German troops, artillery shells rained down. To the west was Canadian artillery, to the eastern side was Patton's 3rd Army. The Germans were effectively fish in a barrel.
The men in the artillery units stripped off their shirts and worked in the hot August sun, streaming sweat. Such destruction was hard work. Shells poured down into the valley below, killing and killing.
As the noose enclosed what was left of the German 7th army and 5th Panzer narrowed, artillery shells loaded with leaflets encouraging the Germans to surrender were fired into their positions. The sheets fluttered everywhere, snatched out of the air by desperate Wehrmacht troops. The SS threatened to shoot anyone they caught reading the leaflets.
Those who sensed the inevitable were likely hoping to stay alive long enough to do just what the leaflets suggested. Other Germans were focused on escaping. A few insisted on fighting — and dying — until the bitter end.
It was a point of consternation to many Allied officers that the bulging gap had not been pulled shut like the drawstring of a tobacco pouch, catching the Germans neatly inside. By now, just two miles of territory was left to German forces. Through this opening, the Wehrmacht continued to escape.
General Omar Bradley and the other Allied commanders had their reasons not to rush to close the gap, chief of which was worry over the confusion that might result among different units from different nations operating in close proximity in the heat of battle. Allied forces were arranged across from each other in what could easily become a circular firing squad. In their frenzy to kill Germans, they might very well kill one another. The Allied high command feared the toll that friendly fire would have on sensitive Allied alliances.
All in all, it was safer to let a few Germans escape than to take a chance that American, Canadian, Polish, and British troops might bombard one another by mistake.
In the middle of the artillery bombardment, an unusual drama unfolded.
Up on the heights, an American unit watched a German soldier galloping away on horseback. It was insanity that he would even try to cross that killing field. Machine-gun fire churned the narrow dirt road. At one point, a shell landed so close that dirt sprayed across horse and rider, but still they kept going.
Some of the soldiers stopped shooting and cheered him on.
With a last surge of power, horse and rider disappeared into the trees and relative safety.
A ragged cheer went up.
"What the hell's going on?" an officer wanted to know, red-faced. "How do you know that son of a bitch wasn't shooting at us on Omaha beach?"
"Sir, we just—"
"I don't want to hear it, soldier! Put some hurtin' on those sons of bitches!"
The firing recommenced.
It was likely that the horseman was trying to retreat down a road that would become known as "The Corridor of Death" — and with good reason. Dead horses, burned trucks, smashed tanks, and bodies — many, many bodies — lay thick on the road.
Thousands of fleeing troops using the one available road away from the Allies had to make their way across a narrow ford, known as the Gue de Moissy. In a sense, the Wehrmacht forces trying to cross the ford were like the camel trying to pass through the eye of a needle. Under relentless artillery fire and air attacks, somehow thousands of troops still managed to slip away. If there was a story to be told of courage under fire from this battle, it was at the ford. Their determination and order despite the chaos were some of the German Army's greatest accomplishments at Falaise, even in defeat.