The Maids of Chateau Vernet

by Steven Landry

  Barbara turned to Charlotte for a moment, as if she needed to validate the plan. Charlotte nodded. Barbara smiled and then started the bike up again. At the next junction in the rail line, the bike turned to the left and headed northeast.

  41

  1020 hours, Saturday, August 15, 1942, Lapalisse, Allier Department, Vichy France

  “Team Delta, this is Hawk, over.” Hiram spoke into his C2ID2 from the backseat of Locard’s car. Oster sat next to him. The Colonel donned an impeccable German uniform, while Hiram wore an ill-fitting suit borrowed from Alphonse Benoit, a much larger man.

  He tried to contact Delta Team again. Still no answer. After the third attempt, Hiram tried to remain calm. Anything could have happened to them. Splitting up was a bad idea.

  “Hawk, this is Team Delta, over.” Hiram jumped at the sound of Nora’s voice. “I think we’ve got a problem. A new unit is moving through Moulins. Doesn’t look like they’re stopping, over.”

  “Team Delta, can you tell what the unit designation is, over.”

  “Hawk, looks like Waffen SS. We’re not close enough to see unit markings, over.”

  “2nd Waffen SS Panzer-Grenadier Division would be my guess,” Oster said. “If they’re heading south from Moulins, Vichy, maybe Lyon, seems like the next logical stop. Hitler is reacting to the event in Saarbrücken. I’ll wager he’s planning to occupy all of France. It wouldn’t surprise me if the little Austrian corporal went to Vichy himself to personally deliver the coup-de-grace to Marshall Petain.”

  “Then we can assume the 15th Infantry Division is headed south, towards the Mediterranean Coast.” Hiram scratched his head. There goes our invasion plan. Which leaves Oster’s plan as our best shot.

  “Team Delta, track the Waffen SS unit from a safe distance with your drone. Report back when they reach Vichy. Or, if they stop before then. Hawk out.” I sure as hell hope they stop.

  Turning to Locard, he said, “Find a safe place to park off the road. I need to make another radio call. I can’t do it from the car.”

  “Don’t trust us yet?” Oster said, peering over the back of the seat.

  Hiram looked at Oster, not answering. Trust was a hard thing to sell. Locard defied the French police, Oster the German army. He wanted to trust them, but he’d read too many documents about spies and double agents to assume men who turned on their own wouldn’t turn on him.

  Oster put his hands up and sat back in his seat. “I understand. I suppose I wouldn’t trust me either.”

  Locard turned left off the main road onto a hard-packed gravel path. At a break in the tree line, he turned left again and followed a narrow dirt track into the woods. He stopped just past a bend in the track, shut off the engine, and Hiram climbed out. He walked far enough into the woods to conceal his call from the two men in the car. He moved slowly and held on to some of the trees along the way to keep his balance on the uneven ground. The moldable cast stabilizing his ankle grew more annoying with each passing day, but it helped with the pain and stopped him from injuring himself further.

  The Icarus communications drone Agnes had launched towards London reported its arrival the previous evening. He had instructed Nora, who took over responsibility for the drone when Team Delta broke off from the group, to keep the drone above the city to ensure the ability to communicate with Sarah. But Sarah’s delicate position in the hands of the OSS could not be guaranteed. Trust wasn’t easily bought either.

  “Raven, this is Hawk, over.” Hiram waited five minutes and repeated the call.

  “Hawk, this is Raven, over. Good to hear your voice Hawk, over.” Sarah’s words muted his worry.

  “How are your hosts treating you? Over.”

  “We’re getting along fine. The mood here is tense. Everyone is waiting for news, whether good or bad. So, fill me in, over.”

  Hiram laid out the events of the past three days, including Rosette’s and Leverette’s rescue and Team Foxtrot’s rendezvous with Deborah and Danette. The formality of their radio call faded, turning more conversational, each pausing between statements to ensure one didn’t talk over the other.

