On August 23, 1944, Adolf Hitler issued an order to the new commanding General of Paris, Dietrich von Choltitz.  This order set forth Hitler's final decision on the fate of Paris.

Paris must not fall into the hands of the enemy, or it if does, he must find there nothing but a field of ruins.

For the last four years, Pierre Dumay has fought with the French Resistance against the hated Germans.  He has learned how to make the Germans pay for the deaths of his brother and mother.  Now fate has put him in the position where he must work with a German general to save Paris.

PROLOGUE

On August 23, 1944 Adolf Hitler’s Supreme Headquarters in East Prussia issued an order to the new commanding General of Paris, Dietrich von Choltitz. This order set forth Hitler’s final decision on the fate of Paris.

Paris must not fall into the hands of the enemy, or if it does,

he must find there nothing but a field of ruins.

Chapter 1

Wednesday, August 9, 1944, 9:00 a.m., en route from Compiègne to Paris, France

Pierre Dumay climbed down from the old Renault truck in front of the Compiègne Bakery just as the black Horch sped by. The car splashed him with muddy water from puddles left by the heavy rain of the night before. He barely got a glimpse of the German officer inside before the staff car was out of sight, heading southwest toward Paris.

“Mon Dieu!” Pierre wiped a muddy hand on his trousers. “You’ll pay for this,” he promised the unknown German.

He cursed as he remembered four years earlier. Only twelve years old at the time, Pierre had been forced to watch as a German firing squad shot his older brother Henri and other men in the village in reprisal for a German soldier’s death. Even today his breathing stopped while the terrible scene played over in his mind – the way his mother tried to shield Henri, the way they both fell while the rifles cracked and echoed.

“You’ll pay for this,” Pierre again repeated the vow he had silently made that day.

“You’ll pay,” he had promised the Germans. Now he wondered would he always be looking at the faces of German soldiers, hoping to identify those riflemen? After four years, they had all begun to look alike – fierce and evil. And he hated each one.

The Germans had occupied his village of Compiègne for over four years, and Pierre felt it would never end. The Occupation had made it necessary for shop owners such as the village baker to sell to the German soldiers, although at greatly deflated prices. Pierre would not have to scramble to find loose chickens in the field, or eat almost rotten vegetables if his aunt could buy food at those prices.

Since the Occupation began, Pierre’s aunt did not have the money to buy him new clothes. She had lengthened the hem of his pants as he grew. She traded with neighbors when she could no longer alter the clothes to fit his growing frame. Fortunately, he had grown tall enough now to wear Henri’s clothes. Shoes were still a problem. Pierre looked down at his worn pair of boots. He glanced down the road toward where the black Horch had traveled, and slammed his hand against the side of the truck.

“One day, you’ll pay.”

Pierre entered the bakery to pick up the bread for the daily delivery to the Hotel Meurice in Paris. Bread from the Compiègne Bakery was in great demand. The German army always appropriated the best food for their troops.

He spat in disgust at the sign in the bakery window: Deutsch hier gesprochen. Then he reflected on what he had done. He must not condemn the sign. Most of his countrymen avoided businesses that advertised “German Spoken Here”. But Monsieur Boucher’s sign was intended to humor the Germans and distract from his work with the Resistance forces.

Ding! Ding! The tinkle of the bakery’s bell momentarily brightened Pierre’s spirits, and the aroma of baking bread started the juices flowing in his mouth. He hadn’t taken time for breakfast.

“Bonjour, Pierre,” the genial baker said.

“Bonjour, Monsieur Boucher.”

“I have a huge delivery for you today. The new German commander has established his headquarters at the Hotel Meurice, and he must have a big staff – or a big belly.”

The baker laughed at his own joke. Pierre thought about the black Horch that had splashed him and wondered if the officer he glimpsed inside worked for the new General.

“I made a joke, Pierre. Why don’t you laugh?”

“I was thinking about Nicole, how hard her job will be in the hotel kitchen.” Nicole, his eighteen-year-old sister, had been forced to become a cook at the hotel. She was taken at gunpoint, along with several other villagers, to work for the Germans in Paris. Although he was able to see her briefly on his deliveries, he worried constantly about her safety.

Monsieur Boucher whispered, “She can listen to the Germans talking plans with the new General at dinner. A little wine, a full belly, talk-talk, you know? Then she tells us, yes?”

Pierre stiffened and nodded once. He knew the risk Nicole would face if the Germans discovered her passing information to the French Resistance members in their village. The firing squad’s volley still echoed daily in his memories.

Pierre carried the large bundles of bread wrapped in newspapers outside where he placed them on shelves in the back of the Renault truck When he had finished loading, Pierre headed down the same road that the black Horch had traveled earlier.

He drove by the large Royallieu transit camp encircled by barbed wire that held many political prisoners and Jews. Some of their Resistance members were there and faced an uncertain future. In the last two years, a steady flow of people had been shipped east by train. No one knew where they went. The Resistance guessed that more than 57,000 people had simply vanished.

