Secret Army - Robert Muchamore Page 0,56

you, sweetie-chops.’

‘Shut up,’ Paul said. ‘Her nails were all bitten and her fingers smelled like tobacco.’

‘She’s a genuine horror,’ Rosie agreed. ‘I was in the toilet next to her the other day and she was shouting at the top of her voice about how she’d got in an argument with one of the officers and tipped an ashtray over his head.’

‘The girl is clearly mad,’ Paul said.

Rosie mimicked Iris’ accent. ‘I told him, you put me on a charge and I’ll tell your missus that I did it ’cos you put me in the family way. That bleedin’ well shut the pompous git up, and no mistake.’

Paul snorted with laughter. ‘It’s that big German she’s gonna marry who I feel sorry for. Fancy winning the war and ending up with her.’

By this time they’d reached the classroom. Rosie checked that nobody was around before jangling the keys in front of PT.

‘Nice work,’ PT said eagerly, as he kissed Rosie on the cheek. ‘I snooped around the other huts for a bit. Walker’s sitting in the officers’ mess, drinking whisky and showing no sign of moving any time soon. His driver’s playing dice with one of the dog handlers.’

‘Perfect,’ Paul said.

‘Rosie, you act as lookout,’ PT said, as he tried reading the labels attached to the keys in the darkness. ‘Knock on the hut three times if you see anyone coming and hold ’em off as long as you can by flirting, or whatever. I need Paul inside, he knows which bags are which.’

PT had the correct key by the time they reached the door of the hut and the two boys rushed inside.

‘It’s these five bags here, by the door,’ Paul said.

PT pulled down the blackout curtains. To be on the safe side, he turned on the small light above the blackboard rather than the main lamps hanging from the ceiling.

Parachutists need their arms free during a jump and have a chute strapped on like a backpack. As a result the equipment satchels were long tubes that buckled around your thigh.

‘Look at this,’ Paul said, as he opened up a satchel that had been destined for one of the other kids. ‘Broken compass. Army knife as blunt as can be and there’s all sand and oil or something in here.’

PT opened a satchel that was earmarked for one of the four Norwegian women. ‘You’re right,’ he said, as he tipped the satchel up to show Paul the contents.

This satchel contained double the amount of stuff, including high-energy chocolate, a fire-starting kit, waterproof maps and a compact torch.

‘What do you reckon?’ Paul asked. ‘We could take the different bags to the base commander and lodge a complaint.’

‘And prove what?’ PT asked. ‘You overheard them saying that these bags were for us, but you’ve got no proof. It’s your word against an Air Vice Marshal. All we can do is make the best of it by swapping some of the equipment around. But …’

PT stopped talking as Rosie dived into the classroom. ‘RAF police,’ she said anxiously as she locked the door behind herself. ‘They must have seen us.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Paul and Rosie dived under the tables closest to the windows, while PT charged between the wooden desks and flicked out the light over the blackboard. They crouched in the dark, breathing anxiously as the wall clock ticked out twenty seconds.

‘Maybe he walked by,’ Paul said.

But a key turned in the lock as the words left his mouth. Paul felt doomed as the RAF policeman stepped inside. Luc had already got in trouble and the base commander – who seemed friendly with Air Vice Marshal Walker – had threatened to kick all the kids off his base if there was a second incident.

The lanky policeman switched on the light and peered about cautiously. Sweat poured down Paul’s brow as the policeman approached one of the satchels and began undoing the buckle that held the cover in place.

Paul found this odd, but surprise was replaced by horror when PT sprang out from beneath the teacher’s desk at the opposite end of the room.

‘Boo!’ PT shouted, as he placed his hands on the officer’s shoulder.

Paul thought PT had gone insane, but as the policeman turned so that Paul could see his face, he saw that it was the Polish trainee, Tomaszewski.

Tomaszewski gasped and stumbled back towards the wall. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, as Paul and Rosie clambered out from under the desks.

‘Same as you, I reckon,’ PT smiled. ‘The uniform is a