“Brake!” Lucette shouted.
Ruth slammed the pedal and the ambulance skidded to a stop a few feet from a narrow but steep earthen incline. Beneath the hum of the idling engine, a sound of rippling water filled the air. With their focus on avoiding the Panzers and finding the pilot, they failed to notice a thin but deep runoff that cut through the base of the meadow.
Leaving the engine running, they got out of the vehicle and peered along the embankment of the stream, searching for a section that might be passable for their vehicle’s ground clearance.
“It’s too steep—we’ll get stuck if we try to cross.” Ruth glanced at the forest. “I’m going to wade over and search for him.”
“I’m coming with you,” Lucette said, making her way to the ledge.
They climbed down the slope and sloshed across knee-high deep water, soaking their shoes and hems of their skirts. Dirt and slivers of limestone dug into their palms as they ascended the opposite bank. They clambered to the high ground and darted into the forest where they’d sighted the parachute.
Lucette sucked in air, attempting to catch her breath, and scanned the trees.
Ruth pushed away prickly briars with the sleeves of her uniform and trekked deeper into the woodland.
A branch creaked.
Ruth peered up. Her eyes widened at the sight of a pilot—dangling from the cords of a deflated parachute and pointing a revolver. “Don’t shoot!” she shouted in English. “We’re French.”
The airman lowered his revolver. “Sorry. I heard an engine. I needed to make sure you weren’t Wehrmacht.”
Lucette ran to Ruth’s side and looked up at the pilot. “We haven’t much time—the Panzers are coming this way. Can you get down?”
He winced as he slipped the revolver into his flight jacket. “My left arm is broken—I’m having trouble getting out of the harness.” Using his good hand, he struggled to release a round, four-point safety buckle.
Ruth looked at the airman, three to four meters above her head. “I’ll come up and help you.” She turned to Lucette. “Give me a boost.”
Lucette kneeled at the base of the pine and clasped her fingers.
Ruth placed a foot into her hands.
Lucette stood, lifting her friend.
Ruth raised her hands, grabbed a thick limb, and hoisted her right leg over it. She sat upright and climbed several limbs to the pilot, who appeared to be in his mid-twenties. Beads of sweat covered his upper lip, and a tuft of brown hair protruded from underneath his flight helmet.
He tried to adjust his limp left arm and grimaced. “You’re a brilliant climber,” he said, his voice filled with pain.
“I grew up on an apple orchard.” Ruth clasped the man’s harness. “Tell me what to do.”
“Turn the disc clockwise to unlock it—then press to release the buckles.”
She twisted the metal disc, producing a click. “Ready?”
He gripped the harness in his right hand. “Yes.”
She pressed the disc, simultaneously releasing four buckles, and the airman slipped from the harness.
He dangled, gripping a harness strap with his good arm, and then dropped to the ground and rolled. Ruth climbed down from the tree while Lucette helped the pilot to his feet.
Explosions and gunfire echoed through the forest.
“They are getting much closer.” Ruth looked at the pilot, clasping his left arm. “Can you run?”
“Yes.” He removed his flight helmet and tossed it into the underbrush. “Lead the way.”
They fled the forest to the stream. Lucette and Ruth aided the airman down and up the steep slopes, put him in the back of the idling ambulance, and then got into their seats.
Ruth put the vehicle in reverse and backed it away from the ledge. She shifted gears and pressed the pedal to the floor, surging the ambulance up the hill. Her anxiety grew as she peered at her side mirror. Halfway through the ascent, a group of Panzers—crossing the summit of the hill behind them—came into view. Her arms trembled. “They’re behind—”
A tank gun fired and a shell exploded in front of their ambulance, spraying the windshield with a rain of dirt.
Lucette shielded her face with her arm.
“Hold on!” Ruth veered right, taking a diagonal route up the hill.
Two shells exploded near the ambulance. The driver’s-side window shattered, sending bits of glass over the compartment.
Ruth, her ears ringing, fought to keep her foot on the accelerator and plowed the ambulance up the meadow.
Lucette pointed. “That way!”
Ruth drove the vehicle over the crest of the hill, turned sharply onto the dirt lane, and sped away. The tank fire ceased, and she hoped that they’d got away. But when they reached the main road, they spotted more Panzers that were flanking their position. With no other alternative, they fled in the opposite direction, a route that would place them deeper into the path of the German invasion.
CHAPTER 17
SIGNY-L’ABBAYE, FRANCE—MAY 15, 1940
Jimmie—clutching his arm, throbbing with pain—peered through the windshield from his seat in the back of the ambulance. A setting sun gave rise to a volcanic-like glow between masses of black clouds, and echoing explosions filtered through the cab’s broken window. He helplessly watched the driver maneuver through rural back roads, following instructions of the woman in the passenger seat who was reading a map.
