02 The Invaders by John Flanagan Page B

shoulder.
    “You’ve done it again!” he said. “This is brilliant—and no small details forgotten.” He added the last with a giant grin and another hearty slap on the back. Hal accepted both philosophically.
    Stig ran his hand along the smoothed timber of the huge crossbow, admiring the workmanship that had gone into it. There was nothing ornate about it. It was simply a well-crafted piece of machinery.
    “I can’t wait to see Zavac’s face when you start shooting big holes in his ship!” he said.
    “And his crew!” Wulf added enthusiastically as he pictured the panic on board the pirate ship.
    “They’ll be jumping overboard!” Ulf agreed, and they all laughed as they gathered round the crossbow to admire it.
    “We should call it something,” Jesper suggested. They all muttered agreement, then there was a pause as each tried to come up with a name before the others could think of one.
    “Big Bessie!” Ulf suggested impulsively.
    Wulf snorted derisively. “You want to give it a girl’s name?” he jeered.
    Ulf went red. Sometimes he wished he could remember to think twice before he spoke. Or even once.
    “How about Gorlog’s Hammer?” Edvin suggested. The others looked at him, frowning.
    “Bit classical, isn’t it?” Stefan said. Edvin shrugged diffidently, then Jesper pointed out a fault in the name.
    “Gorlog doesn’t have a hammer,” he said. “Tharon has a hammer.” Tharon was the god of thunder.
    “Well, Tharon’s Hammer then,” Edvin suggested, trying to salvage his idea. But he was greeted by headshakes all round.
    “Naaah. Still too classical,” Stig said. “We want a good blood-and-guts name for it.”
    There was another silence. Hal eventually broke it.
    “I like what Thorn called it,” he said. They looked at him curiously, so he reminded them. “The Mangler.”
    They considered it. Gradually, smiles began to break out.
    “The Mangler,” Stefan said, approval obvious in his tone.
    “That’s what it’ll do, all right,” Ulf put in, and even his brother had to agree with that.
    Hal grinned at Stig. “Well, what do you think? Is it blood-and-gutsy enough for you?”
    Stig nodded, grinning broadly in his turn.
    And so the Mangler it became.

chapter eleven
     
    T he
Heron
was cruising in Shelter Bay.
    It was the day after Hal had demonstrated the Mangler to his crew. Outside, on the open seas, the wind still howled out of the south, whipping the ocean into steep, fast-breaking whitecaps. It was no place for a small open ship like the
Heron
. But the tall headlands broke the force of the wind so that inside the bay there was nothing more than a stiff breeze.
    The crew were made aware of the wild conditions outside when they looked at the trees on top of the headlands, and high on the inland ridge. They were bending and swaying madly, tossing their heads in the savage gusts that hit them.
    The
Heron
was sailing parallel to the beach, about three hundred meters offshore. The wind was coming over their port side and the sail was trimmed in tight.
    “Stig,” Hal called, and gestured to the tiller.
    His friend leapt eagerly up to the steering platform and took control of the ship. He twitched the tiller from side to side, testing the ship’s instant reaction to the helm, and smiled at Hal.
    “I love this,” he said. “She’s so light and responsive.”
    “I never get tired of it myself,” Hal agreed. Then, in a more businesslike tone, he continued. “We’re coming up on the first target. When I signal, head her in toward the beach. I’ll shoot when we’re a hundred meters out.”
    They’d discussed the plan the night before and the details were clear in Stig’s mind. But it didn’t hurt to run through them one more time. Hal hesitated. It seemed strange to leave the
Heron
in someone else’s hands. Stig shoved him playfully.
    “Get for’ard to the Mangler!” he said.
    Hal laughed, turned away and made his way to the bow. He passed Ulf and Wulf, who were