Pistol Down

Chapter 2: Secrets Burn Only In The Night

April 1942

        I can't help but let the thought that my mother may have been right in saying I am not cut out for a job like this consume my thoughts as I duck into a storefront long destroyed by the Nazis. My boots crunch shattered pieces of glass underneath my feet, my sudden dip in weight not appearing to affect the sheer sound the glass makes as I navigate my way around broken tools and a half rotted teddy bear. I hold my breath, praying to whomever may be out there, that I am not heard as I crouch behind an overturned cabinet. It'd be simple, he said. In and out in a jiffy, he said. Jiffy my ass.

        As the thunderous stomping approached my hiding spot, I shut my eyes, hoping that the childish logic of 'if I can't see them, they can't see me' would somehow save me if they happened to search the store. And by some miracle, whether it be by god or my own dumb luck, the marching never stopped and around the corner it disappeared. I let out a sigh, my chest heaving as I try to catch my breath before making the last of my journey to the railroad station before having to find my way back to the edge of town and to the set rendezvous.

        My fingers curled around the small box of matches in my trouser pocket, Claude Anouilh's words bouncing around in my head. There is no time to waste, you must find the railcars and burn them to the ground, mon chéri. A simple task in most times, but here, a mere few hours away from Troyes, the simplest of tasks become those that bring death and despair to unwitting passerby.

        Find the railcars and burn them to the ground.

        I peeked above the cabinet side, making sure there were no lurkers before taking off towards the last block that separates me from delivering the flaming fate to their railcars that hold secrets I will never hear uttered, nor will anyone else.

        There is no time to waste.

        I dart around the corner to my left, coming face to face with a man, no, a boy, no older than nineteen, in a Nazi uniform. He opens his mouth to scream but before he can utter a word I have him pinned against the wall, the roof above casting a shadow over the two of us. And though in training they tell us to kill without remorse, for it's either us or them, I can't help but hesitate when the fear in his eyes reflects that of a child's. He utters something in German under my hand. Help...family...killed.

        "Listen," I whisper, silently scolding myself for what I'm about to do. Keep the French accent. "Surrender your gun and whistle, find the Abbey about a mile Northeast from here, tell them Minerva sent you. They can help." His eyes scanned my face, the gears visibly turning in his head as he attempted to comprehend what just came out of my mouth. Damn language barriers. "Die Abtei...nordost...gib, uh, gib deine Waffe...und Pfeife auf. Help, die Abtei help."

        As if a wave of knowledge washed over the boy, his rifle fell from his shoulder to his forearm, his head bobbing up and down as if agreeing to my words. I haphazardly collected his rifle and whistle from him as he dug through his pockets, handing me a carton of cigarettes, a sort of peace offering I assume, as he muttered in quick German that was beyond my disgraceful capabilities. He ripped a patch off of his shoulder, offering it to my hand grasping the matches. "Burn."

        His eyebrows dipped as he offered me a wave before taking off into the night. And burn it shall, my friend. I turned, slinging the rifle strap over my shoulder and draping the whistle around my neck by the string.

        A can of gasoline sits next to the nearest railcar perched on the tracks, not a single guard in sight. The bell in the tower of the nearest church rings out, signaling midnight. You have seven minutes until the next rotation arrives. A simple nurse sent in from the outer regions of France is about to set secrets ablaze, and they shall be none the wiser. Covert Operations require elaborate backstories and watertight alibi, mine being a French nurse sent to help with the ill, whereas I have actually been tracking these railcars for months, meticulously gathering information under the blanket of starless nights to find the perfect time to strike. Which is now, the same night Theo's platoon is rumored to arrive In Italy under their own blanket of secrecy.

        I hummed to myself as I tossed gasoline onto the outsides of the rail cars, soaking the wood to a deep brown color. I started to sing quietly as I became excited, the long months this mission had taken finally coming to a close. "The last time I saw Paris, her trees were dressed for spring. And lovers walked beneath those trees and birds found songs to sing." With the last bit of remaining gasoline I made a line of the flammable liquid on the cobblestone road, dragging it a few feet out before lining six matches top to bottom. "I dodged the same old taxicabs that I had dodged for years. The chorus of the squeak horns was music to my ears." I lit a single match and laid it down at the end of the line I had created, pocketing the rest and then quickly making a run back the way I came, making sure to dodge puddles and shards of glass as I went, a sense of glee filling my bones as the seconds ticked by.

        Three more blocks, three more minutes. I willed my legs to carry my faster as I rounded a corner, taking note of the sudden quietness of the nightlife.

        One more block, one more minute. I pushed myself down the last street, practically tackling my partner and lookout, Jeanette, to the ground before grasping her wrist and dragging her along behind me.

        Three, two, one...boom. An explosion can be heard from blocks away, shaking me to the core as Jeanette and I continued to race down the streets under the midnight sky, the moon smiling down at us, as if congratulating us on our victory in France.

        Yet, Jeanette pulled me to a halt when the face of the boy I let go came into view, fear once again etched on his face as he raced towards us.

        "They aren't supposed to be down this block for another hour!" Jeanette hissed as she corralled us both into an abandoned building. "I will distract them, you get yourself and him out of here."

        I blinked at Jean in shock as she stood to go attack a full squad of men armed to the teeth with guns, only a small knife grasped in hand. "No, Jean, no one will come looking for you! The Abbey knows we're leaving, I-I can't leave you."

        She gave me a stern look, one that a mother would give to her disobedient child. "You can and you will. Take the south exit out of the town and get to the rendezvous point. If you really must, wait ten minutes for me as long as you're not followed. If I don't show up, leave," she ordered, her words barely out of her mouth before she went darting out of the store, causing a frenzy in the street.

        Bullets whizzed outside as I grasped the boy's hand in mine, leading him to the back exit and out the gaping hole in the wall. I turned to the boy before dragging him to what could possibly be his death. He stood almost a full foot taller than myself, dark green eyes and pale blonde hair sticking out every which way, the absence of a helmet making his hair look particularly white in contrast to his dark uniform.

        "Uhm, okay, let's see. Gefährlich, uhm, damn it to hell why didn't I pay attention to her when she would talk? Why can't I just-"

        A hand appeared in front of my face, disappearing to reveal the boy's face instead. The fear had been wiped away, determination taking its place. He nodded his head firmly, giving me enough indication to not feel horrible about the decision to drag him to the rendezvous point. Jeanette will be fine, but if you don't go you won't.

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        The apple tree that we stood under with Elias did little to shield us from the moonlight, making this an adept place for an ambush, the overgrown fields behind us no doubt hiding secrets of their own. Perhaps that's why when Jeanette hadn't shown up ten minutes after the boy and I, we abandoned what little hope of her arrival and climbed atop the horses Elias had brought for Jean and I. Except, Jean had been replaced, a new face and story filling the void she had left when she sacrificed herself for me.

        Jean never ceased to be selfless, I only wish that I had stopped her this one time. Because little did she know, she had become like a sister to me, and her absence, though only in a short time, had left an aching feeling in my stomach, just as Theo's departure from the train station had. My grandmother often said the pain we feel when someone leaves is our brain reminding us that we should never forget them, for they are too important to be forgotten. Perhaps that's why, when rapid gunfire echoed across the fields of overgrown weeds sporadically over the course of seven hours, an orange tint appearing in the sky brought what little peace one could be granted in the middle of a war to me. Theo and Jean both spoke fondly of the color orange. The color of a sunrise, of a new beginning.