The Maids of Chateau Vernet

by Steven Landry

  “Kak,” Hiram said. Shit.

  Deborah said, “What do we do?”

  “We don’t take any chances.” On Hiram’s signal, the women assumed their preplanned defensive positions around the perimeter of the campsite as they had during the previous day’s exercise. Hiram found a spot along the hunter’s presumed path and waited with his Taser in one hand, pistol in the other. He hoped to take the man alive and decide what to do with him later.

  As the hunter passed Hiram’s location, the unmistakable zip-zip of an M22 rail gun cut through the air. The hunter spun around on impact, blood blossoming from his chest. Further along the path, almost hidden from his line of sight, Barbara knelt under a low hanging branch.

  “He would betray us,” she said, her weapon now lax in her arms. “We must save our families.”

  * * *

  1935 hours, Wednesday, July 15, 1942, Pyrénées-Orientales Department, Vichy France

  Barbara sat close to the heater. Three other women, Danette among them, sat nearby as well. They spoke to one another quietly. Hiram made out a few of the words, though the topic of their discussion eluded him.

  After the incident with the hunter, Hiram doubted his judgment in training all of the women with weaponry. The look in Barbara’s eyes after she had taken the shot concerned him. He told himself fear forced her to pull the trigger.

  They had buried the French hunter four days ago in a subtly marked grave about a kilometer from camp. Each of his soldiers gathered around and offered prayers for the man who now lay beneath the dirt. Barbara’s prayer seemed sincere. Still, her eyes worried him.

  Deborah shot out of the woods behind him, out of breath. She crouched next to him and lifted the sixth-generation night vision goggles away from her eyes. “I wish I had these when I was a kid. I could have been the cache-cache champion of the village.”

  “Cache-cache?”

  “Hide and seek.”

  “And the others?” he asked without taking his eyes from the four women seated around the heater.

  “We surrounded the camp. They’ll be popping up-” She paused a moment, then said, “Now.” Four women walked into the camp, surrounding those by the heater.

  “Did you find the mark?” Hiram said.

  Deborah pulled out a surveillance sensor Hiram had hidden before the exercise began. About an hour ago, he sent the women out in search of the sensor with only the night vision gear and a pre-programmed map of the area around the camp. He monitored their progress on the C2ID2.

  “Good work,” he said, not taking his eyes off Barbara.

  “Want to know what they talk about?” Deborah said.

  Hiram looked at her, the flush of her cheeks obvious even in the pale glow of the lights. He nodded.

  “They miss their families,” she said. “Sounds like mostly their husbands. Barbara said she would give anything to hear him snoring in her ear once more.”

  “You’re joking.”

  She shook her head. “Danette lost her husband well before this hell started. Ellen’s husband had a heart attack when the police came and rounded them up. Barbara’s husband disappeared from the camp. At least that’s what she heard.”

  “And Rosette?”

  “Rosette won’t talk about it.”

  Hiram touched Deborah’s hand as she passed him the sensor. “What about you?”

  She giggled, almost childlike. The adrenaline still pumped through her from the recent game of hide-and-seek. “No husband for me. My father tried to arrange a marriage once. Complete disaster. He didn’t try that again.”

  He tried not to laugh. “Not the marrying type?”

  “I don’t plan on being an old maid if that’s what you’re asking. One day I suppose.” She dug something out from under her fingernail and flicked it aside.

  After a moment, Deborah took the C2ID2 from Hiram. This particular unit spent time in everyone’s hands. “Is the drone still grounded?”

  “Yup. Fog this morning, wind this afternoon. Feels like we’ve got a storm moving in now.”

  “What about him?” She pointed to the small recon robot. The women decided to name him Souri, or mouse, after seeing how he fit into tight places.

  “Too far away. He’ll never be able to cover the distance before we need to move in.”

  “Then we pray for clear skies tomorrow.” She put her hand on his for a moment, then stood, pocketing the surveillance sensor. “I’ll go prep for the next group of seekers.”

  Deborah flipped down the goggles and took off into the darkness.

