The Maids of Chateau Vernet

by Steven Landry

  The driver pulled up beside the abandoned vehicle. “If it belongs to the Captain, he must have found some trouble.” He pointed to hole in the door, a wide wet smear of what Lafayette guessed was blood ran down to the sideboard.

  “Stay here.” Lafayette climbed out and inspected the vehicle. He confirmed that the truck was indeed the one Captain Petain had taken on the trip to Vichy and the smear on the door was someone’s blood. The Captain had taken Lebeau and two other men with him. He found no sign of any of them.

  “Search the area,” Lafayette ordered. No one jumped at the command. They seemed hesitant to climb out of the vehicles. “Now.”

  One of his men soon turned up a poorly concealed blood pool, but no other signs of the missing men. The armored trunk with the mysterious weapons remained in the back of the abandoned truck. Instead of moving the trunk, he split his men between the two vehicles, and they set off again for Vichy, hoping to find Captain Petain, or at least Lieutenant Lebeau there.

  Ten kilometers down the road, the lead car pulled up to a roadblock in the little town of Bost as the sun dipped behind the treetops west of the village. Men in German Army uniforms manned the post.

  “I’ll do the talking,” Lafayette said, fishing his identity papers and police badge from a jacket pocket.

  “Guten morgen, mein herr,” Lafayette said, his German polluted by the accent of his native tongue. He held out his documents as the German sentry walked up to the truck’s window.

  “Bonjour, monsieur,” the man said in provincial French. “What is your business in Vichy?”

  Surprised by the man’s response, Lafayette looked over the man’s uniform once more, realized he was with the LVF, a unit of French Fascists fighting alongside the Nazis. Now, they helped the Germans take over what remained of the French State. Traitors, maybe. But who hadn’t betrayed the country in this damned war?

  “Your business?” the sentry repeated. He eyed Lafayette over the documents.

  “Sergeant Dabney Lafayette of the French National Police,” Lafayette said. “I have orders to report to the office of General Secretary Bousquet.” René Bousquet had been appointed General Secretary to Police by Marshall Philippe Petain’s Prime Minister, Pierre Laval. Lafayette had no idea whether Bousquet, Laval, or his boss were alive, much less still in power. But Captain Petain had ordered them to Vichy, and that’s where they were going. “The next truck is with us also.”

  “Who is your captain?” the sentry asked.

  “Captain Louis Petain, Chief of Police for the Pyrénées-Orientales Department.”

  “Any relation to Marshall Petain?”

  “Petain is a common name in Southern France,” Lafayette said.

  The sentry’s eyes lingered on Lafayette for a few uncomfortable seconds. “Stay in your vehicle,” he said before taking Lafayette’s papers into a grey tent set up on the side of the road. A black swastika, on a white circular field trimmed in red, adorned the near side of the tent’s roof.

  “Should we be worried?” Corporal Martin said from the driver’s seat.

  “I wouldn’t try and run if that’s what you are thinking.”

  Martin tapped on the door in a nervous, twitching rhythm.

  After five minutes, the sentry returned with papers in hand.

  “The Hauptsturmführer permits you to pass,” the sentry said, and handed Lafayette the documents. “We must check the papers of the second truck as well.”

  Lafayette nodded and waved his driver to proceed.

  They drove past the checkpoint and pulled over to await passage of the second truck. The deep growling of several airplanes interrupted the evening lull. Overhead, a formation of five aircraft passed south of the roadblock. Four Focke-Wulf Fw-90 fighters escorted an Fw-200 Condor transport plane.

  “Must be somebody important,” Martin said. He continued tapping on the door, the same nervous beat.

  53

  0010 hours, Tuesday, August 18, 1942, Les Alliés, Doubs Department, Occupied France

  Hiram’s team would have to wait to search for Barbara. After this mission, and assuming they survived, he planned to go after her. Anger and suffering fueled her disregard for the rest of the team. And grieving Maxime had gone along with her, an otherwise unlikely pair.

