Hand Grenade Helen

by Liliana Hart

  “This is good,” he said, coming to a stop. “The tracks are just there, and we’ll be able to see the train coming from this angle as it comes through the pass. It’ll still be dark, so that’s to our advantage.”

  I knew he was trying to reassure me. There were so many things that could go wrong at any given moment. And we hadn’t even gotten to the point where we had to get back off the train.

  “You should try to rest for a bit,” Pierre said. “If the train is on time we should have a couple of hours before we need to move into position.”

  He took a knife from his boot and cut several boughs of pine, enough to make a soft place to lay. And then he cut a few more and waited until I sat down on the makeshift bed.

  “It’s not a down quilt, but it’ll help with the cold,” he said, laying the large boughs on top of me. “I’m going to find some water. I hear a stream not far off.”

  “You know this is madness, right?” I asked. “The timing of everything has to be perfect. There is no room for error.”

  “Are you scared of dying?” he asked.

  “No, of course not,” I said, waving away the concern. “I’m scared that the explosives won’t detonate while the train is over the bridge so it falls into the lake. If we’re going to die, I want to make sure we complete the mission.”

  “You’re a hell of a woman, Scarlet Holmes.”

  I liked the way he said my real name.

  “Yes, I know.” And I snuggled under the pine boughs and fell asleep.

  The Train

  Pierre had been right. We were in the perfect location to see the light of the train coming from a good distance away.

  We’d each gotten some rest and water, and I was moving and stretching, trying to get the blood flowing in my legs. The cold was making me lethargic, and I was afraid my muscles would cramp when it was time to get onto the train. I wasn’t an expert on train jumping, by any means, but it seemed like it was important to have control of all faculties while making the attempt.

  We’d already scouted the area. I remembered what Jakob Novak had told us about how important it was for the engine driver to slow to the proper speed before he was all the way through the Kreznow Pass. We’d wait in the trees at the sharp bend in the tracks until the last train car was passing by, and then we’d make our move.

  “What do you see?” I whispered.

  Pierre looked through the binoculars and didn’t answer me for a time, but then he said, “The train has armed guards, as we expected. I could see them as the train rounded the first bend after the pass. Are you ready?”

  “I am,” I said, nodding even though I knew he couldn’t see me in the dark. He’d given me the backpack full of explosives so he could take care of incapacitating the guards without breaking anything in the bag. It was secure on my back, and the weight of responsibility felt like lead as the train came toward us.

  We both stood hidden behind large pines as the rumble of wheels on the tracks grew louder. And then there was a squeal of brakes as the speed slowed to a crawl and the front of the train made the sharp turn right in front of us.

  Patience was agony as we waited for every car to pass. And then finally, the caboose arrived.

  Pierre hopped up onto the back rail with ease, taking the two guards completely by surprise. I heard the snap of a neck, and then he crushed the other’s windpipe in mere seconds, and then he held out his hand to me and I stepped onto the back platform.

  We both pushed the guards off the back of the train and they fell with a soft thunk, and then Pierre lifted the latch on the back car door and we slipped inside. It was full of crates stacked floor to ceiling with only room to walk down a center aisle.

  “This is it,” Pierre said, pointing to the stamped label on the side of the crate that said socken. “You start here and I’m going to go on ahead and see if I can find the other guards.”

  I nodded, but I was already on my knees and carefully removing items from the backpack. Making bombs was a little like cooking—it was all about following the recipe and not getting impatient. My hands were steady as I capped off the first explosive and tucked it between two of the crates, and then I packed up my things and unfurled the detonation cord, trailing it behind me as I went into the next car, and then the one after that.

  The train had sped up considerably after it had cleared the sharp curve, and I knew my time was running out before we got the bridge that passed over the lake. I’d just finished putting together the third explosive, and I was running the detonation cord into the next compartment when I came across two dead soldiers.

