Breakout (Combined Operations Book 7) Read online

  It was with some relief that I saw the doors open and Susan stood there. It was unusual for a woman to enter a pub on her own and every eye swivelled to take her in. She looked stunning. I fell in love with her all over again. She came through the clouds of cigarette and pipe smoke. I picked up my empty glass and took it to the bar, "Thank you for the pint, landlord. I enjoyed it."

  Susan linked me and, as we walked towards the door the whole bar spontaneously began to sing,

  "For he's a jolly good fellow,

  For he's a jolly good fellow,

  For he's a jolly good fellow and so say all of us!"

  As the door slammed behind us she laughed, "What on earth was that all about?"

  "I have no idea. Come on I am starving. The last food I had was on a destroyer fourteen hours ago and corned beef sandwiches made with stale bread pales when you have lived on it for months!"

  As we headed towards the restaurant she said, "Well don't expect too much here. Rationing is getting tighter. I think all the troops need feeding first."

  I was disappointed. I had been hoping for a good meal. I realised I was deluding myself. It would take many years for England to recover from this war and it was not even over yet.

  Even though we were early many of the tables were occupied when we entered. The head waiter rushed over. He beamed, "Welcome! The manager will be out to see you soon. We have kept a little table in the corner for you, sir."

  "Thank you...?"

  "William, sir and it is an honour to serve you both again. Madam is looking particularly stunning tonight."

  I nodded, "Isn't she just? I am a lucky man." The smile from Susan told me that I had said the right thing. I was heeding Mother's words.

  When Susan's coat was taken and we were seated she smiled, "That is the nearest thing to a compliment you have ever paid me! It is a good job your mum told me all about you. She said you would be hard work like your father was but I should persevere!"

  William returned with the manager. I had not met him before. He looked like a tired old man but he smiled when he saw me. "I have been eager to meet you and thank you for what you did the last time you were in, sir. The meal tonight will be on the house."

  "No it won't. I am not Joe Cameron and you have a business to run. It must be hard enough with a war on without giving free meals. I shall pay. Now what do you recommend? Anything but corned beef!"

  He leaned in, "Well sir, we have had some fresh fish delivered. I could have the chef prepare that."

  I nodded, "Excellent. With chips, of course."

  He laughed, "Of course. What else?"

  "Any chance of a couple of sherries and a bottle of white wine to go with that?"

  William said, "I am sure we can manage that."

  They had put us so that we could speak without being overheard. "I was sorry to hear about your mother."

  She nodded, "It was a relief. I think Dad was grateful that she did not have to suffer any longer. Your mum was terrific you know. She seems so quiet and gentle but when she decides something needs doing then nothing will stop her. She got things organized so quickly. I was grateful."

  "She has always been like that. With Dad flitting here there and everywhere between the wars it was up to Mum to keep everything under control."

  The waiter brought us our sherries. It was not the best dry sherry I had ever had but not the worst and there was a war on. Having drunk neat Navy rum I knew what rough was!

  "Cheers! Here's to seven days leave!"

  "Cheers! Chinking my glass, Susan lowered her voice, "I was on duty the whole time you were in action. I volunteered for extra shifts. It made me closer to you somehow. Every time I heard of one of your men being wounded my heart sank. I don't know how any of you survived the battle of Bréville. Even Lord Lovat was wounded."

  "It was hard. That was something I wouldn't like to go through again." She sipped her sherry and lowered her head. "What? Do you know something?"

  "Me? I am a lowly ATS. I know nothing." She tried to laugh it away but I knew that she knew something. I held her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. When her eyes met mine I nodded.

  "It's just that if it is Major Foster you have to see this week then I know it has something to do with an operation they have been planning since D-Day plus three. I think it has to do with Caen."

  I nodded, "We thought that we would take it quickly and then have a solid base. It hasn't worked out that way."

  William brought over the wine. He showed me the label. It was a Sancerre. It might be too dry for Susan but beggars could not be choosers. He poured me a glass. There was no way I would send it back; unless it had turned to vinegar, but I would not offend them. They were doing their best. It was on the sharp side of dry but I nodded. "Thank you William that will do nicely. What is the fish?"

