Chapter 7

Jules and Phileas did as ordered speeding to the back of the building. Jacques's wife was waiting for them. She directed them to the cellar stairs behind a door near the kitchens. They made the cellar quickly, looking for a hiding place as the main door upstairs opened with someone shouting in German.

The inn's cellar was divided into three rooms. One was the main pantry. One was a wine cellar, while the other was a general storage room with boxes and barrels stacked everywhere. They picked the third room as their refuge. Phileas knew it wasn't safe against a thorough search, but there were windows at the far end that might provide escape. Long narrow things close to the ceiling to let in natural light. He stepped up on a box to check the view. The dirty window faced the back of the inn, it's out buildings and the woods. The barn where he had taken James Fogg's body earlier stood halfway between the inn and the woods. It would block the view of their flight if they weren't seen getting from here to there.

While Phileas considered that, Jules sat Miss Fogg on a crate. He joined Fogg to see what he was looking at. Phileas turned to him askance. "Do you think we could lift her up and out this window? You will have to carry her from here to the barn and then on to the woods."

Jules swallowed. Roberta Fogg was a slim slight woman. She had given him no trouble last night carrying her up the short staircase to the attic. Rushing downstairs had been a bit awkward carrying her and her bags. He had struggled with Fogg giving him a steadying hand when needed. Stressed and sore, He tried to control his breathing. I'm not used to this sort of thing.

Stomping boots broke into his complaints. The soldiers were heading up the stairs to the guestrooms. Jules stopped thinking about it. He lifted Miss Fogg into his arms again as Phileas opened the window. He pushed her up, so she could grab the casing, Phileas ran to the door, closing and latching it from the inside. He pushed a few crates in front of it for a barricade. "This won't give us much of a head start if we don't get going."

Miss Fogg had just pulled herself through the window. It would be a tighter squeeze for them, but they should get through.

Roberta rolled across the ground out of the men's way scanning the area, teeth clinched against pain and the freezing cold of the packed snow. There were no soldiers to be seen on the grounds. Light shown from the second floor. Luminous patches of yellow lit the snow in blocks. Occasionally she saw shadows moving across the patches. We might be seen heading to the barn. It's clear ground. No time to worry about it.

The two men were beside her again. Mr. Verne shut the window and lifted her into his arms. If Roberta had felt helpless inside, she felt doubly so being carried across the yard and around the outbuilding. Old snow on the ground made icy puddles everywhere. If Mr. Verne slips, we will both hit the ground. Lord, please…

They made it to the barn, around it. They crossed the field behind the barn to the woods. Roberta looked behind them checking their backs. I can't see the inn, but that meant no one from the inn can see us either. Mr. Verne shifted his grip on her again. His breathing was ragged. Just a little farther.

Just a little farther, Jules told himself. They were just a few yards from the woods. Fogg was ahead of him holding his cane up in one hand and Miss Fogg's two bags in the other. They made it to the tree line. Fogg led him deeper, making sure they couldn't be seen.

"Stop here," Phileas said.

Jules put the injured woman down behind brush plants still in leaf. He dropped to his knees. His arms, back, and lungs burned.

Phileas put a hand on his shoulder. "Stay here I'll check the house." He skirted the clearing at the tree line, pistol in hand, until he could see the front of the inn. The soldiers were on the drive by their vehicle. There were only four of them, all with those rapid-fire weapons. Jacques and his wife were outside with them. They didn't seem to be under arrest, just seeing the soldiers out. One man, an officer by his demeanor held a pistol, made some parting shouts Phileas couldn't understand. He waved his weapon about and hit Jacques across the side of the head. The blow knocked him off his feet. His wife dove to his side. The officer turned away, entered the vehicle, and left.

Jacques slowly regained his feet with his wife's help after the soldiers were well down the road. They returned to the inn.

Satisfied, Phileas returned to Jules and Roberta. "The soldiers are gone. Let's move toward the main road." Phileas helped Jules lift Miss Fogg to her feet. This time they stood to either side of her supporting her weight as she hopped on one foot between them. When they were within sight of the road, they settled in the dark to wait.

