Scorched Earth - Robert Muchamore Page 0,4

fell on to men further down the steps.

Jean now reached the office door. The balding teacher held a service revolver from the last war in hand as he gave PT a bag filled with stamps and ink pads.

‘You’re younger and faster,’ Jean said. ‘You run, I’ll cover.’

Jean covered with wild shots as PT sprinted down the hallway to the ladies’ toilet. He booted the toilet door, half expecting someone to burst out of a stall. But the only sound was a drizzling tap and the long ladder was where he’d been told to expect it.

‘We’re OK,’ PT shouted, as he opened a boarded sash window.

Edith was down below in the rubble and she’d swapped her basket of onions for a compact STEN machine gun.

‘Who’s shooting?’ she shouted up, as PT went for the ladder.

‘Jean, let’s go!’ PT shouted. ‘It’s clear out back.’

PT almost threw the ladder out and Edith kicked rubble out of the way to allow it to stand level.

‘Jean,’ PT shouted again, as he lobbed the satchels and bag out the window and swung a leg on to the ladder.

PT hurried down, half expecting never to see Jean again, but the elderly teacher put his boot on to the window ledge and caught him up by sliding down the outside of the ladder.

‘Shot two of the buggers,’ Jean said.

Edith knocked the ladder away to stop anyone else getting down, while PT and Jean grabbed the bags of loot and set off across shattered bricks and roof tiles. As Edith turned she noticed a figure taking aim out of a first-floor window and opened up with the STEN. It wasn’t an accurate weapon, but the shooter ducked out of the hail of bullets for long enough to let the trio clear the open rubble and get behind the chimney breast of a bombed-out house.

From here they clambered through the roofless shell of a cobbler’s shop and began sprinting down a curving road between houses.

‘I thought you’d known her for thirty years,’ PT said breathlessly.

They’d reached a point where the alleyway met one of the main routes out of town. There was no sign of any Milice following as PT stretched over a low garden wall and lifted the first of three getaway bikes.

‘Someone might have betrayed us, but not her,’ Jean replied, as he straddled a bike. ‘If they’d known about the ladder they’d have ambushed us out back.’

‘Well someone certainly told them we were coming,’ Edith said as PT handed her the second bike. ‘And when I find out who, they’ll be sorry.’

Note

2 Milice – A police organisation set up by the Germans in 1943. Milicens were all Frenchmen. They were notoriously brutal and specialised in operations that regular French police were reluctant to undertake, especially hunting down Jews, communists and members of the resistance.

CHAPTER THREE

‘Daniel, I hear a train,’ Paul shouted.

Branches rustled, but Paul got nervous when there was no answer.

‘Daniel?’

Twenty metres up, Daniel gasped as he grabbed madly to steady himself and realised that he’d dozed off momentarily. The eleven-year-old shuddered, imagining what might have happened as he tightened his thigh grip on the branch between his legs. His throat was dry, his vision blurry and his head weighed down by the loss of a night’s sleep.

The youngster had his reputation as a lookout to protect, so he tried not to sound like he’d scared himself to death. ‘Don’t worry, I’m on it.’

There had been a freight train just after seven that had caused some confusion, but Daniel had no doubt this time.

‘It’s the one,’ Daniel yelled. ‘Send the signal.’

Paul pulled the grenade out of his pocket. ‘Are you completely sure?’

‘Two locomotives pulling. I can see tanks under tarpaulins and an anti-aircraft draisine hooked on the back of the train.’

‘Good stuff,’ Paul said happily. ‘Cover your ears and hang on tight.’

‘Kinda hard to do both,’ Daniel noted, but not loud enough for Paul to hear.

The grenade had to be thrown carefully, because the forest was dense and the result might be deadly if it bounced off a branch and came back at him. Paul had used some of the hour he’d spent standing at the base of Daniel’s tree to find the best aiming point and after pulling the pin he flung the grenade in a high arc between two trees, before taking cover behind the trunk.

‘Hold it,’ Daniel shouted.

Before Paul could respond a bang echoed down the hillside and clumps of burning white phosphorus shot off in all directions. Paul shielded his eyes as the