  The convoy rolled through the dark, quiet commune of Mamirolle. He ordered a stop to pick up Danette, Rosette, and little Leverette, who opened his eyes for a brief moment as they passed him into the back of the first truck in the line-up to be reunited with his little sister. When Hiram asked about Garon’s status, Rosette shook her head and moved on to take her place in the cabin of one of the trucks. Danette picked up a set of NVGs, chose a truck, and climbed in. They drove in darkness toward the French-Swiss border.

  Hiram followed a dirt road onto a forested hilltop that overlooked Les Alliés. He led the convoy deep into the woods and brought the Citroën to a halt. The trucks and railbikes pulled up behind him.

  “Stay put,” he said to Petain.

  Petain peered out the windshield. “I know better than to go running in the forest at night.” He rubbed the spot on his chest where he had been pegged with the Taser.

  By the time Hiram, Trembley, and Deborah climbed out of the car, Danette had set to work positioning guards around the parked convoy. Several refugees climbed down from the trucks and helped the others out. The long ride had worn down Hiram in the posh Citroën. He could not imagine what the ride had done to those in the back of the trucks. It’s almost over.

  “Charlotte, Simone, get your drones up,” Hiram said, Deborah repeating his instructions. “I want to know where every guard within ten thousand meters is located, on both sides of the border.” The two women went to work.

  “What about Barbara?” Charlotte said. “I think she disabled the tracker on the railbike. I put up a drone when we stopped in Mamirolle, but I didn’t find her signal.”

  “We’ll deal with her later,” Hiram said. “We have more immediate problems.” Where the hell is Team Bravo anyway?

  “Danette, you’re in charge until we get back. Captain Trembley, Deborah, and I are going to do some scouting. Make sure nobody wanders off, especially the truck drivers. And for God’s sake, keep everyone quiet and maintain light discipline. We are close now and can’t afford any screw-ups.” Deborah passed a shortened version of Hiram’s message to Danette.

  Danette nodded. Hiram, Deborah, and Trembley headed through the woods, Deborah supporting Hiram as he walked. Trembley was still carrying the HF radio, but he now sported an M22 assault rifle.

  They positioned themselves to look down on the dark, quiet town of Les Alliés. About a half kilometer south of the town, a road leading to the Swiss border cut through a shallow ravine.

  “One checkpoint at the bottom of the ravine, another one at the top,” Deborah said, adjusting her night vision goggles.

  Trembley fought with his goggles as he looked up to the top of the ridge. “Two patrols walking the bottom of the ridge. I can’t see the border at the top of the ridge though. Damn contraptions.”

  “I make the ridge about a hundred meters high,” Hiram said. “The road through the ravine has a six, maybe seven percent grade. With an incline like that, the trucks will be noisy and slow.”

  Trembley pointed toward the hill leading to the Swiss border. “And that slope is about a twenty-five percent grade. Easy for you and your soldiers, but not for the civilians we busted out of the camps. The younger ones might be strong enough, but we’ve got a few that can’t even walk. Well, maybe not so easy for you,” he added after glancing at Hiram’s leg.

  “We’re sending as many of them up that hill as we can,” Hiram said. “Captain, would you mind monitoring the patrols? See if there’s a pattern we can exploit?”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Trembley said. He settled into a more comfortable position and took out the powerful night vision scope. “Going to have a good look at that village, too.” Deborah and Hiram headed back into the woods.
>
  “Hiram, the only thing stopping us from taking these people through the checkpoint is documentation.” She stopped walking. “The healthy ones and the children, they’ll make it. But not the older ones.”

  Hiram turned to her.

  “You’ve got all this technology. Remote controlled flying machines, silent weapons, robots. Don’t you have a means of producing a handful of documents for the ones we know won’t make the climb?”

  “And then Petain can talk us through the border.”

  “He’s gotten us this far. No one expected him to be our savior after all the damage his men have done.”

  “It’s worth a try,” Hiram said.

