Ollie inched forward, then stopped. At the far corner of the airfield, a sentry was walking the perimeter. A machine gun hung from his shoulder. His hand was tethered to a German shepherd.

Oh, brother.

He scanned the area. At the corner of the field, the ground sloped sharply upward to a group of sagging pines. If he could get there, he’d have an elevated view of the runways, enabling him to get an accurate inventory of the aircraft. But he’d be right next to the fence and likely to be seen when the sentry rounded the corner. At the very least, the dog would pick up his scent. After all, he reeked of sweat, and it was a good thing the wind was blowing toward him; otherwise, he might have already been detected.

As he was about to crawl back into the woods, he heard a shout. The sentry snapped to attention and extended his arm in a salute. An officer, given the curved shape of his cap, approached the sentry. The dog sat on its haunches like a garden statue.

Ollie hesitated. The officer conversed with the sentry. A minute passed. He glanced at the spot at the corner of the field—twenty, perhaps thirty yards away. Rather than waste another second, Ollie crawled forward. He buried the pain in his shoulder and ankle, and he reached his destination. When he looked up, he saw that the officer had departed. And the sentry was rounding the fence.

He quickly counted aircraft on the first runway. Then the second.

The sentry pressed forward. The dog sniffed the ground, its shoulder blades flexed under its thick brown coat.

He counted the remaining aircraft, hoping he had an accurate inventory of the airfield. And as he crept into the forest, the dog barked.

Shit. He tripped and caught himself with his crutch. A spasm shot through his ankle.

Another bark. Louder.

Ollie imagined the sentry releasing the dog, now galloping toward him with sharp canine teeth. At any moment, he expected the dog to pounce on his back. Chew the skin from his arms. Maul his face. His respiration surged. He hobbled forward, the pressure torturing his leg.

An airplane engine sputtered. Propeller blades buzzed, muting the crackle of pine needles beneath his feet. As he reached the railroad tracks, he noticed that the dog had stopped barking. He hoped that it had only been irritated by the plane preparing to take off. But he wasn’t sticking around to find out. He crept through the woods, determined to get the intelligence to Susan.

CHAPTER 35 - AIRAINES, FRANCE

CHAPTER 35

AIRAINES, FRANCE

“Where’ve you been, Yank?” Boar said, as Ollie entered the cottage.

Ollie placed Duchess, curled into a feathery ball inside her cage, onto the table. He fell into a chair and wiped sweat from his face.

Madeleine, stirring a pot of boiled cabbage, put down her spoon and exchanged it for a cigarette.