Hand Grenade Helen Read online

  The problem with parachuting into Germany was the Nazis were like ants, swarming over every available territory and making themselves at home, and our landing zone was limited to a desolate area about eighteen miles from Waldenburg. Our two previous attempts had failed. We’d flown too close to unexpected enemy lines and we’d had to turn back. It was bad enough to parachute into the black of night. It was something altogether different to jump straight into the arms of the enemy.

  Lise and I were putting our lives in the hand of our pilot, trusting he could get us to our drop zone undetected and manage to get out himself. These missions were dangerous, and the SOE had lost two planes and their jumpers in the last month.

  Even as I had the thought the plane sputtered again and the engine changed pitch as we climbed to a higher altitude.

  Howard looked back at us from the pilot seat and said, “Looks like tonight’s your lucky night.”

  There was a groan and a vibration, and the side of the plane opened and the eerie red light above the door turned green. A rush of wind and a few snow flurries whipped through the cabin, and I pulled my goggles down over my eyes and checked the straps of my pack to make sure they were tight. A pack of supplies was strapped to my front, making my uniform bulky and cumbersome on my small frame, but I was grateful for whatever I could take with me into Waldenburg. Believe it or not, jumping out of the plane into complete darkness with the risk of being shot down wasn’t the most dangerous part of this operation.

  I looked at Lise and she nodded, and then we both tried to beat some feeling back into our legs as we scooted our way over to the opening.

  Howard looked back at us and gave the thumbs up, and I watched as Lise gave the sign of the cross and then disappeared into the night air. I had no time to think or say a prayer. I followed right after her. The last thing we wanted was to get separated because we hadn’t jumped close enough together.

  I’d done the jumps during training, but there was nothing quite like the real thing. The exhilaration of falling into the abyss of the unknown, the wind slapping against my face, and my heart thumping so fast I was afraid it would leap out of my chest before I had the chance to pull the chute was better than sex.

  I’d been counting in my head and pulled the string on my chute, and my body jerked as the olive-green nylon caught wind and the freefall stopped. I couldn’t see Lise, but I knew she was there. Our training was embedded and we each had our own mission. Shapes of darkness approached, and I said a quick prayer as the ground grew closer. Jumping was the easy part. Landing was harder.

  The dark shapes started taking form as I got closer to the ground, and the fir trees seemed impossibly close together with no room for me to squeeze between them. But I didn’t have a choice, and I straightened my arms and legs so I was like an arrow shooting between the firs. There was more room than I’d realized and my body swayed as the parachute floated me into a wooded wonderland. I held my breath and waited for the parachute to clear the trees. The last thing I wanted was to be held hostage by my own parachute and wait for the Nazis to find me hanging from a tree.

  The smell of fresh pine and earth would be embedded in my senses forever. I bent my knees, leaned back, and braced myself for impact and my feet skidded across pine needles and soft dirt. I came to a stop on my bottom, but I didn’t stay sitting. I jumped up and gathered my parachute, shoving it back in the pack as quickly as I could, and then I snapped a couple of the lower hanging fir branches and scraped them across the area where I’d landed, covering my tracks.

  My heart pounded in my ears, and I tried to hear any other movement stirring in the woods, but I wasn’t sure I would have been able to in that moment. A twig snapped behind me and I whirled around to see Lise. She was a tall woman with dark hair and dark eyes, and her chute was already packed away.

  We had different missions and were going in different directions, but we’d gotten to be friends during our training, and we both knew this could be the last time we saw each other. But there were some things that were bigger than our own lives, and this war was one of them. We hugged each other quickly, and then she turned away and headed in the other direction.

  I was alone. And I had a long way to go before I’d come across my contact. I unzipped the pack on my front and got out a small pen light and my compass, and then I zipped the bag closed.

  I was careful in how I pointed the light—only to check the time on my watch and to make sure I was heading in a southwest direction toward Waldenburg. I was behind schedule. We’d spent too much time in the air before we’d come to the drop spot, and if I didn’t get to my contact within the window of time, I’d have to hide in the woods until I could meet him again the next night.

  Even as I had the thought the snow flurries increased. I definitely didn’t want to have to camp out. I started moving toward Waldenburg, calculating in my head how many hours it would take me before I reached the designated meeting point. If I didn’t stop, and I kept a steady pace, I could do it in just a few hours. And a few hours would put me right at the window of rendezvous.

  I prayed for endurance and moved as fast as I could keep quiet. I would beat the time needed, and Pierre Lavigne would come face to face with Hand Grenade Helen before sunrise, or I’d die trying.

  Doubloon

  My heels were blistered after the eighteen-mile trek toward the town center, and every step I took was excruciating. The stockings inside my boots were wet with blood, but the pain kept my mind off the cold and increasing snow flurries.

  A soft yellow glow covered the city like a halo, so it was visible from the tree cover, and I wondered if they’d lit lamps or if parts of the city were on fire like I’d witnessed in Marseille. But there was no accompanying smoke, so I could only assume it was something out of the ordinary. Even the gas for lanterns was strictly rationed. I couldn’t imagine an entire town ignoring the mandate.

