The Maids of Chateau Vernet

by Steven Landry

“Do you know why he killed my men?”

  “No sir.”

  He put a hand on her shoulder, gripped her tight. Without another word, he pulled out his pistol, cocked the hammer, pointed it at the woman’s head, and pulled the trigger. He let go of her shoulder and the body slumped over onto the woman beside her.

  The other four women in the truck whimpered. When asked, each one rattled off the same information Lebeau had gathered. When he shot the fourth woman, the remaining maid jumped out of the truck and started running. She tripped over the body with the apron covering its head. Lebeau approached the woman as if he intended to restrain her.

  “No need Lebeau.” Petain aimed and shot the woman in the back as she made it to her feet. He hit her just below the right shoulder blade. After a quick examination of the pistol, he decided he needed to schedule some target practice. He would have his assistant block out some time when he got back to the office.

  “Lebeau, clean up this mess.” Petain jumped down out of the truck.

  “What should we do with the bodies?”

  Petain pulled out his kerchief and wiped the sweat off his face. It came away dotted with pink. “Bury them, burn them. I don’t care.”

  Petain headed back to his car with mud caked shoes, torn pants, and Jew blood speckling his uniform. His irritation grew.

  Returning to his office in the provincial capital of Perpignan failed to improve his mood.

  “Call my wife and tell her I’ll be late,” he said to his secretary. “And get that criminalist Locard over here, tout de suite.”

  “Yes sir,” the woman said as Petain disappeared into his spacious office.

  Emile Locard arrived ten minutes later, flushed from a brisk two block walk to Petain’s office. “You wished to see me sir?”

  “Have you heard about the escaped prisoners and murder of seven of our men?” he asked.

  “I heard nine,” Locard replied.

  “Yes, yes, seven policemen and a couple of civilian drivers returning a group of maids from Chateau Vernet." He handed Locard the four bullet casings he found near Hiram’s foxhole. “What do you make of these?”

  “High quality. Thirty caliber cartridges, but I’ll have to measure to make sure. The markings on the base are not familiar – SXP300WM. American Winchester, I suppose.”

  “The bodies will be here tonight. Dig the slugs out of them, cut them up, or whatever it is you people do with them. I don’t care, but I want you out at the ambush site at first light. The damn road should be fixed by then. Don’t even think about sleep. I need to know what I’m dealing with before I get a call from the Marshall’s office.”

  Louis Petain’s granduncle, Marshall Philippe Petain, popularly known as the Lion of Verdun, had been appointed French Prime Minister in 1940, negotiated the French surrender to the Nazis, and became head of state in unoccupied Vichy France. A report regarding the loss of seven policemen and two civilians would cross his desk in the next couple of days, followed by the news of thirty escaped Jews from Camp Joffre. The Marshall’s staff, who had seized the opportunity provided by the Germans to rid France of the Jewish lice, would look to hang someone’s hide on a wall. Captain Louis Petain planned to make damn sure the hide in question belonged to someone else.

  7

  0630 hours, Tuesday, July 7, 1942, West of Vingrau, Pyrénées-Orientales Department, Vichy France

  Hiram scratched out a crude map in the dirt beneath the towering pine trees. “Camp Joffre is about twenty kilometers by road from the harbor at Port Leucate,” Hiram said. “The docks are lightly guarded. A number of the docked cargo vessels are large enough. Should be easy to take one over. With only a few guards on duty at the camp, freeing the prisoners should be pretty simple too. The hard part comes with moving the prisoners from the camp to the dock. We’ll need to hold off any response from the camp while we make our way past the harbor defenses. Once we sail out into the Mediterranean, we’re looking at about thirty nautical miles – that’s three hours – to the nearest Spanish port. We can bribe our way ashore.”

  Danette stared at Hiram, eyes wide when she spoke. “You want to steal a ship?” Deborah translated.

  “With a large enough diversion, we have a chance,” Hiram said.

  Barbara lit up as Deborah spoke. “Like freeing the other five thousand prisoners at the camp?”

