Henderson's Boys: Secret Army

by Robert Muchamore

  Marc had been thumped twice more by the time Paul dived across Luc’s bed and smashed the stool down on his back.

  ‘Stop it!’ Paul shouted.

  The blow on the back had less effect on Luc than Paul had hoped, but it did enable Marc to free himself. Marc spotted the dog bite on Luc’s wrist and sank his teeth into the swollen flesh.

  Luc howled in agony as the scab tore off his arm. Marc felt sick as he tasted Luc’s blood but he kept biting as hard as he could. At the same moment, Joel came back from the medical hut and saw the three lads tussling in the gap between two beds.

  ‘For god’s sake,’ Joel shouted desperately. ‘If there’s any more trouble they’re gonna kick us out of here.’

  Paul had been trying to pull Luc away from Marc, but he backed off knowing that Joel would make a better job of it. Joel grabbed the waistband of Luc’s trousers and hoisted him back on to his bed.

  ‘Enough,’ he said firmly.

  Marc sat up and lunged at Luc, but Paul put himself in the way. ‘He’s not worth it, mate.’

  Luc was howling in pain, while Marc had Luc’s blood streaking down his chin.

  Joel looked at Paul and spoke authoritatively. ‘Take Marc to the toilet and wash his face. If Takada sees him in that state he’ll go bonkers.’

  Fortunately it was dark outside, so they didn’t get any strange looks as they headed through the freezing air to the toilet blocks. Marc sobbed as he pulled off his shirt in front of a sink.

  ‘Don’t let Luc get to you,’ Paul said firmly. ‘He’s a dick.’

  ‘My training’s buggered,’ Marc sniffed. ‘My whole life is buggered.’

  Paul put the plug in the sink and turned on both taps. ‘Wash your face before anyone else comes in.’

  Once there were a few centimetres of water in the sink, Marc cupped his hands and began splashing it up on to his face. Paul found a clean towel and was startled by Takada a second after he threw it towards Marc.

  ‘Sir,’ Paul said awkwardly, as his brain scrambled for an excuse to explain what Marc was doing. Fortunately, Takada didn’t notice the bloody streaks in the sink before Marc pulled the plug out and wiped them away.

  ‘I speak Sergeant Parris,’ Takada stated. ‘If you have second chance, do you think you can jump?’

  Marc looked wary. ‘I hope so. I’ve got no idea what came over me up there.’

  ‘You’ll go up with the men who were backtracked. And Parris says there’s room in the cage for a friend to jump again if it helps you feel comfortable.’

  ‘I don’t mind going up with you,’ Paul said cheerfully. ‘I loved it.’

  ‘There can be no third chance though,’ Takada explained.

  Marc shuddered as he looked down at the floor between his feet. ‘I won’t mess up again,’ he said determinedly. ‘I can’t.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Rufus and Khinde searched the house and garden but Mavis wasn’t found. Group B’s afternoon lessons were cancelled and the whole group scoured the school and the surrounding woods.

  The others searched because they’d been ordered to and didn’t like the idea of having a big scary spider on the loose, but Troy was concerned for Mavis’ well-being and went back out after dark to search with a torch.

  He was over two hundred metres into the woods behind the graveyard when he caught a blue glint in his torch beam. He thought he’d imagined it, but swung the beam back to make sure and saw Mavis’ furry body and the unmistakeable metallic blue colouring on her legs and back.

  ‘So that’s where you’ve been hiding,’ he said gently.

  They’d been told to call an adult to capture Mavis if she was spotted, but Troy had the impression that most people wouldn’t mind if Mavis ended up getting splattered and he wanted to avoid that.

  Troy had expected a chase, but Mavis didn’t shun the light. In fact, she didn’t move at all and her body trembled in a way he’d never seen before as she nestled between a rock and a clump of wild grass. Cobalt blues are native to Thailand and Malaysia where the temperature rarely drops below thirty centigrade and the cold was killing her.

  ‘You’re freezing, aren’t you?’ Troy said, as he slipped a canvas bag off his shoulder.

  He took out a small hand-shovel and the wooden cigar box from which he’d taken Mavis’ lunch earlier in the day. With the torch tucked under his armpit, Troy held the open cigar box in one hand and the shovel in the other.

