Breakout (Combined Operations Book 7) Read online

  Breakout

  Book 7 in the

  Combined Operations Series

  By

  Griff Hosker

  Published by Sword Books Ltd 2016

  Copyright © Griff Hosker First Edition

  The author has asserted their moral right under the Copyright, Designs, and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  Cover by Design for Writers

  Dedicated to my little sister, Barb, and in memory of my dad who served in Combined Operations from 1941-1945

  Prologue

  June 1944

  My team had fought from June sixth until June thirteenth on the Normandy beaches. We had been there with the French when they had landed and we had helped the Paratroopers defend Bréville. For one week we had barely slept and had fought hard every day. That had not been the only price. Just Corporal John Hewitt and myself had managed to escape the hospital. We had been sent back to England mainly because my whole unit had gone. They had all suffered a wound or injury during the seven days of fighting. Our journey back had shown the price that the allies had paid. We had seen the graves as we were marched to the beach. After we had been taken by landing craft to the destroyer we had see equipment still surging in the surf. There were sunken ships close to the beaches still and German aircraft attacked us constantly as we dodged them on our way back across the busy Channel. The destroyer in which we travelled had more holes than a colander! I was relieved when I saw the Isle of White loom up on our port bow. It had taken a few days for us to be given a berth on the tired vessel which now took us home.

  When we reached England Reg Dean, the Regimental Sergeant Major, was waiting for us with a car. Southampton was a long way from Reg's billet in Falmouth and I wondered why we had been afforded such treatment.

  "What's this all in aid of Sarn't Major?"

  "Major Rose's idea sir. I have to say, sir, the adjutant has grown on me! Drinks too much but he is not nasty with it and he does worry about you lads."

  "Sarn't Major!"

  "Sorry sir, anyway with so many of the lads wounded he reckoned you and the Corporal here needed a leave." He leaned in, "Word has it that they are lining your lads up for another little jaunt and if you don't get one now then you might have to wait a long time."

  I shook my head, "You mean a mission for the two of us?"

  He shook his head as he started the car, "Sergeant Poulson, Lance Sergeant Hay and Private Beaumont will be fit for duty by the time your leave is over. Fletcher and Shepherd won't be far behind. Anyway the Major asked me to come here and pick you up. Where to gentlemen?"

  I said, "London will do for me. Take me to the railway station."

  "Aye me too. It'll take a couple of days but I'd like to get home to the Boro."

  Reg rubbed his hands, "Good and I have a couple of travel warrants here too. Mrs.D packed you a couple of kit bags with clean clothes. They are in the back."

  "Tell her she is an angel."

  "Aye sir, I dropped lucky there. Well, settle down in the back and we'll have you in the station before you know it."

  The leather seats seemed remarkably comfortable after two weeks of sleeping on the floor and sheltering from German bullets. I was tempted to close my eyes. The car pulled away from the kerb and Reg said, "Well we showed Jerry what's what eh sir? I reckon the war will be over by Christmas at this rate."

  I opened my eyes and sat forward, "Don't you believe it Reg. We were supposed to have Caen by the end of the first week and it is still there. We have not taken Cherbourg either. This war has not run its course. We have a toehold in France and that is it!""

  Hewitt, who rarely spoke, ventured his opinion, "The Captain is right, Sergeant Major, it has not finished yet and those Jerry tanks are better than anything we have. The only thing that kept us from being thrown back into the sea was the fact that we were too bloody minded. Isn't that right sir? We had to use anything we could find to fight back."

  Reg nodded, "Then the papers and radio have it wrong again. That doesn't surprise me. It is like the Great War all over again. Well you two will have a pleasant week at any rate."

  "When do we report back, Sergeant Major?"

  "We have a new camp at Southampton. You are to report back on the twenty first of June. But I am afraid, Captain, that you have to give me a telephone number where you can be reached. Sorry. That order came from Major Foster when he suggested to Major Rose that you might need a leave."

  "Not a problem Reg." I took out my notepad and the stub of a pencil. I wrote down the number of my father's flat. I would use that. I handed it to him. This made more sense now. Major Foster was keeping me close to hand. Reg was right. We would be sent back soon.

  As the car pulled up at the railway station there was the sound of an air raid siren. Reg shook his head, "Since D-Day they have come over every day. The harbour is a right mess." He handed us both our travel warrants and then took the two bags out of the boot. He saluted, "Make sure you enjoy yourself, Captain. There won't be many more of these leaves."

  An ARP warden came up to us, "Get in a shelter! You three should have more sense!"

  Reg laughed, "I'll take my chances on the road, if you don't mind!"

  Tutting the warden hurried us towards the sandbagged shelter. Corporal Hewitt turned to me, grinning, "I think Jerry has it in for us, sir! Two weeks in Normandy, all the way home and now in England!"

  "Never mind John. We have seven days where we can forget it eh?"

