Henderson's Boys: Eagle Day (16 page)

‘Well, Herr Oberst,’ Henderson smiled, ‘I’m flattered.’

*

Henderson kissed Maxine as he waltzed into the kitchen whistling the hymn
All Things Bright and Beautiful
.

‘You’re late,’ Maxine said. ‘So – why the good mood?’

‘Oh, you won’t believe.’ Henderson smiled, as he nodded to Paul and Rosie who sat at the table. ‘Short of a direct order from the Führer’s office in Berlin, putting me in personal command of the German invasion of Britain, I couldn’t be in a better position to steal information.’

‘How did that happen?’ Maxine asked, as she opened the oven and took out the remains of a sausage casserole.

‘You’re now looking at the personal translator to Oberst Günter Ohlsen, who is in overall command of the invasion planning for the entire Pas-de-Calais region.’

Rosie looked at her brother. ‘That sounds even better than Paul scoring the big tin of jam from that Boche on the beach.’

Henderson sat at the head of the table and was so excited by his stroke of luck that he barely thought as he scooped a huge mouthful of sausage and potato into his mouth.

‘Hot!’ he yelled, as he spat the food back into the bowl. ‘Holy Mary mother of god! Maxine, get me some water!’

‘Fool,’ Maxine laughed, handing Henderson a cup of cold water as Paul and Rosie killed themselves laughing. ‘You watched me pull it out of the oven half a minute ago. Were you expecting it to be cold?’

Once he’d guzzled water and taken a couple more cautious mouthfuls of casserole, Rosie spoke seriously.

‘It’s quarter to eight,’ she explained. ‘Tonight’s transmission window is eight-fifteen to eight-thirty, so if you’ve got a message for McAfferty I’d better start encoding now.’

Henderson slid a small document pouch across the table. ‘It’s not much,’ he said. ‘At least not compared to the kind of information I’ll get when I start working for the Oberst’s office. It’s information on barge movements and more delays getting the railway lines into the docks at Boulogne repaired.’

Rosie had developed a knack for encoding. To minimise the risk of their radio signal being detected, she had to pack all the information Henderson gathered into the shortest message possible and then convert it into the code using Henderson’s key phrase.

‘I practised my Morse code again this afternoon,’ Rosie said proudly, as she scanned the documents and began making notes with a pencil. ‘I’m up to twenty-two words a minute.’

‘Excellent,’ Henderson said. ‘Just remember that accuracy is the most important thing when you’re transmitting in code. You only have to miss one letter and the poor soul unravelling the message will have the devil’s own job setting things straight.’

‘I know.’ Rosie nodded. ‘I was thinking, actually. Seeing as you’re always tired and you have to get up halfway through the night to listen out during the reply window, maybe you could take a rest after your meal tonight. Paul and I can easily handle the transmission.’

Henderson considered this over a mouthful of potato. Paul knew more about the workings of the radio than he did and Rosie was better at sending Morse code, plus he tired after his long day working in Calais.
was

‘I’d be grateful for that,’ Henderson said. ‘I could do with an early night. But remember what I taught you. Transmission is the riskiest part of this operation. We’ve got no clue if the Germans have radio-detection teams working in this area, or how good they are at their jobs if they do. One of you has to sit outside and keep lookout during transmission and if you’re even suspicious you abandon the receiver and run. Is that understood?’
slightly

‘Absolutely.’ Rosie nodded.

Paul nodded too, but he felt uneasy because he’d be the lookout and he recalled how effortlessly the German officer had managed to sneak up on him at the beach earlier in the day.

‘I’d be even happier if Marc or PT went with you,’ Henderson said. ‘Two sets of eyes are better than one.’

But Maxine shook her head. ‘They went out after dinner with Luc’s son Dumont.’

‘Really,’ Henderson said suspiciously. ‘What are they up to?’

‘Hunting rabbits with a catapult,’ Paul explained. ‘They brought two back with them this afternoon and Dumont showed us how to skin them.’

Maxine shuddered. ‘It was horrible,’ she said. ‘I felt queasy when I saw the blood on the floor of the barn.’

Henderson laughed. ‘Well sweetheart, if you want to eat an animal you’ve got to kill it.’ But his tone got more serious as he looked out the window, ‘Mind you, I can’t see how they’re hunting rabbits in this light. You can barely see out there.’

