One robot was equipped with a heavy machine gun, the other an automatic grenade launcher. With their seemingly impenetrable body casings, machine guns and rifles posed little threat. Hiram once voiced concern about the optics, but Trembley believed the monsters would be no less formidable flying blind.
The robots advanced toward the French. Once they got within range of their target, they let loose a storm of fire. A moment later, another of Deborah’s missiles arced in and the French position evaporated.
Trembley, Charlotte, and Danette joined Team Charlie and together they moved across the field, Simone providing surveillance via the drone. The lone survivor of the attack surrendered as Irene approached his position.
Hiram and Deborah arrived a moment later. While they huddled with Charlotte and Danette, Trembley and Irene walked towards the remains of the nearest armored car.
Trembley rolled the body of a young French soldier over. Too young to be dead.
Major Thompson arrived as Trembley knelt beside the body, three SAS commandos trailing behind him. Thompson kicked the dead man’s foot. “Well done,” he conceded. “Thanks for your help.”
The convoy reassembled, the vehicles settling into a similar order as before. Trembley, searching for unwelcome surprises along the way, headed up the ravine toward the Swiss border. Not a French soldier in sight as they approached the border crossing. Team Charlie, in the lead, pulled their railbikes off to the side of the road to let the Citroën pass as they neared the gate. Trembley stopped the car and he and Danette stepped out and walked toward the border guard. Major Thompson, who had found a place in the lead truck for the ride up the hill, joined them.
The Swiss corporal leading the guard detail at the gate watched the trio approach, hand over the pistol on his hip.
Trembley held a hand out to the man. “Captain Joseph Trembley, Major Archibald Thompson, and Mrs. Danette Halphen. I believe someone’s expecting us.”
The corporal took the man’s hand and nodded. He said a few words to the other men nearby before summoning a lieutenant, who radioed a captain, who phoned a colonel, and then the gate opened.
“That’s how it’s done,” Thompson said.
The lieutenant stepped through the gate. “These men will escort you to a nearby field where you can park the vehicles. A representative from the Swiss Foreign Office will be along soon with further instruction.”
One of the men jumped into the driver’s seat of the lead truck and set the vehicle in motion. Without hesitation and, Trembley was sure, grateful to be as far from the French border as possible, the rest of the trucks followed. Trembley stayed behind, chatting with the Swiss guards as truck after truck rolled past. Cheers emanated from each truck as they passed the checkpoint. He’d catch a ride on the last truck, once he was sure everyone made it across the border.
“Here’s the last of them,” he said to the guards as the thirtieth truck approached. “I expect a sidecar motorcycle bringing up the rear.” Hiram and Deborah had made the call to move through last. The final truck passed Trembley’s position and behind it stood only empty road. Trembley slipped on his NVGs and tried to search along the ravine, the contraptions not offering as much help as he had hoped. Hiram and Deborah were nowhere to be found.
60
0730 hours, Tuesday, August 18, 1942, Vichy, Allier Department, Vichy France
Corporal Lafayette passed through six additional checkpoints on his way into Vichy, all manned by the LVF. At each stop, he offered information in hopes of getting something in return, a trick he learned from Captain Petain. And the LVF, proud of the current state of things in Vichy, wanted to talk. At the first stop, he learned that Rene Bousquet remained in office as the General Secretary. When they pulled into the second stop, he passed along the information about Bousquet, adding that “he’s been cooperative with the SS these past two years.”
“I guess cooperation doesn’t mean much,” the guard said. “Look what happened to Prime Minister Lavall.”
“At least they haven’t executed him yet,” Lafayette said at the third stop. “Detained for an undetermined amount of time I hear, but quite alive.”
At the fourth stop, he heard Marshall Petain sat comfortably in a prison cell alongside Prime Minister Lavall.
“The LVF control’s Vichy now,” a guard at the fifth stop said. “Except for the prefecture. The German’s hold sway over the government center. A Waffen SS battalion’s taken up residence there, or so we’ve heard.”
“The German 15th Infantry Division made a move into Unoccupied France.” The guard at the sixth stop called out the information from his small hut, radio earpiece pressed to the side of his head.
“Any word on the Pyrénées-Orientales?” Lafayette asked as the guard passed his papers back through the window. He had been out of touch with his family for a few days. He hoped trouble had by-passed his home.
“No news today,” the guard said. “I supposed that is good news."
At the prefecture, German soldiers formed a cordon extending two blocks out from the edge of the compound. The officer in charge, a grizzled Waffen SS Sturmbannführer, decided to let Lafayette pass after a careful review of his papers.
“Just you,” he said.
“Yes, sir.” Lafayette turned to Corporal Martin. “Find a place to park the vehicles, then come back here and wait for me. Stay alert.” Martin acknowledged his orders and led the vehicles away from the well-guarded entrance.
Lafayette entered the prefecture with papers in hand. His papers passed through three more sets of hands as he made his way through the complex of buildings that constituted the seat of the Vichy government.
Bousquet’s personal secretary appeared disinterested when Lafayette arrived in the ornate office suite. “Can I help you?”
“I am here to meet Captain Louis Petain, Chief of Police for the Pyrénées-Orientales Department. I understand we have an appointment with the General Secretary.”
The secretary stood and reached across her desk for his papers, leaning far enough to expose the topmost bulge of her large breasts that seemed to be squeezed upward by the same force that created her narrow waist. She had a pretty face framed by short, sculpted blonde hair. Rank does have its privileges.
She reviewed his papers. “I am not aware of this appointment.” she said. Her accent confirmed Lafayette’s suspicion that she hailed from Marseilles, a place known for producing such beautiful specimens of the female form.
“We captured an American spy that has provided advanced equipment to the partisans. Captain Petain sent me here with several of the weapons. The General Secretary will want to see the weapons for himself. Quite an impressive collection. I’m surprised Captain Petain has not arrived yet.”
“I’m afraid the General Secretary-”
“General Secretary Bousquet is meeting with the Führer and Reichsführer Himmler,” said a voice in passable French. His voice carried a strong German accent.
Lafayette turned to face the man who had entered the room behind him. Black fedora, long black leather jacket, despite the moderate temperature, a Nazi armband, jackboots, wire-rim glasses, and dead blue eyes. Gestapo.
“The Führer is here? In Vichy?” Lafayette asked, dumbfounded. “Why?”
“The Führer is not accountable to you,” the Gestapo man said.
“Of course not,” Lafayette stuttered. “I’m surprised that he has decided to honor the people of Vichy with a visit. Will there be a public celebration of the event?”