  Laughter had replaced the serious conversation going on around the heater. Barbara turned to Hiram, smiled, and fell right back into the discussion.

  9

  0915 hours, Thursday, July 16, 1942, Perpignan, Pyrénées-Orientales Department, Vichy France

  Captain Petain sat at the head of the polished mahogany conference table, sipping an espresso as Emile Locard organized his presentation. To his right sat Lieutenant Lebeau and on his left Officer Thibult, one of the officers who had been at the scene. He wondered about the reliability of Locard’s report given his oft-expressed distaste for the government’s collaboration in the Nazi-ordered roundup of the Jews and Gypsies in the Free Zone. Despite Petain’s distaste for the man, he might provide information of use.

  Petain knew better than to resist. With his granduncle running the country, his potential for advancement remained unlimited. He followed his orders and pushed the men beneath him to do the same.

  So far, his men had found no trace of the escaped maids. A pair of soldiers had been reported missing, but their disappearance seemed disconnected from the missing women. Probably passed out drunk somewhere, or deserted. His team had visited every inhabited building in the area since the two failed to report for duty, still nothing. Over the past few months, his men gained unparalleled experience in search and seizure after the Nazi-inspired pogrom that tore through his quiet town. This little woman hunt should have been easy, simple.

  “On with it,” Petain said before taking another sip, the small cup uncomfortable in his large hand.

  “Well sir,” Locard said. “The three men in the command car died instantly, a result of the explosive device detonating under the vehicle. Corporal Leveque died two days later from injuries sustained in the same blast. Three of your men and one of the drivers were shot with thirty caliber rounds and I’d presume all shot by the same rifle.” He slid a small manila envelope to the side.

  “Why do you say that?” Petain asked.

  “Two reasons, sir. First, you reported that you found all four casings in the same foxhole, and second, the striations on both the cartridges and the slugs themselves display similar characteristics.”

  Petain nodded.

  “This is where it gets interesting.” He picked up one of the small envelopes and dumped the contents into his hand. “Patrolman Leblanc and one of the hired drivers were killed with multiple nine-millimeter shots like this.” He held up one of the slugs.

  “These little fellows are unlike anything I’ve ever seen. You see, they have fins. Implies they exited a smoothbore machine gun, not a rifled weapon. Still, they struck with amazing power and tore the two men apart. I found no crimp point for the cartridge casing and we found no used casings on the ground. We’re dealing with a new type of weapon here.”

  Petain glanced into his now empty cup. “What about the tracks I found?”

  Locard tapped his finger on a piece of paper before him. “Based on the location of Patrolman Leblanc and the driver in comparison to the tracks, and the location of the foxhole relative to the stopped trucks,” he stopped for a moment considering the drawing. “My guess: the mysterious nine-millimeter weapon was mounted on a cart of some kind, the depth of the impression implying it’s quite heavy. And, not so easy to hide.”

  “A second man operated the weapon?” asked Lieutenant Lebeau.

  “Perhaps, though the only additional shoe prints found at the scene belonged to women
. The second man may have ridden in the cart, meaning it’s self-propelled.”

  “The prisoners we caught didn’t speak of another man, or of a vehicle,” Officer Thibult said.

  “The tracks led away from the scene along the tree line. They may not have witnessed it,” Locard said.

  “And the other set of tracks?” Petain wanted to steer the conversation away from the five prisoners he’d executed.

  Locard reviewed the image of the second set of tracks once more. He said a few quiet words to himself that Petain found indistinguishable. “You don’t know what it is.”

  “I’m afraid not.” Locard pushed all of his papers back into a single pile, setting the odd shaped envelopes containing the bullets on top. “I’d like to question the remaining prisoners about the incident.”

  “That’s not going to be possible.”

  The criminalist’s look of disappointment took a sudden turn toward anger as he comprehended Petain’s statement.

  “You’re dismissed. Now move along,” Petain said.