  ‘Come on,’ Troy whispered. ‘There’s a good girl.’

  He moved the box as close to Mavis as he dared, then reached behind her with the shovel and gave her a gentle flick. He was scared that Mavis would panic and either run off or charge up the shovel handle and sink poison fangs into his hand, but she barely moved when the shovel touched her and Troy had to flick her into the cigar box before snapping the lid shut.

  The torch dropped out of Troy’s armpit as Mavis found a burst of energy and began spinning around and scraping her legs against the side of her wooden prison. Troy got a rubber band and fastened it around the hinged box, before putting it back in the bag and setting off towards the house.

  As he came close to the farmhouse there was a bang and a bright orange flash through the trees. His first thought was that an artillery shell had strayed from the firing range, but they rarely went off after dark and it wasn’t loud enough.

  Yves and Sam stood at the back of the garden. Troy was ready to boast about the capture of Mavis, but as he walked through the back gate he was startled to inhale a strong whiff of petrol and see one of the spider cages burning in the middle of the lawn. Another was being carried out of the conservatory by Khinde and an artillery regiment soldier who usually worked on the security gate.

  ‘What are they doing?’ Troy asked desperately, though it didn’t take a genius to work it out.

  ‘Henderson gave the order,’ Sam explained, before shuddering theatrically. ‘Good job as well. It gives me the heebie-jeebies having those things crawling around next door.’

  Troy was hit by a wave of misery. ‘But they can’t.’

  Khinde and the soldier placed the heavy glass cage down on the lawn. As Khinde lifted the lid, another soldier approached with a metal can and sploshed in a full gallon of petrol. Troy recognised this large cage as the habitat of the giant bird-eaters and while he couldn’t see in the dark he imagined the poor things trapped in their burrows as the evil-smelling fuel ran around their hairy legs.

  ‘Stand clear,’ one of the soldiers shouted, as he lit a match and flicked it at arm’s length.

  The instant the flaming match touched petrol vapour a mushroom of ghostly blue flame shot out of the top of the cage. Troy felt the hot blast on his skin as the glass sides blackened and started to crack.

  A few of the onlookers cheered, as Yves whooped noisily and shouted, ‘Bring out the next lot.’

  Troy could barely contain his anger as he tried to get the facts straight. He looked at Sam. ‘So Henderson must be conscious if he gave the order to kill the spiders?’

  ‘Apparently,’ Sam nodded. ‘He’s conscious, but he’s in a bad way and he’s livid at his wife. McAfferty agrees that the spiders are too dangerous and brought in the army boys to help wipe ’em out.’

  ‘Didn’t Mrs Henderson have something to say about that?’

  ‘The MPs2 took her off in their van,’ Sam explained. ‘Everyone reckons she’s a headcase and it sounds like they’re gonna lock her in the loony bin.’

  ‘Reckons!’ Yves scoffed. ‘Is there any doubt about it?’

  Troy winced as the small cage containing the Mexican firelegs was lifted out. They’d been sick when he’d first arrived with Mason, but the firelegs had recovered after Mrs Henderson altered their diet and built a ventilation bellows that blew in warm dry air, replicating their natural desert habitat.

  Paul had been helping to look after the spiders for six months. He was the only person who got along with Mrs Henderson and Troy knew he’d be upset when he got back from para
chute training and found that all the spiders were dead.

  He thought about finding McAfferty and begging her to stop, but there were only two cages left inside and by the time he found her they’d be incinerated too.

  ‘I’m going in,’ Troy told Sam. ‘I’m half frozen.’

  Yves turned towards him. ‘I told you it was a waste of time searching for Mavis in the dark.’

  ‘Clever dick then, aren’t you?’ Troy answered.

  There was another flash as Troy entered the school building. He was completely exhausted: after Henderson was stabbed he’d helped administer first aid until the ambulance arrived, then he’d been questioned by the military police and joined in the hunt for Mavis. He’d been wearing the same kit all day and was even filthier than when he’d finished the flag exercise three hours earlier.

  Most kids were outside watching the cages burn and Troy found the Group-B dorm empty. Like Group A before them, the six trainees had made private zones for themselves by hanging sheets and curtains from the ceiling.