  I hadn’t seen Pierre since he’d left me to build the first device, but he’d obviously been successful in his hunt for the guards. Sweat dripped freely from by brow and into my eyes as I worked on the fourth charge. We had to be getting closer to the bridge. The train was moving at a steady speed now, and the window of opportunity to jump was narrowing.

  After the fourth device was finished, I moved quickly through the next cars, the detonation cord trailing behind me, but I heard the grunts and scuffles of fighting before I opened the next car door. I hesitated briefly, wondering what the situation was I’d be walking in on, and I took out the knife my father had given me before he’d sent me away.

  I left the backpack on the floor of the car, and I attached the detonation cord roll to my belt loop so it trailed behind me. I knew there wasn’t time to build the fifth device, but I still had to light the charge.

  I didn’t think as I unlatched the door. All I knew was that Pierre was in there, and despite what I’d told him, there was no way in hell I was leaving him behind. There were bright flashes of light as bodies twined together and fists flew and legs kicked. The smell of sweat and blood was heavy, and Pierre landed a punch that knocked one of the guard’s heads back so hard he’d be seeing stars for a while.

  “Get off the train,” he said, panting. “We’re almost at the bridge. Light the charge.”

  “I’m not leaving without you,” I said.

  “You promised.”

  “Shut up! I’m not leaving without you,” I repeated.

  Pierre got in a solid shot to the guard’s midsection—enough to double him over—and I ran up behind him and kicked the back of his knee so he fell to the ground. It was all the advantage Pierre needed to bring his knee up under his chin and knock him out.

  “There’s no time for me to yell at you,” he said, jerking open the side door of the car.

  I sliced the detonator cord with my knife and then dug in my pocket for the matches. My hands weren’t so steady now, but I managed to light the match and touch it to the end of the cord.

  “Go,” I said, and we ran toward the open door.

  It was odd because it seemed like I heard the shot long before I felt the bullet go into my body. The other guard had gotten his wits about him long enough to pull the trigger. Pierre put his arm around, pulled me against him, and we launched into the air moments before the train went across the water.

  We hit the ground hard, and Pierre tucked me into his body as we rolled across branches and pinecones and rocks. I couldn’t breathe. The wind had been knocked out of me. And the pain in my hip felt like someone was pressing a hot poker into flesh and bone.

  The Pierre was up on his knees, tearing part of his shirt and wrapping it tightly around me. He was saying something, but I couldn’t hear. I could only see his lips moving.

  Then the ground shook and the sky lit up. My hearing came back with a whoosh as each of the devices exploded like rapid fire, and chunks of fiery metal and bridge flew into the sky. It wouldn’t be long before the fiery pieces were raining down on top of us.

  “Got to move!” Pierre yelled. He hefted me onto his shoulder and started running toward the mountains and safe passage, even as the flaming shrapnel pierced the trees and lit fire to the forest around us.

  Ada Mae

  Scarlet thought she’d maybe gone too far when all Ada could do was stare back at her with
her mouth hanging open.

  “You’ll catch flies with your mouth open like that,” she said.

  Ada snapped her mouth closed, but her eyes seemed to grow larger. “Did it hurt getting shot and blown up?”

  Scarlet thought about it for a moment, not sure she had accurate words to describe what it had really felt like. “I’d certainly had better days during the resistance.”

  “I should think so,” Ada said. “But it was quite romantic for Pierre to carry you into the mountains like that until you could be rescued. He must have been very strong.”

  “He certainly was,” Scarlet agreed, her throat closing with emotion. She didn’t often think of Pierre. Maybe because the memories were both treasured and painful.

  “Do you still have the bullet hole in you?” Ada asked.

  “I can do one better than that,” Scarlet said. “I’ve still got the bullet in me. Right in my hip. The doctors said it was pressing just in the right place and if they removed it there was a chance I might not be able to walk like I should. And a spy that can’t walk right is generally a dead spy. Though I did know a woman once who climbed across the Alps with a wooden leg.”

