ANZAC Day

©2008 by: Natalie

Chapter 8, Finale

Creak …

Lachlan’s eyes snapped open. Cecile was gone from her spot next to him. It was early morning, just seconds before sunrise and the barn was chilly. Shivering, he spied Cecile crouched near the edge of the hayloft. She turned and put a finger to her lips, then jerked her head downstairs. Lachlan creeped to the edge and looked over. Below, the barn door opened slowly. A young woman peeked around the door’s edge, checking out the barn. Cautiously, she entered. In her arms was a small, whimpering baby. They watched her as she examined her surroundings and began looking through crates and behind hay bales.

Cecile suddenly stood up, rifle raised.

“Qui êtes vous et que voulez-vous?”  she demanded.

The woman jumped and looked toward the voice booming over her. The frightened baby began crying loudly.

“Madame,” the woman called out over the howling infant. “Mon nom est Jacqueline Bernard. C’est mon fils, Michel. Je recherché ma soeur. Elle a vécu ici avec sa famille. L’ave-vous vue?”

“Il n’y a personne ici.”

The woman’s shoulders visibly sunk. “Les Allemands, ils doivent les avoir enlevés.” The woman held the infant close to her chest and Lachlan could hear her sob.

Cecile studied her for a few moments, then lowered her weapon. She turned back to Lachlan, who had drawn his pistol. “It is safe, Lachlan. She is looking for her family who lived here.” Cecile headed for the ladder and went below.

Lachlan stood. The young woman, Jacqueline, was thin and haggard. Her dress, covered with smudges of dirt, hung loosely about her. The noisy bundle in her arms moved about frantically as she cried with the realization that her sister was gone.

Lachlan watched as Cecile approached the woman. They spoke quietly for a few moments, then Cecile put down her rifle and reached for the child. Her face grew soft as she cooed to the infant. The child, curious at the new voice, stopped crying and studied Cecile. She looked up at Lachlan with such an expression of joy, it spread across the barn and filled Lachlan’s heart. He grinned and joined them.

He jerked his head to the opened door. “Gonna go take a look-see.”

Cecile, cooing to the baby, nodded and returned her attention to the young woman.

Lachlan carefully searched around the barn and destroyed house, noting the scorch marks on the walls. Cigarette butts littered the outside near the doors into the house, and there were relatively fresh truck tire tracks leading away from what was once the front entry. Inside, the kitchen table still had the remnants of a half-eaten family dinner. And in the pantry, he found dry goods: bread, wine, cheese … all still fresh. His stomach growled with the sight of the food, and he grabbed what he could carry.

Beds, blankets and clothing, family pictures in broken frames littered the destroyed parts of the house. Lachlan kicked the rubble aside, not really even sure of what he was looking for. Underneath a board, he saw a menorah, bent and broken. The sight of it moved him. What had happened to these people? Why were they targeted?

His best find was an undamaged car parked next to the barn. He couldn’t believe his eyes. “Dear God, please let there be petrol in the thing.”  He checked inside. No keys, so he hot-wired the car and it started right up. The gas tank read three-quarters of a tank, hopefully enough to get them to the border. Leaving the food in the back seat, he went to fetch Cecile.

“Cecile,” he urged, “we’ve gotta go, love.”

“We must take Jacqueline and Michel with us,” she insisted.

“Of course, just let’s get into the car and go.”

They bundled Jacqueline and her son into the car and took off down the dusty lane to the main road. After a breakfast of bread and cheese, eaten hungrily while driving, Lachlan asked Jacqueline her story.

“Do you live near here?”

“No, I lived 20 miles away with my husband,” she answered in broken English. “We lived in a small village. My husband was a miller.”

“What happened, love?”

“The Gestapo came for us in the night. My husband, Antone, had warning, so he hid Michel and I. The soldiers could not find us, but they took Antone away. I was afraid to stay in the town, so I came to my sister. But, they have taken her, too.” Tears slid down her face. “I don’t think I will see any of them again.” She looked to her child and kissed his forehead. “Michel is now all I have.”