  He faltered when he started to tell her about the morning’s train mishap. He had been holed up with Locard and Oster while his soldiers took a stand. Trembley had accompanied teams Echo, Foxtrot and Golf. Trembley had witnessed Justine, Ester, Stephanie and Anna dying while fighting for the lives of their families. Hiram understood why Trembley had to go in his place. Still, he carried the guilt of leaving them with the OSS man. And brave Trembley, now a prisoner of the French police, would die along with all the others on the train.

  “Hawk? Are you with me?”

  “Today was rough,” he said. “We lost four.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t think you should worry about that now.”

  “Who?” she said.

  “Justine, Ester, Stephanie, and Anna.”

  The radio silence continued. He worried she’d disconnected, but he didn’t want to say anything more.

  “Did we take out at least that many?” Her voice quivered.

  “And many more,” he said.

  “Good. Tell me the rest.”

  “They couldn’t keep fighting,” he said. “The man on the train – Locard says he is known as Captain Petain – he threatened to kill the children. They tried to call his bluff.”

  “Hawk?”

  “Maxime’s daughter was killed.”

  Again, the silence remained too long. “Her suffering is over.” Whether she spoke of Maxime or the girl, Hiram agreed with Sarah.

  “Ellen, Emma, Myriam, Isabelle, and Diane were captured. They’re on the train.” He considered telling her about the loss of several M22 assault rifles, four C2ID2 units, and four portals. He assumed that someone from the Allied High Command listened to their conversation, raising the possibility of a leak. Hitler had survived many a plot, some due to informants, some due to blind luck.

  Hiram waited for her response, not sure if she understood the impact of what had happened. For a few seconds, he heard the crackle of the call trying to come through and thought he must have lost her.

  Her words boomed out of the speaker, voice strong and willful as ever. “What’s the plan? Over.”

  Hiram took a breath, the first that seemed full after the day’s rough start. Her eagerness to move forward propelled him to focus on the next thing to be done. “Raven, inform General Eisenhower that Operation Roundup is in jeopardy. We think the German 15th Infantry Division is headed toward Toulouse and the coast, and the 2nd Waffen SS Panzer Grenadier Division is going to occupy Vichy, and maybe Lyon, the regional capital. Will advise when we have more information, over.”

  “Wilco, Hawk,” Sarah replied. After a brief pause, she added, “Hawk, request status on Team Bravo, over.”

  Hiram assumed the question had come from one of Eisenhower’s men. Team Bravo’s mission put them in position to destroy the French fleet at Toulon. If the Allies abandoned Operation Roundup in favor of Operation Torch, initiating the invasion of North Africa, then the elimination of the fleet at Toulon would be high on Eisenhower’s wish list. When Eisenhower made the call, Team Bravo would take the job, if he could reach them. “Raven, Bravo left radio range last night. Will advise when we make contact, over.”

  “Copy, Hawk. Anything further, over?”

  “Negative Raven. Hawk, out.” Hiram punched a new code into his C2ID2 and tried to raise Team Bravo for the third time that day.

  Hiram returned to the car after one last attempt to communicate with the missing team. Locard and Oster leaned against the front end, a picnic basket perched on the hood between them. The French detective took a sip out of a small metal cup, then passed it to the German officer.

  Locard spoke as he approached. “Glad you found your way back. Thought maybe we should send out a search party.”

  Oster pulled a heel of bread out of the basket. “You must try this bread. Locard’s aunt makes wonderful bread.”

&nbs
p; “And cheese,” said Locard as he held out an open tea towel. “Not like the rations we’ve been getting in town.”

  Hiram looked at the chunk of bread and the rough block of cheese. He had packed a few meal bars for himself and his newest accomplices just in case. After a brief pause, Hiram accepted their offer. He joined the two men leaning on the front of the car and enjoyed the unexpected meal.

  After lunch, Locard drove back toward the main road. Oster sat in the front, Hiram in the back. When they reached the main road, the third brigade of the 2nd Waffen SS Panzer Grenadier Division rolled down both lanes of the highway. They looked at each other for a moment, surprised. The ground shook as Tiger tanks passed.