The ride to the field after their near miss was apprehensive and painful. Every rut in the road jarred Roberta as she sat in the back seat with Mr. Verne. The leg is broken. It must be to cause this much pain. I could never follow father's exit plan alone. Those soldiers were looking for me. I'm certain of it. They would have had me, too. That's two miracles sent my way in less than a day.

When the French innkeeper's car reached the appointed place, Phileas and Jules looked around, confused. It was indeed a field, a large open area, just as she had said. The channel would be several miles away yet. Phileas swallowed nervously. Are we going to be left here with an injured woman?

Miss Fogg opened her door and carefully worked her way out of the seat. Phileas heard her sharp intake as fresh pain hit her. He left the vehicle, coming to her aid. He steadied them both with his cane as he waited for the other two men to join them.

"Take care, Jacques," Roberta said, giving the man a kiss on the cheek as she leaned from Phileas's support to his. "It looks like you won't be seeing me again soon."

"Be well, Mademoiselle." The Frenchman smiled at her and handed Roberta the package he had brought with him. "These are our contributions to allied intelligence. Give it to your people with France's compliments." With that, he returned to his vehicle and left.

Roberta watched as he drove away. "Jacques will go to the next town to send word of what happened. All the resistance needs to know about this. Let's get off the road and into this field, she indicated to their right. We can wait in that stand of trees over there."

Time went by slowly as they waited. The night temperatures were bitter. Roberta didn't complain. The chill kept her leg from bothering her.

Phileas knew that effect, but also knew they would freeze just sitting here in the open. He had done this kind of race against enemies through harsh winter conditions. He knew about the disorientation, delirium. With an injured woman leaning on his side, Phileas felt very vulnerable. He turned again, looking both ways along the road. "Is someone coming for us soon?"

"Yes, very soon," Roberta said. But she was not watching the roads. Her eyes were scanning the stars.

"There!" Roberta said, pointing up into the sky.

Phileas looked in the direction she indicated but saw nothing. Finally, staring and concentrating, he saw something moving through the stars. Miss Fogg pulled a thick instrument out of her bag. She did something to it in the dark. A beam of light flashed, stabbing the night.

A low buzzing, like a swarm of bees could be heard before anything could be clearly seen. In awe, Phileas watched as a large machine with wings glided to the field in front of them. It made the ground with a few bounces. She flashed the light again several times. The machine turned in response, growling toward their position.

A young man came out of the machine, jumping to the ground through a side door. "You're hurt." A pistol pointing it at Verne and Fogg was in his hand as he came around. "Who are they?"

"Friends and family," Roberta answered. "Mission accomplished, but father is dead. The Germans are looking for me. These two are escorting me back to England."

"As you say." The pilot put his weapon away. "Sorry about your father. Let's go." He pulled down a short stepladder attached to the side of the machine and helped Phileas lead Roberta inside.

The two nineteenth century men had no time to deal with all that they were seeing. The pilot showed them where to sit and how to strap themselves in. He moved forward to his seat. The machine growled to life again, bumpily racing across the field before rising into the air within minutes of landing.

Once in the air with the low hum of the engine drowning out all other sounds, Phileas sat back between Miss Fogg and Verne, staring at the insides of the craft in bemused wonder. So, this is how missions will be handled in the future. Flying to one's destination in the dead of night, flying out again, rather than hiding in the local countryside and creeping home in smuggler's boats.

So caught up in the newness of it all, it took him several minutes to realize that the woman beside him was not trembling due to the vibrations of the craft. She was shaking uncontrollably again, in shock, silently crying. He turned to her. Her face was drenched in tears she could no longer hold.

Damn, she has just lost her father. The shock of that was bound to catch up with her. Phileas gently put one arm around her shoulders. The offer of comfort was accepted without hesitation. Roberta let loose her grief, burying her face in his shoulder. She spent the rest of the flight cradled in his arms, crying until falling into an exhausted sleep.