Some murmurs and more nodding.

Leah couldn’t afford to lose this battle. That kindling built in heat. “Hitler burns books.”

Every eye turned to her. Mrs. Channing’s gaze sliced but didn’t penetrate.

Leah’s shoulders had never felt straighter. “The slogan of the Victory Book Campaign is ‘Books are weapons in the war of ideas.’ To destroy a book that would benefit someone else seems most unpatriotic. We must train the next generation, even children who are unwanted—especially children who are unwanted. Arm them in this war of ideas. Give them books.”

“Brava, Mrs. Paxton.” Mrs. Sheridan clapped her hands together.

“I move that we table this proposal.” Twin red dots flamed on Mrs. Channing’s pale cheeks. “Next month I expect to see a report on all options for disposal of those books. On to the next item on the agenda.”

Rita Sue clasped Leah’s hand under the table. “Good job,” she whispered.

Was it? The starch dissolved in Leah’s spine. Was it right for her, a stranger in town and so young, to speak that way to her elder?

She’d just made an enemy of one of the most influential women in town.

US ARMY MILITARY INTELLIGENCE TRAINING CENTER
CAMP RITCHIE, MARYLAND
FRIDAY, OCTOBER 22, 1943

On the drill field, the instructor pointed the German machine gun toward hills painted in green and gold and red. “The Maschinengewehr 42 fires over 1500 rounds per minute.”

Clay let out a whistle, as did others in his platoon. The 2nd Ranger Battalion had come to Camp Ritchie in Maryland for two days of instruction at the Military Intelligence Training Center. After an all-night field exercise taking Hill X from German-speaking defenders wearing Nazi uniforms, the Rangers were receiving a speed course in German weaponry.

The instructor spoke with a German accent. Many of the “Ritchie Boys” were Jewish refugees from Germany who wanted to use their knowledge of German language and culture to fight the Nazis.

“This is the first time you will hear this sound, but it will not be the last.” The instructor fired the machine gun.

A sound like fabric ripping rent the air and Clay’s soul.

Everything blurred around him. It was not the first time he’d heard that sound. And it would be the last sound he would ever hear.

At least once a week, he heard it in his recurring dream. He didn’t know whether to be impressed at the accurate detail in his dream—or to be stunned with the fresh knowledge that it would come true.

He stared at the hills in the distance until the colors became distinct again and his lungs filled with the crisp, cool air. This would be his last autumn, and he would never experience summer again. Neither would many of the men around him, but only Clay knew it for a fact.

The Rangers lined up to try their hand at the Maschinengewehr 42. In combat they might need to use German weapons.