‘It’s going to rain,’ Maxine added. ‘I just hope they muster the sense to get indoors before it starts to pour.’

⁹
Oberst – a high-ranking German officer.

Dumont was a chunky sixteen year old. He was light in the brains department, but PT and Marc thought he was a laugh and he knew a lot about hunting and fishing.

With so many people unable to re-enter the military zone the boys had free run over hundreds of abandoned farms. The former tenants were poor, but Dumont claimed to have broken in and stolen all kinds of valuables they’d left behind.

But Dumont claimed all kinds of things, and the only houses he took Marc and PT into contained nothing more valuable than tools and bottles of wine. When they got bored of hunting and burgling they threw stones through windows and Dumont got annoyed because Marc was a much better shot.

PT enjoyed learning about the countryside, but he’d survived on his own wits for more than two years and found Dumont’s bragging and destructive appetites childish. Marc had less reservation. After growing up in the regulated environment of an orphanage he prized nothing more than freedom.

Whilst Marc’s conscience told him that some day people would come home to find busted doors and wine bottles smashed against their walls, he loved the sense of power you got roaming around the empty buildings doing whatever the hell you liked.

It was turning dark as the trio sat on a low wall in the heart of the village. There was a duck pond set in a square, but two shops and a post office were boarded up and the grass on the lawn around the pond was up to knee height. Apart from the wind, the only noise came from a small but lively crew of German soldiers sitting outside a bar across the square.

They were young intellectuals, ranging from late teens to early twenties and from grenadiers to junior officers. They drank wine and smoked cigarettes while they discussed arts and politics and teased each other about their love lives. The bar served good food and they enjoyed the fact that they’d found a secluded spot, away from boorish colleagues who preferred to down half a dozen beers and start throwing punches.

The boys had walked ten kilometres since they’d met up early that afternoon, so their feet ached and they were all hungry, but while the village was only a couple of hundred metres from Dumont’s house, PT and Marc faced a three-kilometre trek back to the farm.

‘You reckon your dad would give us a lift?’ Marc asked.

‘No hope,’ Dumont laughed. ‘He’s only got half a tank of petrol so I reckon his car’s gonna rust before he uses it again.’

‘We’d better shift then,’ PT said, looking up at the sky before turning to Marc. ‘We’re gonna get drenched and I’m
starving
.’

‘My mum gets pissed off if we let our dinner sit in the oven,’ Marc added.

Dumont fought with his dad and never wanted to go home. ‘C’mon,’ he said. ‘Stop being such mummy’s boys. It’s like, barely eight o’clock.’

‘mummy’s boys?’ Marc said incredulously. ‘You still hold your mummy’s hand when you cross the road.’
We’re

PT smiled. ‘She still holds his dick when he takes a piss.’

‘Screw you,’ Dumont said, as he jumped off the wall. ‘You two don’t know shit. You both practically turned green when I slit the innards out of that bunny.’

Marc tutted. ‘At least we don’t chuck the shits over drinking a few glasses of wine.’

‘I told you I can’t help that,’ Dumont moaned. ‘Wine disagrees with my stomach.’

PT imitated Dumont’s voice. ‘
Wine
disagrees
with
my sto-mach.
Boo hoo, you big fanny. You’re all talk, all mouth. I’ve been listening to you talk bull since lunchtime and I’m going home for some grub and to give my eardrums a break.’

Dumont looked offended. ‘all mouth? What have you two peckers ever done?’
I’m

‘More than you,’ Marc said, as he started walking after PT. ‘Catch you around some time tomorrow, I expect.’

‘Have you still got them American dollars?’ Dumont asked.

‘What’s it to you if I have?’ PT asked back.

‘Green open-topped Boche car,’ Dumont said, as he pointed. ‘Parked over beside the bar. You see it?’

‘So what?’ Marc said.

‘I’ll go over there, pull out my cock and piss all over the inside if you give me a ten-dollar bill.’

Marc found the idea hilarious, but PT didn’t like trouble and wasn’t having it. ‘Don’t be stupid. If they catch you they’ll crack your skull open.’

‘You just don’t want to cough up ten dollars,’ Dumont sneered. ‘Because you I’ll do it.’
know

‘You’re an idiot,’ PT said. ‘I’m going home.’

