Beyond the Rhine Read online

  Fletcher shouted, “Hey up, sir. I got Headquarters! Good machine this!”

  I went over to him, “What did they say?”

  “It was a Judy sir, er a girl like, you know, a WAAF? She sounded dead posh.”

  “Just get on with it Fletcher.”

  “Right sir. Anyroad up she said as how nothing had changed. The target was still the factory and she wished us good luck.”

  I nodded, “That is a relief. Hopefully we can get in and out and do this job quickly.”

  Fletcher said, “Do we take the radio with us sir?”

  “No, Fletcher. We leave it here. You need to brief Bond. He is your replacement. If this goes wrong then he will be in touch with London and Sergeant Major Barker will be in command. We are all replaceable!”

  The normally ebullient Fletcher had had the wind taken from his sails. “Right sir. This is proper serious then, eh sir?”

  “Serious indeed.”

  A Warrant Officer appeared with twenty men, “Major Harsker?”

  I stood and saluted, “Yes Warrant Officer?”

  “Warrant Officer Peters, sir. We are here to fix the roof, sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  He shouted, “Right you lot, get on with it. These are proper soldiers!” His men raced off with tarpaulin and ropes, ladders, hammers and wood. The Warrant Officer came up to me, “Sorry about this mess, sir. I think the Squadron Leader mustn’t have known the state of the roof. He has been a busy man. We will get it sorted. You’ll be snug as a bug in a rug!”

  “Thank you Warrant Officer.”

  “Oh by the way sir, I served in Ramelah, just before the war. There was an officer there, Squadron Leader Hobson. He was with your dad in Somaliland in nineteen twenty or so. He spoke very highly of him.” He nodded to the medals on my tunic. “And I can see that you are a chip off the old block. We’ll watch out for you, sir. You are like family.”

  It was always the Warrant Officers and NCOs who were the heart of any unit whether army, navy or air force. Warrant Officer Peters had been loyal to his commanding officer. As I fastened up my Bergen I reflected that the service was, indeed, one big family. There were connections all over.

  Soon the far end of the hangar was a hive of activity. Flight Lieutenant Ryan came in with maps. He was smoking a cigarette and held a cup of tea in his hand, “There is a hole in the weather sir.”

  “I was told that tomorrow was going to be fine.”

  He shook his head, “No sir. Another storm front coming in. If we go in the next hour then the winds will be at their slowest. They pick up after that.”

  I glanced out of the hangar door, which was ajar. It was snowing. “We are good to go any time you like, Flight Lieutenant.”

  “It will be dusk in an hour. Jerry doesn’t have as many fighters as he used to but they can still make a mess of my bus.”

  “Right. We’ll be ready.” I turned and shouted, “Sergeant Major Barker get the men.”

  “Number One Section, front and centre.”

  As they gathered around me I said, “Those of you who are on the mission get your gear on the Dakota. We are off. Remember, especially you new chaps, nothing personal with you. Our identity disks are the only thing we take. No papers, no letters, no good luck charms, football pools or diaries. Nothing.” There were handshakes from those who were friends. I saw a couple of letters changing hands. It was not words it was smiles, nods and the grip of a comrade you might never see again. When they had gone I said, “Warrant Officer Peters seems like a good sort. You should be fine. Private Bond, I want you to raise London every day at about 1000 hours. Is your watch on London time?”

  “Yes sir, Lance Sergeant Fletcher told me.”

  “Good. There will be little to report but it is a good habit to get into.”

  “Sergeant Major, see if you can get a vehicle and find the front line.” I handed him the letter. “Show this to whichever senior officer you can find and warn him that we might be coming back hot. Don’t lose the letter.”

  “Sir. Have you any idea which road back you will be taking?”

  “I shook my head. It may well be the river. Sorry that it is so vague, Gordy, but you know how it is.”

  “Yes sir. Don’t worry. You can rely on me and since the Ardennes I think I know the Yank mind a little better.”

  “It may be French here, I am not certain which sector is controlled by which army. I think that the French have the sector closest to Strasbourg. That is where we will head at any rate. General Patton is the one in charge.”

