The Convoy

by Sebastien Acacia

  Without being distressed by this threat, once again she used her backpack that she threw on the side to get the needed force to deviate from the straight trajectory she was following. Braking wasn’t an option. Neither slowing done. Only victory was important. Whatever the risks. The right wheels of the long board very easily flew over the crater, the bag rubbing against the side, giving her balance. A few moments later, she peacefully started the third part of the track, going at an average speed of 70 miles per hour. She just had to let her go in free-wheel until the finish line.

  Fortune favours the bold!

  Matilda was interiorly repeating the lemma her mother was always telling her when she was going with her during her sports sessions. One more time, good fortune was on her side. An insolent good fortune.

  *

  * *

  Trancavel was distressed. Indeed, Aymeric’s attitude, while speaking in the walkie-talkie hadn’t eased his tensions. On her side, Blanche was just staring at the timer. She had managed an honourable time of two minutes and five seconds. Just three seconds more than her personal record.

  “I should have never accepted this stupid challenge,” Trancavel mumbled.

  “Sometimes, our most stupid choices surprisingly have the most valuable effects. You shouldn’t lose hope,” Phoebus calmly answered him.

  A few yards away from them, standing still in front of the dark and silent tunnel, holding the timer in her hand, Blanche was also thinking this challenge was too risky. Complete madness. Ermessende, worried by the fate of her lovely neighbour, also tried to appease Trancavel.

  “She is a brave girl, trust her, Trancavel,” she said, neither appeased, nor appeasing.

  “Quiet! Don’t say anything else!” Blanche suddenly declared.

  “What’s happening?” Ermessende asked, concerned.

  “Quiet! I told you,” Blanche insisted, making a hand sign of appeasement.

  They all came closer, at a moderate pace, worried.

  “I don’t believe it!” Blanche added, while moving silently toward the tunnel.

  “What?” Ermessende, who had already joined her, whispered.

  Her arm extended forward, looking at the timer and at the tunnel dark depth, Blanche, stupefied, was repeating over and over “This isn’t possible! Not possible!” She slightly brought her arm down to better focus on what she was hearing. No doubt was possible any more, it really was the particular sound of the long board bearings and tires moving very fast on the rusty metal of the old canalisation. Blanche, surrounded by Ermessende, Trancavel, Phoebus and Gaucelin, took a last look at the timer, astounded. Far in front of them, thanks to a few gaps letting some daylight through the canalisation, Matilda’s shaped was appearing, standing on her skate board, bent forward, with an unspecified mass on her back.

  “But, what’s this?” Gaucelin said, taken aback so he couldn’t achieve his sentence.

  “One minute and forty-three seconds,” Blanche declared, completely disillusioned.

  Trancavel was smiling, while Phoebus laid his hand on his shoulder as a sign of satisfaction. Matilda was now just a couple dozen yards away, almost finishing the race at a speed of approximately six miles per hours, when her backpack got suddenly torn away, releasing its content and making her fall. She spectacularly rolled over. The long board kept going without her, reaching the Kathars who were already running to help the young injured athlete.

  “Hey! Are you OK, kid?” Gaucelin, who had arrived first, asked her.

  Matilda, completely entangled in the climbing ropes and trying to get free without any success, looked at him for a moment.

  “Right! “We will need to strengthen the backpack fabric if we want to carry out our mission,” she answered him, bothered by ropes.

  Blanche, who had just heard her answer, came a bit closer to look at the action.

  “Nothing broken?’ She disdainfully asked her.

  “I don’t think so,” Matilda answered, slightly smiling.

  “Great! When you will be done gathering everything, you can join us at the Jeep,” Blanche stroke her, before turning back and leaving.

  “Don’t listen to her, kid, she is vexed as you have broken her record,” Gaucelin added, while helping her to extricate herself from the ropes.

  “How much?”

  “What, how much”?

  “What’s my time, dummy!” She joked.

  “One minute and forty-three seconds,” Ermessende interfered.

  “Blanche’s record is two minutes and two seconds,” Gaucelin informed her, while finally freeing her completely from the ropes.

