The Maids of Chateau Vernet

by Steven Landry

  Smith walked to the door and yanked it open. “Commander Birley, this woman, Wing Commander Brigadoon, and anyone she has had contact with since her arrival, are to be placed in isolation, under guard, immediately. And no communications with anyone until I say so. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir” Birley said. Sarah had learned the British naval officer was the base commander. “Sir, the lady and Lieutenant Farley were brought in on the HMS Talisman. Should they be isolated as well?”

  “Is the sub still in port?” Smith asked.

  “Aye, sir,” Birley answered.

  “Then confine all personnel to the ship for the time being. But disable their radio. No mail in or out.”

  Wing Commander Brigadoon offered no protest. Instead, he glowered at Sarah as Birley led them away.

  * * *

  Eisenhower arrived shortly after sunset, travelling from RAF Uxbridge aboard an American A-20 Havoc bomber escorted by a flock of British Spitfires. Colonel Watson, a member of General Eisenhower’s staff, informed Sarah of his arrival. Accompanied by two American military policemen, he escorted her from her cell to an office deep in the Rock. They walked in silence.

  Watson stopped in front of a door set into the rock wall of the tunnel and knocked.

  “Enter,” said a voice from beyond the door. Bedell “Beetle” Smith waited while Watson ushered her into the room. He indicated she should sit in one of the vacant chairs arrayed around a small conference table sitting in front of Smith’s desk. “General Eisenhower will be here in a moment.” Turning to the colonel, he said, “That’ll be all Colonel. Please see that we are not disturbed once the General arrives.”

  Watson saluted and left the room. A few minutes later General Eisenhower entered the room. He looked much younger than the photos Hiram had shown Sarah, the stress of leading the Allied invasions of Africa and Europe not yet showing on his face. Sarah started to rise when Eisenhower waved her back into her seat. He took a chair opposite her at the table.

  “Miss Mendelson, you wanted to get my attention, and now you’ve certainly got it. What is this all about?” Eisenhower asked.

  “The atomic bomb, of course,” Sarah said.

  “And what do you think you know about atomic bombs?” Smith kept his eyes on Sarah.

  “Actually, quite a bit. I know the American scientists, under auspices of the S1 Executive Committee of the National Defense Research Committee, are working to build two different types of atomic bombs based on nuclear fission. The weapons design work is led by Professor J. Robert Oppenheimer of the University of California at Berkeley, although many other research facilities are involved. One is a gun-type device using highly enriched uranium and the other is an implosion device using plutonium.” From the looks on their faces, Sarah guessed that even they had not been privy to that last bit of detail.

  “Dr. Edward Teller has proposed an even more powerful device called a hydrogen bomb, based on nuclear fusion, the same force that powers the Sun. The next step beyond the hydrogen bomb is the thermonuclear bomb, which uses nuclear fusion to trigger a much larger nuclear fission event. As much as a thousand times larger than Oppenheimer’s bomb in fact, although the one that is about to go off in Saarbrücken, Germany is only about fifteen times larger.”

  “I don’t believe it,” said Smith. “You’re making this up based on some bits and pieces of leaked data.”

  “It isn’t necessary for you to believe me now,” Sarah said. “It’s only necessary that you watch Saarbrücken for the next few days and see for yourselves.”

  They sat quietly for a few minutes, Eisenhower thinking while Smith made some notes.

  Smith looked up from his notebook. “Who made the bombs, and how did you get them?”

  “Call it the Jewish Defense League, if it helps to have a label. While I have a basic understanding of the physics – did I mention I’m a professor of physics at the University in Lyon? Or at least I was before the war.” She paused a moment to regain her train of thought. “Hiram, that’s our leader, brought seven of them with him when he rescued me and twenty-nine other women from Camp Joffre. How he got them, I can’t say.”

  “Can’t? Or won’t?” Smith said.

  “Both.” Sarah offered no more on that subject.

  “Well, then Miss Mendelson, can you tell me why Saarbrücken was chosen as the target?” Eisenhower said.

