The Maids of Chateau Vernet

by Steven Landry

  “There’s not enough of us,” Charlotte said.

  After the desertion of Barbara and Maxime and the deaths of Nora and Catherine, seventeen soldiers remained, including himself and Trembley. Diane and Isabelle were in no state to fight. Rosette refused to leave her children.

  “What about them?” Deborah pointed to their intended refugees, some now milling about around the trucks.

  “You think you can find thirty willing and able?” Hiram said.

  “At least thirty,” Deborah said. She headed for the trucks.

  A rustling in the woods near the Citroën drew the eyes of a few of Hiram’s soldiers and they adjusted their weapons to fire.

  “Hello ladies,” Trembley said as he emerged from the darkness and raised his arms. No one pulled the trigger, but the tension in the clearing lingered well after the soldiers relaxed.

  “I’m hoping you’ve got good news,” Hiram said.

  “The five-man patrol along the base of the hill is moving like clockwork. We should be able to avoid them fairly easy.”

  “What about the town?”

  “No signs of life. Looks deserted. Of course, it’s still early.”

  Irene’s eyes lit up as she spoke. “Then, we won’t have to worry about a lot of civilian casualties when we blow our way into Switzerland with one of your nuclear weapons.” Deborah almost laughed as she translated.

  “How welcome do you think we’ll be in Switzerland if we set off a weapon of that magnitude?” Hiram asked.

  When Deborah finished translating, Irene shrugged.

  “Sarah’s last transmission said the Americans have arranged for the Swiss to accept us on the condition we’ll be let into the United States,” Charlotte said.

  “I’m not sure our neutral friends would honor such an arrangement if we kill a couple dozen of their border guards,” Hiram said.

  “Have you got a better idea?” Trembley asked.

  “I don’t know,” Hiram said. “We could follow a couple of combat robots up the ravine. We’d probably make it.”

  “If a machine gun burst hits one of the trucks, the casualties are going to be high,” Deborah said.

  Hiram glanced at Charlotte’s display. “Zoom in on the town.” She adjusted the view and he moved closer to look. “What’s this?” he said pointing.

  “Church?” Charlotte said.

  “A mostly intact church,” Trembley said. “I looked over the steeple pretty carefully, searching for spotters or snipers. Didn’t see anyone.”

  “You think I could get a clean shot on the checkpoint from there?” Hiram said.

  “Good possibility,” Trembley said.

  “I could clean out the checkpoint at the bottom of the hill before our convoy comes into sight. That would give us a little more time. How many guards did you see?”

  “I counted five heat signatures,” Charlotte said.

  “Can you shoot that distance?” Deborah placed her left hand on top of Hiram’s right, which was trembling slightly.

  “Yes, I can shoot,” Hiram said defensively. Turning to the others, he said “Deborah and I can visit the church and check out the sightlines from the steeple. And maybe pick up Captain Petain along the way. Trembley - you and Team Charlie will head up this hillside and get in position to take out the upper checkpoint. If we can take out both checkpoints, we’ll send a pair of combat robots up the ravine to eliminate the machine gun nests in these areas.”

  “That leaves the guards at the top of the ridge.” Trembley smiled. “And I think your soldiers are quite capable of knocking out a few stragglers.”

  56

  0225 hours, Tuesday, August 18, 1942, Les Alliés, Doubs Department, Occupied France

  Hiram stared at his C2ID2 display as Deborah drove the railbike into Les Alliés. “Turn left here,” he said. “Petain should be moving down the right side of the street.”

  Deborah swung the bike in a tight arc, and the tires offered a half-hearted squeal on the cobblestone street. Petain, a couple hundred meters ahead, turned at the sound. As Deborah accelerated towards him, Petain cut into an alley to his right and disappeared.

  Deborah pulled up to the alley. She slowed to make the turn, then slammed on the breaks.

  Hiram pitched forward into the cowling of the sidecar. He put his foot out to steady himself and the impact shot a fresh and intense surge of pain up through his leg. He hissed.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t expect the stairs.”

