Marc made a V with the two luminous wands and held them up high. His eyes squeezed shut as a powerful light swept across the water. This was a huge risk so close to the French coast, but the crew aboard Madeline were also getting desperate.
Henderson smiled as a gust caught the sail and they finally recognised the little tug. The crew comprised Rufus, a slender Moroccan-French soldier, Troy LeConte, a thirteen-year-old from a seafaring background who’d recently completed training with Henderson’s second batch of recruits, and Elizabeth DeVere, a nineteen-year-old who’d trained as an undercover radio operator, but discovered that you did a bit of everything in a small unit like CHERUB. Everyone called her Boo.
Jarhope passed up the bag of equipment and clothing as Troy gave Marc a hand on to Madeline ’s deck.
‘Any trouble?’ Henderson asked Rufus.
‘Nothing to speak of, Commander,’ Rufus said with a smile. ‘But I’m sure I’ll find you some.’
‘Let’s winch that sailing boat up on deck, then I want full steam ahead. It’ll be sunrise in under forty minutes.’
*
Madeline had been stolen by Henderson’s team when they’d escaped France the previous autumn. She was now officially HMRS Madeline of the Royal Navy Reserve, and part of a small fleet of trawlers, tugs and passenger boats used for espionage based in Porth Navas Creek on the River Helford in Cornwall. Unofficially, nobody but Henderson was interested in a forty-year-old French tug and he’d spent most of the winter scratching together the equipment and manpower needed to get her in shape for undercover operations.
She was no warship, but she was much improved. A larger boiler for speed, a new keel fitted for stability at sea, high-powered binoculars on the bridge for navigation, an armoury of hand weapons and most importantly a 22mm machine gun that could be hauled from below and attached to a bracket on the rear deck.
The voyage from Lorient to Porth Navas would take thirty hours in peacetime, but in war this doubled because you had to stay away from the coast, out of main shipping lanes and well away from the British minefields you knew about, and the German minefields that you hoped you knew about.
So Marc faced two more sleepless days. Always noisy, wet and swaying from side to side. He sat up the back of the deck with Troy, using a coil of rope as a rock-hard pillow.
‘I spy with my little eye, something beginning with D,’ Marc said, as he prodded the bruises under his shirt.
‘Darkness,’ Troy said.
‘ Shit ,’ Marc laughed. ‘How did you get it so fast?’
‘If you’re awake, one of you can go below decks and take over from Boo shovelling coal,’ Rufus shouted from the bridge.
The two boys hunkered down and tried not to laugh as they faked snoring noises, but Marc was exhausted and fake sleep eventually turned real.
Henderson’s boot woke him three hours later. Marc stretched out to yawn, but Henderson yanked his arm. ‘Get below decks, we need the sniper rifles. Quickly.’
It was light, but the main thing that hit Marc as he scuttled across the deck was the roar of diesel engines. Á German E-boat 2 was blasting towards them, throwing up a huge bow wave. These high-speed craft were thirty-five metres long. They carried torpedoes and two heavy-calibre deck guns capable of blowing Madeline out of the water.
‘They’ll know we’re up to no good if they board us,’ Henderson shouted, as Troy passed guns and weapons up from below deck. ‘Our only chance is to act innocent until they’re right next to us. Keep calm, remember your training and be ready to shoot if they try to come aboard for an inspection.’
Marc grabbed a sniper’s rifle. It came in five pieces, which he fitted together in barely twenty seconds, then he looked through the sight to check the scope was aligned properly. He slung an ammunition belt around his neck and ran up to the front of the boat, hunkering down in front of the anchor
Henderson smiled as a gust caught the sail and they finally recognised the little tug. The crew comprised Rufus, a slender Moroccan-French soldier, Troy LeConte, a thirteen-year-old from a seafaring background who’d recently completed training with Henderson’s second batch of recruits, and Elizabeth DeVere, a nineteen-year-old who’d trained as an undercover radio operator, but discovered that you did a bit of everything in a small unit like CHERUB. Everyone called her Boo.
Jarhope passed up the bag of equipment and clothing as Troy gave Marc a hand on to Madeline ’s deck.
‘Any trouble?’ Henderson asked Rufus.
‘Nothing to speak of, Commander,’ Rufus said with a smile. ‘But I’m sure I’ll find you some.’
‘Let’s winch that sailing boat up on deck, then I want full steam ahead. It’ll be sunrise in under forty minutes.’
*
Madeline had been stolen by Henderson’s team when they’d escaped France the previous autumn. She was now officially HMRS Madeline of the Royal Navy Reserve, and part of a small fleet of trawlers, tugs and passenger boats used for espionage based in Porth Navas Creek on the River Helford in Cornwall. Unofficially, nobody but Henderson was interested in a forty-year-old French tug and he’d spent most of the winter scratching together the equipment and manpower needed to get her in shape for undercover operations.
She was no warship, but she was much improved. A larger boiler for speed, a new keel fitted for stability at sea, high-powered binoculars on the bridge for navigation, an armoury of hand weapons and most importantly a 22mm machine gun that could be hauled from below and attached to a bracket on the rear deck.
The voyage from Lorient to Porth Navas would take thirty hours in peacetime, but in war this doubled because you had to stay away from the coast, out of main shipping lanes and well away from the British minefields you knew about, and the German minefields that you hoped you knew about.
So Marc faced two more sleepless days. Always noisy, wet and swaying from side to side. He sat up the back of the deck with Troy, using a coil of rope as a rock-hard pillow.
‘I spy with my little eye, something beginning with D,’ Marc said, as he prodded the bruises under his shirt.
‘Darkness,’ Troy said.
‘ Shit ,’ Marc laughed. ‘How did you get it so fast?’
‘If you’re awake, one of you can go below decks and take over from Boo shovelling coal,’ Rufus shouted from the bridge.
The two boys hunkered down and tried not to laugh as they faked snoring noises, but Marc was exhausted and fake sleep eventually turned real.
Henderson’s boot woke him three hours later. Marc stretched out to yawn, but Henderson yanked his arm. ‘Get below decks, we need the sniper rifles. Quickly.’
It was light, but the main thing that hit Marc as he scuttled across the deck was the roar of diesel engines. Á German E-boat 2 was blasting towards them, throwing up a huge bow wave. These high-speed craft were thirty-five metres long. They carried torpedoes and two heavy-calibre deck guns capable of blowing Madeline out of the water.
‘They’ll know we’re up to no good if they board us,’ Henderson shouted, as Troy passed guns and weapons up from below deck. ‘Our only chance is to act innocent until they’re right next to us. Keep calm, remember your training and be ready to shoot if they try to come aboard for an inspection.’
Marc grabbed a sniper’s rifle. It came in five pieces, which he fitted together in barely twenty seconds, then he looked through the sight to check the scope was aligned properly. He slung an ammunition belt around his neck and ran up to the front of the boat, hunkering down in front of the anchor
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