  “Wow,” Ada said.

  “Yep, I set off metal detectors everywhere I go. I’ve been real lucky. No lead poisoning or anything.”

  “How did they rescue you?”

  “Pierre stole a car from a small village a few miles away, and we drove all the way to Austria. Then he put as many layers of clothes on both of us as he could, scooped me up in his arms, and he carried me into the mountains. It took us almost a full week to get to Switzerland. He could have gotten there much faster if he hadn’t been carrying me, and I told him to leave me behind. But he never left me. I don’t know how the Nazi’s never caught up with us.”

  “He must have loved you a lot,” Ada said. “I don’t know if I’d ever carry anyone over the mountains.”

  “You’d do the best you could if you really loved them.”

  Ada looked down at the shiny gold medal. “Did Pierre get a medal like yours?”

  “Not like mine,” Scarlet said. “He was French, so his country awarded him a medal right after the war.”

  “I bet yours is bigger,” Ada said.

  “Take out the velvet casing under the medal.”

  Ada carefully removed the gold medal and laid it in her lap, and then she pulled at the blue velvet beneath it. She gasped and said, “You’ve got another medal in here. Why are you hiding it? How come you don’t wear them? I’d pin them right to my dress every day. I bet Paris Wheeler doesn’t have anything like this.”

  “I can assure you she doesn’t,” Scarlet said. “That’s Pierre’s medal. France gave it to me for Pierre.”

  “How come?”

  “Because by the time they got around to giving the medals, Pierre had already died.”

  Ada’s lips quivered and she said, “Oh, that’s sad. I bet you were lonely without him.”

  “For a time,” Scarlet agreed. “But the thing about life is that you’ve got to go on living it, and I had a lot of living to do.”

  “That sounds like something mama would say.”

  “That’s because your mama is a Holmes, and she’s a smart lady.”

  Ada pursed her lips and nodded like she’d heard that bit of information before. “I still want to know what happened in the mountains. How come when you got across to the other side the Nazis didn’t arrest you?”

  “Because Switzerland was neutral territory,” she said. “And I don’t remember much of what happened in the mountains. I remember the cold, and Pierre building a fire to keep us warm at night. But the days spent there were a blur. I remember him kissing me as we finally stepped foot in Switzerland, and then the next thing I knew I was waking up in a hospital bed and I was all alone.”

  Ada gasped. “He just left you?”

  Scarlet laughed. “I’d thought so. But he was looking for a preacher. Crazy things happened during the war. It was a different time back then. And when he came to me in the hospital, dragging the preacher behind him, I couldn’t think of anything more romantic than marrying him right then. He’d even used his connections back in London to check and make sure he was really divorced from his first wife.

  “But you hardly knew him!” Ada said.

  “I told you crazy things happened during the war. When every day is life and death, the decisions you make tend to be a bit more impulsive. But I didn’t regret it one bit. We grew to love each other very much, and we had some grand adventures together.”

  Ada yawned again and rubbed her eyes.

  “Speaking of grand adventures,” Scarlet said. “I think it’s time you went to bed. Santa has probably long since come and gone.”

  “Okay,” Ada said, scooting off the chair. “But I wanna sleep in here with you. This is a good room, and I like the way the fire crackles.”

  “Has anyone ever told you no before?” Scarlet asked.

  “Not very often,” she said. “Daddy says I have charm.”

  “You’ve got something all right,” Scarlet said. “Come on then, get into bed.”

  Ada climbed into the four-poster bed and snuggled under the heavy quilt. “Will you tell me more stories about your adventures with Uncle Pierre?”

  “Another adventure for another day,” Scarlet said. “Now tuck in.”

  Ada yawned again and her eyes drifted closed. “Good night, Aunt Scarlet,” she slurred. “I’m real glad that you’re mine.”

  Scarlet brushed the girl’s hair back from her forehead and said, “I’m real glad you’re mine too.”

