CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Marc dived out of the way, but still caught a glancing punch across the upper arm and stumbled into low branches. Henderson charged in and pulled the boys apart.
‘Pack it in,’ he shouted. ‘What’s going on?’
‘There’s unusual damage to the barrel,’ Goldberg said. ‘Luc isn’t the best at keeping his weapon clean, but I’ve never seen markings like that inside a barrel before. It certainly looks like sabotage.’
Henderson snapped his head around and stared at Marc. ‘Well, was it you?’
‘No, sir,’ Marc said. ‘Those guns aren’t locked up. Anyone with access to the armoury could have done it.’
‘I suppose,’ Henderson agreed. ‘But I find it a hefty coincidence that Luc’s gun should be sabotaged the night before your final exercise.’
Goldberg spoke. ‘To be fair, Captain, Marc was the best shooter by far. It was the other two who had most to gain by ruining Luc’s chances of finishing second.’
‘Marc hates me,’ Luc blurted. ‘He doesn’t want me on the mission with him. Sam and Paul are both too gutless to try something like this.’
‘I’m not gutless,’ Sam shouted angrily.
Henderson turned towards him. ‘So did you sabotage Luc’s gun?’
‘No, sir,’ Sam said. ‘But we’ve been partners all week. I don’t like him having a go at me.’
‘Well, it has to be one of you,’ Henderson said. ‘If I don’t get a confession, I’ll wait until Paul finishes shooting and then get Kindhe up here. He’ll make the three of you do PT for two hours, and then I’ll ask again. If nobody confesses, you’ll do another two hours. And this will keep going until one of you does the decent thing and owns up.’
Paul came up a path looking exhausted and confused. ‘What’s all the shouting about?’
Luc pointed at Marc. ‘Ask your girlfriend.’
Marc was a decent person. He couldn’t live with the idea of Sam and Paul being forced to do drill so he took half a step back from Henderson and raised his hands.
‘It was me,’ he said weakly. ‘I sneaked out to the armoury in the night.’
Luc broke into a huge smile as Henderson grabbed Marc’s neck, shoved him back against a tree trunk and slapped him full force across the side of his head.
‘Are you completely stupid?’ Henderson shouted. ‘Guns aren’t toys, you know? The bullet that exploded in the chamber might have blown his ear off. You’re an absolute bloody idiot.’
Henderson gave Marc two more brutal whacks before yanking him out of the trees and giving him a kick up the arse that sent him sprawling face first into the undergrowth.
‘I said I’d flog the pair of you if things flared up again,’ Henderson roared. ‘It might be the only thing to sort you out.’
‘I’m the victim here, sir,’ Luc shouted indignantly.
Henderson didn’t like Luc, but in this instance he was right.
‘OK,’ Henderson said, after a moment’s silence. ‘This is extremely serious. I need to think about this whole mess before making any decisions. Sergeant Goldberg and I will ride back to campus in the truck. You four can have a jolly good think as you walk back and there’d better not be any fighting between you. When you arrive on campus, form a line by the main door and stand to attention. Do not move until I’m ready to come outside and speak with you.’
‘What about my last four shots?’ Paul asked.
‘There’s no point,’ Henderson snapped. ‘This has descended into a farce.’
*
Whilst Henderson plotted missions, devised training programmes and attended secret intelligence briefings, Superintendent Eileen McAfferty was actually the commanding officer of Espionage Research Unit B. She was the one who haggled over budgets, made sure there was food on the table and procured everything from plastic explosives to disinfectant and boots for growing boys.
McAfferty’s Glasgow accent always grew stronger when she was cross. ‘I always leave disciplinary matters to you,’ she told Henderson firmly. ‘But I want it on record that I’m dead against any boy getting flogged.’
The captain and superintendent were in their shared office, immediately off the hallway of the old village school.
‘I was flogged as a naval cadet,’ Henderson said. ‘Never did me any lasting damage.’
‘That’s a matter for debate,’ McAfferty said. ‘They’re only boys. It’s barbaric.’
‘I was younger than Marc and Luc,’ Henderson said. ‘They’d make us bend bare-assed over this old vaulting horse, crusted in dried blood. The other cadets were made to cheer every time you took a stroke.’