  10

  0100 hours, Friday, July 24, 1942, Rivesaltes, Pyrénées-Orientales Department, Vichy France

  Hiram jumped through the aerial portal at one o’clock in the morning. He snapped the aerial portal shut using his C2ID2, then stretched his arms and legs so the wingsuit caught the air. The enormity of the camp filled the view of his night vision goggles as he approached. He drifted toward J block, scanning for guards as his target grew.

  After a light touchdown, he noticed an open entry point in the barracks to his left. Deborah, backed by a few of the other women, had told Hiram the barracks doors remained closed and barred after dark. The open door surprised him.

  Weapon at the ready, he edged his way along the building wall and stole a glance inside. The barracks appeared to be empty. Hiram slipped inside and soon confirmed that the building was deserted.

  He made his way through the next building in J Block. Nothing. Twenty minutes later he determined F Block was empty as well, confirming his worst fear. His actions resulted in the prisoners’ move to Drancy ahead of the known timeline.

  Hiram approached the guard shack at the gate that separated the special camp from the remainder of the compound. He found a lone French policeman flipping through a woman’s lingerie catalog, not paying attention to his duties.

  The policeman never expected a Taser.

  “All teams, this is Hawk, respond, over,” he called over his radio, an encrypted digital system, immune to tracking or eavesdropping using 1940’s era technology.

  “Hawk, this is Team One, over,” said Anna. While Danette led the team ready to breech the outer camp’s perimeter, her lack of a common language with Hiram required her team have a Hebrew speaker on the radio. Danette’s team prepared to distribute hundreds of pistols to the gypsies, Spanish refugees, and the others imprisoned at Camp Joffre, as they made a break for freedom.

  “Hawk, this is Team Two, over.” Sarah checked in from the cargo vessel M.V. Calais at Port Leucate.

  “Hawk, this is Team Three, over.” Deborah waited by the nearest police barracks with a rocket launcher.

  “Team Three – abort, I say again abort. Head to the rally point. Team Two, detonate the satchel charges around the shore batteries and cast off immediately. Head due south for twenty kilometers, then circle. I’ll provide further instructions shortly. Team One, I’m headed to exit point alpha with a prisoner. ETA five minutes. Provide cover fire if I’m detected.”

  “What the hell happened?” Sarah said.

  “We’re too late. F and J Blocks are deserted. My prisoner may be able to tell us what happened. Team Two, your position is untenable without the planned diversion. I don’t want to release the larger prison population until I know what happened to our people.” Hiram hefted the policeman over his shoulder. “You have to go now!”

  Twenty minutes later Hiram and Team One met Team Three at the rally point northwest of Camp Joffre. They headed back into the wilderness as fast as they could go carrying the half-conscious French policemen.

  * * *

  The policeman stirred as they arrived back at their campsite. He fell to his knees when Isabelle and Diane let him go. He surveyed his captors, disoriented and afraid.

  Hiram knelt in front of him. “Where are the Jewish prisoners?” Deborah translated.

  The policeman stuttered.

  Hiram backhanded the man. “Where are they?”

  The policeman held his hands up to Hiram and started talking.

  “He says they were sent away by train. Two days ago. Captain Petain’s orders said Drancy,” Deborah said. The concentration camp in Drancy put the prisoners one stop closer to Auschwitz – and extermination.

  “Captain Petain?’ Hiram recognized the surname. “Any relation to the Grand Marshall?”

  The policeman nodded. “His granduncle, I think.”

  Danette stepped forward, leaned over the prisoner, and spat a few words.

  “She’s asking about the five women from the convoy?” Deborah said.

  The policeman’s eyes shifted between Hiram and Danette.

  Deborah kept her eyes on him while she passed his words on to Hiram. “The maids from the Chateau. He guesses they are dead. Thirty-six women from the labor roster were reported dead. Petain told his men they killed the guards and drivers trying to escape. After they were all captured, he had them disposed.”

  Danette’s voice grew louder.

  “She asked if we look dead to him,” Deborah said. “He doesn’t believe so many of us are here.”

  Danette kept pressing the sniveling policeman, her anger building. His response did not satisfy her. “Enfoiré!” Danette hit the man with the butt of her weapon. Frieda pulled her away before she landed the second blow.

