Echo of War

16

They fell together in a heap, then scrambled on hands and knees back to the doors, and jammed their shoulders against the steel. As the doors swung shut, Tanner saw figures rushing toward them. A trio of muzzles flashed. Bullets thunked into the doors, sounding like hammer strikes on the steel.

“Push!” Tanner yelled.

The doors slid shut with a reverberating gong. They were engulfed in blackness. The doors began bucking as boots and fists pounded from the outside.

“The duffel,” Cahil whispered. “There’s a penlight.”

Tanner felt around in the darkness, hand groping over the rough concrete until it found the duffel. He pulled it to him, opened the side pocket, fished around for a moment, then came out with the flashlight. He clicked it on. A small pool of light enveloped them.

From outside, voices: “Helfen Sie mir!” Help me!

Tanner shined the light about. Above their heads the doors were fitted with steel L-brackets; to the right, mounted on a hinge in the jam, was a cross brace. It was held in place by a loop of wire.

“Can you hold?” Tanner asked Cahil.

Bear grunted. “Not for long.”

“Five seconds.”

With his back pressed to the door, Tanner slid upward, dug in his pocket for his folding knife, then opened the blade. He slipped the blade beneath the wire and began sawing.

The doors bucked inward a few inches. Cahil slammed them shut.

With a twang, the wire split. Tanner pulled the cross brace down into the brackets. “Okay, let it go.”

Cahil did so. The doors bucked again, but the brace held. The pounding and shouting continued for twenty seconds, then stopped. Briggs could hear murmuring from the other side.

“Looking for another way in,” he whispered.

Cahil nodded. “If we found one, they will.”

Tanner shined the flashlight around. “What is this place?”

“The Ligne de Fantôme,” Cahil replied. In the relative quiet, their voices echoed off the walls. “The Ghost Line.”

The Ghost Line, Tanner thought, trying to recall where he’d heard the phrase before. “Another tidbit from Fodor’s?” he asked.

“Baedeker’s.”

Then Tanner remembered: The Ligne de Fantôme was the nickname for the Quily portion of the Maginot Line — or at least that had been the original intention when France and Great Britain had begun its construction prior to World War Two.

In 1929, with memories of the First World War fresh in its collective mind, the French government began building an underground line of interlinked bunkers, gun emplacements, and fortresses, or ouvrages, along its eastern frontier, where they were certain another German invasion would eventually come. Each ouvrage consisted of gun cupolas, artillery turrets, underground power plants, barracks, and rail lines for transporting troops and munitions to adjoining forts.

The main Maginot Line, which stretched from Switzerland to the Ardennes in the north and from the Alps to the Mediterranean in the south, was to be France’s answer to Germany’s advantage in manpower and equipment.

However, in the spring of 1940 the Maginot Line was rendered obsolete as Hitler’s blitzkrieg went over, around, and on occasion through the line, battering France into submission in a matter of months.

The little known Ghost Line, a joint venture between France and Great Britain, had been envisioned as not only a fallback position for the French Army, but also as an unassailable beachhead for British reinforcement troops crossing the channel. With the collapse of France, construction of the Quily Line ceased, and for the past sixty-three years the three-kilometer-long redoubt had sat deserted in the middle of the French countryside.

“According to the article,” Cahil whispered, “it never saw any action.”

“Until now,” Tanner replied. “I don’t suppose the guide had any ‘you are here’ maps.”

“ ’Fraid not.”

On either side of the doors a steel ladder ascended the side of one of the towers — which Tanner now recognized as 75mm gun cupolas — and ended at the opening to the dome itself. At the base of each ladder was a hatch which Tanner assumed was a munitions elevator. Down the tunnel to their right, they would find the next cupola and another set of doors. To their left lay the entrance to a catwalk ladder shaft.

The floor was littered with piles of shoring timbers, cement blocks, and the occasional hand tool, as though the workers had dropped what they were doing and run — which, given the speed of the German invasion, may have been exactly what happened. Somewhere in the distance came the sound of water dripping.

“What’s the plan?” Cahil asked.

“Find a way out, steal their car, and run,” Tanner replied.

“Just like that?”

“I’m an optimist.”

In truth, Tanner wasn’t hopeful about grabbing the Mercedes. Nor did the idea of taking on six armed Spetsnaz soldiers appeal to him. Their best chance was to elude the Germans, find an exit, and slip undetected into the French countryside while their pursuers scoured the complex for them.

“Do you remember how many levels in the complex?” Tanner asked.

