La Forteresse

René and Armand lived in France in the 1930s and were best friends.

They’d been close friends since their early days of primary school. Growing up just houses away from each other, the two played together every day after school, rushing through their chores in order to have more time for fun. They spent hours slinging stones at squirrels and fishing in the creek on the outskirts of their village.

When they were in middle school, Armand and René built a tree fort in the wooded area behind Armand’s house. Every afternoon was spent dragging wood planks from behind the shed at the back of the property to the massive oak tree they’d chosen to build their fort in. After several weeks, with Armand’s father pitching in when he could, the fort was finished. The boys hung a rope ladder to climb up to it until Armand’s father surprised them with a sturdy one made from wood scraps he had laying around.

The boys christened their fort La Forteresse…The Fortress.

The Fortress was the first place the boys raced to as soon as school was dismissed, often staying until just before dark, when René would have to run home–which was just down the block–before the sun set and he got a scolding from his mother. During afternoon classes, when the professeur would go on forever, Armand and René would lean over their desks and whisper to each other, “After this…La Forteresse.” When they became restless during Sunday mass, one would slip a note to the other under the pew, with the scribbled promise: After this…La Forteresse.

Years passed. The boys grew older, fawned over girls, learned to drive, and passed their high school final exams together. They still visited the fort, even making a few repairs when a storm tore off several boards, but afternoons were now spent playing football in the street and working part-time jobs after school. 

World War II came knocking on France’s door with the invasion of Poland in 1939 by Nazi Germany.

By early 1940, France was fighting to hold back invading troops. For the first time since childhood, René and Armand were forced to go their separate ways. They met one last time in their childhood fort. René talked about his plans for college after the war and Armand confessed that he planned to marry his sweetheart, Juliane, as soon as they returned.

“Someday, René, we will take our sons to fish together like you and I used to do,” Armand said. He looked around at the rough boards of the old fort. “And we’ll fix this place up for them too.”

René smiled over at his old friend. “Yes, Armand, I like that idea.”

Within weeks, René was recruited into the Deuxiéme Bureau, the French military intelligence service, gathering information through the use of photographic reconnaissance that was then shared with allied troops for flight missions against German forces.

Armand became a fighter pilot with the French Air Force, piloting a Morane-Saulnier MS.406 fighter aircraft for missions against the enemy. His plane was one of the first of many to be shot down when Germany invaded France. René learned that Armand was missing. He was believed to have either been captured by the Germans or had found refuge somewhere. René hoped the latter was true.

René searched earnestly for his friend, utilizing every intelligence tool that he had access to in order to locate where Armand’s plane went down and where he may have been taken if he had been captured. He refused to believe Armand was dead. 

Five months later, a ragged band of rescued prisoners was brought to the military tent hospital in Cherbourg, France. As he had done for months, René made his way to Cherbourg to see if Armand was among those brought in. He didn’t want to view the dead that was also carried in–afraid he would be wrong and Armand’s lifeless face would haunt him forever–but forced himself to walk around to the back lot to search anyway. He was relieved that none of the dead soldiers were Armand. 

Making his way into the large hospital tent, where over a hundred men lay on cots or on blankets strewn across the dirt floor, his eyes swept over the scene. Shadows lingered in the far corners of the tent where injured soldiers filled every available space. Men, broken both in body and spirit, emaciated and tattered, stared back at him with hollow expressions. René searched the faces before him. None were Armand. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or weep. 

Looking over the men once more, René spoke the only words of comfort he could offer, “The war cannot last forever, my brothers. I pray that you will all make it home soon.” 

His chest laden with grief, René pushed aside the heavy tent flaps to leave. But before he could take his first step, a raspy voice from the farthest corner of the room called out to him. The words at once stirred René’s heart, ushering in a flood of memories from boyhood, of carefree days of youth.

“After this, my friend…La Forteresse… Yes?” 

Armand.

René turned around and watched his friend as he stood and balanced himself on a cot in one of the corners of the tent, supported on both sides by two other wounded soldiers. Even battered and skeletal from the ravages of war, he could not deny that it was him. He was not ashamed of the tears that filled his eyes as he bellowed back his reply.

“Yes, my friend. After this!”