paid attention as Henderson parked up in front of a 50-metre-long canopy. The corrugated metal roof was covered in camouflage netting and teams worked in the shade beneath, performing routine maintenance on a selection of aged Panzer tanks.
‘I count sixteen tanks in blast range,’ Henderson said, as Marc passed him a pair of trigger wires.
‘All connected up,’ Marc said.
Henderson plugged the wires into a simple clockwork timer. ‘I reckon eight minutes.’
Marc looked surprised. ‘It’s quite a walk, and then we’ve got to find a way through the perimeter.’
‘Change of plan,’ Henderson said. ‘I fancy a quick tan and a chance to see how it goes off.’
As Marc jumped out and walked to the back, he jammed his hunting knife in one of the rear tyres, in case someone tried to move the truck. Henderson moved quickly, but not so fast that anyone would pay attention.
Henderson walked past the fallen trees and started unbuttoning his shirt as he crossed the road and headed towards shouts coming from a football game.
‘Reckon this is far enough?’ Marc asked.
‘Plenty,’ Henderson said, as he glanced at his watch. ‘Just open your mouth in four minutes and fifty seconds, so that your eardrums don’t pop.’
They found a spot in the shade. Marc peeled his overall down, exposing a well-muscled chest, while Henderson rolled up his blazer and tucked it under his head.
‘When the bomb goes—’
Henderson paused as a tatty football rolled their way. Marc kicked it back at a lanky German who gave him a thank-you wave.
‘Everyone will duck,’ Henderson said. ‘Then they’ll move towards the explosion to see what’s happening. While everyone’s distracted we’ll back into the trees and cut our way through the wire.’
‘Makes sense,’ Marc said. Then after a pause, ‘How many people do you reckon will die?’
‘If we put those tanks out of action, we’ll save more than we kill,’ Henderson said.
‘You know, I’ve lost count of the number of people I’ve killed,’ Marc said solemnly. ‘When did we get so cold-blooded?’
‘War’s shit,’ Henderson said, as the sun broke between clouds and made him squint. ‘People do what they have to.’
‘I just hope it ends soon,’ Marc said.
‘It will,’ Henderson said firmly. ‘And you’ve got your whole future. Don’t waste it torturing yourself over the past.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Wednesday 23 August 1944–Thursday 24 August 1944
Marc didn’t sleep that night. He thought about the truck exploding. Men not much older than himself grabbed their shirts off the grass and ran towards other men not much older than himself who’d just been killed or had bits of their bodies blown off.
Part of what troubled Marc was how easy it had all been. Finding the explosives was a stroke of luck. There’d been no problem getting into the compound. The escape was uneventful and once they’d switched to civilian clothes, the walk back to Saint Cloud was no bother either.
Marc thought about Jae and got scared. What if she was caught up in a battle near the farm? What if he got trapped inside Paris, or died somehow before he ever saw her again? Most of his stuff was already packed in a bag on the bedroom floor. There were bikes downstairs and if he rode off now he’d be with Jae by sunrise. And if anything went wrong, they’d at least die in the same place …
Paul spoke softly from his mattress down on the floor. ‘Are you OK, mate?’
‘Fine.’
‘I can hear you sniffling. What’s the matter?’
‘I’m just sick of everything,’ Marc said. ‘The sniper scope, plastic explosive, grenades, petrol bombs, trucks, dead bodies. And Henderson.’
Paul was surprised. ‘You’ve always been his favourite.’
Marc felt guilty as Paul sat on the corner of his bed and put a hand on his shoulder.
‘Look at me crying,’ Marc said. ‘You’re the one who lost everyone. Your mum, your dad … Rosie.’
‘You never had family in the first place,’ Paul said, feeling tears well up. ‘I’m not sure if that’s better or worse. I keep remembering one time. Me and Rosie were really little. Playing in the bath, and my mum sitting in a chair laughing at us. The memory hurts, but at least I lived it.’
‘I wanna make new memories with Jae,’ Marc said, choking back a sob. ‘The only ones in my head are shit.’
*
Marc was still depressed when he wandered down to the barricades on Thursday morning. His mood wasn’t helped by sickening tension in a community that didn’t know which to fear more: sudden death, or slow starvation.
Not long after sunrise there was a series of