Cahil thought for a moment. “Six — eighty feet from ground level to the bottom. Munitions magazines on the lowermost level, then the power plant and sewer system, then barracks and supplies on the ones above. What’re you thinking?”

“Go all the way to the bottom and start running. We get ahead of them, then climb back up and find another exit. It’s three kilometers to the end; multiply that by six levels and they’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

Bear made a flourish toward the stairwell. “After you.”

They jogged to the ladder and started down. As Tanner’s foot touched the third step, he felt a tremor run through the steel. He froze. With a wrenching sound, the catwalk began swaying. After a few moments it stopped. Slowly, gingerly, Tanner lifted his flashlight and played it over the walls.

Steel bolts connected the ladder to the wall. Without exception, the head of each was a misshapen lump of rust. Tanner touched one with his fingertip. It trembled, then slipped halfway from its hole, exposing rusted threads. The catwalk shuddered.

“Please don’t do that again,” Cahil muttered.

“Sorry.”

“What’s your preference?” Cahil asked. “Fast or slow?”

From above, they heard a crash and a reverberating gong. “They found your cinder block,” Briggs said. “I vote for fast.”

“Me, too.”

Tanner took a deep breath, shined the flashlight ahead of him, then began running. He took the steps two at a time, one hand on the rail for support. With each footfall the ladder trembled and groaned. Briggs felt a momentary wave of dizziness, but shook it off and kept going. At his back, he could hear Cahil panting out a mantra: “Hold together, baby, hold together…”

As they passed the fourth level, Tanner cast a glance upward and immediately regretted it. The upper catwalks were swaying from side to side, banging into the walls. Concrete dust drifted down like fine snow. Bolts and chunks of railing bounced down the ladder, clanging as they fell.

Tanner saw the bottom of the stairs come into view. He called “Jump,” then leapt off the top step. He hit the concrete floor, curled into a ball, and let himself roll to a stop. A few feet away, Cahil was rising to his knees.

“Okay?” Tanner asked.

“Yep.”

Up the ladder shaft, voices called out: “Wo sind sie?… Welcher Weg?”

A circle of light appeared at the top of the shaft. Tanner could just make out the dim outline of a face peering down at them. “Hier!” a voice called.

Tanner clicked off his flashlight. He and Cahil backed into the shadows. “We’ve got to move,” he whispered. “They’ll try to cut us off.”

“Ready when you are.”

Footsteps pounded on the catwalk, which gave out a groan. The footsteps stopped. A panicked German voice called, “Ach, Gott!”

Tanner and Cahil crept down the tunnel a few feet. Tanner clicked on his flashlight and played it ahead, looking for obstacles. There were none. He clicked off the light. “When we get past the next shaft, I’ll check again,” he whispered.

Cahil nodded. “Pray the rest of the ladders are bad.”

“I am.”

They waited for twenty seconds for their eyes to adjust, then took off running.

They made it past eight ladder shafts — about a quarter mile — before being spotted. A powerful beam of light suddenly pierced the shaft ahead, creating a pool on the floor. Tanner saw it too late, tried to veer into the darkness, but wasn’t fast enough. Cahil stumbled around him and dove into the shadows along the opposite wall.

Rifle cracks echoed down the shaft; bullets sparked on the concrete. Above came the click of footsteps on the ladder. The pool of the light jiggled as the owner tried to keep it focused on the floor.

New plan, Tanner thought. They weren’t going to be able to outrun Litzman’s men. Not only were the topside tunnels wider, but the Germans had better flashlights and no reason not to use them. He and Bear had at least two kilometers to go before they reached the end. Sooner or later they would stumble into an ambush.

He gestured to Cahil his idea. Bear nodded then trotted down the tunnel and ducked behind a pile of timbers. Tanner sidestepped the pool of light and ducked around the corner. He dropped into a crouch. He listened, trying to gauge the German’s descent. When he estimated the German was near the bottom, he yelled, “Run, Bear, go!”

From the ladder there was a moment of silence, then “Scheisse!” Shit! Footsteps began pounding. Tanner peeked around the corner just in time to see the German leap the last few steps to the floor. The man spun, his flashlight dancing off the walls. He carried a 9mm H&K MP-5.

Tanner pulled his head back, held his breath. Come on, Bear.

Down the tunnel there came the scuff of shoes on concrete, then a crash and a moan of pain from Cahil.

