I haven't seen a lot of sonfictions on here, but my friend showed me "White Winter Hymnal", and then another friend (the same one who was like "Aah, yes, Richard Dawson, the original host of family feud!" said that it was supposedly based on the French Revolution and I was like French? LeBeau? So I listened to the Pentatonix cover of it like eight times and wrote this. You can find the song on Youtube or just about anywhere online, I'd imagine.

Edit, yay!

A reviewer pointed out that using lyrics from songs isn't allowed, so I replaced the lyrics with line breaks. I don't think it'll be as nice but it won't take away from the readability of the story at all, and I'll put the complete version with lyrics on Wattpad (username OldEnglishGame).

Enjoy!

LeBeau placed a plate in front of DuBois. "I hope you like it."

DuBois grinned. "Merci, mon ami. How could I not like your cooking?"

"The real question here is how you could," Newkirk snipped.

"You do not appreciate good cuisine, Anglais," LeBeau retorted. "That's why I don't bother cooking masterpieces for the likes of you anymore."

"Boys, please." Hogan held up a hand. "One war is enough already. DuBois, what brings you to our humble abode?"

"Well," DuBois quickly swallowed a mouthful. "I was wondering if my people and I might borrow your Frenchman here for tomorrow night."

"Oh? What for?"

Another mouthful. He must not have eaten in a while - eaten good French food, anyways. "Tomorrow night, we're bringing you eight men."

"Eight men? That's short notice."

"I only just received word." DuBois said. "But we need another person to come. I, Michael, and Reneaux make three, but we will split into two groups for safety, and the other two don't know the way here. I thought LeBeau would come to be both translator and tour guide."

"We don't have anything planned tomorrow, do we, Colonél?" LeBeau asked. Maybe it shouldn't, but the idea of getting out of camp and talking to another Frenchman was an exciting thought.

"Well," Hogan sighed dramatically. "I thought we might have a nice quiet night in, but I suppose you can go."

He was fully aware he was going to get teased for his delight, but LeBeau puffed up. "Merci! I will not let you down."

After DuBois had finished inhaling his meal, Kinch pulled out a faded, worn soft map of the area and, lightly in pencil, DuBois marked where LeBeau would meet them the next night. About a ten minutes' walk north of the crossroads was a small hunter's shed where they would wait for him. If he wasn't there by twenty-two hundred they'd leave without him.

"Alright, Louis." Newkirk tossed the coat back at LeBeau. "If you'd stop snagging your sleeves on things, you might not have to come crawling to me to stitch you up."

"Pierre, you think too highly of yourself." LeBeau scoffed. He was trying to darn his sock, but he kept stabbing himself. "You think I should get going?"

"This is the fifth time you've asked that in as many minutes, Louis, but…" Newkirk glanced at his watch. "Yeah, probably. Make sure the Colonel knows you're going."

"Oui." LeBeau tugged his coat on and strode to Colonel Hogan's office. "Colonél?" He knocked.

Hogan opened the door. "Yes, LeBeau, you can go now."

"I'll be back!" LeBeau spun and strode towards the tunnel.

I was following the

The snow was deep, but quickly thinned out as LeBeau entered the thick woods. It was cold enough he clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering, and jammed his hands under his arms for warmth. Still, he liked the cheery anticipation that he felt even walking through the dark shadows that made up the whole woods, save for irregular white patches between the trees.

It was pretty, he decided, even if he hated it most of the time. He wondered if he'd have liked to come to Germany ever if the war had not happened.

He found the little shed easily, and knocked softly.

The door swung open and DuBois grinned at him.

"LeBeau," He said, stepping back to let him in. "Michael and Reneaux."

Reneaux was a bigger man, in fact, the knife on his belt almost looked too small, and he grinned down at LeBeau.

Michael was much smaller, still taller than LeBeau but he had a teenaged lankiness.

"Come on." DuBois spoke in French. It was refreshing. "Let's not waste time."

DuBois lead the group, with Michael and LeBeau behind him and Reneaux at the back.

They moved quickly, careful to avoid the patches of snow and mud where they would leave footprints.

LeBeau ducked his chin into his scarf. Now that he was out here, he eagerly awaited the warm fire back at camp.

DuBois paused, and held up a hand as they neared the edge of the woods.

He pointed at a small, boxy shadow just slightly darker than the night sky. That was where they needed to go. Between the treeline and the house was a field, expansive and blanketed with crisp white snow.