  Chapter 1

  London looked weary. As the train stopped and started through the suburbs of south London you could see the effect of almost five years of war. Every window had tape upon it and every building was sandbagged. People still carried gas masks. They walked hunched and tired looking like the Morlocks from 'The Time Machine'. The war was five years old and it showed. As the train pulled in to Paddington Station I saw rescue workers pulling people from a nearby bombed building. The war was most certainly not over. I shook hands with John after giving him money for a taxi to King's Cross. The train north could take twelve hours or more if there were air raids. The sooner he got to the station the better. I ran to the flat. I received strange looks but I didn't care. I was still alive and I was in England. Others lay on the beaches of Normandy and would never be coming home.

  I did not have a key to the flat but there was a caretaker who had a spare one. Charlie also acted as a handyman. He had been wounded in the Great War and this had been the only job he could do. I knocked on his door. As soon as he opened it I was hit by a wall of smoke. It was the smoke from his pipe. He liked his St. Bruno. He recognised me straightaway and stiffened to attention. He was still the old soldier. "Captain Harsker, sir. I wasn't expecting you. Your dad isn't here, sir."

  "I know, Charlie. I have just got back from Normandy. They gave me a short leave."

  He nodded, "I understand sir. I'll get the spare." He hesitated, "Only the thing is sir I just have the one. You'll have to let me have it back when you go out."

  "That's fine Charlie."

  He went to a board and took one down. "Normandy eh sir? We knocked Fritz for six there eh? Papers say over by Christmas."

  I took the key from him, "You know what they say
about newspapers don't you Charlie? The only thing they are good for is wrapping your fish and chips in!"

  He laughed, "Your right there sir. Enjoy your leave and if you need anything just let me know."

  "Just one thing. Is the telephone still working?"

  Father's work at the Ministry had meant we were given the luxury of a telephone. I did not know what effect the bombing would have had. "Not certain sir. We have had no raids around here since your dad was here last. Should be all right but if not let me know and I will get it sorted."

  The flat had a musty, unused smell. I opened the curtains to let the afternoon light in. I saw the patina of dust lying everywhere. I dumped my bag in the bedroom and then went for the duster and polish. Mum liked order. She liked everything to be clean and neat. That was the nurse in her. After shaking all the cushions and curtains I quickly dusted and then I swept the linoleum and wood with the brush and pan. Finally I ran the Ewbank over the rugs and polished all the wood. It looked better. That done I went to the telephone and gingerly picked it up. To my great relief it worked.

  I dialled the operator and asked for mum's number. I was tired and needed a bath but if I didn't ring her she would be upset. It rang for a few minutes before she picked up. I pictured her in the garden. "Hello mum, it's Tom."

  "You're back! Thank God!" There was a pause. "You are all right aren't you? This isn't a call from a hospital is it?"

  "No I am fine. They gave me a seven day leave but I have to stay around London. I am at the flat."

  "It must be a mess. I'll come down and clean it for you."

  "Don't be daft. I have dusted and cleaned already. I just rang to say I was safe."

  "Well thank you for that. Your boys, are they....?"

  "We were knocked about a bit but they are fine."

  "And have you spoken to Susan yet?"

  "Mum! I rang you first!"

  "You should speak to her first! Don't you lose her. She is a treasure. You should be more attentive."

  "She is up in Church Lawton and I don't know if they have a telephone."

  "She isn't. She was returned to duty in May. With all this Normandy business they needed her. We arranged for her dad to have a nurse visit three times a week so you have no excuse. She is in London and you are in London. Now hang up and ring her."

  "She might not be on duty."

  "Tom Harsker! I love you to bits but sometimes...Ring Susan!"

  The telephone went dead. Since Mum had met Susan my life had changed. Mum suddenly saw the prospect of grandchildren on the horizon. She had taken to Susan instantly. The feeling had been mutual. I was largely grateful but Mum and Susan seemed to be moving us forward a little too fast for my liking. I was going to put the kettle on and then I glanced at the clock. It was four o'clock. The day shift in operations finished at five. I sat down again and picked up the telephone and rang the Operations Room. As I had expected I was neither allowed to speak to her nor find out if she was on duty. The frosty voice of the operator left me in no doubt that the telephone was not to be used for any romantic liaisons. I was about to hang up when I realised that I could kill two birds with one stone.

  "Is Major Foster on duty? This is Captain Harsker and I was asked to ring him when I reached London."

  "Major Foster? If you would hold the line I will find out for you."

  The line went silent. If I could not get word to her then I could always walk around to Whitehall and wait for her to come from work. If I did without a soak in the bath and hurried I could just make it.

  Major Foster's voice sounded in my ear, "Tom! Good to hear your voice. This is damned quick and fairly fortuitous! I needed to speak with you."

  "Sergeant Major Dean implied as much. I was just ringing to tell you that I was in London. I am staying at my father's flat. It is in Belgravia, not far from the Caledonian Club."

  "I know it. I take it you have just arrived?"

  "I arrived an hour ago."

  "Well look here, how about lunch tomorrow. Make it an informal chat eh? I don't want to spoil your whole leave."

  "That sounds grand."

  "Say twelve thirty at the Army and Navy?"

  "I'll be there. Listen before you go could you do me a favour?"

  "Of course."

  "I don't know if Susan Tancraville is on duty today. I would like to meet her but they wouldn't let me pass a message on."

