Secret Army (11 page)

‘So you five fancy yourselves as spies?’ Captain Ramsgate said, steepling his enormously long fingers as he squatted on the corner of Rosie’s bed. He was so tall that even when seated he had a clear view over the heads of the five youngsters around the table. ‘Why is that?’

Marc was first to answer. ‘I’d rather do something than lie in my bed while the Boche drop bombs on me every night, like in London.’

‘They killed our dad,’ Rosie said, as she pointed across the table at Paul. ‘They would have killed us if Commander Henderson hadn’t found us.’

‘So what kind of training have you been doing?’

‘All sorts,’ Rosie replied. ‘Everything from general fitness like running and swimming, to pistol shooting, radio operations, hand-to-hand combat and explosives training.’

‘Explosives, eh?’ Captain Ramsgate said, as he smiled mischievously. ‘Have they let you blow up anything good?’

‘Instructor Takada showed us how to make a tripwire mine,’ Joel said. ‘We blew up one of the cottages, but there’s a shortage of plastic explosive.’

‘Mostly we practise with blocks of marzipan,’ Paul explained. ‘It has a similar texture.’

‘And you can eat it afterwards, once you’ve scraped the dirt off,’ Joel added.

Ramsgate laughed noisily. ‘What about people who say it’s wrong to send people as young as yourselves undercover? How would you answer them?’

There was a pause before Marc took up the challenge. ‘First of all, sir, we’re facing a superior enemy. That means every able-bodied person has to do their bit.’

‘I saw what happened with the invasion in France,’ Joel said. ‘Whole towns turned to rubble. Dead people and animals everywhere. If the Germans do invade Britain, it’ll be worse for us than going undercover in France.’

‘I see,’ Captain Ramsgate said. ‘But working undercover could be extremely dangerous. If you were captured you could be tortured mercilessly. Have you
really
considered the consequences?’

Marc showed his missing front tooth. ‘We’ve all been in France, we know what it’s like. I’ve had a tooth ripped out by the Gestapo. Paul and Rosie’s dad died, then their boat got bombed. Joel had family in Germany who’ve all been beaten up because they’re Jewish.’

‘I agree with Marc,’ Paul said. ‘I’d rather fight and die than sit on my bum. If the Germans win we’ll suffer ten times as bad.’

As Paul said this, Henderson appeared in the doorway. It was gone nine and he’d come upstairs to make sure that all the kids were going to bed on time. He was stunned by the sight of Captain Ramsgate on the corner of Rosie’s bed.

‘I thought you were arriving tomorrow,’ Henderson said warily, as he saluted the captain and then shook his hand.

Captain Ramsgate laughed. ‘To see the freshly polished floors and watch a parade of neatly dressed boys, no doubt!’

Henderson’s stance shifted awkwardly. ‘Well, sir, it’s rather what’s expected under these circumstances.’

‘Yes,’ Captain Ramsgate said. ‘But I think I’ve learned a good deal more chatting with your young trainees. They’re a bright bunch, no doubt about it, and raring to go undercover. I look forward to seeing them perform in the field tomorrow. Now perhaps you’d be kind enough to find me a bed for the night?’

‘Yes,’ Henderson said, his voice sounding warmer than before as he realised that Captain Ramsgate’s unconventional approach made him more likely to take a positive view of his espionage unit. ‘Perhaps you’d like a drink at the house first, and I can introduce you to Superintendent McAfferty.’

‘I like the sound of that!’ Captain Ramsgate replied.

As the two officers turned towards the door, PT stepped away from the table. ‘One moment, Captain Ramsgate.’

When the captain turned around he was surprised to see that PT held a calfskin wallet, a set of keys and a military identity card bearing his own picture.

‘Yours, I believe, Captain,’ PT said. ‘Your wife and daughter are both very pretty.’

Ramsgate’s mouth gaped as he felt inside his trouser pockets to confirm that his things were really gone. ‘Well, I’ll be darned,’ he laughed. ‘So I’m not the only one who knows a few tricks, eh?’

But Henderson seemed cross. ‘PT, using your pickpocketing skills on a senior officer is
not
appropriate behaviour. You’re lucky he’s taking it in such good humour.’

‘I didn’t take anything,’ PT explained. ‘But I had to check that you were who you said you were. You might have been a German storm trooper for all we knew.’