‘I guess that shows who’s really all mouth,’ Dumont said. ‘Tell you what, your money, I’m gonna do it anyway.’
forget

PT grabbed Marc’s arm as Dumont charged through the long grass and skirted the duck pond. ‘He’s such an idiot,’ PT said. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

‘He’ll chicken out,’ Marc said with certainty.

PT started walking, but despite his better instincts part of him wanted to know if Dumont really would do it. So Marc and PT dived behind the wall and peered through cracks in the brickwork.

‘Bugger me,’ Marc gasped, as Dumont reached the side of the bar and stood alongside the open car.

Dumont pulled down the front of his trousers and aimed a powerful yellow streak inside the open-topped car. He started off peeing in the back, then took a step and urinated over the driver’s seat and steering wheel before giving the inside of the windscreen a wash down.

‘What an ,’ Marc laughed, as Dumont buttoned up and disappeared into trees behind the car.
idiot

‘Come on,’ PT said, as he tugged Marc’s arm. ‘They won’t be happy when they find out.’

*

There was a heavy military presence in the Pas-de-Calais region. As well as roadside checkpoints Henderson had learned that the Germans sent random search squads into the countryside. Their main aim was to hunt down the escaped prisoners and guns that posters in every village promised would lead to a death sentence for those who harboured them.

The bulky radio transmitter was impossible to hide in the small cottage, so Henderson had stashed it on the upper deck of a barn on an unoccupied neighbouring farm.

It was dark by the time Rosie completed a four-minute transmission to London and received McAfferty’s acknowledgement. After covering the radio with heavy tent fabric and mounding it over with straw, she grabbed the handle of her oil lantern and climbed down the ladder, carefully skipping the broken fourth rung.

Paul heard her coming down and leaned inside the barn door. ‘All good?’ he whispered.

‘Good.’ She nodded as she picked up the heavy ladder and placed it in a precise spot, leaning against the side of the barn.

This was one of several security measures devised by Henderson. The ladder was always put in a specific spot so that you’d realise if anyone had moved it to climb into the loft. Two garden rakes were placed inside the door ready to flick any unwary intruder in the face, and a small piece of slate wedged in the doorway would drop out if the door was opened. Finally they watered the ground around the entrance so that the soft mud would register the boot prints of anyone who came by.

Paul jammed the slate into the bottom of the door frame and hopped across to dry ground before levelling the mud with a spade.

It was a remote area and, with the surrounding farms unoccupied, it was pitch black with nothing but natural sounds around them. After tossing the spade, Paul followed his sister into the long grass and spoke thoughtfully.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said. ‘What will we do if the Germans invade Britain? I mean, we’ll have nowhere left to go.’

Rosie walked ten paces, pondering her answer. ‘I don’t think the Germans can defeat Britain. The British are much more powerful than the French.’

Paul humphed. ‘They were saying France was invincible three months ago and look where we are now.’

‘Who knows anything about anything these days?’ Rosie shrugged. ‘At least Henderson’s smart. If Britain lost, he’d find a way for us to get into Spain or something. And who knows, maybe Britain and Germany will sign a peace treaty and by Christmas nobody will even remember that there was a war.’

Paul liked this idea. ‘I can’t help thinking about it at night,’ he admitted. ‘All the different things that could happen to the world. It keeps me awake for hours.’

‘I know what you mean,’ Rosie said. ‘I’m the same sometimes, but I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have looking after us than Henderson.’

‘HALT!’ someone shouted, as bodies crackled through the long grass on either side. Then in gruff German, ‘Put up your hands.’

Paul spun around and yelped, but he slammed into an unseen body. Before he knew it he’d been shoved backwards through the undergrowth and had a pair of knees pinning his shoulders to the ground.

‘Gotcha!’ Marc grinned, before tweaking the end of Paul’s nose and letting him up. ‘I bet you’ve got big brown streaks in your pants.’

‘Dick-heads,’ Paul said furiously, as he stumbled up. ‘That’s not funny.’

‘Looked pretty damned funny from where I’m kneeling,’ Marc grinned.

A few metres away PT had performed a similar stunt with Rosie. But Rosie was no pushover and they whipped about in the grass until PT straddled Rosie’s thighs. Once they were face to face she relaxed her upper body and cracked a smile.

‘That was a mean trick,’ she said, but with an expression that showed she thought it was actually kind of cute.