42
1200 hours, Saturday, August 15, 1942, Pont-Saint-Vincent, Meurthe-et-Moselle Department, Vichy France
“Enough,” Petain said. He regarded the bloodied American, his face a swollen mess. “When we stop, fetch one of his dogs. We’ll see if he’s willing to talk then.” The train rolled into the railyard at Pont-Saint-Vincent, seventy- kilometers north of the ambush point. It had taken several hours to complete the move. The damage to the boiler controls during the attack, the need to travel down the tracks in reverse, and the limited skills of the two surviving railway men had contributed to the long ride. He expected a repair team and replacement engine crew to arrive within the hour. A team of railway workers, dispatched from a nearby office, headed back toward Suriauville with a heavy guard, to fix the tracks.
“Sir, I have Miss Brodeur on the radio with an update from Lieutenant Lebeau.”
Petain snatched the microphone from his radio operator and said, “Rubi, give me something useful.”
“Sir, the Lieutenant says they followed Locard and the others to Lapalisse in the Allier Department. They pulled off onto a side road. By the time they came back out, a Waffen SS column blocked the main road. He says the German officer got out and talked to-.”
“What is a Waffen SS column doing in Lapalisse?”
“Sorry, sir. I assumed you’d heard.”
“Heard what?” he demanded.
“The Germans have moved into Vichy. Marshall Petain has been detained. I received a call an hour ago from his assistant. She must not have been in the office when they showed up for the Marshall. Says she heard some of the soldiers outside talking about a column in Lapalisse heading towards Lyon.” She hesitated, “And sir, another Infantry Division is en route to Toulouse.” Petain could almost hear the tears running down Rubi’s cheeks. Southern France had so far avoided the depravation and most of the horrors of the Nazi occupation. It seemed their respite would end. “When do you think they’ll be coming here?”
Why have the Germans suddenly decided to occupy southern France? If they’ve arrested my uncle, what does that mean for his relatives, especially me and my family?
“Listen to me. We need more information,” he said. “Call the station chiefs in Lyon, Toulouse, and Avignon. Find out what they know. Keep it brief.” Petain paused to let her write that down.
“Yes, sir,” she said. “Should I warn them?”
“No reason to incite panic without the facts. Now, tell me the rest of Lebeau’s report.”
“He said the German officer travelling with Locard got out and spoke to an SS officer in the column. The Germans fired a heavy machine gun at Locard’s car, which exploded. Lebeau believes Locard, the German officer, and the other man in Locard’s car to be dead. Sounds like three casualties in the German command car as well. He’s requesting further instructions.”
“Send him to Brugheas to pick up the Bertrand woman’s husband. I’ll meet him in Lapalisse. I want to see the site myself.”
He waited for Rubi to pass along Lebeau’s acknowledgement of his orders and broke the connection.
He turned to Dubois. “Sergeant, once we stop, send someone out to find a truck.”
“Sir, I don’t think we have any resources in the area.”
Petain stared at Dubois for a moment, not willing to state the obvious. “Once you’ve secured transportation, load up the equipment we confiscated from the prisoners. I’m taking a team to Vichy. I need you to stay here with the rest of the men and guard the prisoners until the train is ready to move.”
The Sergeant acknowledged the order and Petain dismissed him. Maybe I can make some new friends. I’m going to need them.
The American sat leaning against the wall of the boxcar. Petain sat down near him on the blood-spattered bench. “How did you do it?”
He said nothing, but the corners of his swollen mouth turned up a little. For a moment, Petain considered peeling the man’s skin away from his bones with a dull knife, anything to make him scream.
Petain leaned over toward him. “Your women are all going to die. If I need to break every last one of them with these two hands, I will. And, you won’t be able to stop me.”
The prisoner smiled, teeth bloody.
“Sir,” Dubois pushed one of the Yank’s dogs into the car. “What should I do with her?”
Petain had forgotten about his earlier request. But, he mused, she might do more talking than the Yank. “You can start by getting her out of that uniform. She looks like a man.” Petain put his pistol back in its holster.
“Sir?” Dubois asked.
“Dogs don’t wear clothes,” he said. “After that, she’s yours. Do what you want with her. Maybe you can get some information out of her.”
Dubois pulled out a field knife, but the blonde woman put her hands up. “I’ll do it,” she said. Although speckled with mud and dirt, the woman reminded Petain of a much younger version of his wife. Pale skin, deep blue eyes that begged for his attention. She opened the neckline of her uniform, the swell of her breasts peeking out in the dim cabin.
“What’s your name?” Petain asked her.
“Emma.” She pushed the fabric off her shoulder. “Emma Rosecrans.”
On other occasions, he might have enjoyed this one. “Don’t let her out of your sight,” Petain told his second.
Dubois nodded and shifted his attention back to the woman.
Petain peered out the window, expecting to see a replacement engineer and engine repair crew. A single man, dressed more like a dispatcher than a mechanic, awaited them.
“Not another problem,” said Petain. “Dubois, get whatever you can out of this dog and then dispose of her. Make sure he see’s everything. Oh, and one more thing, make sure she screams loud enough for the others to hear.” Petain glanced coldly at his nemesis laying battered on the seat. “I’m glad I didn’t kill you earlier; I wouldn’t want you to miss this.” He turned and walked out, smiling as he heard the first blow hit the nearly naked woman.
“Where are my mechanics and engineers?” Petain yelled at the railway man as he disembarked.
“I’m very sorry sir,” the railroad man said, taking his hat off. “The partisans have blown up the cement plant in Xeuilley. The rail line is blocked in both directions until we remove the debris.”
Petain closed his eyes, tired from the day’s unfortunate turn. From inside the passenger car he heard the first of the screams. When he opened his eyes, the dispatcher remained. “Get on with it, then.”
“Sir.” The railroad man put his hat back on as he left.
43
A temporal artifact of May 6, 2050
Hiram wriggled through the portal in his pack as a barrage of machine gun rounds pierced Locard’s car. He landed hands-first on the floor of the pod and rolled, a maneuver he’d practiced hundreds of times. Somehow his left foot hit the floor as hard as the rest of him, reawakening the pain of his ankle injury.
“Fucking bastard!” Hiram punched the door to one of the storage cabinets. I never should have trusted Oster. He hit the door again, leaving a dent this time. His knuckles burned from the impact. Probably thought having my M22 would swing the war in Germany’s favor. Or maybe the SS bastard suspected something and ordered the attack on his own. Doesn’t matter now.
And Locard? If the German MG 34 machine gun rounds that ripped through the hull of the oversized car hadn’t cut through the detective, the satchel charge Hiram pulled from the wall of the pod and pitched through the active portal finished the job. The outward blast of the ten kilo C4 charge would have obliterated both Locard and Oster, along with the M22 and backpack. Now what?