Grey Wolves by Robert Muchamore Read Free Book Online Page A

in a daze before the beating started and the big man looked like he was just warming up.
    ‘You’re teaching her a lesson, not killing her,’ Fat Adolf yelled. ‘That’s enough.’
    Now it was Marc’s turn. He was stronger and managed to stay upright, but he took four heavy blows and when it was over he was clutching his ribs and fighting for breath.
    Before he had a chance to recover, they’d been dragged up to the fence and thrown through a wire gate. Edith had tears streaking down her filthy face and sobbed noisily.
    The one who’d done the beating spoke to Fat Adolf in German, unaware that Marc could understand. ‘We’ve got to teach these brats a lesson, sir.’
    ‘Shut your idiot mouth,’ Fat Adolf spat back. ‘Go back inside. Look for more kids, and frighten ’em, don’t kill ’em.’
    As the two younger men skulked off, Edith clutched her injured thigh and scowled defiantly. ‘You said your daughter’s the same age as me,’ she spat. ‘I hope your house gets bombed and she dies .’
    ‘You must stay out of here,’ Fat Adolf said, clenching his fists with frustration. ‘You’re only kids. You’re only stealing a bit of coal, but it all mounts up to a lot of coal. My orders are to capture or shoot anyone seen in the coal yard. There won’t be any more warnings. Spread the word to all the other kids before one of you ends up with a bullet in the back.’
    As Fat Adolf spoke, Marc felt around to make sure he hadn’t lost anything. He felt his ID document, felt his knife and the matchbox camera. They’d got the photos, they hadn’t been searched. The pain was bad but he could take it.
    ‘Here,’ Fat Adolf said, as he held out three boiled sweets wrapped in gold foil. ‘I’m sorry.’
    Edith didn’t take them, so Fat Adolf dropped them on the cobbles and she scooped them up grudgingly the moment he was out of sight.
    *
    The Kriegsmarine had moved the local fishing fleet away from the U-boat dock at Keroman, to a small natural harbour at Kerneval, one and a half kilometres along the coast. Henderson found it bustling with small boats, and interrupted a boy hauling up a net of fish with a dockside pulley.
    ‘I’m looking for Alois Clement,’ Henderson said.
    The boy pointed out a shabby bistro. Alois wasn’t there, but the waitress told him to wait. The outdoor tables had a good view over the harbour and the afternoon sun was warm enough to sit outside. Henderson got coffee, which tasted like battery acid, and a shot of brandy to settle his nerves. The man who joined him shortly afterwards was ancient-looking with a ragged beard, leathery skin and rubber boots spattered with fish blood.
    ‘Hortefeux?’ he asked.
    Henderson nodded. The man said he was Nicolas. His brother Alois was arranging a boat and would arrive shortly. Then he told the waitress to throw Henderson’s coffee away and bring two cups of the good stuff.
    Henderson pointed at three large boats across the harbour. They looked modern, but were rusting badly. ‘Why are the big boats laid up?’
    ‘Diesel engines with no diesel to put in ’em,’ Nicolas explained. ‘Not much coal either, so we’re mainly back to sail-boats.’
    ‘But you must get a decent price for your catch with so little food around.’
    ‘It’s a living, but not much of one,’ Nicolas said, as two fine-smelling espressos arrived. ‘Rules up to our ears: daylight fishing only, got to stay within six kilometres of the coast, which keeps us out of the best fishing grounds. Most of our young men are held prisoner. I’m seventy-three and my crew is two grandsons aged seventeen and fifteen.’
    As they kept chatting, Henderson took in details, from women standing on the dockside gutting fish, to the unmanned 20mm cannons mounted on the jaws of the harbour. When the cups were dry, Nicolas glanced at his pocket watch and stood up.
    ‘Don’t know what’s keeping Alois,’ he said. ‘We’ll take a walk around to his workshop.’
    Fishing had kept