Henderson’s Boys 4: Grey Wolves

by Robert Muchamore

  Marc eyed the Germans through the anchor hole. He counted five men on deck, but none were expecting trouble from the little tug. One even sat on an upturned bucket peeling potatoes.

  ‘A beautiful morning,’ Henderson yelled across, as he shielded his eyes from the low sun.

  ‘It is,’ a bearded German sailor agreed. ‘Why are you out here so far from the coast?’

  ‘We’ve been out all night,’ Henderson explained. ‘A distress call went up from a tramp steamer. We brought out some replacement parts and an engineer. Thought we might have to tow her in, but they got her running on her own steam and now we’re heading back to Brest.’

  A little pantomime played out on the deck of the E-boat. Junior officer shouting to captain, captain can’t hear. Junior officer walks up to bridge, arms wave, beards get scratched. Junior officer comes back looking unhappy.

  ‘We’ve been patrolling this area and haven’t heard any distress call,’ the bearded sailor said. ‘We’re coming aboard, to check your documentation and search the boat.’

  Henderson acted calm and shook his head. ‘Knock yourselves out, I guess.’

  As the German threw a rope over, Marc eyed the German captain on his bridge. The E-boat was twice as long as Madeline, with her superstructure lined up with their bow. The side window was open, making it the easiest shot he was ever likely to take.

  There was a shudder as the two boats touched, side to side. The decks were almost level and the bearded German judged the swaying boats carefully, with two armed ratings ready to board behind him.

  ‘Geronimo!’ Henderson yelled, as he grabbed the pistol tucked into the waistband of his trousers and shot the German through the head.

  Jarhope’s machine gun polished off the armed men behind him. Boo sprung up, threw the lightweight awning off the 22mm gun and mowed down two men on the rear of the deck. Up front, Marc’s first shot went clean through the captain’s head. He hit a second man, as a third jumped out of the bridge, only to be shot from the opposite end of the boat by Troy.

  Eight men had been killed before the Germans fired a shot, but the balance of power shifted when the potato peeler got himself behind the armoured flanges of a 20mm cannon at the front of the boat.

  The first heavy rounds practically parted Marc’s hair. The gunner aimed down, punching holes in Madeline’s bow, then swung across, tearing chunks out of the wooden superstructure and shattering every window in the bridge. Fortunately the two boats were too close for Madeline to be holed below the waterline.

  As Rufus jumped clear of the flying glass, Troy shot a German coming out of the rear hatch from below deck. Marc tried to aim at the German behind the cannon, but he was shielded by the armoured flanges.

  Henderson realised that the only way to stop the heavy-calibre fire was to board the E-boat, run to the front and shoot the German from behind his protective shield. As Henderson vaulted on to the E-boat, a pair of grenades came the other way.

  One landed in the coiled ropes next to Troy. He batted it over the side, seconds before it would have blown his hand off. Boo watched the other grenade bounce off the deck and drop through the open hatch below decks. As Troy saw a third grenade missing the rear of the boat, he spotted the man throwing them, tucked up behind the torpedo tubes on deck, and took aim.

  Jarhope jumped aboard the E-boat to back up Henderson as the grenade went off below deck, cracking Madeline’s cast-iron boiler and sending out a powerful blast of superheated steam. The 2cm shells continued to pound the superstructure as Rufus screamed in pain. His arms had been lacerated by the flying glass in the bridge, and Boo cut her own hands on the shards embedded in his skin as she dragged him away from the steam.

  Troy had been knocked down by the grenade blast, but now took aim from a kneeling position and pumped two shots. The first missed. The second hit the German grenade thrower up the arse and left him hanging over the side.

  Further up the E-boat, Henderson had climbed up into the bridge. He aimed his machine gun through the blood-spattered windows and shot the cook firing the deck cannon. With the big cannon muted and no Germans left on deck to shoot at, the only sound was the high-pitched whistle of steam escaping Madeline’s cracked boiler.

  ‘Get across, all of you,’ Henderson shouted. ‘Madeline could blow sky high.’

  Troy vaulted easily and immediately shot a German coming out of a hatch in the rear of the boat. Boo helped Rufus, who was blinded by blood running into his eyes. But at the bow Madeline was more than two metres away from the E-boat, and Marc couldn’t get to the rear because of the rapidly venting steam.

