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has to be moved before the entire line is operational again.”
    He set his chalk on the rim of the board. “Good sabotage is not always dramatic and is most effective if it undermines a large system.”
    “Such as blowing up power stations,” the Welshman added.
    “Ah, I see you have a penchant for explosives, Mr. Rhydderch. I grant you, a big explosion is very satisfying, but if you can achieve a similar amount of disorder to the enemy while remaining invisible, your life may be longer.”
    “What about guns? Will we be supplying weapons?” The Welshman seemed to enjoy being the center of attention.
    “Yes. After a preliminary reconnaissance with local movements, we’ll drop containers of rifles, ammunition, other material.” He strode over to a cabinet and unlocked the padlock on its doors. “And since you’ve brought up the subject of weapons, Mr. Rhydderch, we will move on to that now,” he said over his shoulder while he drew something long and metallic from a high shelf.
    “This is our weapon of choice for the resisters we hope to inspire.” He laid the object on the desk in front of him. “The Sten gun.”
    Antonia leaned forward from her second row seat for a better look.
    “Called the MkI Sten T-40/1, it has just rolled off the Enfield factory line. You will note how light it is. Also simple to operate, with a minimum of maintenance. It has a flash-hider, so the enemy can’t target you by the flash, and a forward handle to hold it securely. The stock is a simple double tube that can be rotated forward for stowing. It has a horizontal magazine with a thirty-two-round capacity, and its barrel is just a steel cylinder. Ideal for your average Frenchman to use on the street.”
    “And what about us?”
    “You’ll be issued side arms. In addition, special missions will also include one of these.”
    He laid a variety of knives on his desk. “Obviously the smaller blades are designed for concealment, in these cases in a coat lapel or a shoe.”
    “But this is my personal favorite,” he said, reaching again into the cabinet. “The wire shoelace.” He opened his hand, revealing a black cord. “Totally innocuous in your shoe, but once you take it out, you merely walk up behind the target and loop it around his throat. Then, before he can react, you place your knee in his back and pull. He will instinctively grasp the wire and not you. Of course success depends completely on the element of surprise.”
    The Welshman interrupted. “When I were a lad, a good fist were all I needed in a scrap.”
    “That’s a good point, Mr. Rhydderch. We will give you instruction at another time on physical self-defense, though against armed Gestapo, it will be of limited use. And this brings me to our last point. The ultimate ‘escape,’ so to speak.”
    Reaching this time into the breast pocket of his uniform, he produced two items: a lipstick tube and what looked like the cork of a wine bottle. He unscrewed them both, revealing capsules at the bottom, and set them on his desk.
    “Suicide ampules. Two of them. We can also conceal them inside coat buttons. I will not dwell on the subject, but the fact is, if you are captured, you can be certain of harsh interrogation.”
    One of the students interpreted. “Torture.”
    “Yes, torture. So, these contain potassium cyanide. Keep them on your person for critical moments when other escape is impossible and it’s likely you’ll be tortured. If you bite down on them and then swallow, you’ll pass out within a minute or two. Your brain is affected quite quickly, so you feel nothing when your heart stops a few minutes later.”
    He returned the capsules to a box. “Agents do get captured. That’s a reality you must be aware of. And no one here expects you to stand up long under interrogation.”
    Torture. She hadn’t much thought about that. She wondered if the SOE had a course on that, but the subject had changed, and the others were already standing, ready to