  ORDER NOW!

  FRONT LINE FRANCIS

  Addison Holmes Excerpt

  It wouldn’t be the South if there weren’t proverbial skeletons in everyone’s closets.

  We certainly had our fair share in my family, and I knew other families had their fair share too, because we still talked about them in the checkout line at the Piggly Wiggly or with the cashier at Dairy Queen while waiting on an ice cream sundae.

  It was January and dreary and cold in Whiskey Bayou, Georgia. I’d temporarily moved back home due to the fact that my boyfriend, Nick Dempsey, had proposed and I’d had a moment of panic where I saw myself the last time I’d been about to get married—big poofy white dress and cake for two hundred—only to catch my fiancé boffing my archenemy in our honeymoon limo.

  They say lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice, but the proposal and subsequent panic attack were enough that I knew I needed some time and space to think about the proposal and being married to Nick for the rest of my life.

  So I did what any girl does when unsure of the future. I moved back home with my mother. There are two problems with this. One: I worked in Savannah and the drive was a real bitch. And two: I was living at home with my mother.

  Don’t get me wrong. I love my mother dearly. And maybe we’re more alike than I’m comfortable admitting. But living in the same house with her is enough to put me over the edge. Not to mention she’s newly married and the walls are thin at Casa de Holmes.

  Needless to say, I’d spent the last couple of weeks since the infamous proposal working as much as humanly possible so I wouldn’t have to act like an adult and face my issues head-on. I had to admit, I was missing Nick. I’d gotten used to him. Which was really what marriage was all about—getting used to someone enough that you didn’t want to murder them if you had to spend more than a few hours a day with them.

  I was currently sprawled out on the leather couch in Kate’s office, regretting the second cinnamon roll I’d just devoured and wondering how much Jillian Michaels butt clenching I’d have to do to make up the calories. My best friend, Kate McClean, owner of the McClean Detective Agency, sat in the chair just across from me.

  That’s when I heard the ruckus from down the hall. I was the daughter of a cop. And Kate was a former cop. So unless there was active gunfire neither of us were known to sweat the small stuff. Okay, maybe I sometimes
sweated the small stuff, but it usually had to do with Black Friday specials and Louboutins being on sale. I was a seven, so my size always went fast.

  “I’m here to see my niece and you can’t stop me,” a familiar voice—both fragile and four-star general—roared over me like a freight train. “I’ve got a .44 in here and I’m not afraid to use it. Better step out of my way, Elvira.”

  My eyes widened and I saw the pure fear on Kate’s face at the thought of my Aunt Scarlet tangling with Lucy, the gatekeeper for the agency. Nobody made it past Lucy unless they were an employee or a client. I had my suspicions about Lucy. The two most prominent being that she’d worked for the CIA at some point or that she was a vampire—though I hadn’t really figured out how she got around the whole sunlight issue.

  We both shot up to a standing position and started running, but we went through the door at the same time and got stuck. It was then I noticed Lucy standing at the end of the hallway, her red lips pressed firmly together as she stood her ground. But Aunt Scarlet had worked as a spy for the OSS during World War II and she’d outlived five husbands, so nothing much intimidated her.

  “Aunt Scarlet,” I called out, shoving past Kate.

  Aunt Scarlet was digging in her purse and pulling out a .44 revolver the size of a cannon. It was so heavy she couldn’t lift it and she shot a hole in the floor between Lucy’s feet.

  I guess that was enough to stun Lucy because Scarlet pushed right by her and headed straight for us.

  “I don’t remember that gun having such a sensitive trigger,” Scarlet said. “That sucker packs a punch. It was like getting kicked in the hot box by a mule.”

  I was afraid to ask what she meant by “hot box” but I’d gotten pretty good at interpreting Scarlet-speak over the course of my life. It had been three years since I’d last seen her, and the trauma of it all made it feel like yesterday. My mother was going to have kittens.