  In the alley, several flights of stairs, broken by short flat stretches, led up to the next cross street. Petain had made it about two-thirds of the way up.

  “We can go around and cut him off,” Deborah said.

  “Let’s see if I can slow him down a bit first.” Hiram brought his sniper rifle to his shoulder. “Might give us a blood trail to follow if he decides to take cover in one of these buildings.” Hiram settled his weapon’s sight picture on Petain’s lower back, then lowered it to put a bullet into his right leg. Hiram’s left arm trembled as he tried to bite back the pain in his ankle. The sight picture wobbled a bit too low. He corrected and jerked the trigger.

  Petain’s head exploded in a red mist.

  Hiram said nothing as he lowered his rifle and settled back into the side car.

  Deborah put a hand on his shoulder. “Plan B it is.”

  * * *

  Deborah parked the railbike a block from the church. The sign in front said Église de Sainte-Foy. Hiram leaned against a shed with his weapon ready while Deborah crept up the steps to the rear entrance. If she ran into trouble, his bad ankle would hinder his ability to help her. Deborah disappeared through the door and the helpless feeling grew.

  Five minutes later, her voice came across his C2ID2. “All clear.”

  Hiram hobbled his way up the stairs and into the church. He had never been inside a Catholic church. He recognized the altar and crucifix mounted on the wall behind it, but the layout was unfamiliar. He said a brief prayer asking forgiveness for using a house of God to kill. They needed God’s protection, now more than ever.

  Deborah met him at the base of the curving staircase that led up to the steeple. “No need for you to make the climb,” she said. “The checkpoint is beyond the curve of the hillside. Can’t see anything.”

  “Kak,” Hiram said. Without a clear shot at the lower checkpoint, they needed to scratch the effort to sever the communications lines. He stood at the bottom of the staircase, admiring the brave woman before him and wondering why he hadn’t taken both Deborah and Danette away from this madness. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was setting them both out as targets – as sacrifices – to save the others.

  “Hawk, this is Raven, over.” He jumped at the sound of Sarah’s voice coming from his C2ID2.

  “Raven, this is Hawk. Good to hear your voice, over.”

  “Hawk, Falcon’s request has been approved.”

  “Raven, say again.”

  “Hawk, ETA for the British SAS Commandos is fifteen minutes. Touching down in the field north of Les Alliés.”

  “Roger, Raven,” Hiram said. “We’ll be waiting for them. How many?”

  “Two full troops. Thirty-two soldiers, plus Major Thompson and Sergeant-Major Wilkes.”

  Deborah’s eyes widened along with her smile.

  “Roger, Raven.”

  “Good luck Hiram. I’ll see you all on the other side,” Sarah said. “Raven out.”

  Deborah’s hands flew up into the air and she let out a relieved laugh. “We’re finally going to get some help,” Deborah said.

  “It shows how badly they want the nukes,” he replied. “And I’ll be surprised if that’s all they want.”

  Deborah helped Hiram hobble over to a pew near the back of the church. He contacted his team leaders and Trembley via C2ID2 and passed along the good news.

  “Trembley – I could kiss you,” Hiram said.

  “Not necessary, Hiram. I’ve got a team of lovely ladies over here that are a bit
more appealing. I’m taking Irene with me to coordinate with Major Thompson and his men. Maybe she’ll be the lucky one.”

  “Remember, she’s got a big brother in one of those trucks,” Hiram said. “Danette can get our refugees ready to move. Have Simone keep that drone focused on the French. The next surprise of the day might not be in our favor. We’re headed to the northern edge of town. You can pick us up there.”

  “Roger Hawk. Falcon, out.”

  Hiram sat in the pew and opened up a private communication channel with Charlotte. “Find Barbara and Maxime.”

  “Looks like we’re not going across the border,” Deborah said.

  “You are.”

  “The hell I am.” She stood up and crossed her arms. “If you’re going after Barbara, I’m coming along. It’s not open to discussion. You can barely walk two meters on your own. You need me.” Hiram sighed. He did need her. At least Danette would be safe.