  He shouted desperately to Henderson up in the E-boat’s bridge.

  Jarhope grabbed a life preserver with rope attached and threw it across. Marc caught hold, but it was heavier than expected and bent his fingers back painfully. The coal under Madeline’s rear deck was now ablaze, and it sounded like a shoot-out as the heat set off bullets in the ammunition store.

  Marc fed his arms through the life preserver, as Jarhope knotted the rope to the E-boat’s deck rail for extra safety. Marc balanced on Madeline’s bow ready to jump, while at the rear of the E-boat Troy hastily untied the smouldering rope linking the two boats together.

  Jarhope braced against the deck rail as Marc jumped. But the boy’s weight was too much to hold. As Marc plunged into the gloomy space between the two hulls, the ropes pulled through Jarhope’s hands, burning off layers of skin.

  Marc was strong, and started pulling himself up the rope, but Madeline’s hull was close and he’d be crushed if the boats came together. He could feel heat and hear crackling as the paint on Madeline’s hull blistered.

  ‘I need a hand,’ Marc shouted.

  Jarhope was clutching his burned hands, in no condition to grab anything, so Boo had to run the length of the boat and reach over the side to grab the life preserver.

  Henderson was on the bridge working out the E-boat’s blood-spattered controls. He was worried that the fire would spread from Madeline, and the instant Marc was over the deck rail he pushed the throttle forward. The big diesel engines rumbled and the boat cruised twenty metres clear before he cut them off.

  ‘We’ve got to keep our guard up,’ Henderson said, as he grabbed his machine gun and jumped down out of the bridge. ‘I reckon there’s still half a dozen Krauts hiding below deck. Let’s flush ’em out.’

  Note

  2 E-Boat – a small, high-speed German warship designed mainly for coastal patrol duty and mine laying.

  CHAPTER NINE

  As Madeline’s wooden frame burned thirty metres astern, Henderson told everyone to quiet down, hoping to hear some sign of the Germans trapped below decks. He pointed at Troy and whispered.

  ‘Take Rufus’ Sten and cover the rear hatch. Give them a couple of seconds to surrender, but don’t take chances if you see a weapon. Marc, I want you covering my back down below. Only shoot if you have to. These boats are built for speed not strength, and we won’t get far if we’re shot full of holes.’

  Henderson grabbed a docking pole off the deck. While Boo held the rear door of the bridge open, Henderson used the hooked pole to flip the deck hatch, half expecting someone to start shooting up at him.

  ‘Looks empty,’ Henderson said, as he peered down cautiously. Then he shouted in German. ‘Come out now with your hands up.’

  He didn’t get an answer, but Jarhope had pushed past Marc into the bridge. ‘Commander, I know this is your show, but don’t you think I’d be better than the boy?’

  Henderson turned impatiently. ‘Jarhope, you can barely hold a gun with the state your hands are in. Marc’s one of the best marksmen I’ve ever seen. If you want a job, start searching Kraut bodies for anything interesting. Then throw ’em over the side before we’re all sloshing about in blood.’

  Marc joined Henderson at the edge of the hatch. Looking down beyond the ladder he saw the ship’s radio, a dropped pistol and a table with a chest of nautical charts beneath.

  ‘I
n for a penny,’ Henderson said, as he swung over the side of the hole and dropped below.

  Marc followed, thumping down on his injured ankle as Henderson tucked the German pistol into his jacket. There were metal bulkhead doors at either end of the room. The one going towards the bow was open, the one going aft was shut.

  ‘Bet you ten shillings they’re behind the locked door, but we’ll check the front out first. I counted ten dead, but I’ve no idea how many crew these boats.’

  Henderson covered as Marc ripped open the forward bulkhead. He stepped through into a corridor barely wider than his shoulders and crept up to a green curtain before swishing it back. Behind it were the captain’s quarters, with a narrow bunk and a wardrobe with a flap that folded down to make a writing desk.

  ‘Nobody home,’ Marc said, as he backed out and moved forwards towards the next bunker.

  ‘Even if you kill us you’ll never get up on deck,’ Henderson shouted. ‘Surrender and you’ll be well treated.’