  He looked at me apologetically, "I am afraid is it just monkfish, sir."

  I smiled. The English were funny about their fish. It had to be cod or haddock. At a pinch they might eat kippers but other than that they were extremely conservative. I had eaten the fish before the war in France.

  Susan said, "Monkfish?"

  "I am sure you will like it and I can guarantee there will be no bones!"

  William smiled, "Yes madam and it will be a good sized portion too."

  'Never mind the quality feel the width' was also an axiom in England.

  The fish came and it was delicious. As Susan said, so long as there were chips with it then it did not matter. Dessert was a summer pudding. It would be the last of the summer strawberries but it was all the more welcome for that. I walked her back to her quarters feeling like a king. The meal had not been expensive and we had been looked after as though we were film stars.

  As we neared her digs she said, "I am afraid I am on duty tomorrow from twelve until twelve. I won't be able to see you."

  "Of course you will. I shall meet you after work and walk you home. You never know there might be some Joe Camerons about!"

  "You don't need to."

  "I know but I want to."

  She suddenly stopped, "Where are you staying?"

  "At my father's flat. It is the other side of Buckingham Palace in Belgravia."

  She laughed, "Mixing with royalty!"

  I gave a mock bow, "Of course, milady!"

  We made it back with just minutes to spare and our farewell was perfunctory with a pair of armed sentries watching but I knew I would see her the next day.

  I had the luxury of a lie in. I did not rise until seven thirty. I felt like the idle rich! After washing and dressing I gave the key back to Charlie and headed towards Piccadilly. I enjoyed a pleasant stroll through the parks before reaching the part of town which were busier. There were many small cafes where I could get breakfast. It might not be the full English from before the war but it would be better than the porridge we normally had. I had time to spare before meeting Major Foster and I headed towards Central London to see if life had changed. As I walked down Piccadilly I saw that the Ritz and Fortnum and Masons still did brisk business. I wandered down Burlington Arcade. When I discovered the date of Susan's birthday I would return here to buy her something ridiculously expensive.

  The closer I came to Piccadilly Circus the busier London became. This was not the London of the Royal Academy. There were touts and their gangs with suitcases which were unpacked and their contents flashed before policemen arrived. They were popular for you did not require ration coupons to buy from spivs! There were those who had money and did not serve shopping for other goods which did require coupons. I saw Piccadilly Commandos also keeping watch for policemen but they were not on the street very long; there were plenty of servicemen who wanted to enjoy every moment of their leave. Life went on and, by the time I reached Leicester Square I felt uplifted. London was still a vibrant city and people got on with life. I might not approve of everyone's lives but they had not been cowed by the monster in grey who had come so close to ending British life as we knew it. After Dun
kirk the days had been dark but after Alamein, Italy and now Normandy there was the glimmer of a tiny light at the end of a very long tunnel. I strode out as I headed to Pall Mall and, as it was known by the officers who used it, to The Rag, the Army and Navy Club, where I would meet Major Foster. I was not yet a member myself but I had been there with my father and, as a relative, I could use it. I waited in the lounge for the Major. I was on leave; he was on duty. It was me who had time to wait.

  A Wing Commander wandered over, "I say, are you Bill Harsker's boy?"

  I stood, "Yes sir. Captain Tom Harsker of Number Four Commando."

  He shook my hand, "Thought you were. I am Wing Commander Roger Clayson. I served with your old man at the end of the Great War."

  "Pleased to meet you, sir."

  He tapped his pipe at my medals. "And I can see you take after him in other ways too." He waved over a servant, "Two whiskies." I was about to refuse and then realised how rude that would be. We sat down. "How is he by the way?"

  "Haven't seen him for a while. The last I heard he was out east somewhere and I am kept a bit busy here, sir."

  "Normandy?" I nodded. "Despite what the papers are saying that was a lot closer than it ought to have been. My chaps were flying sorties and they told me what the beaches were like. You chaps must have gone in first eh?"