  Matilda finally understood how insulted Blanche had just been by her time. She bit her lips for a moment, mumbling incomprehensibly, “I see.” Blanche was moving away with her head up. Her steps were giving away a slight irritation. Matilda started to follow her.

  “Blan...” she started to yell.

  Trancavel stood on her way, and blocked her words, raising his finger a few inches from her mouth.

  “Not now, wait for a bit!”

  Embarrassed, Matilda exhaled deeply. Gaucelin and Phoebus were exchanging a few words about the torn apart backpack. She stared a bit at Trancavel, then turned back toward Ermessende.

  “Next time, make sure your time isn’t as good,” she gently told her, with admiration.

  “This isn’t my fault, my brakes broke down, so...”

  “Whatever,” Ermessende interrupted her, putting her hand on her back.

  “Don’t worry, she will recover,” Phoebus intervened. “A bit of competition won’t be bad for her. That’s the way to get better.”

  “Right! She had seen worse,” Trancavel added. “Nevertheless, I have to admit, I haven’t thought for a single moment I would have to tell you this, but... welcome aboard.”

  Matilda didn’t react to this announcement. The one she wanted to befriend had just disappeared far away, without even turning back.

  Tsss...Tsss!

  “Chief?” Aymeric shyly called him, from the starting platform.

  Trancavel raised his walkie-talkie in front of his mouth.

  “Didn’t you forget to tell me something?” He answered, a bit ironically.

  “Hmm... in fact...”

  “One forty-three. Trancavel, over!”

  *

  * *

  “One forty-three?” Ermengarde repeated, covering his mouth, completely amazed. “Damn!” He finally let out.

  He stepped back, to avoid disturbing the ongoing communication. Apparently the chief wasn’t happy about the backpack. Aymeric didn’t add anything else. He didn’t answer to Trancavel. Never dig your own grave, he thought.

  “I know someone who must be vexed,” he finally said.

  “Damn! One forty-three! Can you imagine?” Ermengarde declared again, laughing out loud. “Haha! I knew it!”

  “OK, OK calm down, boy,” Aymeric told him, feeling the platform shaking more than usual every time his young fellow was jumping.

  “Hmm! Sorry!” He apologised, looking toward the abyss through the transparent floor. “So, let’s go down!”

  While he was going toward the stairs, Aymeric interrupted him, giving him the only backpack they still had with them.

  “Here! The young first.”

  Forced to comply, Ermengarde grabbed the bulky item, still smirking in displeasure. Nevertheless, he was rejoicing to meet Matilda again to congratulate her for her prowess. What had happened in this canalisation? He didn’t have any idea about it. But one thing was sure, she had enough pluck and energy to help the Kathars carrying out this mission and even more.

