The Turnarounders and the Arbuckle Rescue (54 page)

‘But, but it can’t be…’ Tears welled in his eyes as he recognised the truth in what she said. She was right. He had to stop fighting his destiny. He must accept it. His heart thumped at the realisation. Yes. But he would do more than that. He would rush to meet it.

Abruptly, Gloria was just Gloria again grabbing his shirt and asking urgently: ‘There’s a little booklet sewn into the lining of my coat. Cut down the seam with your penknife to get it for me, would you?’

‘A book!’ Ralf shouted. ‘A book at a time like this! What? Are we boring you?’ But he did as he was asked. He handed the tiny book over and she rifled the pages until she found what she was looking for.

‘Now,’ she said, in a ‘down to business’ kind of voice. ‘I’m sure I saw Alfie’s lovely new torch somewhere?’

Ralf shrugged, wrestled it out of the toolbox
where Alfie had put it and handed it over.

‘Smashing,’ she said, pointing the torch over the side of the vessel towards the gun emplacement. ‘Now, let’s see if I’ve been paying attention in class’. Her face set with a crooked smile she started flicking it on and off in staccato bursts of light.

The fire from the mole continued unabated. Gloria lurched to her knees. ‘They’re not looking this way!’ she exclaimed. ‘Why don’t they see me?

It seemed then, that Ralf stepped outside himself and, in a peaceful place, somewhere above all the action he was able to see and hear what was going on around him.

There was a burst of hot wind and fire as more bombs fell from the sky and tracer rounds skimmed around them. The Luftwaffe had returned to strafe the men in the water who struck out for the mole or raced for
The Sara Luz
, which was nearer. The soldiers already on board hauled them up bodily and dumped them, choking, in the bottom of the boat. The rescued men, none of them sailors, looked inexplicably to Leo for direction.

‘Return Fire!’ Swift yelled from the mole.

‘Good plan!’ gasped Leo. He whirled to face the men. ‘The machine guns! Shoot back at them!’

The evacuated soldiers had no idea what was going on, but whatever it was, they didn’t like it one bit. Those still armed, formed ranks and shouldered their rifles. Shots rang out from
The Sara Luz
, their smoke adding to the foggy gloom. The machine guns clattered in return, but Val and Leo thrust out their hands once more and Shunned for all they were worth. The hail of bullets sailed harmlessly overhead but
The Sara Luz
was listing heavily to port where most of the swimming men had gathered and held on.

‘We can’t take anymore!’ Valen bellowed.

The boat, now within yards of the
Sea-Hawke
, pitched wildly in the chaos.

It was eleven forty t
wo when something amazing happened and Ralf came back to earth with a bump.

The torrent of bullets from the emplacement stopped.

Gloria jumped to her feet, slapped the rail with her good hand and laughed outright.

‘How –? What did you –?’ Ralf breathed.

Gloria chuckled. ‘It
is
The Death’s Head Division!’ she crowed. ‘Just as I thought! I’ve sent them a ‘Halt’ order in German Morse using their own codes. I don’t suppose it’ll last for long but it’s got them confused for the moment.’

He gazed at her in stunned admiration.

In the minutes of silence that followed Ralf’s ears rang and he, like everyone else, stood still, panting with exertion. From the distant harbour, there was some low talk in German, a few barely audible clicks and then the muffled crump of two explosions in quick succession.

‘What the –?’

Ralf couldn’t understand it. What had happened to the German gunners? Just then he got his answer because Alfie blurred back on to
The Sea-Hawke
clutching what looked like a collection of scrap metal to his chest.

‘Spiked ‘em with marbles and chewing gum when they stopped for Gloria,’ he grinned. ‘Jacked their spares while I was at it!’ He opened his arms and machine gun barrels and ammunition clips clattered to the deck.

‘Well done that man!’ said Gloria pulling him into a crushing, one-armed embrace.

Realising what had happened, Keen roared. Like Rumplestiltskin at the guessing of his name, he stamped his foot so hard it thudded through the wood of the pontoon. Hart seized his chance and made a break for it. He stumbled toward the open water. Keen raised his revolver and fired.