  "That's normally how it is with us, sir."

  The drinks arrived, "Well here's to the Harskers. Thank God for them!"

  We chatted a little about the war and he was about to order another when I saw Major Foster. "You'll have to excuse me, sir. I am here to meet with Major Foster."

  In a flash he took in the uniform and nodded, "Intelligence eh? Be careful of them young Tom. They prefer sending in chaps like you and keeping their hands clean."

  "Not the Major. He was a Commando until recently. Thanks for the drink, sir."

  As I stood he said, "Say hello to your old man for me eh?"

  "Sorry I'm late Tom. Let's get straight in. I am starving. We started at six thirty this morning."

  I smiled as I thought of the Wing Commander's comments. Five was a normal start in the field for Commandos and frequently it would be a twenty hour day but I said nothing. Major Foster had done his part and I would not like to be responsible for planning the operations as he did.

  We sat and he said, "I'll order if you don't mind. I've ordered the wine already. We have a lot to get through."

  "So this is more than two old chums catching up eh sir?"

  "No such thing as a free lunch Tom. No, I am afraid that time is of the essence. If your chaps hadn't taken such a beating we could have started this already."

  I found myself becoming angry. We had lost men because we had been asked to go above and beyond what was expected of us. I was interrupted by the waiter who brought the wine. Major Foster ordered and then held up his glass, "Here's to a successful mission."

  I just held my glass up and said nothing.

  "What's the matter, Tom? You seem out of sorts."

  "Perhaps it is the implied criticism of my men. They were wounded when we were asked to help out the Paras. We were glad to do it but surely there must be other sections you could call upon. Is a whole mission waiting just for us? Things must be pretty bad."

  "Keep your voice down old chap. Look sorry about the comments. No criticism intended. You did a wonderful job and I know that the battle of Bréville was won because of you and your chaps as well as the other Commandos."

  "Look, sir, we are not pet dogs to be patted on the head and given a treat because we performed a trick. I hate to say it sir but you are in great danger of becoming another Colonel Fleming. That cold attitude was his style."

  I thought I had gone too far. He coloured and then downed his drink in one. "God you are right! It must be working in that damned sweathouse that does that to a man. But look, Tom, I meant what I said. We need you. There are other sections we could use but none have the skill set that you do."

  "Skill set?"

  "Sorry. That is the sort of jargon some of the intel wallahs use. You and your men have a perfect combination of sabotage skills, language skills and, most importantly, the ability to survive behind enemy lines. What we asked you to do at Bréville was not a good use of you and your section. I was against it but if we had not held then we might have been pushed back into the sea. It cost you and your men. I know that."

  The food arrived and we stopped our conversation. We ate in silence for a while. "Look sir, at the moment there is just my corporal and me left. What the hell can two of us do?"

  "By the time we need to send you... well when the time comes you will have eight men and we think that will be enough. This lunch was to say thank you and to ask you to come in to Operations on Friday. We would like to brief you. This is neither the time nor the place."

  It would have been churlish to say that I would be cheated out of a day's leave and so I said nothing. I nodded, "What time?"

  "Ten eh?" I nodded. He grinned, "I passed your message on to Private Tancraville. Is it serious with you two? The rest of the girls in Operations seem to think so."

  "I think so, sir. She has met Mum and they get on and, well... yes sir. It is."

  "Who would have thought I was there at the start eh? Every time I pass through that Doris winks at me. I tell you now, Tom, she scares me and no mistake."

  I laughed, "She asked me if I would ask you to take her out. I guess the answer would be no?"

  "Emphatically!"

  Now that the air was cleared we were able to talk easier. We avoided the operation and spoke, instead of the Brigade. What became obvious to me was that my section was now seen as being discrete. We were no longer part of Number Four Commando. We were the strike force of the First Special Service Brigade.

  Chapter 2

  Major Foster drank more at lunch than I did. I just had one glass of wine. I walked back to Whitehall with him to make sure he got there and then I strolled back to the flat. I knocked on Charlie's door. "Have you got the key, Charlie?"

