‘You need to change down, doll,’ her boyfriend PT told her. ‘You’ll stall it.’
Rosie floored the clutch and put the truck in neutral, then after waiting for a second for the spinning gears to slow down she put the box into what she thought was second. The truck lurched, cogs in the gearbox sheared against one another and the engine died.
‘That was first gear,’ PT said. ‘You need to throw the stick over for second.’
The truck started to roll backwards. Rosie hit the brake pedal and turned the key to restart the engine, but the truck just stalled.
‘You’ve got to put the clutch down,’ PT said.
‘Shut up,’ Rosie shouted, as she pounded the steering wheel in frustration. ‘I can’t concentrate with you constantly babbling. Just look at the map and tell me which way to go. And stop calling me doll. I’m not your pet, your doll, your lady or any other stupid American name.’
PT smiled cheekily. ‘You drive me wild when you’re angry, toots.’
Rosie gritted her teeth as she started the engine again. She put the truck in first gear, let the clutch in, but stalled immediately and rolled back several metres before pulling on the handbrake.
‘Well don’t just sit there,’ Rosie shouted. ‘What am I doing wrong?’
‘I thought you couldn’t concentrate with my constant interference.’
Rosie let out a slow groan, then hesitated for a moment before flinging her door open and splashing down into the gravel road.
‘Do you want me to drive?’ PT asked.
It was raining so hard that water streaked out of Rosie’s long dark hair. ‘I hate you,’ she said with a sob. ‘I don’t want anything from you or this dopey truck. Just bugger off!’
Rosie slammed the truck door and stormed uphill. PT crossed over to the driver’s seat, then yelled after her.
‘You’ll catch pneumonia.’
Rosie spun around and gave PT the finger. ‘Drop dead.’
‘I’m not the one getting drowned.’ PT told himself calmly, as he started the engine. He’d tried his hardest to help Rosie with her driving, but she was naturally bossy and didn’t like taking instructions. Rather than try to pick her up, he decided to teach her a lesson.
‘It’s about a mile past the hilltop,’ PT said, as he roared past Rosie, throwing up a sheet of spray. ‘See you down there.’
The country lane took a few twists, passing barns and cottages, before he turned through a dark-blue gate and down a boggy path towards a dilapidated railway carriage standing on bricks.
‘I’m here about a pig,’ PT told the overalled farmer who came out to greet him.
‘Pig, eh?’ he said suspiciously. ‘Who says I’ve got pigs? Pigs are strictly controlled and licensed. You can go to prison for illegal pigs.’
PT smiled as he jumped down from the cab. ‘I heard about you from a friend,’ he explained. ‘She tells me you like a good whisky. Does Speyside, fifteen-year-old, sound good?’
The farmer’s craggy face lit up as PT reached into the truck and produced two bottles of Scotland’s finest.
‘Impossible to get hold of,’ PT said. ‘Whole supply goes to America to earn dollars for the war effort, but I can throw these in the deal if you did happen to have an unlicensed pig for sale.’
The farmer took half a step back and glowered. ‘Don’t like people knowing my business. Who’s your friend exactly?’
‘Lady by the name of Pippa. She’s the cook with my unit up at the artillery range. We’re having a celebration tonight, but it might go flat if all we’ve got is tins of corned beef.’
‘Well, if Pippa sent you …’ the farmer said, as he took one of the whisky bottles and turned it admiringly in his hand. ‘Fifteen-year-old Speyside. I suppose there might be an animal I can spare.’
‘Who’d have thought it?’ PT smiled.
*
Charles Henderson made a dash from his cottage to CHERUB HQ, which was situated in an abandoned village school less than fifty metres away. He held a large umbrella in one hand, and clasped a tiny baby to his chest with the other. Troy’s eight-year-old brother spotted him through the frosted glass and held the door open.
‘Cheers, Mason,’ Henderson said gratefully. ‘Would you shake off the brolly and put it in the stand for me?’
‘How’s little Terence doing, sir?’ Mason asked, as he took the umbrella.
‘Not too badly,’ Henderson said, as he crouched in front of a small glass case. It was home to Mavis, a large hairy spider who’d been made CHERUB’s official mascot.