  My movements were sluggish and increasingly uncoordinated as I traversed the uneven terrain. My heart pounded loudly in my chest and my breath came in great gasps, so the crack of a branch snapping nearby barely registered.

  My feet were like leaden weights, and I stumbled as I moved to get low and hide behind the nearest tree. I pressed my back against the rough bark and pulled the small knife from the sheath in my boot. And then I listened.

  There was nothing but the sound of my own panting breath, and I licked my lips together and tried to pucker my mouth so I could give the coded whistle—if the intruder was an ally he’d whistle back—if not, the knife in my hand would have to strike quickly. But it was all for naught because I couldn’t make any sound. My mouth was dry and sucking in oxygen wouldn’t allow me to even form the shape needed. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, the pitched bird call I’d failed to attempt sounded just behind my left shoulder, and then a hand came across my mouth and a sharp blade pressed against the tender skin of my neck. My pulse pounded beneath the knife.

  “You are so loud I’m surprised the entire Nazi army isn’t here to greet you,” whispered a voice in my ear. French rolled easily off his tongue. “I could hear you coming for the last mile.”

  “Next time, maybe you could be a gentleman and give me a piggyback,” I returned in French. “Blood is hell to get out of stockings.”

  “Give me the code word or you die here,” he said.

  “Doubloon,” I said. “You are Pierre?”

  He removed the knife from my throat and moved in front of me. “Americans,” he said in heavily accented English. He knelt and worked at the laces on my boots. “I am Peter for this mission. And you are Helen.”

  “For now,” I said.

  “I know your real name. I’ve read your file. It’s why I selected you. Though now that I see you in person I’m not sure you’ll do at all.”

  “Charming,” I said. “Unfortunately, they didn’t give me any background on you. I can see why.”

  His chuckle was low as he tried to pull the first boot from my heel.

  “
I can walk,” I hissed, swatting his hands away. “If you take them off I’m likely to never get them back on again.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “I’ve got your travel clothing with me. It’ll be light soon, and we’ve only got a little over an hour until the first train arrives at the station. Have you been briefed?”

  “I was given the coordinates to meet my contact, and a supply pack for the mission. I was told you would fill me in.”

  “You don’t trust me,” he said.

  “No,” I told him.

  A small grin etched across his face—in fact, I realized I could see his entire face. Between the brightness of the snow, the moonlight, and the unusual glow coming from the town, we would both be plainly visible to anyone patrolling the area.

  “You are wise not to trust me,” he said. “I do not trust you either. But we will do our jobs and possibly die. And then only God knows what side we stand on in the end.”

  I held back a groan as he finally worked the boot from my foot, and he hissed as he tried to remove the stocking. The blood had dried around the wounds, and he pulled a canteen from his belt and poured water over the area until the stocking loosened and came free.

  “We need to move,” I said. “We are too visible here.”

  “We are fine for now,” he said. “Last night was the celebration of Saint Martin’s Festival. Most of the soldiers are passed out in their beds or in the tavern. The lanterns are still lit in town. There is an exception for rations on holidays. This was a good time to arrive. Drink.” He shoved the canteen into my hands and then shrugged the pack from his shoulders.

  I took slow sips and watched him carefully. He was right that I didn’t trust him. My time in Marseille had taught me a valuable lesson—that even those who seemed to be on the side of good could be tempted by evil.

  The people in this region had a specific look about them, which was why I’d been told I was a good fit for this particular mission. It was news to me that Pierre had gotten to choose me specifically, but if he was in charge he’d know exactly what he needed better than anyone else.

  I was taller than the average woman, and my face had a slightly exotic quality to it—high cheek bones, a straight nose, and almond-shaped gray eyes. I noticed that Pierre had similar features, though his hair was shades lighter than my own.

  “Here,” he said. “Let’s take care of your feet as best we can and then you need to get changed as quickly as possible.”

  He patted me down rather rudely, but it wasn’t sexual in nature. I assumed he was trying to get a better idea of what he was dealing with, and I considered myself right when he found the latch for the pack around my waist and unclasped it.

  “I’ll hold onto these,” he said. “It’s best you don’t get caught with these components on your person.”

  “Am I about to be in danger of getting caught?” I asked, shrugging out of my parachute pack and tugging at the buttons on my jumpsuit. He wiped some salve on the raw places on my feet and put a thin layer of gauze on top.

  “Most definitely,” he said.

  “I wasn’t briefed on my role. I’ve got no cover story. No background. I was told I needed to blend with the people while I’m here, but that most of my talents would be in the field. I know there are detonation devices in the pack you’re holding. I’m exceptional at explosives.”

  “I don’t believe you’ll ever blend in with the people,” he said. “Your features are much too noticeable. There wasn’t a photograph in your file. I don’t think I’d have selected you if there had been.”

  It was the first time anyone had ever commented on my looks as if they were a bad thing, especially when it was a man doing the commenting.

  “I was briefed on your abilities the last time I was in London,” he said. “Your intelligence and skill with languages won’t make this a difficult assignment. And yes, your talents, and mine too, will mostly be utilized in the field. But for now, we need to go to the train station.”

  “And what are we going to the train station for?” I asked, shimmying out of my jumpsuit.