  “I’m sure you’re aware that Saarbrücken is a major rail hub and river crossing for trains travelling between France and Germany.” Both men nodded. “Among the cargo being transported eastward are thousands of Jews destined for the Nazi extermination camps in Poland. We intend to put an end to it.”

  “There are other train routes,” Smith said, without acknowledging the existence of the extermination camps. The omission angered Sarah.

  “And we have more bombs,” she said.

  “I understand,” Eisenhower said, leaning across the table. “We’ve heard rumors of Hitler’s Final Solution but found no concrete evidence.”

  “I spent time in a Vichy internment camp at Rivesaltes before I escaped. The families of my friends have since been shipped to a concentration camp in Drancy, near Paris. From there it’s on to Auschwitz in Poland. It isn’t a rumor, sir. It’s a determined attempt to kill off all the Jews, and the French in Vichy are helping.”

  “We’ll look into it Miss Mendelson. Beetle, put the G-2 on it right away.”

  “Yes sir.” Smith made a few more notes.

  Eisenhower returned his attention to Sarah. “You said you have more bombs.”

  “We do. At least six more.”

  “I can think of better uses for those bombs than blowing up rail crossings,” Smith said.

  “Hiram believes that as well. He recommends you abandon Operation Torch and refocus on an immediate cross-channel invasion of France, using these bombs to breech Hitler’s Atlantic Wall.”

  “Tens of thousands of Frenchmen will die,” Eisenhower said. “Maybe hundreds of thousands.”

  “Millions are going to die in the camps if you don’t.” Her voice cracked, the fear and sadness spilling out in her words.

  “I’m not saying I believe her,” Smith said, “but if her people can really eliminate a half-dozen or more Panzer divisions, it would save a lot of British and American lives.”

  “You’ll have to move fast, occupy Western Europe before the Eastern German Front collapses and the Soviets push all the way to the Rhine.”

  Eisenhower sat back, his face draped in disbelief. “The Russians are our allies.”

  “It won’t last,” she said. “Hiram believes you should listen to General Patton.”

  “Patton?” Smith smirked, clearly not a fan of Patton’s.

  Eisenhower ignored Smith’s comment. “Well Miss Mendelson, you’re either a well-informed lunatic, or you and your friends are a Godsend. For security reasons you’ll have to remain in isolation until Saarbrücken disappears, at which time we’ll talk again. Or until the end of the war if it doesn’t. I guess we’ll know in a couple of days.”

  24

  2030 hours, Thursday, August 6, 1942, Spicheren, Occupied France

  On his C2ID2 display, Hiram tracked an Icarus drone as it drifted over Saarbrücken. With the drone’s engines shut down and the balloon inflated, it allowed him to calculate wind speed based on the drone’s horizontal and vertical movements. Hiram leaned against a tree on the ridgeline one kilometer west of the French-German border. At ground level, gentle winds rolled in from the west. The balloon’s rough ascent revealed that the winds aloft grew stronger, moving in from the north with increasing altitude. The dangling radiosonde danced as the breeze pushed upward.

  Deborah sat on the ground a few meters away manning the remote control for the smaller drone. She trailed the border between Occupied France and Germany, searching for a safe way in. Hiram had hoped for a lightly guarded border. No luck. Heavy concentrations of armed men, barbed wire fencing, and diligent checkpoints on the main road prev
ented passage by land. Any attempt at crossing the border into Germany would start a firefight that Hiram refused to chance. The train attack that had cost Vera her life, had made Hiram more cautious. He refused to sacrifice Danette or Deborah.

  Deborah looked up at him. “How do we get in?”

  “Same way I got in to Camp Joffre. I’ll jump through the pod’s aerial portal, fly across the border, setup the bomb, and start the timer. Then I’ll use the portal in my backpack to leave.” Like in Wah. Of course, that hadn’t gone as planned. Nothing on that mission had gone as planned. This time he planned to jump through the portal well-before the bomb detonated. This time he wouldn’t forget to deactivate the portal.

  “Alone?” Deborah said.