McAfferty smiled slightly. ‘You’re hardly winning me over with that description.’
‘And I promised Marc and Luc they’d be flogged if there was any more trouble between them.’
As Henderson spoke, McAfferty rifled through a tray of letters. She pulled one out and took on a sly expression as she held it up.
‘I had this through from SIS headquarters in London,’ McAfferty said, before reading a short section aloud. ‘The risks of serious security breaches are such that it is no longer acceptable for senior officers with detailed knowledge of British intelligence operations to work inside German-occupied territory.’
‘How does that have any bearing on Marc’s behaviour?’ Henderson asked.
McAfferty smiled. ‘I know you’re keen to drop into France on this operation. But after reading this letter, I can’t help wondering if I ought to run your plan past headquarters first.’
Henderson bristled, but also smiled a little. ‘And I suppose this is only likely to occur if Marc or Luc gets a flogging?’
‘You’re being pig-headed,’ McAfferty said, deliberately ignoring Henderson’s question. ‘And you’ve always been fond of Marc.’
‘Marc’s a great lad, but he’s been utterly stupid in this instance,’ Henderson said. ‘If you’re not going to allow a flogging, what am I supposed to do?’
McAfferty thought for a couple of seconds. ‘The root of all this is that Marc and Luc can’t stand each other. Back in Glasgow, the head of my brother’s school used to give boys who couldn’t get along a set of gloves and stick them in a boxing ring.’
‘That’s common enough,’ Henderson laughed. ‘The PE masters at my grammar school did the same to lads who squared off on the football pitch.’
‘I’d say they’re evenly matched,’ McAfferty said. ‘Let ’em knock the hell out of each other for a few rounds.’
‘They might even learn to respect one another when it’s over,’ Henderson said.
*
After two hours standing outside, followed by regular afternoon lessons and a roast dinner, Sam and Paul found themselves sat against the wall by the open rear doors of the school hall.
‘We could ask Henderson who’s going on the mission,’ Sam said.
‘Ask if you want to, but he’s in a terrible mood,’ Paul said. ‘PT reckons Henderson was having a blazing row with McAfferty in the office earlier.’
‘It’s bound to be Marc and Luc,’ Sam said. ‘Have them fight it out. Tell them to hug and make up then pack ’em off on the mission with Henderson.’
Paul didn’t sound convinced. ‘Those two loathe each other, so I wouldn’t bank on them making up. I’ve never really understood the logic behind making boys square off.’
‘I’d rather stand in the ring than get flogged in front of everyone,’ Sam said. ‘And even if we don’t get on the mission, I reckon it’s gonna be a bloody amazing fight. You coming inside?’
Sam led Paul into the hall, which still had the muggy aroma of roast lamb and boiled veg. There was no proper boxing ring, just a square made from eight rubber training mats which had been nailed to the floorboards to stop them slipping.
Everyone wanted to see the fight, and even the two cooks had stayed late to watch. At one end of the hall, Marc was having a pair of thinly-padded brown boxing gloves pulled over taped-up fists. Luc was a lone
wolf at the other end, sitting on the food-serving counter in shorts and white plimsolls with his gloves already fitted.
‘Square up,’ Kindhe shouted.
The big African instructor would be referee, even though his take on the rules of boxing wasn’t entirely conventional.
‘I’m the boss,’ he told Marc and Luc, shaking his enormous fist in their faces as the crowd sizzled with anticipation. ‘Any nonsense and I’ll splatter you into next week.’
Henderson sat with two-year-old Terence on his lap. McAfferty and Boo had seats close to the mats and space was made for Joyce’s wheelchair, but everyone else was on their feet.
‘Four rounds of three minutes,’ Kindhe said, as he pointed to Henderson who was holding a small brass bell. ‘Ready when you are, boss.’
As Marc and Luc glowered at each other in the centre of the mats, Sam’s brother Joel shouted, ‘Get him, Marc.’
The other boys and even most of the staff were on Marc’s side and a cheer went up in his favour. Neither fighter wore a mouth guard, and Luc gave the crowd a scowl.
‘Your mums are all slags,’ Luc shouted.