  54

  0100 hours, Tuesday, August 18, 1942, Les Alliés, Doubs Department, Occupied France

  Petain sat in the passenger seat of Lebeau’s Citroën. Several soldiers surrounded the car, most of them female. Hiram Halphen, the mysterious soldier with his advanced technology, had taken off into the woods in the cover of night along with the other two individuals who had occupied the car.

  With the windows open, Petain heard a woman near the car ordering the others around. “Keep everyone close,” she said. “Put the little ones back in the trucks.”

  Petain scooted over into the driver’s seat of the car. Halphen had taken the keys. He adjusted the side view mirror so he could see the scene behind him without looking interested. They had approached the refugees’ destination – the Swiss border. Given what was happening in France at the moment, escaping with the Jews to Switzerland might be his best option. Even if he managed to stop the Jews from getting out of France, he wouldn’t be seen as a hero. With Locard dead, he’d be the person the Gestapo would hold responsible for all the problems they had caused since their escape. However, once the road trip ended, Petain feared he would be killed. He needed to escape before that happened. With hundreds of refugees wandering around, distracted by their unearned bit of freedom, he figured he better slip out soon, before Hiram Halphen returned.

  He watched the guards, searched for his way out of this mess. Then, he found something better – a distraction.

  Three of the escaped prisoners decided they wanted to head toward the Swiss border immediately. “We can’t wait for him to come back. All these easy targets. We don’t want to be among them,” one of the men said.

  “We made it this far,” one of the female soldiers said. “Trust us. We’ll get you all out of here.”

  But the men did not want to hear it. Petain watched through the mirror. The men headed for the woods.

  “Watch him.” The female soldier standing beside his window walked off and another took her place.

  Two soldiers ran after the men on the other side of the clearing. A scuffle broke out and several individuals raised their voices to protest. After a few seconds passed, all the guards charged with babysitting Petain drifted over toward the fight to assist.

  Petain opened the car door nearest the woods. No one seemed to notice. He climbed out of the car, inched around the door, and backed toward the woods.

  “Petain!” a woman said.

  “It has been a delight, but I must be going,” he said as he turned and ran.

  “Stop the captain!” another woman said, her voice deeper than the first.

  “Irene, stay with the trucks,” one of the soldiers said.

  “He went this way. Use the NVGs.”

  Petain knew better than to take off at a full run in the woods at night. Trees, rocks, thick brush, and uneven ground would defeat him if he moved too fast. So he turned to the left and tried to head back toward the main road, which he hoped would take him toward the border.

  The armed women near the trucks refocused on Petain. “Don’t let him out of your sight.”

  He kept moving, his stride minimal to avoid any misstep. Debris cracked beneath his feet calling out his location to those following him, but he refused to stop moving.

  At last he stepped out onto the road leading to the town and thence to the Swiss border beyond. An occasional flicker of light from the closest tower caught his attention. Someone lighting a match perhaps. What I wouldn’t give for a cigarette.

  Behind him, a voice called out. “Captain Petain, stop!”

  “I think I’ve had enough of this game,” he said. “I’ll take my chances with the border guards.”

  “Stop or I’ll fire,” the woman said.

  “I don’t think you will,” he said. “If you fire your weapon, the men up in that tower will see the muzzle flash. Then your precious Jews back there will be prisoners once more.”

  Petain picked up his pace. The sooner he made it to the border, the better.

  The woman didn’t fire. For a moment, he thought he imagined her. Then, he heard her running toward him. Petain waited to turn and grab her when she got close.

  Petain bear hugged her and swung her around his body. He swept her legs out from under her and let her fall to the ground. She tried to roll away, but he fell down on his knees on top of her back, straddling her at the waist. He pressed her face down into the ground. She squirmed and kicked.

  “I told you I didn’t want to play.”

  She grunted beneath him.

  “I’m going to do you a favor, right here, right now Madam. I’m going to put you out of your misery. All of your friends back there, all of those people you believe you’ve saved, are all going to die. But you, you don’t need to see it. You’re a fighter. I like that. So, I’m going to do this for you.”