  He nodded. “I can get in, set the bomb, and get out. I’ll have to wait in the pod for a few hours until the radiation dissipates. Not looking forward to it. When it’s clear, I can use the aerial portal to jump back across the border. It’ll still be dark and there’ll be a lot of confusion on the ground I can use to my advantage.” But it wouldn’t be that simple. First, he needed to haul the bomb up through the portal. The time necessary to complete the task increased his vulnerability to detection. The uncooperative winds aloft ensured difficulty hitting his original target - the wooded area northwest of Saarbrücken. Based on his current position, the ideal landing zone, a park along the riverbank, sat almost three kilometers from the bridge and rail junction they needed to destroy. Given the distance between the park and the ridge, his calculations suggested a steep dive angle, which meant more speed, and ended in a harder landing. Landing at the park increased his distance from the intended target by almost five-fold. To ensure the explosion reached the rail line, the bomb’s required size grew. The larger bomb radius sent the number of anticipated civilian casualties soaring.

  “If you don’t remember, we were with you at Camp Joffre, waiting to back you up. You flew into an empty camp and dealt with a single policeman. I thank Hashem nothing happened to you then. This time you are flying into enemy territory – alone. The area is overflowing with soldiers. Every German citizen is on the lookout for suspicious activity every hour of the day. You are planning to set a bomb up in plain view of those citizens. If anything happens to you-” she turned away.

  “I don’t see another option.” He sat down beside her on the ground, put his arm around her shoulders, and pulled her close. She had grown stronger since they first met. He remembered a scrawny woman with unkempt hair. Now, he felt the muscular definition of her arms through the thick fabric of her uniform. A wisp of hair had escaped the pins holding the rest in place, a gentle reminder of her defiance. She had been strong-willed then. Now, he sensed fear muted her strength. “This is our best chance to stop the train – all trains – from getting into Germany.”

  Danette, who had been standing watch a few yards away, joined them, her assault rifle still in position to fend off any incoming attack. She spoke without taking her eyes off the landscape.

  “She wants to know the plan,” Deborah said.

  Hiram stood and helped Deborah up. He said, “We have to move. I can’t reach the target from this location.”

  “Where should we go?” Deborah said.

  “North. Up near Schoeneck.”

  “The whole area between here and there is heavily populated and patrolled.” Deborah didn’t look up from the C2ID2 display as she spoke.

  Danette spoke to Deborah, her frustration apparent. “And, it will set us back at least a day or two.”

  “I know, but-”

  Deborah cut him off before he could finish. “There’s a train.” She pointed to the location on the display. “Crossing the river near Chapey-sur-Moselle. About seventy kilometers west of here as the crow flies. Maybe an hour until they reach the Saar River crossing.”

  Hiram took the display from her and studied it for a minute. Kak. That sure looks like a Holocaust train. He directed the drone to move in closer. “There,” he said pointing at the display. “See the hands sticking out through the slats in the cars. That train’s hauling human cargo.”

  Danette put her hands up in the air and growled a few frustrated words.

  Deborah watched her, even as she spoke to Hiram. “What are we going to do?”

  “What we came here to do,” Hiram said. And the folks in the Saarland are about to pay a very steep price for voting to return to the Reich in 1933.

  “I want you two down in the shadow of this ridge as soon as possible. The last farmhouse we passed – see if it has a basement or a storm cellar. Take the family with you if they’ll go.” Hiram touched Deborah on the cheek, kissed her. “After the explosion, I’ll launch another drone – the two we have up now will be destroyed. I’ll have to fly south with the wind when I leave. Head to the rendezvous point as soon as it’s safe to move. I’ll meet you there.” He opened his pack, activated the portal, and disappeared.