Captain Ramsgate and Henderson both laughed. ‘What would you have done if I was?’ the captain asked.

Joel answered. ‘Commander Henderson showed us how to make garrottes out of chicken wire last week. I’ve still got my one under my bed.’

‘They’ll take your head clean off if you twist hard enough,’ PT added, before making a dramatic choking noise.

‘OK, that’s enough, you lot,’ Henderson smiled. ‘You should have been in bed and lights out ten minutes ago and we’ve got a busy day tomorrow.’

Captain Ramsgate spoke discreetly as Henderson opened the door out on to the hallway. ‘I’m desperate for a tinkle.’

‘No problem, sir,’ Henderson said. ‘There’s one just down the hall. Our facilities are newly installed and quite impressive, even if I do say so myself.’

The two men were all smiles as they headed down the hallway. Back in the bedroom, PT, Paul, Marc and Rosie gawped desperately at each other.

‘They’ll find Luc!’ Paul said.

‘Maybe they won’t,’ Troy said encouragingly. ‘He might be asleep or something. But remember, I had
nothing
to do with it, and I’d better get back to my room. Goodnight!’

‘Dammit!’ Marc said, as he crashed backwards on to his bed. ‘We’re
right
in the shit now.’

Captain Ramsgate’s early arrival had scuppered Henderson’s plans for an elaborate display, but he was too busy to deal with the incident in the showers and an unspecified punishment hung over the trainees’ heads as they rose early and completed their normal cross-country run with heavy packs. Paul managed despite aches all over, but Marc got a lie-in because his lungs weren’t up to anything athletic after the smoke inhalation.

Admiral Hammer arrived by taxi shortly after breakfast and Marc stood at the main entrance to greet him.

‘Not much of a reception committee,’ Hammer said.

He meant this as a joke, but Marc was nervous and took it seriously. ‘Captain Ramsgate said you didn’t want a fuss. I’m supposed to take you out to meet everyone on the shooting range. The ground’s a bit muddy, I’m afraid.’

Hammer nodded. ‘March on.’

‘May I ask how your father is?’ Marc said.

‘Of course,’ Hammer replied, as they began the walk across rocky ground at the side of the school building. Rifle fire rattled in the distance. ‘My father is shouting at nurses, complaining about his food and jabbing the patient in the next bed with his walking stick when he snores. In fact, I’d say he’s almost back to his old self. The doctors are only keeping him in because he’s elderly.’

Henderson, McAfferty and Ramsgate stood in line and saluted as the admiral approached. The Group-A trainees lay on their bellies in the frosty grass, firing across uneven ground at painted targets more than fifty metres away. Group B were new to the range and a light-skinned African named Rufus was demonstrating the benefits of different firing stances.

‘What’s the purpose of this?’ Admiral Hammer asked. ‘How much shooting can these boys do when they’re undercover?’

McAfferty answered. ‘Sir, our objective is to ensure that young agents will survive in extreme circumstances. We don’t anticipate that they’ll routinely carry guns, but situations may arise where agents need to defend themselves or use a weapon to facilitate an escape.

‘They have target practice three times a week and we’re familiarising the trainees with all commonly used French, German and British firearms. Our aim is that every agent we send undercover will be able to pick up and use any weapon he encounters if needs be.’

The admiral unholstered his pistol and held it out towards Marc. ‘Are you a good shot?’

‘Not bad, sir,’ Marc admitted.

Henderson laughed. ‘Marc is being modest, he consistently outscores the others.’

The admiral passed his handgun to Marc. ‘What do you think of that one?’ he asked.

Marc studied the ivory-handled revolver. He opened the chamber and saw a tiny version of his face reflected in the base of six golden bullets.

‘I’ve not seen one like this before,’ Marc confessed. ‘It looks quite old.’

‘It was my grandfather’s service revolver,’ the admiral explained. ‘When my father retired he passed it on to me. Do you think you could shoot one of the pigeons sitting in that tree over on the right?’

Marc squinted into the low sun for a second before making a decision. ‘I doubt it very much, sir. Shooting a pistol at that range, it would be more luck than skill if I hit it.’

‘Absolutely correct,’ the admiral smiled, as he took back the pistol. ‘What about with a rifle?’

‘I’d stand a decent chance,’ Marc said. ‘Though it’s not an easy shot with the sun in my face.’

