Hiram shivered at the thought and waited for the translation to complete. The women nodded.
Hiram climbed down into his pod through the portal in his pack. The weapons waited side by side, nuclear soldiers ready to join the fight. He pushed a tripod and pulley system out through the portal. Ellen and Myriam guided the rig out of the pod.
Hiram poked his head out of the portal and watched while the two women setup the tripod and hooked the pulley system at the apex. No need to do anymore climbing on his bad ankle than necessary. “I’ll attach the hook at the end to a harness for the first weapon. When I tug the line, turn the crank to lift the device out of the portal. Once you pull the weapon clear, detach the harness, not the hook, and drop it back through the portal.” The Babel Fish repeated.
The women nodded. Justine gave him a thumbs-up.
Confident they understood, Hiram ducked back through the portal with the hook in hand. He hooked the line to the harness already attached to the first weapon and gave a short tug. On cue, the line tightened and the weapon ascended. The portal distorted to accommodate the size of the Mark XII. He waited almost sixty seconds before the hook passed back through the portal. He attached the hook to the harness on the second device and tugged the line. They repeated the process for the remaining devices.
Once six of the Mark XIIs had been pulled from the pod, Hiram climbed out through the portal a final time, using his upper body to pull most of his weight up each rung of the ladder. This trip out of the portal was the hardest yet. His arms quivered with exhaustion and he had a hard time catching his breath.
The short grey metal drums, each sixty centimeters tall and fifty centimeters wide across the top, stood in a row. Ellen, Myriam, and Justine stood behind the row, hesitant to stand too close.
“They can’t do any damage like this,” Hiram said as he leaned on one of the metal drums. “Justine, hand me the screw driver.” He waited for the translator to finish and put a shaky hand out.
The three women stepped a little closer. Hiram attempted to unscrew the top lid. He couldn’t manage to set the driver into the head of the screw.
Justine stepped forward, put a hand over his, and eased the screw driver away from him. “You tell us what to do,” the Babel Fish said.
Hiram nodded. “Unfasten the lid by removing the screws.” He waited for Justine to complete the assignment. “Then remove the top lid.” He wanted to sleep, so badly. Every part of him seemed heavy and uncooperative. “Each drum is made up of three sections. This top section holds a set of seven titanium discs. You’ll notice the size of the discs decreases as you move toward the bottom.”
Justine peered over the edge of the drum and into the Mark XII, still hesitant. “It looks like an upside-down layer cake,” she said. “Come see.”
Ellen and Myriam approached with caution. Once they peered inside, the device seemed to be less dangerous and more interesting. He wondered if they had expected a demonic creature to emerge.
“Each titanium disc contains a two-centimeter-thick portal, like the one in my pack. The discs keep the portals stable just long enough for the blast wave to pass through after detonation, which happens in less than the blink of an eye. The design allows the user to select the desired yield, the larger the disc, the more energy it transmits.”
Ellen, Justine, and Myriam accepted his explanation and nodded.
“You’ll need to remove the portals from all of the devices. Take the screw driver and pry open the clips holding each disc in place.” His breathing was wrong. “Then, you’ll need to unplug the wire that provides power to the portals and connects the arming mechanism. See those ribbed sections, squeeze them together.”
Justine took a few seconds to figure out what he meant. She seemed pleased with the result as the plug released with little effort.”
“To remove the portal from the disc, you need to grasp this tab and pull away.” Was the translator speaking faster than he was?
Ellen pointed to the portal. “Is it safe to touch the portal?”
“The portals are not active without the power source. Be sure to unplug the wire before removing the portal from the disc.” he said. He thought again about the shriveled body of that poor dog. The portals needed little power to function and the small electric battery could handle the job. If not disconnected from the power source first, the portals could be activated. “Please take your time.”
Justine removed the next portal, careful only to touch the titanium disc and the directed tab. Hiram left her to finish and headed to the next Mark XII. He instructed Myriam as she removed the lid. When all the lids had been removed, Hiram returned to the first device. Justine pulled out the last disc. She moved to the next Mark XII and continued.
Ellen moved to the third device in the line. “I’ll take this one.” She pulled another screw driver out of her thigh pocket.
“Myriam, I need you to help remove the electronic components.” He lifted the lid and struggled to line it back up on the top of the drum. “We’ll need to flip the device over.” The translator repeated.
Myriam grabbed another screw driver and fastened the lid back in place. Hiram tried to help her lift the device, but almost fell over. Justine guided him out of the way as the work on the second device was completed. Together, Justine and Myriam inverted the heavy Mark XII. “This is the door to the electronics panel. You’ll need to remove the screws to open the panel.” Myriam got to work with the screw driver.
“Now, pull the box out slowly so you don’t damage the wire coverings. The electronics are housed inside. We’ll need to remove the boards and store them.” As Myriam removed the box, Hiram pulled an electronics baggy from his pocket.
