Secret Army - Robert Muchamore Page 0,18
holding a review of our operations,’ Henderson explained. ‘He’s not letting me take my boys on parachute training and to be frank, sir, he’s made it abundantly clear what the result of his review of operations is going to be.’
‘Has he, indeed!’ Admiral Hammer said. ‘It’s a pity you didn’t bring this to my attention sooner. Walker has been in charge of the Special Operations Executive for eight months with precious little to show for it and now that RAF twerp has the cheek to try shutting down a naval intelligence unit run by the only person to have successfully staged an operation behind enemy lines.’
‘It’s intolerable in my view, sir,’ Henderson said. ‘But SOE is an interservices unit. Walker is my commanding officer.’
Admiral Hammer huffed. ‘We’ll see about this, Commander Henderson. I’m going to raise this issue at the highest level. Make sure my secretary in Whitehall knows your whereabouts and I’ll be in touch before the end of the day.’
The admiral left the room in such a hurry that Henderson didn’t even get a chance to salute him. Henderson raised his hands up towards the ceiling.
‘The Lord works in mysterious ways,’ he grinned.
Marc smiled. ‘You told McAfferty that you were an atheist when she tried getting us to go to church on Christmas Eve.’
‘Shush!’ Henderson put a finger over his lips. ‘God might hear you.’
CHAPTER NINE
Paul fought for breath as the muddy embankment squelched under his boots. The rocks inside his backpack knocked against his spine with every running pace. The slope became harder as he neared the brow of the hill. The first time Paul slipped he stayed upright by grabbing the branches of a tangled shrub. On the second there was nothing to save him.
Mud spattered Paul’s face as his knees hit the ground. He dug his fingers into the earth, but kept on sliding as his striped shirt rose up over his belly and claylike silt drenched his army-green trousers.
As Paul gasped from the cold, a huge black arm grabbed hold and effortlessly wrenched him to his feet.
Khinde was a colossus. Born twenty-two years earlier in the French colony of Senegal, he’d joined the French army, been imprisoned by the Germans during their invasion of France and then escaped to Britain after working on a successful espionage operation with Charles Henderson.
‘Having a bad day, kid?’ Khinde smiled.
‘I’m so rubbish at everything,’ Paul complained, close to tears as he wiped the mud from his eyes. His legs ached and he shuddered violently from the cold.
‘Find some heart!’ Khinde said, as he put a hand against the kit bag at the top of Paul’s back and began shoving him on towards the top of the hill.
As Paul gained speed, Khinde’s weight pushed him through the pain barrier. His face twisted and he gritted his teeth as his calves and ankles felt like they were going to explode. They reached the top of the hill and the wind coming up the other side hit him hard.
Paul faced a long vista of overgrown fields and trees dusted with snow. In the far distance lay mangled cars and buildings taken out during artillery practice. But Paul’s concern was a steep channel into which drained the snowmelt from the higher ground on either side. Beyond this, a low sun fired glare across a partially frozen lake.
‘Off you go,’ Khinde shouted enthusiastically. ‘All downhill now!’
He gave Paul a push that nearly sent him sprawling head first into brambles and rocks. Twigs snapped and ice crunched as the freezing snowmelt rose to his knees and flooded his boots. Two months earlier Paul would have waded slowly through the channel, warily holding the sides and watching where he placed his boot, but instructor Takada expected them to attack the stream fearlessly and at speed.
Sometimes you fell and banged your knee, or cut your hand, but as well as improving fitness, Takada’s training programme taught you to ignore fear and shut out pain.
‘Faster!’ Khinde shouted, as he splashed down the channel behind Paul.
Paul stared into the distance, but the other four trainees were out of sight. The glare caught his eyes and as he focused back upon his path he splashed down on to a medium-sized rock that turned beneath his boot. For a horrible instant Paul found himself plunging face first towards a jagged rock. He closed his eyes, fearing for his skull, but strength and instinct somehow enabled him to throw his weight to one side. His knee buckled but he managed to