ammunition.’
Henderson nodded gravely. ‘Let’s try and stay clear of any shoot-outs then.’ Then he turned towards Troy. ‘You know the boat well enough. I’ve got a lot to discuss with the Lieutenant Commander, so why don’t you take the others on a tour below deck, then we’ll head off and try to find our quarters.’
*
Porterbrook was a mile’s walk from the creek. The two-storey Georgian house was headquarters for the Helford Flotilla. Only agents and espionage officers stayed here, while the navy men who crewed many of the boats bunked at Falmouth naval base a few kilometres east.
The downstairs had been knocked together to make a large dining room and lounge. Upstairs was the bathroom and bedrooms for officers, while lower ranks and civilians had to make do with a pair of prefabricated Nissen huts in the back garden.
The house was deserted, apart from an elderly Canadian Brigadier named Ouellet and two local women who cooked and cleaned. There was a lamb hotpot waiting on arrival, which went down well after the long journey, followed by a steamed jam pudding with clotted cream.
After eating, the kids listened to the BBC Forces Programme while taking turns at a snooker table. Troy, Marc, Paul, Rosie and Joel had all grown up in France where tables were rare, and had fun competing over who was the most hopeless. PT had played a few games in bars when he’d worked aboard a steam ship, but he was annihilated by Boo, who’d grown up with a table in the family castle. She regularly rattled off breaks of fifty or sixty, while complaining that the game wasn’t much of a challenge on a half-sized table.
Henderson sat in an armchair facing the Brigadier, drinking whisky and admiring Boo when she bent over the table. There was a ten o’clock curfew on campus, and the kids kept expecting him to send them to bed, but they kept on playing until eleven thirty when the BBC shut down and everyone stood for the national anthem.
The room seemed eerily quiet when the anthem ended, and Brigadier Ouellet’s boots tapped the parquet floor as he stepped across to turn off the set.
‘Have you all been revising your identities for the mission?’ the Brigadier asked.
The kids were intimidated by his formal tone, medals and epaulettes, so their nods and yeses came stiff and uncomfortable.
The Brigadier pointed at a clock on the mantelpiece. ‘In a few moments, you will retire to bed. When it turns midnight, you will take on the identities you have been given for your mission. You will speak only in French. You will address one another by the names given in your French identity documents. You could be tested on your back story at any time and if you make a slip-up there will be consequences. Goodnight, and sleep well.’
Boo, Rufus and Henderson stayed in the house, while the six youngsters went out the back door and found their way across the lawn. They kept quiet until they were all under the curved metal roof of the Nissen hut, sitting on their narrow bunks pulling off shoes and unbuttoning shirts. Rosie was the only girl, but after more than six months of living together on campus, nobody thought about modesty.
‘Brigadier whatsisname seems weird,’ Marc said, as he burrowed through his suitcase looking for pyjama bottoms.
‘Drunk as a skunk,’ Joel said. ‘Him and Henderson practically emptied that bottle between them.’
‘Did you see Henderson eyeing up Boo?’ Rosie said. ‘He’s got such a dirty mind.’
Troy cocked his leg and cracked a huge fart.
‘Better than a dirty arse,’ Marc said, as he gave Troy a dead arm.
‘Henderson just has appetites, like all men do,’ PT said. ‘Most of you are too young to understand.’
‘I know how to fertilise a girl,’ Paul said, always anxious not to be seen as the baby of the group.
‘A man either gets what he wants, or goes somewhere else for it,’ PT said. ‘That’s the way of the world.’
‘Not if you’re a married man it isn’t,’
Henderson nodded gravely. ‘Let’s try and stay clear of any shoot-outs then.’ Then he turned towards Troy. ‘You know the boat well enough. I’ve got a lot to discuss with the Lieutenant Commander, so why don’t you take the others on a tour below deck, then we’ll head off and try to find our quarters.’
*
Porterbrook was a mile’s walk from the creek. The two-storey Georgian house was headquarters for the Helford Flotilla. Only agents and espionage officers stayed here, while the navy men who crewed many of the boats bunked at Falmouth naval base a few kilometres east.
The downstairs had been knocked together to make a large dining room and lounge. Upstairs was the bathroom and bedrooms for officers, while lower ranks and civilians had to make do with a pair of prefabricated Nissen huts in the back garden.
The house was deserted, apart from an elderly Canadian Brigadier named Ouellet and two local women who cooked and cleaned. There was a lamb hotpot waiting on arrival, which went down well after the long journey, followed by a steamed jam pudding with clotted cream.
After eating, the kids listened to the BBC Forces Programme while taking turns at a snooker table. Troy, Marc, Paul, Rosie and Joel had all grown up in France where tables were rare, and had fun competing over who was the most hopeless. PT had played a few games in bars when he’d worked aboard a steam ship, but he was annihilated by Boo, who’d grown up with a table in the family castle. She regularly rattled off breaks of fifty or sixty, while complaining that the game wasn’t much of a challenge on a half-sized table.
Henderson sat in an armchair facing the Brigadier, drinking whisky and admiring Boo when she bent over the table. There was a ten o’clock curfew on campus, and the kids kept expecting him to send them to bed, but they kept on playing until eleven thirty when the BBC shut down and everyone stood for the national anthem.
The room seemed eerily quiet when the anthem ended, and Brigadier Ouellet’s boots tapped the parquet floor as he stepped across to turn off the set.
‘Have you all been revising your identities for the mission?’ the Brigadier asked.
The kids were intimidated by his formal tone, medals and epaulettes, so their nods and yeses came stiff and uncomfortable.
The Brigadier pointed at a clock on the mantelpiece. ‘In a few moments, you will retire to bed. When it turns midnight, you will take on the identities you have been given for your mission. You will speak only in French. You will address one another by the names given in your French identity documents. You could be tested on your back story at any time and if you make a slip-up there will be consequences. Goodnight, and sleep well.’
Boo, Rufus and Henderson stayed in the house, while the six youngsters went out the back door and found their way across the lawn. They kept quiet until they were all under the curved metal roof of the Nissen hut, sitting on their narrow bunks pulling off shoes and unbuttoning shirts. Rosie was the only girl, but after more than six months of living together on campus, nobody thought about modesty.
‘Brigadier whatsisname seems weird,’ Marc said, as he burrowed through his suitcase looking for pyjama bottoms.
‘Drunk as a skunk,’ Joel said. ‘Him and Henderson practically emptied that bottle between them.’
‘Did you see Henderson eyeing up Boo?’ Rosie said. ‘He’s got such a dirty mind.’
Troy cocked his leg and cracked a huge fart.
‘Better than a dirty arse,’ Marc said, as he gave Troy a dead arm.
‘Henderson just has appetites, like all men do,’ PT said. ‘Most of you are too young to understand.’
‘I know how to fertilise a girl,’ Paul said, always anxious not to be seen as the baby of the group.
‘A man either gets what he wants, or goes somewhere else for it,’ PT said. ‘That’s the way of the world.’
‘Not if you’re a married man it isn’t,’
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