  Oster, still in his uniform, left the car and walked to the edge of the road. Vehicle commanders saluted him as they passed, holding their stance until it looked both awkward and uncomfortable. The vehicles maintained speed. After a few minutes, Oster waved down a six-wheeled Mercedes command car. Hiram and Locard watched from the car as Oster presented his papers. He conversed with one of the officers seated in the backseat of the Mercedes.

  Without warning, the officer stood up and waved a passing half-track to a halt. He pointed at Locard’s car shouting something in German. The soldier on top of the huge armored vehicle swung his machine gun around to face them. Locard ducked behind the dashboard. Hiram dove to the floor. Gunfire erupted around them.

  42

  1200 hours, Saturday, August 15, 1942, Pont-Saint-Vincent, Meurthe-et-Moselle Department, Vichy France

  “Enough,” Petain said. He regarded the bloodied American, his face a swollen mess. “When we stop, fetch one of his dogs. We’ll see if he’s willing to talk then.” The train rolled into the railyard at Pont-Saint-Vincent, seventy- kilometers north of the ambush point. It had taken several hours to complete the move. The damage to the boiler controls during the attack, the need to travel down the tracks in reverse, and the limited skills of the two surviving railway men had contributed to the long ride. He expected a repair team and replacement engine crew to arrive within the hour. A team of railway workers, dispatched from a nearby office, headed back toward Suriauville with a heavy guard, to fix the tracks.

  “Sir, I have Miss Brodeur on the radio with an update from Lieutenant Lebeau.”

  Petain snatched the microphone from his radio operator and said, “Rubi, give me something useful.”

  “Sir, the Lieutenant says they followed Locard and the others to Lapalisse in the Allier Department. They pulled off onto a side road. By the time they came back out, a Waffen SS column blocked the main road. He says the German officer got out and talked to-.”

  “What is a Waffen SS column doing in Lapalisse?”

  “Sorry, sir. I assumed you’d heard.”

  “Heard what?” he demanded.

  “The Germans have moved into Vichy. Marshall Petain has been detained. I received a call an hour ago from his assistant. She must not have been in the office when they showed up for the Marshall. Says she heard some of the soldiers outside talking about a column in Lapalisse heading towards Lyon.” She hesitated, “And sir, another Infantry Division is en route to Toulouse.” Petain could almost hear the tears running down Rubi’s cheeks. Southern France had so far avoided the depravation and most of the horrors of the Nazi occupation. It seemed their respite would end. “When do you think they’ll be coming here?”

  Why have the Germans suddenly decided to occupy southern France? If they’ve arrested my uncle, what does that mean for his relatives, especially me and my family?

  “Listen to me. We need more information,” he said. “Call the station chiefs in Lyon, Toulouse, and Avignon. Find out what they know. Keep it brief.” Petain paused to let her write that down.

  “Yes, sir,” she said. “Should I warn them?”

  “No reason to incite panic without the facts. Now, tell me the rest of Lebeau’s report.”

  “He said the German officer travelling with Locard got out and spoke to an SS officer in the column. The Germans fired a heavy machine gun at Locard’s car, which exploded. Lebeau believes Locard, the German officer, and the other man in Locard’s car to be dead. Sounds like three casualties in the German command car as well. He’s requesting further instructions.”

  “Send him to Brugheas to pick up the Bertrand woman’s husband. I’ll meet him in Lapalisse. I want to see the site myself.”

  He waited for Rubi to pass along Lebeau’s acknowledgement of his orders and broke the connection.

  He turned to Dubois. “Sergeant, once we stop, send someone out to find a truck.”

  “Sir, I don’t think we have any resources in the area.”

  Petain stared at Dubois for a moment, not willing to state the obvious. “Once you’ve secured transportation, load up the equipment we confiscated from the prisoners. I’m taking a team to Vichy. I need you to stay here with the rest of the men and guard the prisoners until the train is ready to move.”

  The Sergeant acknowledged the order and Petain dismissed him. Maybe I can make some new friends. I’m going to need them.

  The American sat leaning against the wall of the boxcar. Petain sat down near him on the blood-spattered bench. “How did you do it?”