  “Exactly,” Hiram said.

  “How much time do we have?” Sarah said.

  “Not much,” Hiram said. “According to Wiseman’s source, the inmates in F and J Blocks will be moved to Drancy in mid-August.” Hiram prayed that the recent events surrounding the escape of the thirty maids wouldn’t accelerate the timetable. He planned to keep an eye on the camp.

  * * *

  Shortly after breakfast, Hiram led his thirty new recruits deeper into the wilderness. Adaptive camouflage uniforms with matching body armor and helmets replaced the delicate cotton blouses and skirts the women wore the previous day. Dress shoes were set aside in favor of hefty black boots that altered their once feminine gait. Although the location they spent their first night offered suitable cover, he wanted more distance between them and their pursuers. The new campsite he had selected rested miles from any settlements, near the abandoned village of Périllos. On the hike to their new temporary home, Hiram, with Deborah’s help, talked to his troops about maneuvering through the woods, about keeping an eye on their surroundings and on the others in the team. His unfamiliarity with this version of the world made it hard to assume anything. He couldn’t be sure if hunters moved through these woods or if wolves sought out easy prey. His mini-lessons kept them safe from French Policemen, while his eyes searched for more native predators.

  * * *

  After two hours of hiking they reached a small break in the forest. While the women rested and drank from water bottles, Hiram deployed one of his aerial drones to detect any intruders long before they became a threat. He opened up the portal and reached in. With the exception of his sniper rifle and the nine-millimeter pistols, most of his weaponry consisted of nearly silent rail guns like the M22 assault rifles – an IDF standard. Training the women in the isolation of the woods wouldn’t attract too much attention. He retrieved an M22 assault rifle for each of his would-be soldiers.

  He issued a rifle to each woman, removing the standard holographic sites since it would take several days to train the former prisoners on their proper use. Despite their light weight, the weapons seemed bulky and awkward against the thin build of most of the women. But a few of the women held the carbon fiber and steel rifles with confidence, as if today were just another day out in the field.

  The remainder of the morning was spent familiarizing the women with the weapons. Safety had been Hiram’s main concern in turning over such powerful tools to such green hands. “Don’t point a weapon at anything you don’t intend to kill,” he told them over and over again, with Deborah by his side translating. “Don’t put your finger on the trigger unless you are ready to fire.” They listened well and learned quickly. By lunchtime, Hiram began to trust his new team without much hesitation.

  It took most of the afternoon for the women to become comfortable with the weapons. The M22’s quiet design and minimal recoil certainly helped. After the initial how-to on proper loading, Hiram allowed for a short period of target practice. He walked behind them, Deborah at his side, watching them at work. Firing. Reloading. Firing again. A few of the women fired tight shot groups after only a handful of rounds. By the time he made the call to end the exercise, he had identified the best shots among them: Ester, Lea, Frieda, Ellen, and even Danette. Hiram intended to test their skill. He wanted all thirty of these women, otherwise inexperienced in combat, to be able to protect themselves. Even if they presented little skill in the initial session, he needed them all to know how to put down an assailant. He needed to make sure Danette made it out of this mess alive.

  Hiram was second in line as they resumed their hike through the woods, with Sarah just a ste
p behind him. The short woman, Barbara took point in front of him. While her small stature made her an asset in that position – he thought her more likely to see someone before they saw her – the loaded weapon she carried was the real reason Hiram kept her in sight. He guided her whenever they came to another branch of the deer trails they followed.

  Hiram’s C2ID2 held topographical maps of Europe, circa 2050. During his long journey from Wah to Rivesaltes he had learned to compare and contrast the images sent by his aerial drones with the maps, picking his way past man-made and natural obstacles. On occasion he missed one.

  Barbara signaled a halt and everyone crouched down, weapons at the ready. Hiram made his way forward to see what had spooked her. A steep embankment that led down to a dirt road below blocked their path. A heavy overhead canopy of oak and maple branches prevented the drone from detecting the obstruction.