  * * *

  Coming in hot, Hiram touched down hard. Pain shot through his left ankle and he lost his balance. He bounced once and landed in a heap. He tried to stand, the pain in his ankle too much to support his weight. He went down on his knees. He peered into the surrounding darkness as he wrestled his M22 assault rifle from its sheath. Where are they? On his way down, he saw two guards south of his landing spot, immediate threats he needed to neutralize. Two shadows advanced from his left, running along a brick path with weapons high, swinging from side to side. He raised the rifle and fired. The heavy slug crashed into the torso of the leftmost target in silence. The second man pivoted, fired at Hiram, and missed, the shot going wide to his left. The sound of gunfire would draw more guards from the post further up river. Hiram fired again before the man chambered another round in his bolt action rifle. The second guard fell. Hiram got to his feet and started to move. As he put weight on his bad ankle, he almost went back down again. He moved as fast as possible, half limping, half hopping.

  A few minutes later he located and donned his goggles, removed his wingsuit, and erected a small, camouflaged blackout tent. He crawled inside the tent and sealed the flap behind him concealing his location in the darkness from incoming guards. After removing the night vision goggles, he opened his backpack and activated the portal. The soft white glow from the portal illuminated the inside of the tent. He hoped the blackout material contained the glow but had never tested his theory.

  Hiram reached into the pod and untied a rope from the top rung of the ladder, then used it to pull up the tripod and pulley system designed to support the Mark XII hyperbaric nuclear weapon he had stored in his pod well over a week ago. He slid down the ladder into the pod, landing on his good foot. Handholds around the pod made it easy for Hiram to maneuver through the space. Hiram opened the first aid cabinet, took two pain killers, and wrapped a moldable cast around his lower left leg to protect the ankle from further injury. The cast grabbed hold of his boot and applied pressure as it expanded and solidified.

  Massing ninety kilograms, the Mark XII was designed to be carried short distances by two strong men, not one man with a bum ankle. He secured the harness around the device, attached the pulley chain to the harness, and detached the sixty centimeter by thirty centimeter overpacked bomb from the cargo clamps in the pod. The weapon swung out of position and crashed into the opposite wall. Hiram drew a sharp breath, fearing the low velocity impact might set the bomb off. Nothing happened. The device swung a few more times before settling centered beneath the tripod.

  Hiram climbed out of the portal and hauled the bomb out of the pod. He pulled until the bomb rested inside the dome tent.

  Hobbled by his injury, the whole process took him about half an hour. Hiram sat on the ground beside the device, panting, sweating, and in pain. “The weapon is in place,” he whispered into the C2ID2.

  “Hurry Hiram, please hurry!” Deborah’s voice in near panic. “The train is approaching Forbath.”

  Any farther than Forbath, the last junction in France before the border, and they took th
e chance of destroying not only Saarbrücken, but also the train.

  “Ten minutes.” He wasted another minute searching for the proper PAL code on his C2ID2. He dialed in a 500 kilotons TNT-equivalent yield on the weapon. If it worked, everything within four kilometers would be turned to rubble, including the railroad bridges over the Saar River.

  “Setting the timers now,” he said. The first timer started the detonation sequence on the Mark XII in exactly five minutes. The second set off a ten kilo C4 demolition charge in six minutes. It would destroy both the Mark XII and the backpack he’d have to leave behind, along with the portal, should the Mark XII fail to detonate.

  Outside the tent, men approached. They called back and forth in German. “I’ve got company.”

  “Fifty meters south of you and moving fast. They have flashlights.” Deborah said, her voice calm through his earpiece.

  “How many?” He asked.

  “Three.”

  Hiram closed a flap of the backpack over the portal without deactivating it. He unsealed the tent flap and peered in the direction Deborah indicated. He put the googles on, adjusting them to address the light of the men’s flashlights. The goggles flared, then settled into the correct saturation, revealing three men sweeping the area, swinging flashlights from side to side, searching for their comrades.

  Hiram fired a round at each target. The quick shots from the rail gun brought the men down in near silence. The timers continued to count down.

  “Anyone else?” he said over the radio.

  “No one else in the park,” Deborah said. “Four more on the main road appear to be making their way toward you. You better get out of there.”

  Hiram ducked back into the tent and saw the Mark XII timer roll over from one minute down to fifty-nine seconds. Not again! He pulled up the backpack flap and dove through the portal, landing hard on the mat at the bottom. He slapped at his C2ID2 and the portal snapped shut above him.