Secret Army - Robert Muchamore Page 0,88
can.’
‘Shouldn’t it be Eileen McAfferty’s Espionage Research Unit B?’ Paul asked.
‘I’m not proud,’ McAfferty smiled. ‘I am the senior officer, but Commander Henderson is in control of operations and most people think of this as his unit. Besides, CHERUB has a nice ring to it. EMERUB sounds like an ointment for foot fungus.’
Henderson finally read the full telegram. ‘To all at CHERUB. Am delighted to hear of success in training. Expect great things of your unit and urge you proceed to full operational status with all speed. Furthermore, expect command changes at SOE soon which will be to your liking.’
Paul smiled, then paused for thought. ‘Have you any idea about the command changes?’
Henderson nodded. ‘Nothing has been announced, but it seems likely that Air Vice Marshal Walker will be getting the boot in a matter of days.’
‘Just deserts,’ Paul said cheerfully.
‘I understand the straw that broke the camel’s back was a training exercise getting out of hand,’ McAfferty said. ‘Apparently, a bus hit an archway at King’s Cross station. The damage to the side wall and roof supports is so severe that one platform and a sorting area used by the Royal Mail will be closed for up to three weeks. The Postmaster General is fuming and all mail between London and the north is having to be rerouted.’
‘Will Luc get punished for that?’ Paul asked hopefully.
‘There will be a review of the operation,’ McAfferty said. ‘But it was the Pole who crashed the bus, not Luc.’
‘I’ll be having individual chats with Luc and all the others when they wake up,’ Henderson added.
‘So what happens to Group A now?’ Paul asked.
‘I want all of you to have a complete two-week rest,’ Henderson said. ‘Your group was severely handicapped by weak to non-existent driving skills during the operation, so before you go on to operations I’m going to devise extra training so that you’re able to handle vehicles, in the same way that we’ve trained you to handle guns.’
‘What about my parachute training?’ Paul asked.
‘If you’re fit, we’ll send you up to repeat the course with Group B in five weeks’ time,’ McAfferty said. ‘Because of your accident, Sergeant Parris says they’ll give you some extra leeway if you’re nervous.’
‘Do you think you’ll have a problem with jumping again?’ Henderson asked.
Paul shrugged. ‘I think I’ll be OK, but I guess you can’t know for sure until you’re standing on that platform ready to jump off.’
‘Of course,’ Henderson smiled. ‘I think that’s a realistic attitude. And unless you have any questions, I think we’re about done.’
‘The insignia,’ McAfferty interrupted.
‘Oh, good god!’ Henderson said. ‘I’d forget my head if it wasn’t screwed on. You’re a bit of an artist, aren’t you, Paul?’
‘Yes sir,’ Paul agreed.
‘I’d assumed that Rosie and the lads who passed jump training would get parachute wing badges, but I checked with the training school and it’s a military badge for enlisted men and women only.’
Paul looked disappointed. ‘That’s a bit naff. We did the same training as everyone else.’
‘I totally agree,’ Henderson nodded. ‘So I was hoping that you’d turn your artistic skills to drawing a little insignia for Espionage Research Unit B. We could have an embroidered badge, or have it stamped on a metal disc to be presented to all trainees when they finish training.’
‘What sort of badge?’ Paul said.
‘It’s up to you,’ McAfferty said. ‘A parachute maybe, or a child. Perhaps you can do a couple of different designs and see which one everybody likes.’
‘I like the name CHERUB,’ Paul said. ‘Cherubs are like babies with wings, in Renaissance paintings and stuff, which ties in with parachute wings.’
Henderson smiled. ‘Paul, you’d know more about Renaissance art than I do, but I’m sure you’ll be able to come up with something good.’
*
Luc was the last person to be debriefed by Henderson. It was after lunch and McAfferty was out, taking Paul to a local hospital to have a check-up on his broken nose.
‘Take a pew,’ Henderson told Luc, as he looked up from a sheet of notepaper covered with messy handwriting.
Luc held his back and moaned as he sat down. Henderson studied the boy across the desktop: short hair combed neatly, a huge neck and thick arms ending in man-sized fists.
‘I’ve been reading the report you wrote on the train back from London yesterday. It looks more like a horror novel than a debriefing document.’
Luc looked mystified. ‘I don’t know what you mean, sir.’
Henderson read from the lined paper in front of him: ‘I picked up a big