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.