The moans and gasps from inside the house continued, but out in the alley, Madeleine and I sat in silence.
In another setting, such sounds might feel erotic—but here, they spoke only of resignation. I forced a bitter smile, glanced up at the sky, and watched the stars blink indifferently. They seemed to listen to the world's primal symphony, as though they grasped some hidden truth I could not. The more I stared, the heavier my heart grew. I smoked cigarette after cigarette, leaving a small crater of butts at my feet, and silently cursed that bastard Miller to hurry up and finish.
My cigarette crater grew beneath me, a monument to wasted minutes. When the moans finally died, I rose and dusted my trousers.
Madeleine, who'd been silent until then, looked up at me with sudden clarity in her young eyes. "Thank you, Uncle," she said in her sweet, innocent voice.
I scooped her into my arms and pressed a gentle kiss to her rosy cheek. "Remember, take good care of your sister."
She nodded softly, mute again.
Moments later, Miller emerged from the building, buttoning his shirt. He froze when he saw me holding Madeleine. "You two…?"
Élise appeared behind him, exhaustion still etched on her face. Her eyes widened in horror at the sight of me cradling her sister. With a cry, she snatched Madeleine out of my arms and clutched her tightly, tears brimming in her eyes. "Madeleine—"
"I am fine, sister. This uncle is a good man!" Madeleine's soft voice reassured her.
Élise whirled on me, horror giving way to shame. She examined her sister carefully, then turned apologetically. "I'm so sorry, sir—I thought you—"
"It's okay," I said quietly. "I was just talking with Madeleine."
Élise nodded, relief flooding her face. "Madeleine told me…you said our mother in heaven is always thinking of us. And you told her to love and protect her sister." She looked at me with tearful gratitude.
Unable to contain herself, Ólise hugged Madeleine and broke into sobs so powerful the stars seemed to retreat behind scudding clouds. Miller and I averted our gazes, unwilling to witness such raw sorrow.
When we finally climbed into the jeep to return to camp, neither of us spoke. Then Miller broke the silence in a low voice—half question, half confession: "Do you think I should marry her?"
"You love her?"
He hesitated. "I…don't know. Maybe."
He pulled the jeep to the roadside and dropped his head onto the wheel in frustration. "We're at war, Miller. Even as officers, we're just as vulnerable as our men. We could die at any moment."
"I know," Miller said softly. "But leaving her here…feels wrong."
"You used to be with her. Didn't it bother you then?"
"This time is different," he groaned. "This is the first woman I've truly cared about. I regret not saving more money to give her—so she wouldn't have to turn to anyone else."
I understood then: it wasn't lust that drove Miller, but love. He'd given her every penny he had. I reached into my pocket, pulled out the remaining war stipend—three hundred dollars—and pressed it into his hand. "Take this. Give it to her."
Miller looked at me with deep gratitude. "Thank you."
He drove off; I stayed by the roadside until he returned, eyes heavy with reluctance.
"You gave it all to her?" I asked.
"All of it," he nodded.
Back at camp, the sentries recognized Miller and waved us through after a routine inspection. Miller and I parted ways, each collapsing onto our bunks, the night's events replaying in my mind. War made love seem a luxury, I thought—yet Miller's parting pledge haunted me: if he survived this war, he would return to marry her.
"God help them," I whispered into the darkness.
I only learned after the war ended that Miller's hope had been in vain. When he went back for É lise, she had already perished that brutal winter of 1944. Madeleine vanished as well—no one ever learned whether she died or was taken in by strangers. History's relentless march crushed them both.
And so the world turned inexorably toward another nightmare: the assault on Cherbourg.
Dawn crept over camp. By first light, I was standing before my company in the meeting room.
"Gentlemen," I called to my company, standing before a rough-hewn map on the wall. "Our mission is to assist the 9th Infantry Division in capturing the city hall, then break through the German defenses to destroy their coastal batteries. That will allow our battleships—Texas, Nevada, and the others—to move in close and pound the enemy's command centers."
"Will we have air and armor support?" Second Lieutenant Joanner asked, hope bright in his eyes.
"Absolutely," I replied, tapping the table for emphasis. "First, our bombers will carpet-bomb the city. Then the tanks will screen the infantry's advance. We'll have artillery support from every direction on call."
"Thank God!" my officers cheered.
"Hold on—too soon to celebrate!" I raised a hand for silence. "City fighting isn't some walkover. With massive fire support, we can shred German positions—but urban combat is a meat grinder. One slip-up and you're gone forever. And you'll never know who's your enemy—every corner could conceal a crack shot. Click," I mimed looking through a sniper scope, and the room fell silent.
As their commander, I had to balance realism with morale. Empty exhortations of "for victory!" meant nothing here. These men weren't fighting for medals—they were fighting to survive.
"You look like you're scared," I said, softening my tone. "We have six divisions encircling Cherbourg. Even the most hardened German soldier won't have the luxury of hunting just us. And remember, our role is purely supportive. We're not volunteering for suicidal charges—those they can have."
The room lightened with reluctant laughter.
"But when we move into position," I continued, voice rising, "I want every man here alert. Bring your brothers home alive! Hooyah!"
"Hooyah!" they shouted back.
"All right—let's go!"
The Allied bombers turned Cherbourg into rubble before dawn, yet the German resistance roared back like a phoenix. Their anti-aircraft guns spat fire at our bombers without pause, and flak would erupt mid-air, shredding wings and sending debris raining down like hellfire. At those moments, if you listened closely, you'd hear the Germans' guttural cries of "Sieg Heil!" echo through the ruins.
"They're besieged, cut off—and still they fight," Lieutenant Gibbs of 2nd Platoon shook his head in awe. "They're mad!"
"No," I said, exhaling slowly. "They're not fighting for conquest anymore, but for their homeland. And they'll fight to the last man—and woman, and child, and old person. We cannot afford mercy. Any resistance must be answered with overwhelming force—total annihilation."
A hush fell over the room as the weight of that vow settled on every man's shoulders. In the dawn light, we steeled ourselves for the inferno about to be unleashed upon Cherbourg—and for the hell we knew lay ahead.