  Deborah guided Hiram out of the church and they took the railbike to the northern edge of town. He adjusted his NVGs and looked toward the open field. Human forms floated down from the sky. “The cavalry has arrived.”

  57

  0335 hours, Tuesday, August 18, 1942, Les Alliés, Doubs Department, Occupied France

  “You trust this, Captain?” Thompson asked Trembley, pointing to the C2ID2 display Irene held. Small infrared heat signatures dotted the outer edge of the map. Thompson looked out toward the ravine, eyes squinting as he searched for the thing capturing the images.

  Simone stood a couple of meters away controlling the drone circling above the ravine.

  “With my life, sir,” Trembley said. “But the drones can’t see everything.” He pointed to a farmhouse and barn about two hundred meters north of the lower checkpoint. “We haven’t seen any signs of life there, but we’ve no idea what might be inside.”

  “Jolly good, then. Seems straightforward. We kill a bunch of Frogs, drive the trucks up the hill into Switzerland, and we can all go home.” Thompson turned to his two troop commanders and began issuing orders.

  “We can help,” Irene said in French.

  Thompson seemed to understand. “Best to leave the soldiering to the menfolk.” He responded to Irene, though his eyes stayed on Trembley. “Looks like these ladies have been through the wringer themselves. Why don’t you hang back and keep everyone out of our way? I’ll radio when we are ready to move. Cheerio.” Thompson walked away without a look back.

  Irene looked at Trembley. “What did he say?”

  “Nothing worth repeating. Let’s go find Hiram and brief the others.”

  * * *

  0540 hours, Tuesday, August 18, 1942, Les Alliés, Doubs Department, Occupied France

  “What? We’re just supposed to trust that they will get the job done?” Danette said when Trembley finished briefing Hiram and the team leaders.

  “They are quite good at their jobs,” Trembley said. “We can watch them via drone and step in if they need support.”

  Danette glared at Trembley as Hiram addressed his soldiers. “In terms of the convoy, we’re going to modify my original idea. Two combat robots out front, followed by two railbikes with light machine guns.” Deborah translated for them.

  “Team Charlie will take that mission,” Irene said.

  “Good,” Hiram said. “Captain, I’d like you to drive the Citroën, with Simone, Charlotte and Danette inside operating the drones and robots.”

  Trembley nodded.

  “Spread out through the convoy,” he said to the others. “I want one of you on every fifth truck. Danette and I will take up the rear in the last railbike. Let’s move.”

  * * *

  Soon, the convoy was in motion, the robots dictating the pace. They stopped inside the village and waited for the order to move forward. The low ridge provided cover for the trucks.

  Gunfire erupted along the ravine. Trembley watched flashes of light blossom on the display of Simone’s C2ID2 as the British commandos eliminated each of the French positions in a well-coordinated attack.

  The victory seemed complete, until a pair of French Laffly armored cars emerged from the barn north of the lower checkpoint, each spitting Hotchkiss machine gunfire at the British commandos. Two squads of infantry followed in their wake. The British dove for cover and returned fire.

  Danette leaned her head out the window and yelled at the railbike sitting in front of them. “Go, they need your help.”

  Irene nodded, signaled the bike next to her. Team Charlie headed toward the firefight, two combat robots leading the way. A moment later, Danette saw Deborah and Hiram roar by in the third railbike.

  58

  0610 hours, Tuesday, August 18, 1942, Les Alliés, Doubs Department, Occupied France

  “Stop here.” Hiram reached into his backpack, through the portal, and unlatched the IDF missile launcher mounted near the opening of the pod.

  Deborah brought the bike to a halt to the left of a break in the trees that provided a perfect view of the armored cars now spitting machine gun fire at the British commandos.

  Hiram pulled the missile launcher through the milky surface of the portal. “You’re going to have to fire it,” he said. He grabbed another missile.

  Deborah dismounted and walked around the bike to help him out of the sidecar. “Hiram?”

  “My hands are shaking too damn bad. I’ll be fine, but I need your help.”

  She nodded and took the weapon from him, setting it on the ground to help him swing his bad leg over the cowling of the sidecar. “You’ll have to refresh me on how to use it.”