That sort of language wasn’t used in front of ladies, and Henderson flirted with the idea giving Luc a slap. But he wanted to see the fight as much as anyone, so he put the bell in Terence’s little hand and told him to give it a good shake.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The crowd might have been cheering Marc, but if they’d been forced to bet most would have had their money on Luc. Within a second of the fight starting, Luc’s glove had smashed Marc backwards. Follow-up jabs pounded his gut and kidneys as Marc buckled and went down on his bum.
‘Come on, Marc!’ Paul shouted. ‘Put some oomph into it.’
Marc had the metallic taste of blood in the back of his mouth as he looked up at his opponent. Luc had thighs like logs, and his defiant stare told everyone that their booing was just spurring him on.
Kindhe was giving a ten-count. ‘Four ... Five… Six …’
Part of Marc wanted to stay down and save further punishment, but pride won out and there was a roar as he got up.
‘You OK?’ Kindhe asked, as he looked into Marc’s eyes, before giving the signal to resume fighting.
Marc had learned a brutal lesson: Luc was too strong to stand up to over four three-minute rounds. For the next minute and a half Luc became a charging bull throwing punch after punch; Marc was the bullfighter ducking and backing off.
In a proper boxing ring Luc could have cornered Marc against the ropes, so when Marc backed off the rubber mats for a third time Kindhe gave him a warning. Two more and he’d be disqualified.
Close friends like Paul stayed loyal to Marc, but those hoping for action had tired of Marc’s tactics by the time Henderson rang the bell to end the first round. Marc retreated to a stool at the edge of the mat, and PT moved in with a bucket and sponge to wipe the blood dribbling out of his nose.
‘He’s too strong,’ Marc gasped, as he watched Luc flexing his biceps at a taunting crowd at the opposite side of the ring.
PT didn’t respond.
‘Well?’ Marc asked. ‘What’s your advice?’
PT twisted his lower lip awkwardly. ‘I’ve never boxed in my life. But if I were you, I’d probably try to avoid getting knocked out.’
‘Thanks, brains,’ Marc said, shaking his head as Kindhe called the fighters back to the centre.
‘You’re dead meat,’ Luc growled as he jumped high and pounded his gloves together.
As Terence rang the bell, Luc swung a punch. Marc ducked and slammed Luc with an uppercut to the kidneys. The crowd broke into a huge cheer, but within moments Marc was back to bullfighter mode, skipping in a backwards circle.
‘Get moving!’ someone shouted.
Marc was more interested in staying conscious than in entertaining the crowd, but Kindhe was losing patience with his tactic of stepping off the mats. Halfway through the round, Kindhe gave Marc a shove back into the ring.
‘You’ve got to stop that,’ he bellowed.
Marc tripped over his own foot as he lurched forward and Luc caught him with a left-right combo to the head, followed by a low blow.
Marc felt a horrendous ache between his legs as he sprawled out over the mats, groaning. Kindhe pushed Luc back and gave him a warning, then allowed a few seconds for Marc to recover.
‘How’s your balls?’ Luc taunted.
Luc had grown so used to Marc backing off that he threw a wild punch as the fight resumed. Marc ducked, bobbed up and smashed Luc hard in the jaw. The crowd went bananas as Luc stumbled backwards, catching a glancing blow to the head and a perfect shot in the solar plexus.
Somehow Luc stayed upright and surged back with a couple of glancing blows as the bell rang for the end of the second round.
‘Much better,’ PT said, as Marc sat down.
‘Must be your brilliant advice,’ Marc replied, as his balls touched the wooden stool, giving him a painful reminder of the low blow.
As PT wiped his chest with the sponge, Marc noted that Luc wasn’t posturing any more. He’d gone straight to his stool and breathed hard while instructor Takada shoved a wodge of iodine-soaked cotton wool up his nose to staunch the blood flow.
The crowd anticipated a proper fight as the two sweating teenagers squared up for the third round. But Marc still feared Luc’s strength, and after feeling his first proper punches, Luc was no longer as confident about going forwards.
For two and a half minutes the fight was cagey, with neither boy landing a blow worth speaking of. With seconds of the round to go, Marc saw an opening and landed a beautiful shot under Luc’s chin.