  Troy crouched in the space between his bed and the curtain and slid out the cigar box. He opened up a tiny crack and was alarmed to see two hairy legs shoot through the gap towards him.

  ‘No, don’t!’ he whispered desperately. Someone could walk in at any second and he couldn’t close the box without crushing her legs. ‘Back up, back up.’

  Eventually he tilted the box on to its side and gave it a sharp tap against the floor, making Mavis drop down to the bottom. Troy sighed as the lid snapped shut and he looked through one of the air holes that Joan had drilled in the box to keep the dormice alive.

  ‘Where the hell am I supposed to hide you?’ he asked himself.

  *

  The cage felt different as Paul and Marc rose up in the darkness. Parris stood by the gate and the four burly French soldiers spread themselves out, leaving Paul and Marc squashed at the back. Thick clouds blotted out the moon and even the giant balloon hovering above the cage was barely visible. But the airfield below was ablaze, lit by a pair of searchlights aimed out of the hangar doors.

  Paul didn’t know exactly what the Frenchmen were training for, but they’d clearly been picked for special operations on the basis of strength and fitness. If any of them were scared, they weren’t about to show it in front of their comrades. Their humour was black, but jokes about broken necks didn’t help Marc to feel any better.

  ‘Ignore it,’ Paul said soothingly, as Marc’s fingers clutched the cage’s wire rungs tightly.

  ‘Sergeant Parris,’ one of the Frenchmen shouted in bad English, ‘has anyone ever been killed jumping off this thing?’

  Parris smiled. ‘I can say with complete honesty that nobody has ever come back to complain about the training I’ve given them.’

  The soldiers laughed, but Marc dry heaved.

  ‘Try not to think about it,’ Paul said quietly. ‘Try and imagine something good. Like eating a massive spoonful of jam, or sneaking up to Luc while he’s asleep and doing a big shit on his face.’

  Marc laughed. ‘Eww! You’re sick.’

  Paul wanted Marc to focus on anything apart from the jump. ‘Or imagine my sister naked. I know how badly you fancy her.’

  ‘I don’t,’ Marc said defensively. ‘Well, maybe a bit, but girls like older guys so I’ve got no chance while PT’s around.’

  ‘So who’s your dream girl?’ Paul asked. ‘Movie star, singer, or whatever?’

  Marc paused for thought, but before he could answer the balloon stopped rising and the metal gate slammed open.

  ‘Remember your training, people,’ Parris shouted, as he looked down at the officer on the ground, waiting for the all-clear. ‘Gaston, hook up. Jump on my mark.’

  The huge soldier screamed, ‘I love you, Maman!’ as he flung himself off the platform to cheers from his comrades.

  There was more space in the cage after the second man jumped and Marc didn’t look as nervous. Paul’s attempt to embarrass him about fancying Rosie seemed to have worked.

  ‘You’re gonna do it because Luc’s standing down there waiting to see you fail,’ Paul said.

  ‘I can,’ Marc said, smiling through gritted teeth. ‘I feel different from last time.’

  ‘All right,’ Paul said cheerfully. ‘And if you make it I’ll put in a good word with my sister.’

  The last soldier turned his ankle on landing and there was a minute’s delay as he got stretchered off the field.

  ‘Kilgour, hook up,’ Sergeant Parris shouted. ‘How you doing there, kid?’

  ‘Perfect, sir,’ Marc said nervously, as he reached up and hooked his static line to the pole. ‘I thought too much last time.’

  ‘Good lad,’ Parris said, as he gave Marc a friendly slap on the back.

  Paul looked tense as Marc stood on the edge of the platform. Marc appeared confident, but Paul wouldn’t be happy until he saw his friend fly.

  ‘On my mark,’ Parris said.

  As Marc threw himself off the platform Paul jumped in the air and clapped. Down below, PT, Joel and Rosie all screamed encouragement.

  Paul watched over the side as Marc made a faultless touchdown. Within seconds he’d gathered up his chute and ran towards the others where Rosie gave him a hug.

  ‘OK, Paul,’ Parris said. ‘Last man, hook up.’

  Paul didn’t need to jump again, but he’d enjoyed his first drop and it gave him a greater feeling of solidarity with Marc, knowing that they were both going up to do the same thing.