  “It’s like riding a bike,” Hiram said. “Take a kneeling stance, right knee down, left foot forward, weapon on your right shoulder,”

  Deborah assumed the position as he had instructed.

  Hiram knelt just behind her left shoulder. He reached for the button on the left side of the weapon’s trigger housing. A video display jumped to life in front of Deborah’s right eye, overlaid with a set of crosshairs. “Ready?”

  She took a deep breath, the weapon rising and falling with her body. “Ready.”

  “Set your sight on the lead armored car,” he said. “Keep it there. Once the missile fires, keep the crosshairs centered on the armored car as it moves. The missile will self-correct.”

  “Then let’s kill these bastards,” Deborah said.

  “Fire,” Hiram ordered.

  Deborah squeezed the firing trigger. The missile leapt from the tube, streaking towards the French armored car. As the vehicle exploded in flames, Hiram slammed the second missile into the launcher.

  “Ready,” Hiram said.

  Deborah hit the second vehicle and the machine gun fire stopped.

  59

  0640 hours, Tuesday, August 18, 1942, Les Alliés, Doubs Department, Occupied France

  The Citroën crested the hill as the smoke cleared, leaving two mangled heaps of flaming metal. One of the gunners survived and he managed to remove the machine gun and distance himself from the burning vehicle. The driver of the other car ran toward Trembley screaming, his body engulfed in flame. He collapsed after a few meters while the flames feasted. The surviving French infantry fled east, toward the base of the lower ridge and positioned themselves to defend what was left of the checkpoint. The gunner raked the field in front of them with machine gun fire.

  Team Charlie abandoned the railbikes and took cover in a drainage ditch along the east side of the road. Trembley maneuvered the Citroën off the road into a small stand of trees. He jumped out of the car, seeking the cover of a large oak tree, as the two combat robots rolled by, still under the control of Team Charlie.

  One robot was equipped with a heavy machine gun, the other an automatic grenade launcher. With their seemingly impenetrable body casings, machine guns and rifles posed little threat. Hiram once voiced concern about the optics, but Trembley believed the monsters would be no less formidable flying blind.

  The robots advanced toward the French. Once they got within
range of their target, they let loose a storm of fire. A moment later, another of Deborah’s missiles arced in and the French position evaporated.

  Trembley, Charlotte, and Danette joined Team Charlie and together they moved across the field, Simone providing surveillance via the drone. The lone survivor of the attack surrendered as Irene approached his position.

  Hiram and Deborah arrived a moment later. While they huddled with Charlotte and Danette, Trembley and Irene walked towards the remains of the nearest armored car.

  Trembley rolled the body of a young French soldier over. Too young to be dead.

  Major Thompson arrived as Trembley knelt beside the body, three SAS commandos trailing behind him. Thompson kicked the dead man’s foot. “Well done,” he conceded. “Thanks for your help.”

  * * *

  The convoy reassembled, the vehicles settling into a similar order as before. Trembley, searching for unwelcome surprises along the way, headed up the ravine toward the Swiss border. Not a French soldier in sight as they approached the border crossing. Team Charlie, in the lead, pulled their railbikes off to the side of the road to let the Citroën pass as they neared the gate. Trembley stopped the car and he and Danette stepped out and walked toward the border guard. Major Thompson, who had found a place in the lead truck for the ride up the hill, joined them.

  The Swiss corporal leading the guard detail at the gate watched the trio approach, hand over the pistol on his hip.

  Trembley held a hand out to the man. “Captain Joseph Trembley, Major Archibald Thompson, and Mrs. Danette Halphen. I believe someone’s expecting us.”

  The corporal took the man’s hand and nodded. He said a few words to the other men nearby before summoning a lieutenant, who radioed a captain, who phoned a colonel, and then the gate opened.

  “That’s how it’s done,” Thompson said.

  The lieutenant stepped through the gate. “These men will escort you to a nearby field where you can park the vehicles. A representative from the Swiss Foreign Office will be along soon with further instruction.”