  *

  * *

  Preparation for action

  The music was resonating in the cave where the Kathars used to party. Matilda, amazed, was discovering a new musical style completely different from the African rhythms she was used to during her childhood. Ermessende explained her it was some Irish folk music mixed with some Arabo-Andalusian rhythms. She had never heard t
hose words. Nevertheless, she didn’t dare asking for more details. What for? It was splendid. The festive rhythm was suitable for frenzy dancing craze, and right now, in those shady periods, nothing was more important for her. Since she had arrived, she had come to believe the Kathars weren’t many or too shy to show up. She finally discovered several hundreds of people, sometimes wearing some weird clothes, eager for freedom, singing, dancing and alcohol. Concerning the last one, without any doubt, they had developed one of the most notable expertise. Matilda had never tasted even one sip of alcoholic beverage. In Kalia, like everywhere else in Inosanto’s theocracy, alcohol production and consumption were severely punished. Between two glasses of Gentian that Matilda judged undrinkable just from its smell, Ermy was telling her about all the people he had met in the Arabic mines. Many slaves had been condemned for trafficking alcohol or even just for getting drunk during the community parties. Nevertheless, the Kathars were using Gentian in many eclectic ways. It could be either used to disinfect some wounds, or for mouthwash after a good meal in addition to a healthy tooth brushing. Alembics were completely filled with it. This very strong brandy was made by the fermentation of a yellow Gentian root, a beautiful mountain flower that a few members of the community were passionately growing higher in the Pyrenees, far from the harmful radioactive storms. While looking at them laughing and dancing, Matilda understood why they were so ingenious. Ermengarde’s mild demeanour amused her. His sparkling eyes were showing how he had let himself get slightly tipsy. He was having so many questions for her that she never really had time to answer. Indeed, the music wasn’t making it easy for them to understand each other. Ermessende, a bit more sensitive and drinking much less, gestured her she had enough. She gently laid her hand on her cheek, smiled at her like a mother, and took the narrow corridor leading to the housing units. Ermy didn’t even notice she had left. Further away, Gaucelin and Aymeric, much more imposing and apparently much more under the effect of the delicious alcohol, were dancing surprisingly well with a few white-haired middle-age women wearing light clothes. Then, she realised something she had forgotten a little - the average age was quite high. She wasn’t listening to the firery-haired man any more. Matilda realised most of the people dancing and drinking around her had white hairs or at best some salt and pepper hairs. A community doomed to disappear. She was just seeing this around her. A congregation condemned to a slow and relentless extinction that even scientific knowledge couldn’t help. Because of this celebration she felt distressed. It seemed pitiful. Pathetic. Her mother could have been dancing here with Phoebus or with her. Her mother’s spirit was belonging here.

  Where are you, mum?

  Lost in her thoughts, she quickly came back to reality when Trancavel entered the cave with Blanche, yelling.

  “We’re leaving!”

  Everything stopped immediately - the dancers’ agile movements, the bursts of laughers, the orchestra rhythm. Nothing could withstand the Kathar army leader’s charisma. Probably breathless from running in the cave’s galleries, he added, gasping.

  “A train is about to leave! We go to Montségur in ten minutes! And I hope you haven’t drunk too much.”

  The drama of this moment was written all over the faces, even on the people the least concerned by the call to combat. Trancavel and Blanche immediately headed back. Gaucelin and Aymeric got closer.

  “Are you in shape, Ermy?”

  “Hum, all right!” He simply answered, putting his metallic glass on the bar in front of him.

  “You’d better to, kid,” Aymeric provocatively said.

  “Come on, let’s go, kid! You, at least, you have stuck to cold tea,” Gaucelin said, looking at the cup lying on the bar.

  In a single motion, pushed by the will to carry out the mission, they all moved toward the exit. Ermengarde wasn’t really walking straight forward, neither Gaucelin nor Aymeric. Nevertheless, the psychological pressure would quickly bring everybody back in line. A few moments later, they were all gathered at the main entrance to get back their weapons and personal equipment. Trancavel was finishing tying his gun holders on his thighs while his sound velocity crossbow was already fixed on the harness in his back. Matilda was looking at everybody getting ready without having any idea about what she should do.

  “What are you waiting for?” Blanche interrupted her, from a small room, slightly in the back.

  Embarrassed for being so passive in such a serious time, Matilda joined her, skilfully getting through her brave fellows.

  “Hmm! Sorry...” she shyly said while arriving behind Blanche.

  “Being a great athlete isn’t enough to carry out a mission,” she curtly answered her. “Put your jumpsuit on!”

  Without adding any word, Matilda started to get dressed. She moved toward the cabinet where the Kevlar jumpsuits were stored. She couldn’t stop from looking at the very sexy and muscular curves of her long board partner, who was pulling up her tight jumpsuit from her knees to her hips then from her hips to her shoulders. Once dressed, Blanche turned back. Matilda, who was looking at her, turned red and looked down. The beautiful forty-year-old woman froze for a moment.

  “So, what are you waiting for?” She railed against her again.

  “Uhh? Yes, sorry,” the young drowsy girl apologised wholeheartedly.

  She turned back to grab her jumpsuit, put one leg then the other and pulled it toward her shoulders in a completely disgraceful move. She equipped her fighting harness.

  “Where are they?”