  Marc stepped through the next bulkhead and jumped down a metre into the crew compartment. There were three triple bunks crammed in a space that pinched in towards the ship’s bow. Marc almost gagged on cigarette smoke and BO as he ripped off stained bedclothes, making sure nobody was hiding.

  There was one final compartment in the bow itself. As Marc moved in its tiny door flew open. A scrawny German burst out, swinging wildly with a cleaver. Henderson shoved Marc out of the way and kicked the German in the stomach. As the cleaver hit the floor, Henderson grabbed the small man by his shirt collar and smacked him head first into a metal bunk frame, before jamming a gun against his temple.

  ‘One lie and I’ll kill you,’ Henderson growled. ‘How many men crew this boat? How many are left down here?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ the sailor replied.

  ‘The hell you don’t,’ Henderson shouted, pulling the sailor’s head back, then smashing his nose against a bedpost.

  Henderson could be utterly ruthless, and Marc felt uneasy as he glanced into the compartment where the German had been hiding. The ceiling was low, with a tiny sink and toilet. This was clogged with torn paper, which the German had tried to flush, and then set on fire when it failed.

  ‘Looks like code books and stuff,’ Marc shouted. ‘Bagsy I’m not the one who has to fish ’em out.’

  But Henderson didn’t hear because he was giving the German a good belting. ‘How many in the crew?’

  ‘Geneva convention!’ the German replied. ‘I am a prisoner of war, I have rights.’

  ‘Got a complaint?’ Henderson scoffed. ‘Write a letter to the League of Nations. Let’s walk.’

  Henderson shoved the German towards the steps and led him back the way they’d come. Boo had climbed below and was looking at the damaged radio.

  ‘Think you can get a signal out to our people?’

  ‘Very much hope so, Commander,’ Boo said, wincing as she saw the German’s profusely bleeding head and flattened nose.

  ‘Open the bulkhead,’ Henderson ordered.

  The German looked back nervously. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘What’s in there?’ Henderson shouted, punching the sailor hard in the ribs.

  ‘The crew is sixteen, but only fifteen aboard because one is sick,’ the German blurted desperately. ‘There’s one officer in there, a real fanatic, plus a rating and two engineers. He ordered me to flush our code books and destroy the radio. He’ll shoot me dead for cooperating with you.’

  ‘What weapons do they have?’ Henderson growled.

  ‘Just a pistol I think.’

  ‘Well hopefully he’ll only shoot you once then,’ Henderson said. ‘Boo, open that bulkhead on three. Marc, there’s gonna be engines and fuel tanks back there, so we don’t want bullets flying around. How are your knife-throwing skills?

  ‘I’ll manage,’ Marc said, as he slung his rifle over his shoulder and took his knife out of its sheath.

  Henderson thumped on the bulkhead. ‘We’re coming in on three,’ he shouted in German. ‘This is your last chance to surrender. One … Two … Three.’

  Boo opened the bulkhead door with a metal clank and jumped out of the way. Henderson shoved the bleeding sailor through the opening and gave him an almighty kick up the arse. There was a pistol blast as the sailor tripped on the ledge of the bulkhead. His body spun as the German officer shot his own man in the shoulder.

  Marc glimpsed the shooter, but couldn’t aim his knife before he ducked behind a huge diesel engine.

  The German sailor thrashed about in agony as Henderson peered warily through the bulkhead. Simultaneously a huge man in a greasy singlet and trousers jumped across the narrow channel that ran between two diesel engines, towards the hiding gunman. Henderson took aim at his trailing leg, but was all too aware of the fuel tank directly behind.

  But the big man hadn’t rushed across to help the officer, he was squashing the life out of him.

  ‘Treason,’ the officer shouted, as the other engineer and the rating emerged from behind a third engine further down the boat with hands raised in surrender.

  Henderson rushed between the two engines, stepping over the sailor, as the engineer choked his superior officer.

  ‘Don’t shoot!’ he shouted, raising his hands. ‘A bullet in those tanks will blow us all sky high.’

  ‘Is there anyone else apart from you lot?’ Henderson shouted.

  ‘We’re all that’s left,’ the engineer shouted. ‘You can shoot me in the head if that’s not the truth.’