“Open the door. Press against the clip holding the board in place.”
Myriam paused, searching for the clip. She put her hand on it and looked to Hiram.
He nodded. “Push with your thumb.” With the clip fully depressed, the board ejected itself from the connector.
Myriam jumped as the board lifted itself out, then laughed as she slid the board out of the box the rest of the way with ease and handed it to Hiram. He slid it into the baggy. Myriam moved on to the next one, Justine helping to flip the device over. He sealed the baggy once both boards were inside.
Agnes joined the group, with her C2ID2 display in hand. She held the device up for him. “The drone picked up something on the north side of the pasture. What does this look like to you?” she asked, pointing to a cluster of heat signatures on the image.
Hiram glanced at the display, irritated that she’d bothered them as they raced the clock to dismantle the Mark XIIs. “They’re pigs.”
“Oh,” she said as she stepped back. “I worried they might be men trying to conceal themselves. I did not mean to interrupt your work.” She turned and walked away before he could apologize for his gruff tone.
Myriam completed the final device. Now, in front of each of the weapons sat a stack of portals, and two electronics boards in antistatic plastic bags. Satisfied with the work, Hiram said, “Let’s pack it all up.”
Justine collected the stacks of portals, Myriam the bags of electronics. They handed Hiram the items and he eased them inside his pod via the portal in his backpack, ensuring he had six stacks of portals and six bags of electronics. He closed his pack.
“We need to get moving if we want to reach the drop zone in time.” The thought occurred to him that he hadn’t bothered to count the portals in the stacks or reviewed the electronics bags. He just wanted to get the job done. He needed to close his eyes, only for a few minutes. Besides, he trusted his team and they couldn’t afford the time.
Teams Bravo and Golf stayed behind to watch the neutered weapons. The rest of the women accompanied him to the drop zone. They mimicked his slow, uneven pace as if they feared leaving him to make the walk on his own.
* * *
“Six mois!” Barbara shrieked when Captain Trembley, aka Falcon, explained the Allied plan. The Babel Fish repeated
her words with similar inflection. “Six months! Our families could be dead in six days!”
“It’s the best we can do,” Trembley said. “We simply don’t have the forces available to mount a cross-channel invasion, even with the help of your atomic bombs. Yes, we could punch a hole in the Atlantic Wall, and yes, we could destroy most of the mobile German divisions, but then what? The Nazi’s would drive us back into the sea by sheer weight of numbers within a month, with tremendous losses. And it would take years to launch a second invasion if the first one failed.”
“What about the forces for Operation Torch?” Hiram said. He had spoken in English, the Babel Fish providing a French translation. Trembley spoke both languages, but spoke French for the benefit of the women.
Trembley said, “That’s only about eight divisions. We’ll need ten times the number to take and hold France. American forces pour into England as we speak, but they’re not fully trained, and our officers and men have no combat experience. And the Germans can shift armored forces to the west by rail far faster than we can move similar forces across the channel by boat.”
“Not if the rail lines don’t exist anymore,” Barbara said, eyes blazing. “What happened in Saarbrücken can happen to all the major rail hubs along the border.”
“They could still move units through Belgium and Luxemburg,” Trembley said.
Hiram held up his hand, silencing Barbara before she could say more. They had shown Trembley the six weapons after he arrived. Not functional weapons, but Trembley hadn’t known the difference.
“The weapons have to be placed manually, not dropped or launched. We can’t reach all the major crossings in time anyway.” Hiram tapped an icon on his C2ID2, turning off the translator, then continued in English. “I’m not willing to incinerate half the French population.”
“With that leg, you aren’t going to be doing much of anything,” Trembley said.
“Needs some time to heal. Unfortunately, time’s something we don’t have.” He looked around at his soldiers, all hopeful. “Regardless, there has to be another way.”
Barbara clapped her hands together, her face contorted in anger. “Pas de secrets,” she said. “Parle Français.” No secrets. Speak French. She pointed to the C2ID2.
Hiram sighed, and tapped the translator icon. “There has to be another way.”
32
0145 hours, Monday, August 10, 1942, Saint Chamond, Loire Department, Vichy France
The betrayal by her husband stunned Rosette. She considered Garon an ideal husband. He worked hard, brought home enough money to support their family. On Sundays they went to St. Ennemond’s Catholic Church. When services concluded, they spent the day with Garon’s parents, where he ran around the back field with the little ones, laughing and playing. During the week, he escorted Rosette around the community, helping to deliver meals to a few of their elderly neighbors, even after a long day at the office. When they arrived home, Leverette and Sophia would be enjoying a story with Mabel Roussel, the energetic, young primary school teacher, who had befriended Rosette. Garon would scoop up Sophia and the two would race Leverette up the stairs to the nursery. When all was done, he would wrap an arm around her and kiss the top of her head. He had loved them, hadn’t he?