‘This is Mavis,’ Henderson told his son softly, as he stroked his tiny head. ‘She’s big and nasty, and if you’re not careful she’ll gobble you up. Very much like your mother, come to think of it.’
Terence was much too small to understand, but Mason laughed.
‘I still can’t believe how tiny he is,’ Mason said. ‘He’s the smallest baby ever.’
‘He was born two months before he was due, but he’s got a good set of lungs and he’s up to nearly seven pounds now.’
‘So have you decided who’s going over to France yet?’ Mason asked.
‘Well you’re only eight, so we can safely rule you out.’
Mason laughed. ‘I know that, sir. But it’s all my brother and his mates keep talking about. It’s starting to get on my nerves.’
‘I’ll put them all out of their misery soon enough,’ Henderson said. ‘Where are all the other lads?’
‘Canoe training out on the lake,’ Mason said. ‘I wanted to go, but Superintendent McAfferty said it was best to stay warm because I only just got over my ear infection.’
‘So you can hear on both sides again?’ Henderson asked, as he opened the door of the office he shared with his commanding officer, Eileen McAfferty.
‘Yes, sir,’ Mason said.
As Henderson stepped into the office, McAfferty stood up behind her desk and broke into a big smile. Boo was also there. She looked stunning in bright-red lipstick and a well-fitted Wren’s3 uniform.
‘You brought him over at last,’ McAfferty said, as Henderson passed the baby across. ‘Hello, Terence. Look at those tiny piggy-wigs. You know, I think he’s grown since I saw him last week? But you’re cuter than ever, aren’t you? Yes you are, yes you arrrrrre!’
As Boo keenly awaited her turn with the baby, Henderson walked behind his desk with one eye on the pile in his in-tray and the other on Boo’s slender waist and pert bottom.
‘Any news on the supply situation?’ Henderson asked.
Boo spun round efficiently and picked up a clipboard. ‘Coming together well at the moment, sir. One of the latest radio sets has arrived at Porth Navas and been put aboard Madeline II. The folding canoes are due Monday morning at the latest. We’re still waiting on RAF confirmation, but we’re expecting air support later in the operation if we need equipment dropped.’
‘Took long enough, but at least they’re behind us now,’ Henderson said.
‘I also took a call from the engineers at Porth Navas. They’ve located a high-speed launch built in Germany. It’s fitted with sixteen-cylinder Daimler engines and the owners imported a good supply of spare parts as a precaution before war broke out.’
‘That’s excellent,’ Henderson said. ‘I was worried we’d have to cannibalise one of Madeline II’s engines for spare parts.’
‘Oh, and your gold braid arrived from London, Captain Henderson.’
‘Can you sew, Third Officer?’ Henderson asked.
‘I did needlework at Roedean,’ Boo said. ‘I think I can manage to add a stripe.’
McAfferty laughed. ‘I thought sailors were supposed to be able to sew and mend their own clothes.’
‘Never really got the knack,’ Henderson said. ‘Probably balls it up, make myself an Admiral by mistake.’
Boo smiled. ‘Shall I go over to the house and collect your dress uniform?’
‘Best if I go,’ Henderson said. ‘If my wife wakes up and sees you she might start
throwing things.’
‘Very good, sir,’ Boo said.
Henderson looked around as the top of something streaked past the window. Then he heard a high-pitched squeal.
‘Am I going mad, or did I just see a pig run by?’
McAfferty smiled as she spoke to Terence. ‘I think Daddy’s been on the whisky again.’
‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ Henderson said. ‘I had a couple of bottles of Speyside put by and I can’t find the damned things anywhere.’
Henderson heard someone entering the hallway outside. He stepped out of the office to find Rosie clomping up the stairs with her dress soaked through.
‘What the devil’s the matter with you?’ Henderson asked.
‘I hate my life,’ Rosie shouted tearfully, before running up the rest of the stairs and slamming the door of her dorm.
Henderson briefly considered going after her, but he had as much desire to get involved with a sobbing teenage girl as he did to stick his arm in a bear trap. Instead he went outside and tracked noise and shouts to the side of the building.
