facilitate an escape.
‘They have target practice three times a week and we’re familiarising the trainees with all commonly used French, German and British firearms. Our aim is that every agent we send undercover will be able to pick up and use any weapon he encounters if needs be.’
The admiral unholstered his pistol and held it out towards Marc. ‘Are you a good shot?’
‘Not bad, sir,’ Marc admitted.
Henderson laughed. ‘Marc is being modest, he consistently outscores the others.’
The admiral passed his handgun to Marc. ‘What do you think of that one?’ he asked.
Marc studied the ivory-handled revolver. He opened the chamber and saw a tiny version of his face reflected in the base of six golden bullets.
‘I’ve not seen one like this before,’ Marc confessed. ‘It looks quite old.’
‘It was my grandfather’s service revolver,’ the admiral explained. ‘When my father retired he passed it on to me. Do you think you could shoot one of the pigeons sitting in that tree over on the right?’
Marc squinted into the low sun for a second before making a decision. ‘I doubt it very much, sir. Shooting a pistol at that range, it would be more luck than skill if I hit it.’
‘Absolutely correct,’ the admiral smiled, as he took back the pistol. ‘What about with a rifle?’
‘I’d stand a decent chance,’ Marc said. ‘Though it’s not an easy shot with the sun in my face.’
Captain Ramsgate had read the admiral’s mind and was approaching with a standard-issue French army rifle. Marc expertly checked that there was a cartridge loaded and looked down the barrel to make sure it was clean before adopting a firing stance and taking aim.
‘Which one are you going for?’ Admiral Hammer asked.
It was a horrible shot, with the sun in Marc’s eyes and four adults watching every twitch.
‘The bird on the end of the long branch,’ Marc said finally.
He took a deep breath and held it in to steady his aim. The French rifle was not renowned for accuracy and Marc’s short reach made it harder to keep the gun steady. He felt like he was taking far too long over the shot and his brow bristled with sweat as he tried to hold the target steady in the mechanical sight.
As Marc squeezed the trigger, he felt a gust of wind and had to make an instantaneous correction. The bullet cracked, making a dozen birds erupt from the tree. But there was also a loud squawk and twirling feathers silhouetted against the low sun.
‘ Damned good shot!’ Admiral Hammer said, as he thumped Marc on the back. ‘The minister and I were discussing this unit last night. One of his suggestions was that we could train a couple of young lads as snipers and use them to assassinate senior German officers. Now I can at least report that you’re able to shoot straight!’
Henderson and McAfferty smiled with relief: it seemed unlikely that their unit would get canned if a cabinet minister was discussing possible missions. But only Marc had the impertinence to pose the question.
‘So does that mean you’re giving our unit the nod?’ he asked.
Henderson and McAfferty both cringed, but Admiral Hammer liked Marc and didn’t mind his directness. ‘I sent Ramsgate up here to check that you weren’t a bunch of lunatics. And despite your disciplinary problems, he believes you’re putting together a unit that could have a genuine impact on the war. However, Air Vice Marshal Walker doesn’t agree. He’s the man in charge of the Special Operations Executive right now and that puts us in a tight spot.’
Henderson looked perturbed. ‘Damned politics,’ he cursed. ‘I hope we learn to stop fighting our own side before there’s a swastika hanging from Buckingham Palace.’
‘When do you think you can have your trainees ready for action?’ Admiral Hammer asked.
‘The six in Group A aren’t far off the mark now, but they could do with another month to really hit top form,’ Henderson said. ‘The thing is, Walker is
‘They have target practice three times a week and we’re familiarising the trainees with all commonly used French, German and British firearms. Our aim is that every agent we send undercover will be able to pick up and use any weapon he encounters if needs be.’
The admiral unholstered his pistol and held it out towards Marc. ‘Are you a good shot?’
‘Not bad, sir,’ Marc admitted.
Henderson laughed. ‘Marc is being modest, he consistently outscores the others.’
The admiral passed his handgun to Marc. ‘What do you think of that one?’ he asked.
Marc studied the ivory-handled revolver. He opened the chamber and saw a tiny version of his face reflected in the base of six golden bullets.
‘I’ve not seen one like this before,’ Marc confessed. ‘It looks quite old.’
‘It was my grandfather’s service revolver,’ the admiral explained. ‘When my father retired he passed it on to me. Do you think you could shoot one of the pigeons sitting in that tree over on the right?’
Marc squinted into the low sun for a second before making a decision. ‘I doubt it very much, sir. Shooting a pistol at that range, it would be more luck than skill if I hit it.’
‘Absolutely correct,’ the admiral smiled, as he took back the pistol. ‘What about with a rifle?’
‘I’d stand a decent chance,’ Marc said. ‘Though it’s not an easy shot with the sun in my face.’
Captain Ramsgate had read the admiral’s mind and was approaching with a standard-issue French army rifle. Marc expertly checked that there was a cartridge loaded and looked down the barrel to make sure it was clean before adopting a firing stance and taking aim.
‘Which one are you going for?’ Admiral Hammer asked.
It was a horrible shot, with the sun in Marc’s eyes and four adults watching every twitch.
‘The bird on the end of the long branch,’ Marc said finally.
He took a deep breath and held it in to steady his aim. The French rifle was not renowned for accuracy and Marc’s short reach made it harder to keep the gun steady. He felt like he was taking far too long over the shot and his brow bristled with sweat as he tried to hold the target steady in the mechanical sight.
As Marc squeezed the trigger, he felt a gust of wind and had to make an instantaneous correction. The bullet cracked, making a dozen birds erupt from the tree. But there was also a loud squawk and twirling feathers silhouetted against the low sun.
‘ Damned good shot!’ Admiral Hammer said, as he thumped Marc on the back. ‘The minister and I were discussing this unit last night. One of his suggestions was that we could train a couple of young lads as snipers and use them to assassinate senior German officers. Now I can at least report that you’re able to shoot straight!’
Henderson and McAfferty smiled with relief: it seemed unlikely that their unit would get canned if a cabinet minister was discussing possible missions. But only Marc had the impertinence to pose the question.
‘So does that mean you’re giving our unit the nod?’ he asked.
Henderson and McAfferty both cringed, but Admiral Hammer liked Marc and didn’t mind his directness. ‘I sent Ramsgate up here to check that you weren’t a bunch of lunatics. And despite your disciplinary problems, he believes you’re putting together a unit that could have a genuine impact on the war. However, Air Vice Marshal Walker doesn’t agree. He’s the man in charge of the Special Operations Executive right now and that puts us in a tight spot.’
Henderson looked perturbed. ‘Damned politics,’ he cursed. ‘I hope we learn to stop fighting our own side before there’s a swastika hanging from Buckingham Palace.’
‘When do you think you can have your trainees ready for action?’ Admiral Hammer asked.
‘The six in Group A aren’t far off the mark now, but they could do with another month to really hit top form,’ Henderson said. ‘The thing is, Walker is
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