  “The long boards?”

  “Yes!”

  “In the Jeep. Come on. Let’s go, they’re waiting for us. We have around one hour to arrive in Montségur.”

  “I haven’t seen Jourdain at the party.”

  “Unlike those drunks,” Blanche said pointing at their fellows for the mission, “Jourdain is truly going all the way. He hasn’t left Montségur since the briefing. He stayed with the satellite observation team to check with them the entrance and exit periods of the delivery trucks every hour. He raised the alert himself.”

  “Let’s go!” Trancavel yelled, while going toward the armoured door leading to the corridor isolating them from the huge entrance archway of Niaux Cave.

  The night purity was disturbing. Stars were vibrating like diamonds in the sky. The moon, full and majestic, was efficiently illuminating the surroundings, like if it was the middle of the day. In fact, it was four o’clock in the morning. The twilight would come in less than one hour.

  “Where are the Jeeps?” Matilda asked, once outside.

  “Down there!’ Gaucelin joked.

  Matilda looked at Trancavel, already harnessed, fixing the hook on a rolling device he had just embedded on a thick cable leading down to the valley. Then, he jumped into the void gaining some momentum. Ermy came closer to Matilda, on the side, and whispered her some unintelligible words in her ear.

  “The sip line.”

  “The what?” She flustered.

  “The fix line!” The firery-haired man insisted.

  “You will have to sober up, kid,” Aymeric interrupted him, slapping him in the back. “The zip line, he wanted to say the zip line, kid!” He added.

  “Right, that’s exactly what I just said,” Ermy mumbled, still smiling.

  Then, one after another, the Kathars jumped into the void, flying like the wind over the Lèze Valley. Only Blanche was still there, waiting for Matilda.

  “Go first! I will be right behind you. Don’t forget to brake before arriving. Otherwise, you will get hurt.”

  “Why don’t we go by Jeep from here?”

  “We save 20 minutes with the zip line. Given the emergency, we will need it. But enough talk! Go.”

  Blanche pushed Matilda into the void, for an approximately one thousand yards descent. Intoxicated by the altitude and the pace, Matilda uttered a cry of satisfaction echoing in the whole valley. Five minutes later, they were all proudly settled in the two vehicles, on the way to Montségur impregnable fortress.r />
  *

  * *

  Ermy had just got one hour to sober up during the journey. Indeed, he had slept all the way through. But how could it be possible to blame him for sleeping at such an hour. If needed, he would get thirty extra minutes in the MRU before arriving at his destination to carry out his sabotage mission. Right after, Gaucelin, Aymeric, Trancavel, Blanche, Matilda and two other soldiers she just knew the name of, Gaston and Geoffroy, would go to the tunnel entrance on the Atlantic Coast. The mission that some people described as suicidal, just became fully real. They couldn’t step back any more. The two Jeeps had never been that fast and taken that many risks to reach the Kathar military garrison. When they finally reached their destination, Jourdain, Gaston and Geoffroy were waiting for them, a few yards away from the elevator where the MRU, with its roaring engines, was just waiting for a single thing - releasing its destructive power.

  “He took you some time,” Jourdain complained.

  “Tell this to the ones who were drinking and dancing, when they were ordered to stand by in their block,” Trancavel answered him, angry.

  “Your exo is in the MRU. Gaston has tested it, and he said it has never been that well-adjusted.”

  “Let’s see this!” Trancavel joked.

  Gaston was the same size as the leader. In fact, he was the one who had designed the exoskeleton. An unmatched engineer, as his fellow liked to say about him. Of course a white-haired engineer, Matilda thought. Thanks to his nap and to the adrenalin, Ermy had come around. A sixty-year-old woman wearing a lab coat was waiting next to the MRU. While the crew members were boarding, the stranger gave each of them a small square box of half an inch side while mumbling an unintelligible sentence. Trancavel was waiting for everybody to have boarded, to take his place in the vehicle. When it was her turn, Matilda finally understood the purpose of this distribution.

  “For you, kid,” she told her. “Happy the one living for science and improving the world...”