PT, Rosie’s twelve-year-old brother Paul and campus cook Pippa were forming a barrier to try and block in a medium-sized pig, while training instructor Khinde looked particularly fierce standing shirtless with a wooden club in one hand and a chisel in the other.
‘Where the blazes did we get a pig?’ Henderson asked, as he walked towards the fray.
PT smiled mischievously as the pig backed itself into a corner of the former school’s playground.
‘Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies,’ PT said. ‘We wanted some roast pork for the party.’
Henderson wasn’t sure how to respond. As a navy officer he’d been trained to come down hard on every breach of discipline, but CHERUB wasn’t drilling a crew to man a warship. Henderson wanted his agents to think for themselves, and getting hold of a black market pig had probably taught his team more about espionage than most of the training they got on campus. Besides which, he loved roast pork.
The pig suddenly took the initiative, trying to break out of the corner by swerving around Pippa, crashing into a pair of metal dustbins and running full pelt towards Henderson. He didn’t fancy a collision with a sixty-kilo pig, but as he dived out of the way he slipped on the wet tarmac and his trailing leg tripped the speeding beast.
Khinde had caught up and brought down the club. The animal squealed desperately as the first blow struck the top of its head. It stumbled forwards in a daze, tripping on its own forelegs before Khinde’s second blow cracked the skull and knocked it out.
As Henderson found his feet, Khinde lifted the unconscious pig’s head and jammed the chisel expertly through the main artery at the throat. With its final spasms, the pig’s heart squirted blood across painted hopscotch lines, narrowly missing Khinde’s chest.
Pippa and Khinde had clearly dealt with slaughter before, but PT was cringing and Paul held his stomach like he was about to throw up. Henderson took the chance to reassert his authority, as Khinde dragged the bleeding pig towards the kitchen by its hind legs.
‘You two boys,’ he said, pointing down at the blood. ‘I don’t want the little ones trailing through that mess. Get brooms and water and start scrubbing.’
Note
3 Wren – a female member of the Royal Navy, derived from WRNS (Women’s Royal Naval Service).
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It was late enough for the youngest kids on campus to start wilting, but long summer days meant that sun still hovered above the trees. A dozen boys stood around a large fire, eating pork, crackling and roast potatoes cooked in rosemary. CHERUB was part of the military, so the kids got more generous rations than civilians, but while they never went hungry, unlimited fresh meat was a rare treat.
Rosie had pulled herself together, but was still in a sulk. Her brother Paul broke away from the other boys and sat beside her in the grass.
‘More pork?’ he asked, offering his metal plate.
She looked away and sighed.
‘I was jealous when you first got close to PT,’ Paul said. ‘But now I think he’s a good sort.’
‘I don’t want to talk about him,’ Rosie said. ‘It’s the way he spoke to me, like I was a little girl. I’ve driven motorbikes, and McAfferty’s little Austin, but that stupid truck hates me.’
Paul smiled as Mason ran past, chased by a skinny girl of seven. ‘Rosie, you were exactly the same when Dad tried teaching you to ride a bike. You’ve got no patience. Go and talk to PT.’
Rosie’s lips went all thin. ‘Don’t tell me how to run my life,’ she said. ‘I had to walk down a long muddy path to reach that god-forsaken farm, and when I got to the truck, PT said he’d throw me in the back with the pig if I didn’t stop moaning.’
Paul found this hilarious, but didn’t dare laugh and was pleased to spot a distraction. ‘Oh my god, look at Henderson!’
Rosie turned her head and saw Henderson standing close to Boo, with one hand resting on a tree and the other creeping up the back of her leg.
‘Oh he’s awful,’ Rosie said. ‘He’s twice her age. He’ll be flirting with me next.’
‘Not to mention the wife and baby,’ Paul said.
But Henderson got no more than a slight touch of Boo’s buttock before she hopped away and slapped his arm. They couldn’t hear what Boo said, but judging by her expression it wasn’t nice. Henderson stepped away sharpish, with the careless gait of someone who’d had too much to drink.
Two more lads broke off from the main group and came over to join Paul and Rosie. Joel was fourteen, half French, half German, with shaggy blond hair. Luc was a year younger, built like a German tank and about as popular.
