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medium and snapped the shutter. He took the shots methodically, taking pictures of three sausage-shaped bunkers at the far end, one of which had the nose of a U-boat protruding from it. His next shot was of two U-boats moored side by side and covered with grey camouflage netting.
    But the real spectacle lay directly across the water, where two vast bunkers were under construction. The first was built on the water, with seven U-boat-sized pens. The sides were complete and appeared to be made from concrete several metres thick.
    As men hung precariously over the water dismantling a huge scaffold, other teams were building the roof. On one side only the first precast concrete blocks had been laid, but at the other end the roof was already three metres thick, with huge rectangles of armoured steel being lifted up by a steam-powered crane.
    At a right angle from the first bunker, the second was at an earlier stage of construction. It had no roof and the walls just coming out of the ground. This set of pens was above the waterline and a heavy-gauge railway system linked it to the first.
    ‘Guess they’ll lift boats through the regular pens, then take ’em across on the tracks when they need major repairs,’ Marc said.
    Edith nodded. ‘I heard that when they’re finished, the biggest British bombs won’t even dent that roof.’
    Smaller bunkers were being built further back from the water to secure fuel, weapons and crews. Marc shot pictures until the film ran out, then took a brief moment to consider what he was seeing. The contrast between the huge new bunkers and the two U-boats moored under nets at the opposite end of the harbour showed how serious the Kriegsmarine was about protecting and expanding their U-boat fleet.
    ‘If they build more bunkers on this side, you could have thirty U-boats docked at a time and no way to damage them until they’re out at sea,’ Marc said.
    But Edith had more immediate concerns as she noticed two Germans jogging along the dockside towards them. They wore the distinctive dark-blue uniform of Kriegsmarine police.
    ‘We’ve gotta get out of here,’ she shouted, giving Marc a tug on the arm before launching herself into a dramatic head-first slide down the coal heap. ‘Fat Adolf’s coming.’

CHAPTER SIX
    Henderson had to leave Lorient to meet the fishermen along the coast in Kerneval. The main bridge east out of Lorient had been fortified with anti-aircraft guns and had barrage balloons tethered across its width to prevent low-flying aircraft sweeping in and attacking the harbours.
    He felt uneasy as the grey-uniformed guard at the Lorient end checked his paperwork. He looked about seventeen, and scratched a shaving rash under his helmet strap as he eyed Henderson with suspicion.
    ‘I know this bar,’ he said suspiciously. ‘I’ve never seen you in there.’
    If he’d had a choice, Henderson never would have picked a public place for false employment details. ‘I mainly work in the back.’
    Henderson felt for his gun. He wouldn’t withstand a search, and looked around for an escape route as the guard eyed his ration card. There was only one guard on each end of the bridge, so he might get away if he jumped over the side and made a run along the embankment behind the bushes.
    ‘Your zone permit says you came here a month ago, but this ration card has all its coupons intact,’ the guard said. ‘What have you been eating, thin air?’
    Confidence and detail are the key to successful bullshitting. ‘I lost my card,’ Henderson explained. ‘This one was issued by Mr Muller yesterday afternoon.’
    The guard didn’t seem happy and began unfolding the military discharge papers. As the woman queuing behind sighed, a German truck started belting across the bridge from the opposite end, blasting its horn and sending a cyclist diving for cover.
    The driver squealed to a halt and leaned out of the window. He looked as young as the guard, and apparently knew him well.
    ‘Open the