  Pierre matter-of-factly took neatly folded clothes out of a canvas bag I hadn’t noticed, and he handed me undergarments and winter stockings, waiting patiently for me to put them on before he shook out a herringbone traveling suit and a black swing coat.

  Goosebumps pebbled all over my body and I looked at the heeled shoes with trepidation as he set them in front of me. He handed me a pair of black leather gloves and a stylish charcoal hat.

  “Shake out your hair,” he commanded, handing me a brush. “You’ve got twigs and fir needles sticking out.”

  I brushed my hair until it crackled and then I poured some of the water from the canteen into my hands and smoothed it some. I poured more and then scrubbed my face clean. I could tell by looking that all the clothing was French and finely made, but there was wear on the buttons and some of the seams. The SOE saw to every detail. It was rare for brand new clothes to be worn because of rations, so wearing something that looked like it had never been worn was like waving a red flag in the air.

  “You haven’t answered my question,” I said after several minutes had passed. “Why are we going to the train station?”

  He turned and inspected me from head to toe, and then he nodded, though he still looked bothered by my appearance.

  “We’re going to collect my wife,” he finally said. “I hope you can walk in those shoes.”

  The Train Station

  I decided I was better off in my stocking feet rather than attempting to put the shoes on for the mile trek to the station. The stockings would be ruined, but hopefully no one would be examining my feet anyway, or they’d have more questions than just about ruined stockings.

  I carried my hat in hand, and I watched curiously as Pierre slung the parachute pack high up into one of the towering firs, where it caught hold on one of the branches. His aim had been true. It was almost impossible to see it unless you knew where and what to look for.

  Another fifty paces or so, he buried the canvas bag that held my old clothing and the supply pack I’d brought with me under a pile of dead leaves, covering the disturbance easily and then breaking off several low-hanging fir branches and placing them on top of the leaves. It would make it easily identifiable when he came back to retrieve them.

  I kept my hand on his shoulder to keep our movements minimal and in sync as he led us to where we were going. He carried a small suitcase and I wondered if his own traveling clothes were inside. He still wore the dark clothes of someone who was trying to disappear, and I had an uneasy feeling I couldn’t explain. The SOE might have designated Pierre Lavigne as a top asset and agent, but they’d been wrong before.

  “What do you mean we’ll be collecting your wife?” I whispered, halfway into our journey.

  “I wondered how long it would take you to ask,” he said. I could hear the smile in his voice. “Women are all the same. Jealous creatures by nature.”

  I laughed softly. “That’s interesting psychology. My assumption would be that your “wife” is also a spy. Which means I now have two people to distrust instead of just one. But we can call that jealousy if it makes you feel better. I’ll still kill you both if you are working for the enemy.”

  He didn’t turn back to look at me, but I could feel his shoulder tense beneath my hand. “Your mission in Marseille burned you badly. But all agents, at least the ones who are good at their jobs, have had an experience like yours. You either die or you come away better at the job. You’ve come away better. Now you must decide not who you trust, but how you trust. Because there will be times when you have no choice but to put your life in someone else’s hands.”

  I knew he spoke the truth, but it didn’t mean I had to like it.

  “As far as you’re concerned,” he said. “For this mission, you will be my wife.”

  “Lucky me,” I said sweetly.

  “It seems you’ve grown claws since Marseille,” he said.

&
nbsp; “They’ve always been there. Marseille just sharpened them. It seems the SOE has been thorough in my file.”

  “Yes,” he said, and left it at that. “Now, listen closely. We are the Beauchamps. Peter and Helen. French citizens living in Waldenburg. Our paperwork has been forged and is accurate. The SOE has had me in place here for almost a year. I own a French stationary shop just off A.H.

  Strasse. You’ve been in Switzerland for the last four months taking care of your ailing mother who moved there for the hot springs, in hopes it would help with her health. She’s recently passed, so you’re coming back home to your adoring husband, who is somewhat of a scoundrel, but well liked in Waldenburg.”

  I wouldn’t forget our cover story. I not only had a photographic memory, but I could recall any conversation I’ve ever had with near perfect accuracy. And Pierre had been right about my language skills. The last year of intensive SOE training had focused on my God given talents, something that had only been used for my father’s criminal activities up to this point in life.

  Waldenburg was technically in the northern province of Germany, but it was close to the Polish, and the elite French who were trying to stay neutral in the war or bribe their way out of harm’s way could be found in plentiful numbers in these border towns. There was a healthy mix of nationalities. I spoke German like a native, and I could more than hold my own in Polish, but I was as comfortable with French now as I’d ever been with English.

  “How long have the Nazi’s been using this as a base?” I asked.

  “Only three months,” he said. “As they’ve expanded their territory they’re moving into locations that will give them strategic advantage for supplies and transport. Fortunately, the SOE foresaw that and has had people in place ahead of time to get established. The train station in Waldenburg is a crossing station—it has multiple tracks and routes and multiple platforms—and everything from people to goods to coal and minerals go in and out of this station on a regular basis from sun up to sun down. There is always a crowd because it services every surrounding city in Germany, Poland, and Czechia.