  I heard him chuckle. "You are still keen on her then? I'll tell her you are in town."

  "Tell her I will call down tonight to her digs."

  "Will do. See you tomorrow."

  I ran a lukewarm bath with the Government approved six inches of water. It cleaned off the salt, sand, grime and, I had no doubt, the tiny remnants of men's blood. There had been much of that. I put a kettle on to boil water for a shave. I would not risk cutting myself. By the time I had shaved and put on the clean uniform sent by Mrs. Dean I felt a new man. With a little of Dad's cologne I was almost presentable.

  I hurried from the flat, remembering to drop the key off with Charlie. He grinned when he smelled me, "This has to be for a young lady! Don't you worry about disturbing me when you come back sir. I will probably be up and reading."

  "I doubt that I will be late, Charlie!"

  I hurried. Heading down Constitution Hill, past Buckingham Palace I went across St. James' Park. It was just over a mile and I did it in less than quarter of an hour. I could have run it in ten minutes but I did not want to undo the good work of the bath and shave. I reached her quarters well before the time she was due to finish work. I decided to go to the nearby Whitehall Grill and see if I could book a table. It was early and the restaurant was closed up. I knocked on the door and the head waiter, whom I vaguely remembered, arrived in shirt sleeves and smoking a cigarette.

  His face showed he recognized me too, "Good afternoon sir. Good to see you."

  "I know you aren't open yet but I wondered if I could book a table."

  "Of course sir. The boss will be pleased to see you. Since Joe Cameron was put away profits have soared. What time?"

  "That's the trouble, I am not certain. I haven't told the young lady and she is still on duty."

  "Don't you worry, sir. Whatever time you get here there will be a table ready. We are open at six and, for you, the manager would stay open until midnight."

  "Thanks."

  I returned to wait outside her quarters. You could not stop a Commando preparing. It was second nature. It might just be a date with a girl but the only way to avoid disasters was to do a good recce and have a backup plan. The backup plan was a supper at the flat.

  I heard giggling behind me and saw Susan, flanked by Doris and a girl I didn't know, linked arm in arm and walking towards me. Doris had the inevitable cigarette perched precariously between her bright red lips. She saw me and squealed, "Oh he is eager, Susie! Looking at him waiting there in his uniform with all them medals! You had better watch out or I shall have him off you!"

  Susan blushed and disengaged herself, "I have no worries there!" She rushed up to me and, throwing her arms around me, kissed me hard on the lips.

  As Doris passed she said, "If that Major Foster is free tonight we could double date."

  I turned and smiled, "I am afraid he is busy."

  The other girl said, "You knew that anyway, Doris. He was in that big pow wow with the brass."

  "A girl can dream."

  We were alone and Susan looked up at me with a smile as wide as the horizon. "When Major Foster told me I couldn't believe it. Seven days?"

  "Yes but I am not certain how much of that will be leave. From what the Major said I may have to attend meetings."

  She laughed, "As that will be at Operations I will get to see you. And a glimpse of you, even from a distance, is well worth the wait. What shall we do?"

  "Dinner at the Whitehall Grill?"

  "Can we get a table? It has become very popular and busy of late."

  "I have a table reserved for us."

&nb
sp; She looked at her watch. "Six thirty?"

  "That will be fine. I will wait in the 'George and Dragon'." I pointed to the old pub across the road. I kissed her again and she ran towards her quarters. I reached the pub just after the doors had been opened. The landlord looked at his watch and said, "You are right on time sir. I have only just opened."

  "I have just started a leave so I am keen to make the most of it."

  He went behind the bar, "What can I get you, sir? I am a bit low on spirits but I could let you have a single whisky if you wished."

  "A pint of bitter will do. It's been some time since I had a pint."

  He began to pull a pint and studied my face. Although I had not been wounded no one survived combat without cuts, scrapes and bruises. "Been in action sir?"

  "Normandy."

  He took in the Commando flashes, "Then this first one is on the house. You lads and the paratroopers did a cracking job from what the papers say."

  "Everyone did their bit, landlord. The air force kept Jerry off the beaches, the Navy got us there and there were over a hundred thousand soldiers on the beaches. It was a team effort."

  He nodded and then saw my ribbons. His eyes widened, "And you have a V.C." He wiped his hand on his apron. "Can I shake you by the hand sir? This is a privilege."

  I shook his hand and then took myself away to a corner. I did not want to be anti-social but I disliked the word hero. I was not a hero. I just did my job and tried to keep my men safe. The beer was better than I could have hoped. The first pulled pint was always a risk. Before the war the landlord would have pulled a few pints first and poured them away. The war meant we could not afford such flagrant waste. My father and grandfather disliked what they called 'southern beer'. An Englishman is very parochial about his beer. I was used to it and, in truth, just needed the liquid. Commandos knew about dehydration. My spirits sank as more people came in, for the landlord pointed me out. I realised that the whole bar would be discussing me and making up, no doubt, stories which would have me as a Leslie Howard character or even David Niven; all stiff upper lip, neatly trimmed moustache and impeccable manners. That was as far from me as it was possible to get. The war had not changed me; at least I did not think it had. No one approached and, for that, I was grateful.