The bullet missed Hart but lodged into
The Sara Luz
’s mast, sending splinters of wood flying. Keen fired again.

It was eleven fifty-one.

Explosions ripped the air again but all eyes were drawn to the scene unfolding on the pontoon. The stumbling figure lurched and fell but then scrambled upwards and continued running. Shots were directed at Keen but he brushed them away and strode after Hart.

‘Take that traitor down!’ screamed Major Swift.

The fleeing man fell to his knees and on both sides of the battle there was a collective intake of breath. Hart paused there, bent double in the circle of yellow light thrown from the burning Griffin.

‘By all the Saints!’ Ron exclaimed. ‘It’s Archie!’

Ron spun the wheel hard to starboard and the men on board staggered as the boat responded to the turn. The soldiers on deck cried out in dismay.

‘
Ho ye!’ a dripping Black Watch private yelled. ‘Wha’ yis doin’?’

‘That’s Charles Hart!’ Ron yelled. ‘We’ve got to go back for him!’

‘Och now, lad,’ countered the private, grabbing Ron’s arm. ‘I like him too, but let us off at tha’ ship first!’

Ron hesitated for a second then shrugged off the Scotsman and set a course for the floundering actor.

‘You can’t go back!’ Valen was livid. ‘Let Major Swift deal with it!’ She gestured wildly at Ron then Tom, who was still lying slumped against a bulkhead. ‘You’re all in one piece and you’ve saved heaven knows how many people. You’ve done enough! We’ve lost Walter, we won’t lose you too!’

Ron shook his head. ‘That’s Archie Buckle, Val. I’ve known him since I was a boy. I’m not leaving him!’

‘Archie Buckle?’ Leo exclaimed. ‘I thought it was Hart!’

Ron looked at Leo like he was the village idiot. ‘Archie
is
Hart, you twit! He grew up in the village! Why do you think he comes back so often?’

‘Archie Buckle is Charles Hart!’ breathed Leo ‘Charles Hart is Archie!’

It was said quietly but the words echoed across the short expanse of water and stopped Ralf in his tracks.

It took only a fraction of a second for Ralf to work it out but, watching Hart reeling towards the water, it felt as if it took minutes for the synapses of his brain to fire up, to follow the trail of clues and make the connection.

If you reversed ELCUBRATRAH you got
HART
ARBUCKLE. But he’d jumped to the conclusion this meant the Arbuckle boys because that’s what he wanted to believe. He’d got it wrong – staggeringly wrong! It wasn’t two heroes: one name. It was one hero: two names! Suddenly, he understood. He'd
heard
King say Hart's real name was Buckle. He'd
seen
the man's real initials – A.R.B – on his watch. The Arbuckles weren’t ‘
The greatest of them. Two in one
’. That honour belonged to A.R.Buckle – to Charles Hart! And now here they were with the greatest of the Natus stranded on a pontoon in the middle of the harbour being shot at by a madman. Ralf strained to see Hart’s colour and what he saw terrified him. Hart’s shining, violet aura seemed to be dimming as the strength bled out of him.

There was a burst of sneering laughter. Keen strutted down the pontoon as though it was a promenade on a sunny afternoon. One arm was raised and he fired his pistol again. Hart, crawling now, was hit in the thigh. He fell forward and rolled in to the water.

Ralf watched as
The Sara Luz
swung in a tight arc. Then her engine died.

‘Get that engine started!’ Ron yelled and then, to Ralf’s horror and intense pride, he stepped to the side of the boat and dived into the sea. He struck out towards Hart who was starting to sink.

Ralf knew he had to do something but then all strength was ripped from his body. He could almost smell his own terror as Keen raised his face skyward and screamed an otherworldly battle cry. 

Even from this distance, Ralf could see the cat-like yellow flash of his eyes and he squinted as Keen’s colour pulsed outwards. A deep, dense black surrounded the Captain like a hole in the night. Seabirds swooped down from the murk to drape themselves over the jetty and the water around it boiled with thrashing fish. Keen’s eyes met Ralf’s. He grinned madly and then Ralf heard him say, quite calmly but very clearly: ‘Kill them.’