After he entered the forest, he drove past the old railroad car where the Germans had surrendered to the French in 1918. The villagers had built a Glade of Armistice and an Alsatian monument to commemorate the occasion. In 1940 the German Führer, Adolf Hitler, had forced the French to sign their surrender in the same railroad car as an act of humiliation. Now, the red and white flags of the Reich, with their black Swastikas, fluttered from the Alsatian monument. The Swastikas now flew from every high place the Germans could find to hang their flag. These oppressive banners served as a constant visual reminder that the Germans were everywhere.

Pierre drove on the picturesque Canal de l’Ourq route along the Ourq Canal. He watched a young couple sauntering hand in hand along the canal, seemingly oblivious to others around them, even the German guards patrolling the canal.

How could people be happy at such a time as this?

He followed the wooded highway, dodging potholes and horse-drawn wagons, and arrived in the center of Paris later that day.

* * *

Wednesday, August 9, 1944, 11:30 a.m., Paris, France

In Paris, Pierre had to wait at an intersection as a Nazi brass band, playing the German song Preussens Glorie, marched by. To save gas, he turned off the ignition. A battalion of soldiers marched with the band and made their daily circle around the Arc de Triomphe. The soldiers then marched down the Champs-Elysées to the elegant octagonal square of the Place de la Concorde near the Hotel Meurice.

Parisians on the boulevard ignored the parade and the strains of “Prussian Glory” fell on deaf ears. People appeared to be going about their normal daily activities although German troops were on every corner. Pierre waited until the parade passed, and then cranked the engine. He left this sweeping view of the Champs-Elysées, turned down toward the Musée du Louvre, and on to the hotel. More red and white flags with black Swastikas fluttered from the buildings along the way.

At the Hotel Meurice, Pierre found many German soldiers standing in front of the building shouldering their rifles. He stopped the truck and watched as a German officer opened the door of another black Horch, a car used by many German officers.

“Herr General Dietrich von Choltitz,” the officer announced in a loud voice as the stocky General emerged from the car, decorated in gold braid and medals. He wore a monocle in his right eye. The hotel staff stood silently as Herr General Dietrich von Choltitz and his entourage passed them on the steps to the entrance.

Pierre eased the truck into the alley behind the hotel. When he parked the truck, one of the German guards came to the driver’s window, leveled a gun at Pierre’s face.

“Halt!” the guard greeted him with the usual harsh order used by all German soldiers. It was always a prelude to an interrogation.

Although his heart was in his throat, Pierre pointed to the back of the truck and said, “Bread for Herr General and his staff.”

The guard walked to the back of the truck and opened the door. He pulled a crusty loaf of bread from one of the bundles, sniffed it appreciatively. “Gut.” He returned to the driver’s window, still munching on fresh bread, and allowed Pierre to begin unloading the truck.

When Pierre entered the hotel kitchen, the pungent aroma of spices reminded him of the wonderful meals he had in his mother’s kitchen. He found Nicole standing at a large gas range in the kitchen, stirring a steaming pot of noodles. The hotel’s dishwasher, Marcel, up to his elbows in soapy water, was washing dishes in a large sink.

“Bonjour, Nicole,” Pierre said, placing the bread on a worktable. He nodded a greeting at Marcel.

Surprised, Nicole turned from the stove and hugged her brother tightly. “You know about the new General?” she whispered.

“I know,” he replied softly.

They quickly stepped apart when a German soldier entered the kitchen and ordered, “Herr General will expect a full course dinner delivered to his suite in thirty minutes.”

Nicole nodded, bit her lip and put an anxious hand to her throat. “I’ll never be done in thirty minutes,” she moaned under her breath. She froze when she realized the soldier had not left but had moved toward her. Her retreat cut off by the stove, she held her breath when the soldier stopped next to her. He caressed her face, and ran his finger over her lower lip.

“You are beautiful, Fräulein,” he said, stroking her auburn hair. “Can you cook?”

Nicole nodded again and tears welled up in her blue eyes.

Hot anger filled Pierre and he balled up his right fist. If he killed him here, could he hide the body in the Renault?

Just then a senior German officer entered the kitchen, and ordered, “Come with me, now!”

“Ja,” the soldier replied, snapping to attention.

“Herr General’s dinner will be ready in a half hour, sir,” Nicole said, as she quickly moved out of the soldier’s reach and started preparing a tray. The Germans left and for a moment, there was only the sound of bubbling noodles.

Abruptly Nicole broke the silence. She shot a mischievous glance at her brother and said, “I’ll make a cream sauce to disguise yesterday’s vegetables, then pour them over the noodles. There’s some cold chicken I can heat up.” ierre hugged his sister again. “Stay out of that soldier’s way. Hide here in the kitchen. Have a waiter deliver the tray,” he cautioned. “I’ll see you next week. Perhaps I’ll have some word from Father by then.”

Nicole nodded. “Give Aunt Marie my love. Au revoir.”

“Au revoir,” Pierre whispered. “I am afraid for you. Be careful,” he said again.