Captain Ramsgate had read the admiral’s mind and was approaching with a standard-issue French army rifle. Marc expertly checked that there was a cartridge loaded and looked down the barrel to make sure it was clean before adopting a firing stance and taking aim.

‘Which one are you going for?’ Admiral Hammer asked.

It was a horrible shot, with the sun in Marc’s eyes and four adults watching every twitch.

‘The bird on the end of the long branch,’ Marc said finally.

He took a deep breath and held it in to steady his aim. The French rifle was not renowned for accuracy and Marc’s short reach made it harder to keep the gun steady. He felt like he was taking far too long over the shot and his brow bristled with sweat as he tried to hold the target steady in the mechanical sight.

As Marc squeezed the trigger, he felt a gust of wind and had to make an instantaneous correction. The bullet cracked, making a dozen birds erupt from the tree. But there was also a loud squawk and twirling feathers silhouetted against the low sun.

‘
Damned
good shot!’ Admiral Hammer said, as he thumped Marc on the back. ‘The minister and I were discussing this unit last night. One of his suggestions was that we could train a couple of young lads as snipers and use them to assassinate senior German officers. Now I can at least report that you’re able to shoot straight!’

Henderson and McAfferty smiled with relief: it seemed unlikely that their unit would get canned if a cabinet minister was discussing possible missions. But only Marc had the impertinence to pose the question.

‘So does that mean you’re giving our unit the nod?’ he asked.

Henderson and McAfferty both cringed, but Admiral Hammer liked Marc and didn’t mind his directness. ‘I sent Ramsgate up here to check that you weren’t a bunch of lunatics. And despite your disciplinary problems, he believes you’re putting together a unit that could have a genuine impact on the war. However, Air Vice Marshal Walker doesn’t agree. He’s the man in charge of the Special Operations Executive right now and that puts us in a tight spot.’

Henderson looked perturbed. ‘Damned politics,’ he cursed. ‘I hope we learn to stop fighting our own side before there’s a swastika hanging from Buckingham Palace.’

‘When do you think you can have your trainees ready for action?’ Admiral Hammer asked.

‘The six in Group A aren’t far off the mark now, but they could do with another month to really hit top form,’ Henderson said. ‘The thing is, Walker is our RAF man and without parachute training, how can we get a team behind enemy lines?’

‘A month seems reasonable,’ Admiral Hammer nodded. ‘Would six parachute training slots for mid-February do the trick?’

Henderson smiled. ‘That would be superb, sir.’

‘Eight slots would be even better,’ McAfferty added. ‘If it’s not too much to ask.’

‘Right,’ Hammer said. ‘I can call some favours to set that up, but after that your boys will have to prove themselves. The Special Operations Executive has set up four campuses, training adults for operations in different areas of occupied Europe. At the end of each course, every school sends its units up to Scotland to take part in parachute training and a final exercise devised by Air Vice Marshal Walker.’

‘What type of exercise, sir?’ Marc asked.

‘Surprise is a key element, so the exercise varies every time,’ Hammer explained. ‘What I do know is that it’s always a real-world task: climbing aboard a navy vessel in port and launching a lifeboat, stealing secret papers from a government office, that sort of thing.’

Marc looked slightly perturbed. ‘So it’s just like a real undercover mission? We could get shot by our own side?’

‘Yes, if you’re not careful,’ Hammer smiled. ‘Of course, if you’re captured you’ll be sent back here rather than tortured and shot by the Gestapo as you would be in occupied France, but while you’re on the loose you’ll face exactly the same dangers as a real German agent parachuting into Britain.’

Henderson explained further. ‘Going undercover in your own country is a training technique that British intelligence has used for many years. In wartime the exercises also help to unearth weaknesses in internal security and keep the Home Guard and the police on their toes.’

‘I don’t have the authority to ride roughshod over Air Vice Marshal Walker,’ Hammer said. ‘But I’ve talked the minister into suspending Walker’s review of your operations until your training programme is completed. With myself and the minister backing you, it will be impossible for Walker to shut your unit down,
provided
your boys can show that they’re as good as the adults on his final training exercise.’

McAfferty smiled. ‘Admiral, we
really
appreciate you going out on a limb to help our little unit.’

Henderson nodded in agreement. ‘All I’ve ever asked is a chance to prove the value of my idea. Is there anything else you’d like to see? Maybe I could give you a tour of our facilities?’