Ralf blanched. What? Who? How? He whirled around and his skin flared with electricity.

‘Gloria!’ The shriek was from Valen. Amid all the noise and confusion Gloria crouched stock still aboard the grounded
Sea-Hawke
her attention wholly on the men in the water. She did not see and had not sensed Tank get to his feet and, with a smirk of satisfaction, pull a long, curved knife from his blazer pocket.

In that millisecond Ralf knew he had lost. He
was too far away to help Gloria. Charles Hart was thrashing in the undercurrents of the harbour and Ron was struggling against waves and bullets in a doomed attempt to rescue him. But whilst his logical forebrain was calculating the enormity of the unfolding disaster something far more primitive kicked in to action.

‘Ambrose you’re killing me,’ he
murmured with a half-smile. Then he started issuing orders.

‘Alfie!’ he yelled. ‘Grab the coracle and get after Ron. Get Leo. He knows. Hart is the key. Get Leo and head for Ron and Hart. We
can’t lose them all!’ Alfie rushed to obey and Ralf signalled across the water to Valen. ‘You’re on Gloria, Valen! Watch her back!’

Deliberately, Ralf now put them from his mind so he could think. Tank, the German machine gunners – they were just pawns. Ralf now knew for certain where the real power lay. It was Keen. Keen was doing all this.
Think!
He must think of something to stop him!

And then it hit him. Whether it was a distant memory or some element of animal instinct, Ralf knew with absolute certainty that part of Keen’s power lay in the
dagger in Tank's hand. It was a conduit, a channel that Keen was using to control the weak-minded boy. He had to get rid of it. But how? Shifting was not a possibility, he realised. Tank would see him before he got close enough. Ralf smiled grimly. This would have to be a stealth mission.

Slowly, he edged to the port side of
The Sea-Hawke
and, grabbing a small landing net, climbed overboard to hang, in a passable imitation of Spiderman, from the side of the yacht. It would be a slow journey, dangling perilously above jagged rocks, but if he could just get around behind Tank he could net the cursed blade.

‘Gloria!’ Val screamed. ‘Look out!’

Puzzled, Gloria peered across at
The Sara Luz
, totally unaware of Tank who was sneaking up behind her, the knife sharp and low in his right hand. In a blur that lasted only a split second, Valen Shifted.

Her face stark white and her hair wild, Valen crashed into Tank with such force that he ought to have been sent flying. Instead, the large boy merely staggered. He thrust out a hand that knocked Valen to her knees.

Gadd Munton’s black eyes narrowed. He squinted at Gloria, crouched and vulnerable at the rail, appraised Tank’s bulky form and the viciousness of the knife. Then he began to inch slowly away. On the pontoon, Keen’s gaze flickered to Tank then to the thrashing figure of Charles Hart/Archie Buckle. He smiled a little smile.

Valen
Shifted to her feet and around Tank in a whirlwind of colour. He slashed at her but she shunned the knife and his arm flew wide.

‘Drop it, Tank!’ Valen screamed.

Tank’s eyes glinted gold in the reddish light. ‘Make me!’ he barked back.

‘Put it down, Tank,’ said a quiet voice from the mole. King, blood pouring from his head wound was staggering towards
The Sea-Hawke
. He had seen Valen appear suddenly on the deck of his boat and then the knife in Tank’s hands. He raised a quizzical eye at Gloria, who shot him a ‘
Do something!
’ glance in return.

‘No need to worry Tank, old bean,’ said King, thinking quickly. ‘Major Swift has sent for reinforcements. We just have to hold the fort here for a while. Now, do be a brick and help me up.’

Tank stared back at him, eyes glittering with malice.

King changed tactics. Signalling Valen still with a quick hand gesture he smiled.

‘I say, Tank. Is that the knife from the Barrow? We’re going to be in dreadful trouble with Winters, you know!’

A line of spittle leaked from the large boy’s open mouth and he grinned. The look was a hideous parody of a joke shared between friends but this time King was most definitely not laughing.  He realised in that short second that Tank’s tiny brain had had all it could stand. The delicate thread that had anchored him to sanity had finally snapped. All remaining colour drained from King’s face.