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?’
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Hammer looked at his watch. ‘I’m travelling up to Newcastle to deal with an industrial dispute in the shipyards. That’s another bunch who don’t seem to realise that there’s a war on. I believe there’s a train at a quarter past ten, so I’d appreciate a car to take the captain and me to the station as quickly as possible.’
‘Very good, sir,’ Henderson smiled. He gave a salute before telling Rufus to prepare the little Austin.
After the fuss over Admiral Hammer’s visit, the kids who’d been shooting at the far end of the range discovered that he’d left before they even knew he’d arrived. Once the shooting equipment was cleaned and taken inside, McAfferty lined everyone up on the concrete playground behind the school building and announced that the unit had a chance of survival.
There was spontaneous cheering followed by rounds of hugs and handshakes.
‘But this is only the beginning of our battle,’ McAfferty said. ‘We must continue to train hard. Two more boys will arrive tomorrow and Group B will commence a full training programme on Monday.’
There was more cheering, apart from Mason who looked downcast because he’d have to move into the dormitory with the other little kids when his brother’s training began.
‘Now, everyone except Group A is dismissed. You have half an hour to go inside and have a break, then come down dressed and ready for Mr Takada’s combat class.’
Once Group B, the little kids and the staff had gone indoors McAfferty and Henderson faced a line-up of Paul, Rosie, Marc, PT, Joel and Luc.
‘Stand to attention,’ McAfferty shouted fiercely, and the six kids obeyed. ‘What happened upstairs last night was a disgrace. We can count our blessings that Captain Ramsgate didn’t see Luc trussed up in that shower and decide to shut down this entire unit on the spot. You should all be ashamed.’
Luc cleared his throat noisily. Henderson charged forward and shouted in his face. ‘Don’t you dare make a sound when the superintendent is speaking.’
‘Do you have something to say?’ McAfferty roared. ‘Spit it out then. Go on!’
‘Respectfully, madame,’ Luc said, with uncharacteristic humility. ‘I didn’t tie myself up.’
‘I’ve asked some of the other children,’ McAfferty said angrily. ‘It was concealed from me, but apparently it’s common knowledge that you’ve been bullying Paul quite nastily for some time. Not that it in any way makes what happened to you in the shower room acceptable. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, madame,’ Luc said sourly.
‘Cut that miserable bloody look off your face,’ Henderson screamed. ‘Because I can think of a million painful ways to change it if you don’t.’
‘You’re going to stand out here in the cold and think about what you’ve done to each other,’ McAfferty ordered. ‘You will not move. You will not eat, drink or take a toilet break. Meantime, Mr Henderson and I will be indoors discussing whatever futures you might have within this organisation.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Henderson picked up the ringing telephone on his desk. ‘Unicorn Tyre Repair,’ he answered.
‘Henderson, you sneaky little bastard,’ Air Vice Marshal Walker shouted. ‘Am I or am I not your superior officer?’
‘I respect your authority absolutely, sir,’ Henderson said.
‘Then why am I holding a telegram from the minister of economic warfare? After discussion at cabinet level we have decided to ask you to halt your review of operations for Espionage Research Unit B STOP We feel that the group must be allowed to complete training STOP An assessment of its value to be made solely based upon results of training STOP.’
Henderson sounded affronted. ‘Sir, I can assure you that I had nothing to do with that telegram.’
‘Piffle!’ Walker screamed. ‘It was an internal review in a secret department. Nobody at cabinet level could possibly know about this review unless you blabbed. I don’t know what strings you pulled, Henderson, but you’ve now made an enemy out of me. I am still your superior and I have the power to make your life miserable. And the same goes for that jumped-up Scottish typist who’s supposed to be in charge of your shambolic little unit.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that you feel this way, sir,’ Henderson said, struggling not to laugh. ‘Just out of curiosity, sir, you’ve been operational for six full months now. You’ve set up four training schools and have three hundred pen-pushers working in Baker Street, but am I right in believing that your rather impressive bureaucracy has yet to successfully send a single operative into occupied France?’
Henderson heard a rather odd gurgling sound on the other end of the line. ‘You have no career, Henderson,’ Walker screamed. ‘I’ll have you digging shit trenches in darkest Africa before I’m through with you.’
‘If we lose the war none of us will have careers,’ Henderson pointed out.
‘Maybe I can’t stop your unit, but give me the tiniest excuse and I’ll squash you, Henderson. Nobody goes behind my back to Whitehall and gets away with it, you jumped-up little grammar school oik.’
