One Shot Kill - Robert Muchamore Page 0,52

narrowed his eyes. ‘You two to clean up all blood, pull up rubber mats, stack them neatly and wipe my hall floor ready for morning training. Do it well, or I punish.’

Paul and Sam both looked ticked off, but Takada belonged to the do as I say without question or I’ll make you do star jumps until you vomit school of discipline, so they didn’t start a debate.

*

Forty minutes later the hall was quiet, except for Paul dragging a mop across the floor, and Sam down on his knees using a claw hammer to pull up the last of the nails that had fixed the rubber mats in place. Both looked around as the door creaked, and stood to attention when they saw that it was Henderson.

‘Don’t stop working on my account,’ Henderson said, as he strode in casually with hands in pockets. ‘So, tonight wasn’t exactly a triumph, was it?

‘No, sir,’ Paul said weakly.

‘How are the fighters, sir?’ Sam asked.

‘The USAF doc from the airbase took a look at them. He suggested that we use much thicker training gloves and a proper ring if we decide to repeat this sort of thing. Marc is exhausted, but basically fine. Luc has had three stitches in the bridge of his nose and McAfferty is driving him to the county hospital for a precautionary X-ray.’

Henderson paused, but neither boy said anything.

‘I do my best,’ Henderson said ruefully. ‘But tonight turned into a total farce. I’m not an educator, nor is McAfferty. I’m starting to think we should have a proper teacher to enforce discipline and run the academic side of things here. Maybe I can dig an old headmaster out of retirement, or something.’

There were already enough bossy adults on campus for Paul or Sam’s taste, but Henderson looked stressed and neither felt brave enough to disagree.

‘You both seem unusually quiet,’ Henderson said.

‘It’s not really our decision sir,’ Paul said diplomatically, as his mop slurped about in its metal bucket. ‘But I don’t think you do a bad job. Every school I’ve ever been to has gone crazy once in a while.’

‘What about the mission, sir?’ Sam asked. ‘Have you decided who’s going? Or will you re-run the final exercise?’

‘That’s why I came looking for you two,’ Henderson said. ‘I’ve got a briefing set for tomorrow afternoon, I’ll need you both there. The day after you’ll be heading off to receive a little parachute jump refresher course.’

Paul and Sam smiled warily at each other.

‘Not quite overjoyed then?’ Henderson said.

‘No such thing as an easy mission, sir,’ Sam said. ‘But I’ll certainly try my best.’

Paul seemed less sure. ‘Sir, I know you’re angry with Marc because of what he did to Luc’s rifle, but he’s a much better shot than I am and he’s never put a foot wrong while working undercover.’

Henderson nodded. ‘Marc will be coming along too, and Luc, provided his nose isn’t broken.’

Sam was confused. ‘You’ve changed it to four snipers, sir?’

Paul looked at Sam and shook his head. ‘Saying there were only two places made us all work a heck of a lot harder in training. Isn’t that right, sir?’

‘No flies on you, are there, Paul?’ Henderson said brightly. ‘The plan I’ve been working on requires snipers to cover the underground bunker from all directions. And I’m hoping that you two fresh-faced young chaps will be able to perform a special task, luring some Germans above ground.’

‘So when do we set off?’ Sam asked.

‘I’m still waiting for information on aircraft availability, but if all goes to plan we’ll be on French soil by this time next week.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Six days later.

At the green light Charles Henderson pushed off through the hole in Fat Patty’s fuselage. While the American bomber flew slow and steady, he was followed at three-second intervals by Marc, Paul, Sam, Luc, Sergeant Goldberg and four chutes attached to aluminium equipment canisters.

Eugene and Rosie’s near miss with a Gestapo reception committee was on everyone’s mind as they plunged through moonlight. Henderson touched down first, making a perfect landing on overgrown farmland. After releasing his chute he grabbed the compact M3 machine gun strapped to his thigh and glanced about until he was sure he didn’t have company.

The latest parachutes used by special operations units were dyed dark grey, which was near invisible in moonlight. Henderson had a tough time spotting his companions, but he could hear wind catching someone’s chute behind a clump of trees less than thirty metres away.

‘Marc?’ Henderson asked, knowing that he’d been next to