  He looked up and down the road. Avoiding the exposed climb required a long walk around the embankment. He decided to take a chance. It would be a worthwhile training exercise.

  Barbara crossed first. She set up an overwatch position in the woods on the far side of the road to match his own on the near side. One by one, the women clambered down to the road, then scampered across into the forest. Twenty of his soldiers made it across when Hiram heard the sound of a motorcycle.

  Ester stood exposed at the bottom of the small cliff. She flattened herself into the shrubs along the roadside as the bike came into view. Too late.

  Two French soldiers rode the motorcycle, the driver and a passenger in the sidecar. It roared up the road, then skidded to a halt adjacent to Ester’s position. Hiram didn’t hesitate. He shot both men before they even dismounted.

  Concerned that a larger convoy followed the motorcycle, Hiram signaled his soldiers to “Stay down.” He cursed as he flicked an icon on his C2ID2 to switch the drone’s camera from visible to infrared. Infrared made it more difficult to spot natural obstacles, but he missed the cycle’s approach because of that mistake.

  The display remained devoid of any other man-made heat sources. He reassured himself that any others nearby would have revealed themselves or fled after he killed the two soldiers.

  Hiram turned to the remaining women arrayed along the top of the embankment. “Let’s continue the crossing. Frieda, help Ester move that motorcycle into the woods.” Deborah interpreted his orders and crossed, followed by Hiram. Now he had two dead soldiers and a motorcycle with sidecar to address. The soldiers would be reported missing, and soon. He removed his pack, laid it open on the ground, and activated the portal.

  “Deborah, give me a hand. The rest of you keep watch.” They wrestled the soldiers’ bodies through the portal, then turned their attention to the motorcycle. The heavy bike was too big to fit through the portal without first breaking it down into much smaller pieces. Hiram decided to push it further into the woods. The uneven terrain made the move slow but with Deborah at his side, they managed to get the motorcycle out of view from the road. As an added precaution, Hiram covered the bike with a camouflage net from his pod. After deactivating the portal, Hiram lingered over the bag. He scolded himself for his mistake.

  Deborah put a hand on his shoulder. “We should keep moving,”

  * * *

  Barbara continued to walk point, followed by Hiram and Sarah. Deborah followed ten meters behind Sarah, close to Hiram in case he needed a translator. Danette walked behind Deborah. Ester took up the rear, almost three hundred meters back. From the moment he had handed her the M22, she seemed the most comfortable.

  “Your pod and the weapons inside are beyond my comprehension,” Sarah said. “The existence of such things is a physical impossibility.”

  “And yet they exist,” Hiram said.

  “Well yes, but how? Where do they come from?”

  Hiram expected this question and had formulated an answer reasonably close to the truth, but decades off in timing. “Have you ever heard of the Skunk Works?”

  Sarah remained silent for a moment. “I don’t think so. Of course, military equipment like yours probably isn’t presented in the university’s physics texts just yet.”

  “Were you a student?”

  Sarah stopped, reached out a hand to Hiram. “Sarah Mandelson. I used to teach physics at the University in Paris.”

  The greeting shocked him out of focus. Hiram shook the woman’s hand. Once he let go, she returned her attention to the woods around her and continued walking. Hiram did the same.

  “So, tell me about this Skunk Works,” she continued in English.

  “It’s an American weapons development facility – top secret. I’ve been told they employ the best scientists of our time.”

  “Like Albert Einstein?” she asked.

  “People like him, although I’m not sure if he’s involved himself. Oppenheimer is the guy in charge.” In 1942, the Manhattan Project was still in its infancy and he doubted Sarah had any knowledge of it.

  “J. Robert Oppenheimer? The professor from Berkeley? I met him once,” Sarah said. “An astrophysicist, isn’t he?”

  Hiram winced. He had no intention of building a myth on unstable ground. “Maybe. You have to forgive me. I’m a simple soldier of fortune. I know how to make the portal work and access the pod, not how it actually functions.”

  “Its resources seem to be limitless,” she replied.