“We’ll get you to safety, Jacqueline. Don’t worry.”

They drove onward, heading toward rescue. Lachlan’s heart rose as they neared the border. Almost home free. Cecile took over driving and led them to her meeting place.

They passed through a small village just 10 miles from Spain. They drove slowly down the main street, acting as the tourist couple they were supposed to be. There were a few villagers out in the street and they stared as the car passed them. Lachlan got that bad feeling again in his gut and made sure his gun was handy.

Suddenly, as they left the town, a German troop truck appeared from behind one of the buildings.

“Go, go, go,” Lachlan shouted as Cecile hit the gas. They were only ten miles from safety! Lachlan reached back to Jacqueline as a bullet hit the back window and shattered glass flew. “Down … duck down, love.”

The car careened as the German truck gave chase. Another truck came barreling out of the woods with bullets flying. Several hit the car’s engine and it came to a stop, steam rising from the radiator.

Lachlan looked around. They were nearly thirty yards from the border. He could see Allied soldiers firing from a truck at the Germans.

“This is it, Cecile. We have to make a run for it.” They jumped from the car and ran; Jacqueline and the baby first with Lachlan and Cecile following closely, their guns blazing.

Almost there. Almost there. Lachlan chanted to himself. Twenty yards. Ten yards. Almost there. Twenty feet. Fifteen feet. Almost there. Just ten feet, he looked back to grab Cecile’s hand and he saw the bullets hit; first her leg, then her head.

“NO!”

The side of her head became a bloody mess. “Cecile!” He grabbed her hand. “Cecile! Come on, love, you gotta get up.” Her body was prone, lifeless, “Cecile!”

One of the allies ran out to meet him. “Leave her, man. She’s dead.”

“NO!”

Firing at the oncoming enemy, he pulled at Lachlan. “Leave her!”

The soldier pulled Lachlan’s arm and tried to drag him away from Cecile. Lachlan sobbed, “Cecile!” The world seemed to freeze. Everything stopped … until he felt the shot. His shoulder burst with pain as the bullet entered and lodged in his body.

“Look, buddy, are ya comin’ or not!” the man yelled.

Lachlan realized there was no saving Cecile. She was gone. “All right, mate. I’m coming.”

They ran to the waiting truck. Jacqueline was already inside with her child. Lachlan jumped in the back and the truck drove off as fast as possible, the soldiers firing back across the border at the advancing enemy. Lachlan watched from the back, staring at what was left of Cecile.

~*~

Present Day

I sat speechless. Mr. Curry had come to the end of his astounding story, and there was … nothing I could say. No smart remark. No cheerful teasing. I tried to think of something, but all I could come up with was a trite question. “What happened next?”

“Next?” he asked, white eyebrows raised. “Oh, the usual, I reckon. We made it to an airfield and a plane to England. When we landed, I went to hospital for my shoulder. Jacqueline and her baby were taken in by the authorities. Once my shoulder healed, I returned to finish out my tour.”

“Did you ever see Jacqueline again?”

He took a drag from his cigarette and shook his head. “No, love. I did hear that she stayed in England, but never saw her again.”

“What happened after you were discharged?”

“I came home, love. Did the usual … married, had a family,” he shrugged. “Nothing exciting to report, really.”

“Was it worth it, Mr. Curry?” I asked.

He frowned. “Worth it? Sometimes I wonder if any war is worth it. So many sacrifices made.” He stubbed out his cigarette. “But, then, I hear my grandchildren’s laughter and I remember … Yeah, it was worth it.”

He looked around for his cane. “And that, love, is my story.” He grinned.

We shook hands and I watched him walk down the sidewalk, leaning on his cane and whistling. He had smiled when he left, but the look in his eyes was wistful, sad and so faraway, and I knew he was thinking of Cecile, Jean-Paul, and those long ago days. Of war and love and everything that comes of it. Lachlan Curry was a product of his time, of the war that shaped the world and now, so very many years later … an old man I met on ANZAC Day … in the midst of a vacation I thought would bring me relaxation and relief from thinking … had managed to reshape the world as I would forever see it.

THE END