  "You don't need it sir, you dad is home. He is upstairs now. I have sent to the locksmith's to get you a new key cut."

  I knocked on the flat door and Dad greeted me. We had always been close but since my section and I had rescued him in North Africa there had also been that bond of men who have fought together and faced death. He hugged me. We had not done that before the war.

  "This is an unexpected surprise, Tom! When Charlie told me that you were here it made my day."

  "Likewise. What are you doing back? The last I heard you were out east somewhere?"

  He laughed as he led me to the coffee table. "You are partly to blame for that."

  "Me?"

  "Well you and the lads who went ashore. The brass has decided that as we are now close to the area where I fought my advice might come in handy. As soon as we have captured a few air fields I shall be going over to coordinate close air support. My squadron pioneered that in the Great War. We now have the Typhoon, Mosquito and the Americans have the P47 Thunderbolt. With their rockets, cannon and Brownings they are a powerful weapon."

  I took the drink he proffered and toasted him, "You might have a wait for that. Caen is still in German hands."

  He nodded, "I know. I called in at the Ministry today. It appears to have stalled a little. Caen looks to be holding us up." He gestured at me, "And I haven't even said well done for the gong!"

  I shrugged, "You know better than anyone, Dad, that a bit of braid just means you were lucky."

  "You are right but I was going on to say I hear you have a young lady now, Susan, isn't it? Mum likes her."

  "Yes she is lovely. I am meeting her at midnight to walk her home from work."

  "You know that you mum is hearing wedding bells already?"

  "I know but this leave isn't even a proper leave. I am here so that they can brief me to send me back behind enemy lines again. How can I get married until all of this is over?"

  "Remember your Aunt
and Charlie?"

  "I have thought about that but if she had married him he would still have died and she wouldn't miss him any less would she?"

  "You are right I suppose. So we'll pop out later for a spot of dinner and then we will have to find a time when the three of us can meet up. I am keen to meet her."

  "My only commitment is Friday and you?"

  "I am free for both lunch and dinner." He tapped his uniform, "The benefit of rank. Us old codgers have a little more leeway than you younger chaps. Now, tell me about your section."

  He knew most of my men and he was one of the few people, outside of the Brigade, with whom I could have an honest and realistic conversation.

  I waited outside Susan's building to see her home. Two military policemen asked for my papers. I was happy to show them. I had been behind the lines enough to appreciate security at home. When the shift ended and the girls came out I saw that two soldiers had been assigned to protect them. They saluted when they saw me. One of them said, "Well Jack, looks like we have an officer with us tonight."

  Susan ran up and kissed me. The other girls wolf whistled and cat called. "Ignore them Tom they are jealous. The Wild West decided that we should have an escort home after the late shift. Sorry." I remembered that the Wild West was the ferocious warrant officer who made their lives a misery.

  We followed the gaggle of girls and the two privates. "Just so long as I get the chance to see you then I don't care." I pulled her a little tighter to me. "Dad is here. He would like us all to go out. I am busy on Friday and then I will be back in camp on Sunday."

  "My only day off is Thursday and I am on this shift routine the rest of the time."

  "Then Thursday it is. I'll walk you home again tomorrow."

  Our farewell was as chaste as ever. It looked to be that way for the whole of the week. As I walked back, through St. James' Park, I berated myself. What did I expect? There was a war on. I booked a table for the three of us at the Whitehall Grill and spent my days enjoying the sights of London. Air raids had now been augmented by the terrifying V-1 Flying Bomb. Londoners called them Doodlebugs. There would rarely be a siren to warn you but a high pitched whine would suddenly stop as they crashed silently to earth. I experienced my first one on Wednesday as I walked through Hyde Park. Although it landed some way away I was amazed by the explosion. I asked Dad about them and he told me that they had almost two thousand pounds of explosives on board and were doing as much damage as squadrons of aeroplanes had done in the Blitz. It was another savage reminder that, despite what the newspapers said, the war was not over.