For two days, she wept for her children and for herself. When the weeping stopped, she found her heart had turned bitter. Barbara was right about the French Gentiles! She needed to save her children, and to do that, she had to get back to the others.
Rosette had paid no attention to the route when Detective Locard had driven her away. She didn’t remember the few road signs they passed or the direction they had traveled. Rosette did recall a field and a farmhouse, a small stone bridge, and long stretches of evergreens. She had a vague feeling they’d travelled south, towards Rivesaltes. Still, how was she going to find her way back to Hiram and the others?
She lay on a cot in a root cellar beneath a farmhouse, a blanket pulled up tight under her chin. She had spotted a trowel among the baskets of potatoes and had stored it under the cot, just in case. A pitcher of water sat on a nearby shelf, last night’s uneaten meal on a tray beside it. Unable to sleep, she stared at the dark ceiling. The sunlight seeping through the floorboards faded away hours ago, and the sounds of footsteps and muffled conversation had ceased as well. She thought it might be after midnight, in the small hours of the day.
The sound of a car engine shattered the quiet, followed by the crunch of tires on gravel. She grabbed the trowel from beneath the cot and moved as far away from the ladder as possible. With the trowel in her right hand, she waited and wished she still had her M22.
She heard the front door open. Slow, heavy footsteps grew louder as they came close to the cellar door. Something heavy above her slid across the floor, the initial squeal of wood on wood made her clench her teeth. Then, the trapdoor to the cellar opened. A silhouette lingered in the opening.
“Come up now,” Locard said, his words gentle and encouraging. He left the door open and disappeared from view.
Rosette slipped the trowel into a pocket of the dress she’d stolen the day she left Hiram and the others. She climbed the ladder out of the dark cellar.
Locard sat at the kitchen table, struggling with a silver lighter. After a couple of tries, flame erupted. He lit the candle on the small table and slipped the lighter back into his pocket. The dim light accentuated his pale skin and the dark bags beneath his eyes. He hadn’t shaved and sleep did not appear to be his ally.
“Please, sit.” he said, directing her to take the seat opposite him.
She remained standing.
“Please. I have news of your children.”
Rosette circled the table and took a seat at the table, praying the wariness of this man was not a sign of the news he had to share. “Are they alive?”
“Yes,” Locard said.
“Where are they?” she asked. “I beg of you to tell me!”
“I’ll tell you,” he said, “in return for information.”
“All right. What do you want to know?”
“Who freed you from the convoy in the Pyrénées?” Locard said.
“I can’t tell you that,” she said.
“And where did he come from?” he continued.
“I can’t-“
“Quid pro quo, Madame Bertrand. You tell me what I need to know, and I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
Rosette shifted in her chair, uncomfortable with her options.
“If you answer my questions, I’ll do everything in my power to get your children to safety.”
“What about the families of the other women who escaped with me?”
“I’ll do what I can. Can’t promise more than that. Getting two children out is a lot easier than a couple dozen families, especially adult men.”
Rosette looked into his eyes, thought she saw sincerity behind the weariness. And something else. Fear?
“Who freed you and the other prisoners? I need to know, please.”
“Something has happened, hasn’t it?” Her bitter heart raced, as if it knew what happened. “What is it?”
For a moment, he looked down at his hands. His eyes grew glassy, as if he held back tears. “A powerful weapon has been used,” he said. “Nothing we have ever seen before. On the radio, they are saying hundreds of thousands of people are dead. How can a single explosion wreak so much havoc? Waging war with such weapons is madness. France will be destroyed!”
Rosette couldn’t take her eyes off of him. He worries for his people, just as I worry for my own.
“I can see it in your face. You know something.”
Rosette shook her head, not knowing if he’d understand. “Do you know what Hitler plans for the Jewish people? What is to happen to them when they get shipped out of France?”
“Nazi labor camps in the East.”
“No,” she said. “We go to extermination camps where they plan to gas us like an infestation of rats. The Nazis plan to kill every single
Jew in Europe. And the Vichy are helping them. You are helping them commit one of the greatest crimes in the history of the world.”
“You have proof?” Locard asked.
“Hiram showed us proof.”
Locard leaned toward her. “Hiram?”
The information was free, she couldn’t take it back. “That’s his name, the man who helped us. He comes from another time, another place. He is Danette Halphen’s great-great-grandson.”
“Impossible,” Locard said. “Mrs. Halphen is only in her early thirties.”
“Do you have a better explanation for what happened in Saarbrücken?”
“No, but neither do I believe that the man you call Hiram has one of Mr. Wells’ time machines. I’m not just a detective, I’m a forensic investigator. I’ve studied science. Time travel is impossible,” he said.
“You’ve heard of the scientist Albert Einstein?” When Locard nodded she continued. “Well one of our group is a physics teacher, and she says that Professor Einstein has theoretically proven that time travel is allowed. Hiram proved it to us in a much more practical sense.”
The Maids of Chateau Vernet Page 15