The Battle for Normandy

The truck rattled violently as it sped down the road, bouncing the four boys inside like loose marbles. Their hearts pounded. The Nazi officer sitting across from them, his face sharp and cold, studied them with piercing eyes.

Zander clenched his fists. Was this the end? Had they just escaped one danger only to run straight into another?

Then, in a hushed but urgent voice, the officer muttered in broken English with a strong French accent: "Stay quiet. Do as I say. We are not safe yet."

Zander blinked. Caleb, sharp as ever, caught on first. "He’s one of us," he whispered.

The man nodded. "You boys have no idea how lucky you are. My name is Captain Louis Marchand. I work with the French Resistance. Now listen closely—we’re going straight into the heart of the war. If you want to survive, you must follow my lead."

Asher, ever the skeptic, narrowed his eyes. "Why should we trust you?"

Marchand’s mouth twisted in a grim smile. "Because the Nazis would not have saved you. They would have killed you."

Zander exchanged a glance with his friends. They had no choice.

The boys were given new identities. By the next morning, they were no longer Polish escapees. They were homeless French orphans, street rats overlooked by soldiers. They prowled the ruins of Normandy, slipping past checkpoints, eavesdropping on conversations, and memorizing troop formations.

Leif, always eager to lighten the mood, whispered, "So we’re spies now? Do we get cool hats and sunglasses?"

Caleb smirked. "I think blending in is the whole point, Leif."

Asher crouched behind a crumbling wall, peering at German officers huddled around a map. "Zander, you seeing this? They’re talking about gun emplacements overlooking the beaches."

Zander nodded. "We need to get this info back to Marchand. Fast."

Caleb tugged on Zander’s sleeve. "Wait. There’s more. Look—" He pointed at a ruthless-looking officer giving orders, his voice cold as steel.

Zander’s blood ran cold. Major Reinhardt. The same Nazi officer who had led the raid back in Poland.

Leif gulped. "That guy looks like he doesn’t have a ‘nice’ setting."

Zander turned away. "Come on. We’ve got work to do."

The sun rose on June 6, 1944. The first explosions rocked the shore. The Allies had arrived.

The boys scrambled through the chaos. Gunfire rattled through the air. The streets of Normandy became a battlefield as soldiers poured in from the sea. But the first wave was struggling. The Germans had the high ground. Machine guns tore through Allied forces.

Zander’s heart pounded. "We have to do something!"

"But what?" Asher shouted over the noise. "We’re just kids!"

Caleb’s eyes darted around. Then—he saw it. A German radio post.

"If we can cut their communications, the Allies will have the upper hand!" he yelled.

Zander grinned. "Now you’re thinking like a spy. Let’s go!"

The boys sprinted through the wreckage, dodging soldiers, weaving through alleyways. Smoke filled the air. Caleb led them to the radio station, hidden in an old church.

Leif poked his head in. "Uh… there are two armed guards in there. And we have… nothing. Great plan, guys."

Asher smirked. "Not nothing. We have a distraction."

Leif raised an eyebrow. "Oh no. I don’t like where this is going."

Minutes later, Leif waltzed straight into the station, barefoot and wild-eyed.

"PLEASE HELP ME!" he wailed in perfect, pitiful French. "My grand-mère’s house is on fire! I don’t know what to do!" He sobbed dramatically, clutching his chest.

The guards, momentarily stunned, exchanged glances. "Why would we care" one demanded.

"Because this building is on fire too! Flames everywhere! It’s terrible!" Leif wailed.

The moment the soldiers stepped outside, Zander and Asher struck. A quick kick to the back of the knees, a shove against the wall, and the guards collapsed. Caleb rushed in, grabbed a knife from the table, and sliced the radio wires.

Zander grinned. "Boom. No more communication."

Just then—

BOOM!

The door exploded inward. Major Reinhardt stood in the doorway.

Smoke swirled. Soldiers stormed the church. Caleb tackled Leif, dragging him behind cover. Asher grabbed a fallen rifle.

Zander stood frozen. Major Reinhardt’s icy blue eyes locked onto him.

"You," the Nazi growled.

Zander spun on his heel and bolted—but hands grabbed him from behind. A soldier tackled him.

"ZANDER!" Caleb screamed.

The boys rushed forward, but it was too late. The Nazis dragged Zander away.

Reinhardt smirked. "One rat caught. The rest will follow."

Then—

The doors slammed shut.

TO BE CONTINUED…