‘So who’ll get picked for the mission then?’ Joel asked, as he looked at Rosie. ‘I bet you do. It’s only you and Boo who can send radio messages at a decent speed.’
‘Odds on Marc,’ Luc added with a sneer. ‘Henderson’s in love with him.’
‘Maybe that’s because Marc’s good at everything,’ Paul said.
Luc shook his head. ‘Better than you maybe.’
‘Luc, all you’ve done is train,’ Rosie said. ‘What do you know about working undercover? You’ve no experience.’
‘I know if a skinny weed like Paul can hack it then I can. What were you screaming and bawling about earlier, anyway? Did PT try getting inside your knickers again?’
Rosie shot up, eyeballed Luc and poked him in the chest. ‘Why don’t you crawl back into the woods and join all the other bugs under a rock?’
‘I know you love me really, Rosie,’ Luc said. ‘You can’t resist me for ever.’
Luc grinned slyly as he walked away. Paul shuddered. ‘I hate him so much! I almost don’t care whether I get to go on the mission or not, as long as I’m doing the opposite of whatever Luc’s doing.’
‘You’re not wrong,’ Joel said. ‘Luc’s hard as nails, but I wouldn’t trust him.’
Over by the fire McAfferty clapped her hands for attention. She tried to disguise her strong Glasgow accent, but it always came back when she raised her voice.
‘I’d like to say a few words before it gets too late,’ she began. ‘We’re gathered here tonight to celebrate many things. Firstly, Captain Henderson’s promotion and the birth of his son Terence.’
A round of applause and a few cheers came from the thirty-strong crowd, and Henderson took a bow before McAfferty continued. ‘I’d also like to mention Marc, who played such an important role in this unit’s first successful operation, along with Rufus, Troy and Boo aboard poor old Madeline.
‘I’d like to congratulate the trainees from group B, who recently completed their basic training, and welcome the new recruits who’ve joined us over the last few weeks who will eventually form training group C. I also believe PT will be celebrating his sixteenth birthday in a few days’ time. Finally, I’d like to thank our amazing cook Pippa for the fabulous food we’ve eaten, and of course George the pig who gave his life to save us from
another day of tinned beef.’
‘Three cheers for Espionage Research Unit B,’ Boo shouted when the applause died down. ‘Hip-hip!’
As the third and loudest hooray subsided, Henderson stepped up beside McAfferty and sounded very drunk.
‘Three weeks ago, me and Marc – sorry, Marc and I – spent twenty-four hours in occupied France, but that was just the beg .. . the beginning of a much, much… much larger operation. The following agents should report to classroom C tomorrow morning at ten a.m. for a mission briefing.’
Henderson felt around in his pockets for several seconds before looking up at the anxious faces of CHERUB’s twelve qualified agents.
‘I’ve lost the sodding piece of paper. Boo, can you remember who we picked?’
A few people laughed, but the eleven boys, plus Rosie, were too tense. Boo stepped up and spoke with calm authority.
‘The following agents will report at ten tomorrow. Joel, Marc, Paul, PT, Rosie and Troy. The remaining agents in groups A and B should attend lessons and training as usual.’
There were no overt celebrations because the agents who’d been picked were sensitive to the feelings of those who hadn’t. Only Luc spoke, making sure it was loud enough for all the staff to hear.
‘This is a rip-off! Why am I the only trainee out of group A who didn’t get picked?’
‘Because you’re a complete tit?’ PT suggested caustically.
*
At five to ten the next morning, Henderson stepped into classroom C, wearing dark glasses and with his hair standing in all directions.
‘More damned rain,’ he told Boo, who was already in there writing key points of the mission plan on a blackboard. ‘I apologise for last night. I think we both had a lot to drink and rather made fools of ourselves.’
Boo turned away from the blackboard and spoke acidly. ‘I don’t recall that I drank much or did anything embarrassing, sir. But the important thing is that it doesn’t happen again.’
‘Understood, Third Officer,’ Henderson said formally, as he opened up a briefcase and buried his face in his briefing papers.
He began reading from them ten minutes later, while using a pointing stick to highlight areas of Boo’s chalk diagrams.
Henderson’s Boys 4: Grey Wolves Page 7