Today's Reading

"You said, those still with us," a woman said. "What does that mean?"

"I'll explain. There are twenty of you here, but I would be surprised if more than five complete training. You will learn about the Wehrmacht command, the SS, the Gestapo, and the Abwehr. You will be instructed in survival skills and taught how to shoot and kill. That is the hardest part for many." She paused, her eyes sweeping the room. "The first test. Does anyone know where we are? If you do, write it down on the paper you will find in your desk, and tell me how you discovered it."

No one moved, except Caitrin. She raised her desk lid, took out a sheet of paper, and scribbled her answer. Bethany read it and waved for everyone to leave. She waited until the door closed and said, "You wrote somewhere near Gerrards Cross. You are right, and I want to know how you worked out our location."

"We had no watches, so I mentally counted the minutes as we drove west. Trevor should have made a few turns or driven in a circle to disorient us. I heard several aeroplanes to our left and guessed it was the Great West Aerodrome at Heath Row. I flew there a few times with my brother Dafydd. We turned right and headed north. After a few minutes I smelled a brewery. Would it be Waterston's? It's only a guess. And if you don't mind, I don't want to be a nun. I'd much rather be thought a wicked and fallen woman who at least had some fun on the way down."

Bethany laughed. "I hope you make it through."

"I hope so too."

* * *

The women were assembled outside the priory to meet their trainer. None of them was at all impressed with him; neither was he particularly awed by them. Chopper Jones, so-named because of his habit of punctuating his speech with abrupt chopping gestures, was a little man of intense character and glaring eyes. Chopper never stayed still as he issued instructions. "A moving target is hard to hit, ladies, so always move. Never remain at rest." He stuck out his hand as a gun. "Move, so I can't shoot you. Come on, move."

Feeling more than a little silly, the women moved, a step here, a step back, a little lean to the right and back again as he closed an eye and aimed his hand at them and muttered bang! They bumped into each other, apologized and giggled, and went silent as Chopper cleaved the air, bellowing, "Laugh if you want, but giggles and guffaws will bring the Hun down on your pretty necks. They will hear you. It is a known fact that Germans have bigger ears than the British."

"Are they bigger anywhere else?" asked a brave lass, anonymous in the group.

Her remark had no effect on Chopper, who was a married man with six daughters and eight sisters and knew some, but not all, of the intricate ways of women. He chopped the air, this time with both hands, and said, "The invading Hun slaughtered innocent vicars, raped nuns, and killed their poor babies in Belgium."

"That was the Great War," Hermione Richards, a solicitor's well-educated daughter, said with a barely concealed trace of condescension. Unlike the rest of the women, she had been to Belgium and had no recollection of ever seeing a pregnant nun there. "I don't wish to appear contrary, but when I was in Knokke le Zoute—"

A stabbing chop cut her off, and he answered, "That war was nothing but practice for this one. The Jerries are cunning blighters who passed their evil knowledge down from father to son, and so they're even better at it now. Line up—tallest on the left, shortest on the right."

They did as instructed, although it took some awkward measuring and there were questions about three women who seemed to be the same height. Chopper solved it by arranging them alphabetically, according to their first names.

Satisfied, or at least accepting their attempt to sort themselves out, Chopper strode up and down the line. "Your body, your person, is sacrosanct, and yes, I do know what that means."

He stopped, facing Caitrin. "Step forward." She did as she was ordered.

"In combat you must decide where the border of your person is, and if it is trespassed, you must strike instantly. Once the enemy has a grip on you, all surprise is lost, and it becomes a battle, which you, being the weaker sex, will lose, or at least be damaged. And a wounded soldier is of no more use than a dead one. Worse, because he needs looking after. Name?"

"Caitrin Colline."

"Reach for me, Caitrin."

She put out her hand, he bellowed at her, and she shrank back. "Not like you want my smashing body for your physical pleasure. As if you want to attack and maim me."

Her hand shot out to grasp his sleeve, but before she could touch him, his right hand whistled past her ear. She froze.

"My sacrosanct border is three inches away from my body. If this had been actual combat, Miss Colline would have a broken and bloody nose before she touched me. But it wouldn't hurt for long because I would have killed her before she fell to the ground.


This excerpt is from the Ebook edition.

Monday, November 11th, we begin the book The Art of Pretend by Lauren Kuhl.
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