He scanned the field for a long minute, one hand over his eyes as if they needed any shielding from the light that wasn't there.

Then he nodded, and stepped out. The others moved to follow suit.

As LeBeau stepped out from under the treeline, he was suddenly plunged up past his knees in snow.

He heard a bemused grunt, and then Reneaux grabbed his arm and pulled him up.

Just as LeBeau was steady again, Michael squeaked in alarm as he fell through the snow as well. Reneaux just caught him and tugged him onwards.

DuBois glanced back with an amused grin. "Reneaux, I believe you may have to carry them," He said teasingly.

"I will die first!" LeBeau hissed.

DuBois chuckled, and - a bit slowly - they went on.

Michael moved awkwardly through the snow, swinging one leg high up to get up on top of the snow, only to fall back in again and repeat the process.

"What kind of goose-step is that?" LeBeau asked.

Michael grinned impishly, shrugged, and again climbed up on top of the snow.

In the full view of the night, he looked surprisingly young. How old was he, anyways?

LeBeau wondered if he didn't want to know.

They reached the house. The woman who let them in was an older woman, with a slight stoop and a gentle smile.

"Come in," She lead them through to the living room, after glancing out the back door.

In the living room, several airman were clustered, trying to make themselves small as to not knock over any of the many picture frames and flower pots adorning the small room.

"Hi!" One said. His accent, wherever it was from, was thick. "Y'all must be our tour guides?"

Michael's eyes widened.

DuBois said. "Oui. Are you split into two groups? It's safer travelling that way."

"Oh, yeah, sure," He turned around and pointed. "We got - these four and these four."

"Good. LeBeau, Michael, you'll lead them back the way we came. Reneaux and I will go west first and make a wider circle."

"Okay. You should go first, since you'll take longer." LeBeau said.

DuBois nodded, and waved the others forward. "Come on. Bonne chance."

"Oui."

They waited several minutes after DuBois left, and then LeBeau turned to the elderly woman.

"Thank you for your hospitality, madame."

"Of course," She smiled at all of them. "Now, be safe."

"Merci, and you too."

LeBeau and Michael lead the way out.

They were almost to the treeline when Michael grabbed LeBeau's arm and pointed behind them.

LeBeau turned.

Coming up the drive to the farmhouse was a black vehicle.

There was only one party that payed visits so late at night.

"Aww, no," He heard one of the airmen say.

"LeBeau, we need to help her!" Michael pleaded.

LeBeau grabbed his arm as he started to stride back. "We would be of no help, Michael."

"We have to try, Louis!"

"We can't risk so many more lives." LeBeau said, even as the knot in his gut leapt into his throat.. "Come on. We'll do something when we get back to camp."

Michael bit his lip and nodded, and turned to follow the rest into the woods.

They didn't have any warning. Not a shout or a noise or anything.

Just sudden gunshots. The patch of snow in front of LeBeau burst into icy pieces.

"Run!" LeBeau snapped.

They ran.

It was several minutes before they slowed down.

"Were we followed?" LeBeau looked around, counted.

"Where's Michael?"

"I got him." One of the airman stepped forward.

"Oh, Mon Dieu." He breathed. "Is he alive?"

A solemn nod. "He couldn't hardly breathe, though. Passed out a minute or two ago."

LeBeau drew a breath. "Okay. We need to get back to camp."

"Easy. Easy, get him up here." Under the light, Michael was even paler than LeBeau had thought. Blood soaked through the midsection of his coat and was smeared on the front of the airman who'd carried him, and now relinquished him to Kinch and Newkirk as they carried him into Hogan's office.

"Someone go for the medic." Hogan ordered.

"Olsen already went, sir."

"Good."

Garlotti and Joseph brought the airman down into the tunnels to find a change of clothes. The others stayed up top, ringing the fireplace.

Somebody poured LeBeau a cup of coffee and he sat at the table across from Colonel Hogan, still shaking a bit, not saying anything.

"Did you leave a trail?"

"Non. We made sure of it."

Wilson came out of the Colonel's office, with Kinch and Newkirk behind him, and looked around.

"Sorry, fellas."

LeBeau ducked his head. Somebody swore.

"Colonél! LeBeau!" DuBois scrambled up the ladder, and met LeBeau's eyes. "What happened?"