  “Essentially, they are. The pod resets itself each time I open the portal, unless I tell it not to. Every time I enter, the weapons magazines and larders are full. It’s quite handy, unless you get stuck inside.” Hiram remembered his growing panic right after the Wah incident.

  “Does that happen often?” Sarah said.

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “Only happened to me once. You’ve got about six hours before you start getting really sick. Stay beyond nine and you can kiss your ass goodbye.”

  “Too bad we can’t all travel through the portal to somewhere else,” Sarah said.

  “It would certainly make life easier if we could.” Hiram shrugged. “No sense worrying about it I guess. We have to make the best of the tools we have, and the pod is a quite useful tool.” But will it be enough?

  “Except you are the only one who can use it.” Sarah ducked under a tree branch as they walked. “If anything happens to you, we’ll have to kiss all of our,” she paused as if trying to find the right words, “all of our asses goodbye.”

  8

  0800 hours, Thursday, July 9, 1942, south of Périllos, Pyrénées-Orientales Department, Vichy France

  “Set the device by depressing the switch.” He handed the C2ID2 auxiliary display to Ellen. “When the sensor detects a change in the surrounding environment you’ll be notified here.” He waved his hand over the device and the monitor chirped. On the screen, a small red dot flashed in correlation to their current location on the map. Several green indicators were spread out on the view, all idle.

  “What about this one?” Ellen pointed to the blue dot.

  “The blue dot is the location of the C2ID2 monitor. The green ones are surveillance bots set up around camp. You want to make sure you and the monitor are well out of range before setting off one of the charges.” He sent Ellen off with the monitor and Rosette and Barbara off with additional simulated satchel charges.

  Deborah sat down on the ground beside Hiram. She handed him a protein bar – this one labeled blackened tuna. He cringed, recalling the last time he’d tasted the so-called tuna, but accepted the snack. “They are learning well?”

  “And quick. I thought the technology would be a problem. Most have taken to it easily.” He took a bite of the protein bar. “Emma and Justine’s ability to pick up the maintenance procedures on the combat robots surprised me.”

  “They both worked as forced laborers in a Vichy munitions factory before being sent to Camp Joffre,” Deborah said. “Those places are dangerous. The foremen probably made them fix the machines themselves rather than risk Gentile lives to a random spark.”r />
  “Well they both know how to turn a wrench, which could come in handy down the road.”

  “Do you think we’ll be ready when the time comes?”

  “I am amazed at how far they’ve come already.”

  “What did you expect? You’ve given us a reason to fight. If not for our lives, then for those of our loved ones. Now we have the means as well. We certainly don’t feel helpless.” She leaned over and kissed Hiram on the cheek. Then she was up again, moving, distributing high protein, high carbohydrate snack packs to her fellow soldiers.

  He touched his cheek. Hiram had been at war too long - even before this time travel incident. How long had he been fighting? How many years had he been at it? He remembered a girl back home, the one he’d seen blown to bits by civil unrest. She had been the one to suggest he join the damned service in the first place. She had once kissed him like that.

  Soon, these women would be reunited with their families and Hiram could focus on what to do about his situation. Maybe he could take a chance at a normal life here in 1942. He laughed to himself. He was a soldier. He didn’t have time for such things – not now.

  * * *

  1930 hours, Friday, July 10, 1942, Pyrénées-Orientales Department, Vichy France

  Hiram’s CDID2 chimed. He pulled up the infrared view. One of the drones detected an intruder four hundred meters north of the campsite. An armed man headed straight towards their campsite, moving with purpose.

  Hiram switched to the daylight camera. The man carried a primitive shotgun and he appeared to be tracking something. A hunter!

  His soldiers provided an audience. They had heard the chime, knew what it meant. Deborah joined him, translating for the group.

  “A wolf?” Rosette said.

  “No. We’ve got company. Turn down the lights.”

  Frieda made it to the small control unit at the center of the camp and turned down all the surrounding glow lights. Hiram watched the display. The hunter paused when the lights went out, then continued at an even quicker pace.