  ‘Quick word of advice,’ Parris said, as Paul stood on the platform edge awaiting the all-clear signal from the ground. ‘Remember what you’ve learned. More people get injured on their second jump than their first, because they get cocky and forget their training. Now, on my mark … and mark.’

  Paul felt proud as he jumped. Ever since Espionage Research Unit B was formed he’d relied on Marc to help him get through physical training. It felt good returning the favour.

  Paul felt a reassuring tug on his shoulders as the static line opened his chute. But he didn’t get the same sense of slowing down as he had the first time. Something got shouted through the megaphone as he looked up.

  Instead of the reassuring silk canopy he’d seen the first time, Paul saw a small triangle of cloth fluttering noisily with a twisted trail of silk hanging off one side. It was every parachutist’s nightmare: a tiny percentage of chutes didn’t open because they weren’t properly packed at the factory. Paul had done nothing wrong, it was just terrible luck.

  ‘Tug your lines,’ the megaphone shouted.

  Paul yanked the lines attaching him to the parachute, hoping it would make the tangled silk unfurl. The ground was closing fast. Paul thought he was going to die as he looked down, then the noisy fluttering of the silk stopped.

  He flicked his head up and saw a miracle: air had worked its way inside the twisted silk and the canopy was unravelling. His rate of descent began to slow, but he was only seventy metres up and it wasn’t enough to land safely.

  An excruciating pain shot through both legs as Paul landed hard on frosty grass. The force made his legs buckle and his kneecaps smashed into his face. Blood exploded from Paul’s nose as the billowing silk wafted down over his body.

  ‘Paul,’ Rosie screamed, as she raced away from the hangar towards her brother with PT chasing behind.

  By the time Rosie arrived two of the training instructors had removed Paul’s chute and were rolling him on to a stretcher. He was unconscious and the lower portion of his face glistened with blood.

  ‘Bring me that chute now,’ the base commander shouted. ‘Find out who packed it and remove every other chute with her name on the tag.’

  ‘Is he dead?’ Rosie asked desperately.

  ‘I can’t see anything that a hospital can’t fix,’ Corporal Tweed said reassuringly, as two of his colleagues picked up the stretcher and began jogging towards a waiting truck. ‘But he won’t be jumping again this week.’

  * * *

  2�
�MP – Military Police.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Paul smiled as the petite nurse kissed him on the cheek. ‘Now you go careful,’ she said, in her thick Scottish accent. ‘No rough and tumble, or that nose will never go back straight.’

  Paul nodded. He’d spent three days in the men’s ward of a tiny rural hospital, although he’d been unconscious for the first twenty-four hours.

  His legs were painful as he walked across the floor tiles. The hard landing had left him with swollen ankles and ligament damage in both knees. His nose was protected by a cardboard splint, held in place with long strips of sticking plaster. The operation to set it straight had been successful, but his sinuses were clogged with blood and he could only breathe through his mouth.

  ‘I drew a little picture,’ Paul told the nurse, as he took a thin sheet of paper from his trouser pocket. ‘It’s not very good.’

  The nurse smiled as she saw the pencil drawing of herself. ‘Not very good!’ she laughed. ‘It’s bloody brilliant. You’re so sweet. Nobody’s ever drawn me before.’

  Paul blushed as the nurse kissed him again. He then said goodbye to the four other patients and headed into the hospital lobby. A couple of emergency cases waited in armchairs, and Takada stood in the lobby.

  ‘Do you have everything?’ Takada asked.

  The nurse put Paul’s small suitcase down at Takada’s feet. ‘Don’t let him carry it,’ she told him. ‘He’s got to take things very gently.’

  ‘Very good,’ Takada nodded, before looking at Paul. ‘All set?’

  Paul had seen snow falling through the window at the end of his ward, but he was unprepared for the scene that greeted him on the doorstep. The whole world was white, with two-metre-deep snowdrifts against the hospital walls and dazzling snow caps on every tree branch and rooftop.

  The cold was a shock after the dry heat of the ward and Paul buried his hands in the pockets of a grey duffle coat as they walked towards a badly rusted Morris which Takada had borrowed from the parachute school.