  “Bastard,” she said. At least, that’s what Petain heard.

  He grabbed the woman by the hair on the back of her head and slammed her face into the ground. After the second time, she stopped moving. Petain got up and ran into the night.

  55

  0125 hours, Tuesday, August 18, 1942, Les Alliés, Doubs Department, Occupied France

  Hiram circled the empty Citroën. “Where’s Petain?”

  “Disparu,” Danette said, morosely.

  Deborah said, “She says he escaped.” She looked at him but said nothing. Without Petain, their chances to get everyone into Switzerland lessened.

  Danette continued, her words flying out fast. Deborah translated, no doubt condensing the story. “She was distracted when three of the prisoners decided to make a break for the border on their own. They realized Petain was gone and Isabelle went after him. He roughed her up, knocked her out. Danette and Irene stopped to help her. They lost track of Petain. Denise found a doctor among the prisoners. He’s with her now.”

  “Petain could raise an alarm. We need to get everyone out of here,” Charlotte said.

  “Not yet. No need to incite panic. Which way did the captain go?” Hiram asked.

  “She thinks he’s headed toward the town,” Deborah said after consulting with Danette in French.

  “Probably heading for the border,” Hiram said. “He has as much reason to get out of France as we do now, but we don’t need him alerting anyone that we’re not far behind. We’ll find him. I put a tracker on him when I first captured him. Get someone to watch his movement. Worst case, someone does notice him. He’s not in uniform and I’m holding his papers. He’s going to have a hell of time getting someone to believe him. Don’t worry about Petain for now.”

  Hiram turned to his two drone operators. “Charlotte, Simone, what did you find?”

  Charlotte nodded and positioned her C2ID2 display so Hiram and the team leaders could see. Deborah translated. “The ravine appears to be the straightest shot to the border. With two checkpoints at the ends of this ravine, both manned by French soldiers and the machine gun nests here, here, and here, I think we need to find a better route” She handed the display over to Simone.

  “The border is about one hundred meters beyond the top of this slope. It’s a double barbed wire fence, three meters tall and topped with concertina wire. French soldiers patrol the northwestern side on foot, Swiss soldiers on the southeastern. A patrol road runs along our side of the fence, though
I didn’t see any vehicles using it. A fixed tower is positioned every hundred meters. Every fifth tower has a machine gun. Soldiers with rifles in the rest.” Simone pointed out the towers with the heavy firepower. “I saw a few small warming huts in between, but no one’s using them this time of year.”

  Hiram ran through Simone’s assessment in his head, trying to find the best option for his soldiers and the truckloads of refugees. He zoomed out and searched for anything Simone might have missed. “What about this structure here?” He pointed to a building about six kilometers northwest of where the ravine exited the woods.

  “Swiss barracks,” she said.

  “So, no nearby reserves,” Hiram said.

  Simone shook her head.

  Hiram turned to face Deborah and Danette. “I need an honest assessment of whether or not these people can make the hike to the base of the ridge, climb up to the top, and then walk another kilometer or so to safety on the other side.” Deborah translated for Danette.

  The two women looked at each other. They exchanged a few words, their voices strained, angry.

  “No,” Danette said, and she stepped in between Deborah and Hiram. She spoke fast and her hands flew up dramatizing her rant.

  Deborah waited until she stopped speaking to translate. “She worries about them all. She doesn’t think we can get five hundred people up that ridge. Many of them are exhausted and weak. Some of the older individuals need assistance walking on a paved road.”

  “What do you think?” Hiram said.

  “If Petain’s no longer an option, then we need a Plan B?” Deborah said.

  Simone spoke and Deborah translated. “What if we take out their communications? Jam their radios?”

  “Might slow down the response from towers farther away. I assume they have field telephones at the checkpoints, machine gun nests, and guard towers. We’d have to take everything out at the same time,” Hiram said.