Clash by Night by Doreen Owens Malek Page B

contents of the garbage cans.”  
    “What can you get?” Harris said to Alain. “Sticks? Blocks? What? And how much?”
    “You tell me, I get it,” Alain replied coolly.
    “We’ll both get it,” Harris said firmly.  
    “No,” Alain said curtly. “Patric and Michel go with me.”
    Harris looked at Laura, who shook her head very slightly.  
    Curel said to Harris, in French, “Let the boy do it. We can’t afford to risk your being taken. If they nab Alain it will just look like the usual harassment from the locals and we can continue with the plan another way, but if they catch you they’ll find out that something’s up. You have to stay in hiding until it’s over.”  
    Laura didn’t like the sound of this exchange. She thought she’d just heard Curel say that Alain was expendable, and she had an idea that the boy was playing for attention, trying to match Harris in style and competence. Alain had neither the years nor the training to accomplish such a feat. But they needed the explosives and there didn’t seem to be another way to get them.
    “All right,” Harris said reluctantly.
    Alain grinned triumphantly, happy with Curel’s support and the challenge to the marine’s leadership, which hadn’t been questioned up to that point. It wasn’t exactly a defeat for Harris, since they were admittedly on the same team, but it felt like a victory to Alain.  
    The men went on talking, as Laura translated mechanically whenever it was necessary. Harris’ voice, so calm, so quiet, gave no indication of the gravity of their situation. She could almost believe they were discussing the strategy in a chess match or the troop movements of an ancient infantry battle.
    But theirs was no theoretical exercise. They could all be tortured and killed for what they were doing at this very moment, never mind actually blowing up a Nazi munitions factory.
    They wouldn’t turn back from it now.  

 
    Chapter 5
     
    During the course of the next three weeks Harris and the members of Vipére planned the attack on the glass factory in meticulous detail. The American also passed on all the information he had on German bases and troop movements throughout Europe, gleaned from aerial reconnaissance and photography. Lastly, he gave them a quick course in guerilla warfare, spending hours teaching them the most efficient ways to make life difficult for the Germans.  
    August became September as they met as often as possible in the secrecy of the barn. The language barrier between the American and his French accomplices almost evaporated in the intensity of their discussions, but Laura was always on hand with help if it was needed.
    On a Tuesday evening early in September Harris knelt before a sketchpad perched on an overturned crate and said, “I’m going to show you how to rig a Mercedes jeep to explode.”
    The others moved in closer, peering over his shoulder.
    “This is the fuel tank,” he said, stabbing at the paper. “They’re all the same. If you cut the ingoing line here, at this juncture, you can bypass the engine and feed it back into the...”
    Laura lost track of what he was saying, translating automatically as one might read a book aloud but retain no impression of its meaning. Instead she studied the marine, thinking of him back in North Carolina, memorizing all of this information. Now it gushed forth in a steady stream, going to the people who could make the best use of it.
    “The trucks are a little different,” Harris said, turning the sketch to show what he meant. Laura bent to look, and he glanced up and met her eyes for a second. A brief smile flitted across his mouth before he looked down again.
    Laura continued to translate, not looking at Alain, who was staring at her. After the truck discussion they moved on to sabotaging trains. Curel described the favored method of prying up tracks to derail the cars. This had disadvantages, however; it had to be done immediately before the train’s arrival or