The German took off in pursuit. As he passed, Tanner stepped out and palm-punched him. Stunned, the German stumbled sideways, dropping the flashlight. Tanner rushed forward and heel-kicked the man’s wrist, spinning him away. The MP-5 clattered to the ground. Tanner stepped forward, wrapped his forearm around the man’s throat — thumb knuckle pressed into the hollow beneath the ear — and levered his other forearm against the back of his head, compressing the carotid artery. The German struggled for several seconds, then slowly went slack. Tanner lowered him to the floor, then grabbed the flashlight and clicked it off.

Cahil trotted up and collected the MP-5. “Next time you play the hare,” he whispered.

From the shaft a voice shouted, “Johann!”

Tanner muffled part of his mouth with his hand, then called, “Sie laufen!” They’re on the run!

He gestured to Cahil, who fired a short burst down the tunnel.

“Werden Sie voraus von ihnen!” Tanner shouted. Get ahead of them!

They waited until the footsteps retreated up the ladder, then dragged the German’s body into the shadows. “Time to backtrack,” Tanner said.

They were turning to leave when Tanner stopped and returned to the body. He quickly searched the man, but found nothing but a cell phone. He turned it on, called up the address book, and scrolled through the entries. When he found the number he was looking for, he set it to memory, then dialed “0,” listened for ten seconds, and replaced the phone.

Cahil looked at him questioningly.

Tanner said, “Tell you later.”

They retraced their course, pausing at each shaft before continuing. When they reached the shaft they’d started from, Tanner felt his heart rise into his throat. The ladder was all but collapsed, twisted to one side and swaying like a child’s defunct mobile.

“How’re your shimmying skills?” Cahil asked.

“What?” Tanner turned. Bear wasn’t looking at the ladder, but at the far wall and the hatch to the munitions elevator. “Maybe,” Tanner said. “It’s going to depend on the cable.”

They slid open the hatch, revealing a box three feet deep, three feet tall, and two feet wide. Tanner craned his neck so he could peer through the gap between the box and the wall. They were in luck. The box was supported not by a steel cable, but by a rope. It was as big around as a man’s wrist and appeared intact. Cahil reached in and gave it a tug. “Seems solid.”

“Not that we have a choice,” Tanner replied. It wouldn’t take long for their pursuers to begin backtracking. “I’ll go first. If it breaks, you can catch me.”

“Uh-huh.”

They pulled the box down until Tanner could squeeze through onto its roof. He clicked on his flashlight, clamped it between his teeth, then grabbed the rope and began climbing.

Protected by the enclosed shaft, the rope had weathered the decades in surprisingly good condition. They took turns climbing, one of them braced in the shaft as the other shimmied upward, alternating until the uppermost hatch came into view.

Feet and back pressed against the walls, Tanner slid open the hatch. Below him, Cahil inched upward until he was braced in position. “Go ahead.” Tanner placed his feet on Cahil’s shoulders, clicked off his flashlight, then stuck his head through the hatch and looked around. The tunnel was deserted. He closed his eyes to listen. Silence.

Tanner boosted himself through the hatch, rolled onto the floor, then helped Cahil out.

Down the tunnel they saw a glimmer of light. It panned left, then right, then winked out. Faint German voices called to one another. With Cahil following, Tanner crept down the tunnel to the second set of doors, which lay open.

Compared to the relative dark of the complex, the moonlight was painfully bright. Tanner blinked his eyes clear. The Peugeot sat as they’d left it; beside it, the Mercedes. None of Litzman’s men were visible. Tanner was only marginally surprised. With only six to cover the complex, they’d decided to abandon the Mercedes and concentrate on making sure he and Cahil didn’t make it out alive.

Hunched over, they ran to the Peugeot. All four of its tires had been slashed. They moved to the Mercedes. Unsurprisingly, the doors were locked. “Hotwire it?” Cahil whispered.

“We wouldn’t get ten feet,” Tanner replied. Litzman’s men were traveling in style; they’d chosen a brand-new E-class. “Use anything but the ignition key and the fuel system shuts down.”

“Lovely. I don’t like our chances in an ambush.”

“Me neither.” They’d already pushed their luck to the edge. With only one weapon between the two of them, an ambush wasn’t worth the risk. Coming out alive was triumph enough. “I say we retreat.”

Bear said, “Then we’re on foot.”

Tanner smiled. “And so are they.”

He took out his knife, jammed the blade into the rear tire, then the front, then tossed the knife to Cahil who did the same on the other side.

As the air hissed from the Mercedes’s tires, Tanner glanced around, trying to get his bearings. They had to be near Saint Servant, not more than five miles. He picked out a stand of trees he assumed was in the right direction and they started jogging.