  Henderson lowered his gun and nodded appreciatively to the big man, before waving the three surrendered Germans forwards. ‘Get up on deck, no sudden moves.’

  Then he shouted in English. ‘Jarhope, you’ve got prisoners coming up. Do you hear me?’

  ‘Ready and willing,’ Jarhope shouted back.

  Henderson looked at Marc. ‘Tie up that officer before he comes round, then find a medical kit and see what you can do for the bullet in the sailor’s shoulder. Boo, your absolute priority is to get that radio working. Try and get a signal out to a Royal Navy ship. We need an escort or we’ll end up being blown out of the sea by our own people.’

  Marc looked down at the skinny, battered sailor. Trails of blood stretched from his head down to his boots and his right arm practically hung off at the shoulder. Marc had done basic first aid training, but this was beyond him.

  ‘Can’t you help?’ Marc said, aghast.

  ‘Whatever you can manage,’ Henderson ordered. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can, but if they sent off a distress signal while they were under attack, we could have half their fleet on our backs if we stick around.’

  Henderson swept past Boo as she studied the controls of the German transmitter, then charged up the ladder into the bridge. Rufus had captained Madeline, but was laid out on deck, with blistered legs from the steam and arms embedded with glass. It wasn’t pretty, but he’d live.

  Jarhope had three prisoners to look after and was no sailor, so Henderson called Troy to the bridge. ‘I know you can sail, but how about engines?’

  ‘Never tried anything this big,’ Troy said, as he studied the bloody controls. ‘But it’s a throttle and a wheel like my dad’s old fishing boat.’

  ‘Right,’ Henderson nodded. ‘I’m coordinating ten different things, so I want you to take the helm. Head north by north-north-west and keep an eye out for any other boats. I’ll chart a proper course as soon as I can, but that’s close enough for now.

  ‘Once you’ve got a feel for how she handles, take her up to twenty-two knots for a quarter of an hour, then slow her down to ten. It’s a long way back to Britain; I don’t know our fuel status but I’ll bet those big diesel engines have a thirst when you’re moving fast.’

  ‘Aye, Commander,’ Troy said, proud to be in charge of a powerful thirty-five-metre boat, but a little scared too.

  As Troy gently nudged the throttle, Henderson looked around for Madeline. ‘Did the old girl go down?’

  Troy nodde
d. ‘Just after you went below deck. She was blazing – you must have been able to see the smoke over a wide area – so I told Jarhope to take the main gun and shoot her below the waterline.’

  Henderson looked shocked. ‘On your own initiative, without asking me?’

  Troy shifted uneasily. ‘Was that wrong, sir? You were below decks, I thought it was critical.’

  ‘You were absolutely bloody right,’ Henderson said, giving Troy a friendly slap on the back. ‘Good stuff.’

  Troy was getting a feel for the E-boat and pushed the throttle further forwards. ‘If we get this boat back to Britain in one piece we can name her Madeline II.’

  ‘Not a bad idea,’ Henderson laughed as the boat picked up speed. ‘Feel free to turn a little, start getting a feel for the rudder. You’ll need to know what she can do if we run into trouble.’

  ‘Right,’ Troy nodded.

  ‘Give me a shout if you need me,’ Henderson said, as he moved towards the ladder. ‘I’m going below to help Marc.’

  ‘No problem,’ Troy nodded. ‘Oh, and congratulations on the baby, sir.’

  Henderson shot back up the ladder. ‘Pardon me?’

  Troy gasped. ‘Sir, I thought Boo already told you. I guess with everyone being so exhausted it slipped her mind.’

  ‘Told me what?’ Henderson said. ‘Spit it out, boy.’

  ‘It came through in our routine signal yesterday afternoon. McAfferty thought you’d want to know immediately. You have a son, sir; he was only five pounds two ounces, but he’s in good health and so is your wife.’

  ‘Well bugger me,’ Henderson said.

  Part Two

  Four weeks later

  CHAPTER TEN

  Saturday 17 May 1941

  Lightning flashed as a small truck crawled towards the top of a hill, getting slower and slower. The wiper blades squealed but fourteen-year-old Rosie Clarke still couldn’t see more than fifty metres through the pelting rain.