  “Keep an eye on him,” Hiram said before stepping away from the group.

  He made his way out into the woods. Even with the dull light of the glow lamps visible in the distance he could no longer make out the individual forms of the women. He knelt, placing his pack on the ground in front of him. He opened the upper section, exposing the portal.

  “What are you going to do?” Deborah said. Her presence surprised him. She moved with stealth, a skill she learned well before Hiram began her training.

  He wanted to be alone, to brood on his failure. He ignored her and activated the portal to the pod.

  “So, you are going to hide inside your pod as if you’ve been defeated?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  Deborah came around in front of him. She knelt across from Hiram, the active portal sitting between them. “It’s not a very good plan.”

  He shrugged. “Do you have a better one?”

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out a flask. “Our guest had it on him when he arrived. Must have been early in the shift. It’s still full.” She shook the flask, the sloshing of the liquid audible in the quiet night.

  He grinned. “I think your plan is better.”

  Deborah opened the flask and took a sip. She cringed at the taste. “I’ve had worse.” She passed the flask over to him.

  Hiram held the flask for a moment and took a drink anyway. Warmth crept through his body, overriding the angry heat brewing since his discovery at Camp Joffre. He passed the flask back.

  Hiram deactivated the portal, closed the pack, and sat beside Deborah. They faced the glow of the camp.

  “We can try again,” she said. “How far away is Drancy?”

  “Almost seven hundred kilometers. But that’s not the real problem. It’s too far from the coast to escape with thousands of prisoners in tow.”

  “Then what do we do?”

  He looked at the flask when she handed it back. “I don’t know. Perhaps we finish this off and see if our heads are any clearer.”

  Deborah let out a small laugh. When he turned to hand the flask back to her, her eyes met his and his heart beat faster. Blood rushed to his cheeks. Her smile faded and even in the dim light
from the camp he could not resist that look. Hiram leaned over and kissed her, gently. As he started to pull back, she wrapped her left arm around his neck and pulled him in close to her. Their lips remained locked together as she shifted until she sat on his lap, her legs wrapping around his back. He embraced her. The flask fell over, forgotten. The contents leaked out on to the dirt. Without another word, she pulled him deeper into the woods, away from the sounds of the camp,

  When at last they broke apart, their breathing desperate, wanting, Hiram let out a small laugh.

  “What’s funny?” She unbuckled her belt, the movement rushed.

  “An old joke.” The two continued awkwardly discarding weapons, body armor, and camouflaged uniforms. “How do porcupines make love?”

  She kissed his neck, stopping to whisper in his ear. “How?”

  “Very carefully,” he said.

  She pulled back to face him and shook her head, smiling. Then Deborah pushed him down on the ground.

  For a time, they forgot about plans.

  * * *

  When Hiram and Deborah returned to the encampment hours later the French policeman was no longer tied to the tree where he’d left him.

  “Where’s the prisoner?” he asked Danette.

  She said a few calm words to Hiram and smiled.

  Deborah stepped closer, hesitant. “She said don’t trouble yourself about that Nazi-loving pig.”

  11

  1845 hours, Saturday, July 25, 1942, Aboard the M.V. Calais in the Mediterranean Sea

  Waves rocked the boat as Hiram took hold of the knotted rope that led up to the deck of the M.V. Calais. Sarah watched him tie off the smaller boat and begin his weary climb into the commercial fishing vessel. The soldier’s journey warranted his exhaustion.

  Sarah was not feeling well herself. She had ordered the ship’s captain to travel in circles once darkness fell on Friday evening, limiting Hiram’s search when he rendezvoused with Team Two. A storm had emerged from the Atlantic before sunup on Saturday morning and roiled the Mediterranean Sea all day. The storm proved to be a blessing. Aircraft had been grounded and the ships at sea were too involved in their own survival to worry about the M.V. Calais. The waters, along with Sarah’s stomach, finally stopped churning. “I haven’t seen that design before,” Sarah said as Hiram climbed on to the deck.