Luc’s head snapped back and his legs wobbled, as the crowd yelled for Marc to finish him off. But the brilliance of the shot surprised Marc as much as anyone and he gave Luc a crucial half-second to steady his legs. He came back furiously, forcing Marc to back away from a barrage of fast punches. But the shots were fuelled by anger rather than skill.
Right on the bell, Marc landed a blow on the nose. Luc was exhaling at the time of impact and blood spattered Marc’s vest, like oil spewing from an overheated engine. As Marc dropped his guard and turned for his stool, Luc hit him full force in the gut.
Kindhe charged in to break the boys apart, but the damage was done. Marc was on his knees, coughing and gasping for air while Luc staggered back to his corner with clogged nostrils and a mist of blood clogging one eye.
Henderson sent his son flying as he shot to his feet. ‘That’s ridiculously late,’ he shouted. ‘Give him a second warning.’
Kindhe had already let Luc go back to his corner, but he stepped up and gave the second warning like Henderson said.
‘One more and you’re out,’ Kindhe shouted.
Luc was shattered, but still found the energy to shoot up and point his glove at Henderson.
‘Who’s the ref, you or the captain?’ Luc shouted furiously.
‘Second warning,’ Kindhe repeated. ‘One more and you’re out of the fight.’
‘Dirty black bastard,’ Luc shouted.
For a second Kindhe looked like was about to whack Luc with the back of his hand, but he thought better of it and instead helped PT walk Marc back to his stool.
For the second time, the fight was held up as Marc was given time to recover from an illegal blow.
‘Final round,’ Kindhe shouted.
The crowd was only twenty-five strong, but they’d all squeezed right up to the mats to get a good view and their noise sounded more like a hundred. After the low blow and the late punch everyone was firmly back on Marc’s side.
Luc’s nose was bleeding heavily and for the first time since he’d been knocked down in the opening barrage Marc felt like he had a real chance of winning. The caution that marked the third round was out of the window as Marc and Luc charged forwards like rutting stags.
Luc locked an arm around Marc’s back, held him close and pounded his body with right jabs. Marc’s arms and legs were g
etting heavy. The constant jabs made breathing impossible and he broke loose with a fierce head butt to the bridge of Luc’s already bloody nose.
‘Beautiful!’ Sam’s big brother Joel shouted. ‘Now kill the bugger!’
But Kindhe had seen and immediately threw himself between the two fighters. He’d already given Marc a warning for backing out of the ring in round one, now he got a second for the head butt.
‘Whoever gets the next warning is disqualified,’ Kindhe shouted. ‘You’ve got to behave.’
Both lads had sweat pelting the rubber around their feet as Kindhe gave them the signal to start fighting again. Marc could barely raise his fists, but Luc was livid about the head butt to his already injured nose and staggered forwards, swinging clumsily.
Marc dodged, making Luc stumble comically across the rubber mats, to the amusement of the crowd. Luc didn’t give a damn about people hating him, but laughing was different and he glowered at Paul as he stood up.
‘What are you laughing at, stick-boy? You want your head beaten in?’
With little more than a minute remaining, Kindhe gave the signal to resume fighting. But Luc had his eye on Paul and knew nothing about Marc’s first decent punch of the round until it connected with the side of his head.
The crowd whooped as Luc stumbled, but he found a reserve of strength from somewhere and came at Marc with half a dozen strong punches. More through tiredness than anything else, the last of them was another low blow, but Kindhe missed it.
Marc went down on one knee as the crowd screamed about the low blow, but Kindhe had begun a ten-count.
‘How could you not see that, you blind dick?’ Paul shouted. ‘Christ!’
As Kindhe reached eight, Marc was getting back to his feet, but his legs were swaying and Kindhe raised his hands to signal the end of the fight. The crowd hissed as Luc jumped in the air and started cheering.
‘I don’t give a monkey’s what any of you think,’ Luc shouted.
Marc found his way back to his corner, but instead of sitting on his stool he picked it up and raised it high over his head. PT tried pulling Marc back, but his sweaty torso slipped through PT’s fingers and there was a collective gasp as the stool smashed over Luc’s back.
One Shot Kill Page 13
