“We cannot trust him!” Barbara’s hiss pulled Sarah’s attention back to the discussion around the heater.
“We have no choice,” Deborah said. “He has the weapons and knowledge we need to save our families.”
“What if he’s lying?” Ellen asked. “We could go back on our own. The Vichy said they would only hold us until the war ended so we didn’t hamper the war effort.”
“What if he’s telling the truth? Then we all die like dogs,” Danette said. “Better to go down fighting.”
“Easy for you to say,” Frieda said. “You don’t have family back there.”
“Neither do I,” said Rosette. “You can do what you want; they’re going to have to drag me back to that camp. I’m not even Jewish! I was born and raised Catholic. I was no threat to anybody. They arrested me anyway. The police said I was a Jew because one of my great-grandparents was Jewish. They just wanted to get rid of me.”
“What about his portal or pod, or whatever it is?” Ellen asked, nodding towards the pack lying between Deborah and Danette.
“I never would have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes,” Sarah answered. “I have no idea how it works, but it does. It lends credence to his story. That level of technology almost certainly came from the Americans. I heard they entered the war a few months ago. If the Axis Powers had that capability the war would be over by now. Same with the British and Russians.”
“She’s right,” said Ester, who had only arrived at Camp Joffre a few weeks earlier.
Sarah had listened to the officer’s conversations back at the Chateau, all the while serving tea or afternoon meals. She lingered during those times, searching for information that might give her fellow detainees hope. The officers spoke openly at the Chateau. Sometimes they talked about their wives, sometimes their children. On occasion, she heard them talk about defiling the maids, though none had made an effort to do so. They shared news from every corner of France, of resistance, and of unsatisfactory leadership. Once in a while she heard about defeat, a thing they all feared. They exchanged somber words about the lost lives of fellow countrymen. Not the Jewish ones though. Except there had been a man who talked about how he missed the Jewish woman who used to bake the sweetest bread. The way he said it, Sarah swore he missed the woman more. But news of American involvement, that had been scant, almost non-existent. “According to what I’ve heard, the Americans haven’t done much of anything. They fought in a big naval battle at Midway and defeated the Japanese. Little good that’s done for us.”
“If we hide and wait, they’ll come and free France,” Ellen said.
“If Hiram speaks the truth,” Sarah said, “they’ll be too late. Everyone in Drancy is scheduled to ship out in August, including our families. And I, for one, will do everything in my power to prevent that from happening. If that means trusting a Yiddish wizard with a magical Tinderbox, then that’s what I plan to do.”
6
1510 hours, Monday, July 6, 1942, Perpignan, Pyrénées-Orientales Department, Vichy France
Captain Louis Petain, Chief of Police for the Pyrénées-Orientales Department, hiked down a mountain road that supported the passage of a full-sized cargo truck up until an hour ago. The climb over the fallen tree that blocked the road had left a sizeable hole in the side of his uniform pants. Thick, heavy cakes of mud stuck to his polished boots. If the current situation hadn’t demolished his pleasant mood, having to cancel this week’s date with his delicate young morsel of a mistress finished the job.
“What in hell happened here?” he barked at the first man he saw at the site.
“An ambush, sir,” the underling said.
“I can see that, fool. Where are the prisoners?”
“Thirty of them are gone, sir. We caught five, and one died of a gunshot wound.”
“And my men?” Petain’s anger swelled. “What about my men?”
“Seven of our men are dead, sir. As are both the hired drivers. Corporal Leveque is barely alive. He was blown out of the command car and wound up in a tree. We got him down and four of my men are carrying him to an ambulance at the roadblock west of here.”
“What did he tell you?
“Nothing sir, he was unconscious. But the remaining prisoners are willing to talk. Said something about a man dressed as a soldier.”
“One man did all this?” the captain said.
“That’s what the women said, sir. They said he spoke Hebrew, not French. He led the other prisoners east, around the bend in the road. We found tracks leading down to the water, but we haven’t found an exit point yet. I’ve sent for dogs.”
“Keep searching.”
“Yes, sir.” The underling stood in place.
“Get on with it.”
“Sir, one of the women said the man was somehow connected to a prisoner named Danette Halphen. He called out to her after the attack.”
Petain rolled the name around for a minute. “Name mean anything to you?”
“No sir.”
He dismissed the younger man and the policeman sped off to execute his orders. Lieutenant Lebeau, his most trusted subordinate, arrived a few minutes later.
“Lebeau, I want you to take charge of the five remaining prisoners. Question them closely; they may still have useful information.” Lebeau nodded his understanding and moved off without a word.
Petain spent the next several hours prowling around the ambush site. He found remnants of satchel charges and discovered the mysterious soldier’s foxhole. Inside he found only four shell casings. He expected more. Two odd sets of tracks, one from a small four-wheeled cart and another from some type of small tracked vehicle, added to the confusion. A nuisance ran loose in Petain’s jurisdiction. He intended to deal with him before he caused any more trouble.
Before leaving the site, Petain found Lebeau with the five remaining maids, his stance more relaxed than acceptable considering the situation. Several of his comrades lost their lives because of these damned Jews. The maids leaned against the back of the truck with the least damage. They straightened up as Petain approached. Lebeau met Petain halfway.
“Any new information?” Petain said.
“No sir.”
“Do you mind if I have a moment with them?”
“Of course not, sir.”
Petain approached the women, stepping around the dead one on the ground gathering a compliment of flies. Someone had covered her face with an apron, the ties sprawling away from her head. He stopped for a moment and looked at the body, reflecting for his audience’s benefit and not his own. “My condolences for your loss,” he said to the women. “We lost a few good men today as well. Such a tragedy.”
He approached the woman to the left of the truck. Petain took her hand and guided her up in to the truck. “Have a seat.” He ushered the others in, helping them climb up into the back. “We’ll get you back to camp soon. I’m sure you wish to see your families.”
Once they were all seated, he climbed up into the truck with them and sat near the back. “I know that Officer Lebeau has been kind enough to gather information from you all.” Lebeau waited outside the truck, watching. “If you don’t mind I’d like to ask you a couple of questions myself before we get you out of here.”