Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5 High up in the tree, dangling from a branch, was a man in a dark-green army uniform. Paul couldn't see him from this angle very well. But he knew the man was a soldier. He was attached to the tree by the strings of a parachute, which must have snagged on one of the upper branches. Paul had no doubt the man was dead. Based on his uniform, Paul guessed the soldier was American or British, or maybe Canadian.

Those countries were Hitler's enemies. They had banded together with Russia and other countries, and were fighting against Germany in the war. They had formed a team: the Allies. This soldier must have flown here from one of the air bases in England. That's where the Allies had most of their soldiers and bases now. England was one of the only countries in Europe the Nazis hadn't been able to swallow up. All that separated France from England was a narrow slice of ocean, called the English Channel.

Paul tried to get a better look. He stepped slowly, his boots crunching in the grass. He used to dream that the Allies would rescue France. But he'd given up on that a long time ago. The Nazis were too strong. They had France all locked up. The beaches here in Le Roc and along the coast were lined with cannons and machine guns.

Allied planes sometimes made it through to drop bombs. But just as often their planes were shot down over France. Their soldiers sometimes escaped — they bailed out and parachuted to the ground. That's what must have happened to this soldier. But then he'd crashed into this tree… and died. "Hey, kid, can you help me?" a voice called down. Paul jumped so high he nearly hit his head on a branch. So this soldier wasn't dead. He spoke in French, but with a strange twang. American, maybe? "I need to cut myself down from here, but I dropped my knife," the soldier continued. "It's somewhere on the ground." Paul scanned the grass. There it was, a sharp-looking knife with a wooden handle. Paul took a step toward it, but then his body froze. A terrified little voice shouted inside his skull.

Are you crazy?! Stop right now! Get out of here quick! Paul knew what happened to people who were caught helping Allied soldiers. A couple months ago, the Nazis had found an Allied pilot hiding in a barn near the edge of town. They shot the pilot and the farmer who owned the barn. They sent that farmer's family — including his little children — to a work camp. Nobody expected them to make it out of there alive. Run! Get away from here, the little voice whispered in Paul's mind. "Hey, kid," the man called. "It will just take a minute." Paul blocked out the voice in his skull. Instead, he thought of Papa behind barbed wire. He thought of Gerard, being shoved into a truck. He thought of Mr. Leon. And he thought of that friendly little pigeon that seemed to have led him to this exact spot.

Before Paul even knew what he was doing, he'd snatched the knife from the grass. He tucked it into the waistband of his trousers and started climbing up the tree.