‘You’re upset with me, aren’t you, sir?’ Henderson said sarcastically. ‘Maybe you should take some deep breaths to calm your nerves.’
‘This is insubordination,’ Air Vice Marshal Walker raged. ‘I could have you brought up on a court martial for this.’
‘Actually we’re in different branches of the service,’ Henderson said. ‘If you wanted to court-martial me, you’d need to go through my naval commanding officer. Superintendent McAfferty is sitting directly opposite. Would you like me to put her on the line, sir?’
Henderson heard a crashing sound, which he suspected was papers being thrown across a desk. Then the receiver slammed down in his ear.
‘I take it the Air Vice Marshal isn’t happy,’ McAfferty smiled, as she sat on the corner of Henderson’s desk and looked out of the window.
Henderson roared with laughter. ‘He sent you his best regards.’
‘Did he indeed?’ McAfferty said. ‘You really shouldn’t have teased him.’
‘Perhaps,’ Henderson admitted with a sigh. ‘But Walker’s an unimaginative snob. He’s never going to like our kind no matter how polite we are.’
‘True,’ McAfferty smiled, as she pointed out of the window at the half-frozen statues standing in the courtyard. ‘What are we going to do with them?’
‘Let them in, I guess,’ Henderson said, as he looked at his watch. ‘They’ve been out there for four and a half hours and we don’t want them getting hypothermia.’
‘Aye,’ McAfferty nodded. ‘I’ll tell Pippa to make some hot drinks and then go fetch them inside, but what do we do about the situation with Luc?’
‘He’s a nasty little shit,’ Henderson admitted.
‘So you think we should kick him out?’
Henderson shook his head. ‘He’s also a superb trainee. Luc’s no genius, but he can read a map or spin a lie to cover his tracks if he’s put in a tight spot. Physically he’s the best of the bunch. Very strong, he can run five miles with a pack, catch his breath and be ready to do it all again ten minutes later.’
‘But he’s just horrible,’ McAfferty said. ‘Paul’s such a sweet boy. Fancy bullying him like that.’
‘Yes,’ Henderson sighed. ‘But suppose you’ve got a mission where you need to parachute into a secure area, plant a bomb and escape to a rendezvous twenty-five miles away. Out of those six trainees, which one would you send?’
‘Luc,’ McAfferty admitted. ‘No doubt about it. But he’s like poison. The other kids hate him.’
‘They’ll keep Luc in check if they stick together as a group,’ Henderson said. ‘Frankly, Luc’s humiliation in the showers will probably do more to set him straight than any punishment you or I can dish out.’
McAfferty looked away from Henderson and smiled uncertainly. ‘I think we’ve become parents to a dozen children without really meaning to,’ she said. ‘I look at them standing out there. Little individuals, with their own personalities and their own pasts.
But they’re wee kids.’
‘And you wonder if we should really be doing this,’ Henderson said. ‘So do I sometimes, but we’re fighting pure evil. We have to do everything we can to end this war.’
‘I know,’ McAfferty nodded. ‘But I’m in charge of this unit and I can’t help looking out at that line of kids and wondering how many we might send to their deaths.’
Part Two
February 1941
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The overnight sleeper train brought Instructor Takada and the six Group-A trainees north to Edinburgh. After a bad breakfast in a station canteen filled with soot-blackened engine drivers and drunks who’d missed the last train home, a little steam engine pulling three coaches took them deep into the Highlands.
There were fewer than a dozen passengers, so the youngsters messed around in one compartment while Takada sat in another reading about German advances in North Africa and mines sinking merchant ships near Falmouth.
The rush of steam, squeaking overhead luggage racks and snow-capped hills on this clear Sunday morning made the war seem remote. But even out here the station signs had been painted over and at each stop the guard would step on to the platform and bawl out the station name.
The announcement of Braco Lodge came as a shock and the kids grabbed their bags and cases. Rosie was first on to the platform and yelled at the guard to hold the train. As the boys piled out behind she ran back to the train and thumped on the window next to Takada’s head.
‘It’s our stop!’ she shouted urgently, as the guard blew his whistle.
Fortunately the little steam locomotive was slow to pull away and Takada plus luggage made a running leap, landing on the sloping planks at the end of the platform with a minimal loss of dignity.
‘You supposed to tell me!’ Takada said angrily. ‘Must keep track of stations.’
PT cleared his throat. ‘Actually, as the adult we sort of expected you to tell us.’
‘He’s getting in practice for jumping off aeroplanes,’ Marc sniggered. ‘He starts off with trains and works his way up.’
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