  He said nothing, but the corners of his swollen mouth turned up a little. For a moment, Petain considered peeling the man’s skin away from his bones with a dull knife, anything to make him scream.

  Petain leaned over toward him. “Your women are all going to die. If I need to break every last one of them with these two hands, I will. And, you won’t be able to stop me.”

  The prisoner smiled, teeth bloody.

  “Sir,” Dubois pushed one of the Yank’s dogs into the car. “What should I do with her?”

  Petain had forgotten about his earlier request. But, he mused, she might do more talking than the Yank. “You can start by getting her out of that uniform. She looks like a man.” Petain put his pistol back in its holster.

  “Sir?” Dubois asked.

  “Dogs don’t wear clothes,” he said. “After that, she’s yours. Do what you want with her. Maybe you can get some information out of her.”

  Dubois pulled out a field knife, but the blonde woman put her hands up. “I’ll do it,” she said. Although speckled with mud and dirt, the woman reminded Petain of a much younger version of his wife. Pale skin, deep blue eyes that begged for his attention. She opened the neckline of her uniform, the swell of her breasts peeking out in the dim cabin.

  “What’s your name?” Petain asked her.

  “Emma.” She pushed the fabric off her shoulder. “Emma Rosecrans.”

  On other occasions, he might have enjoyed this one. “Don’t let her out of your sight,” Petain told his second.

  Dubois nodded and shifted his attention back to the woman.

  Petain peered out the window, expecting to see a replacement engineer and engine repair crew. A single man, dressed more like a dispatcher than a mechanic, awaited them.

  “Not another problem,” said Petain. “Dubois, get whatever you can out of this dog and then dispose of her. Make sure he see’s everything. Oh, and one more thing, make sure she screams loud enough for the others to hear.” Petain glanced coldly at his nemesis laying battered on the seat. “I’m glad I didn’t kill you earlier; I wouldn’t want you to miss this.” He turned and walked out, smiling as he heard the first blow hit the nearly naked woman.

  “Where are my mechanics and engineers?” Petain yelled at the railway man as he disembarked.

  “I’m very sorry sir,” the railroad man said, taking his hat off. “The partisans have blown up the cement plant in Xeuilley. The rail line is blocked in both directions until we remove the debris.”

  Petain closed his eyes, tired from the day’s unfortunate turn. From inside the passenger car he heard the first of the screams. When he opened his eyes, the dispatcher remained. “Get on with it, then.”

  “Sir.” The railroad man put his hat back on as he left.

 
43

  A temporal artifact of May 6, 2050

  Hiram wriggled through the portal in his pack as a barrage of machine gun rounds pierced Locard’s car. He landed hands-first on the floor of the pod and rolled, a maneuver he’d practiced hundreds of times. Somehow his left foot hit the floor as hard as the rest of him, reawakening the pain of his ankle injury.

  “Fucking bastard!” Hiram punched the door to one of the storage cabinets. I never should have trusted Oster. He hit the door again, leaving a dent this time. His knuckles burned from the impact. Probably thought having my M22 would swing the war in Germany’s favor. Or maybe the SS bastard suspected something and ordered the attack on his own. Doesn’t matter now.

  And Locard? If the German MG 34 machine gun rounds that ripped through the hull of the oversized car hadn’t cut through the detective, the satchel charge Hiram pulled from the wall of the pod and pitched through the active portal finished the job. The outward blast of the ten kilo C4 charge would have obliterated both Locard and Oster, along with the M22 and backpack. Now what?

  He punched the compartment door again. This time it swung open. The edge of the wooden box his father had given him all those years ago sat inside. Memories of his family – past, present, and now future – sat inside. Their imagined doubt and judgment gnawed at him, magnifying his dark mood.

  Every scenario for saving the families of the women he had rescued seemed impossible now. He could take Rosette, little Leverette, Deborah, and Danette, and as many as of the other women willing to leave their loved ones behind and make a break for the Swiss border. Sarah’s contacts provided a means for passage to London. Operations Torch and Overlord could certainly benefit from Hiram’s nukes, but it would still be months before the Allies managed to mount a European invasion. Too late to save the families.