  Gordy nodded, firmly, “Then I shall find him!”

  “Well I shall see you chaps in a few days then.”

  They saluted.

  I knew that Gordy would do his best. I donned my snow suit and put my beret on my head. Gordy helped me into my parachute. My German field cap was in my battle dress pocket. I stepped out into a scene from a Christmas card with snow gently falling. The light was fading in the west and we would be heading into the blackness of the east. We were going back to war.

  Chapter 3

  My team were all waiting for me. There was more room than before. They were seated on both sides. My older hands had automatically sat so that we were balanced. Flight Sergeant Harris closed the door after I had sat down and we were plunged into a red tinged world. He would be in charge now until we left the aeroplane. I nodded to Sergeant Hay, “Bill, you are tail end Charlie.”

  He knew what I meant by the nod. He would be following the new boys. If he had to he would give them a little push. There was a moment or two before the engines would start. “Remember, if we get separated then head for the village of Schlatt. From there we only have half a mile or so to go to get to the factory.”

  Lieutenant Poulson asked, “And the factory is hidden? Disguised, sir?”

  “From what the resistance told London they are using a bakery as a cover for it. There is a yard and a gate through which lorries enter and leave. The bakery still functions so there will be civilians there but there has to be an entrance to the underground factory. The smoke from the bakery disguises the smoke from the factory. It is a clever deception. The bakery staff will have nothing to do with the fin making factory. But you will need to disable them. This is the heart of Germany. The majority of the people you meet will be loyal Germans. These aren’t the Dutch and Belgians who will be sympathetic to us. They will shout for help.”

  Fletcher asked, “So we shoot civilians then sir?”

  I shook my head, “We are Commandos. We disable them! Job number one will be to secure the bakery workers then find vehicles to get out.”

  Just then the engines were fired up and any further conversation would be useless. My eyes were accustomed to the red light now and I took out the map that the others had copied. Unlike theirs, mine had all the details on. What I was worried about was Hohenzollern castle. It was just three miles away and intelligence suspected that the Germans were using it as a command centre for the surrounding countryside. It was atop a mountain and surrounded by a forest but there would be elite troops there. When the alarm was raised we would have to avoid the south.

  We did not seem to have been in the air very long when Flight Sergeant Harris came out from the cockpit. He pointed to the rail. I nodded and we all stood and started to hook up our static lines. As soon as we had we all checked the next man’s parachute and had our own checked. We had all packed our own parachutes. If anyone had a Roman Candle then it was their own fault. Once they were checked we shuffled down to the door with our guns attached to the bottom of the parachute bag. A few moments later Flight Sergeant Harris came down. He plugged his headphones into a socket next to the hatch and then opened it. The sudden rush of ice cold air and snow was like a slap in the face. He beckoned me forward and I stood with my hands braced on the two sides of the opening. Beneath me was blackness. British night time bombing raids meant that the Germans had a blackout as effective as the one we had in England. It was a black hole flecked wit
h driving snow below us. The snow was still falling and showed no sign of abating. It had come earlier than the forecasters had predicted. That would help a little. Anything which kept people indoors and us hidden was a friend.

  The Flight Sergeant was listening to the words of the pilot. I kept my eyes on him. I watched his eyes. I saw them flicker. I was already stepping out into nothing when he tapped my shoulder. The air took me towards the tailfin but I would not hit it. I looked down at my feet. I kept them tight together and waited for the jerk which would release my parachute. As soon as it did I looked up. We all did. You wanted to see that white shape blossoming above you. When it cracked open the downward acceleration slowed. I had had the pilot fly lower than he normally did. I was relying on the skill of my men. A lower drop meant that it was less likely that we would be spread out too far. I put my hands on the cords and began to turn. I saw a patch of clear white. That indicated a clearing. As I came down I saw to the west, the tiny hamlet of Schlatt. The light winds and the skill of the pilot meant that we would be landing just half a mile from our rendezvous point

  The ground seemed to race up towards me. I braced myself and, as I landed, let my bent knees absorb the impact. The snow helped and I was able to land standing. It was a perfect landing. My instructors at Ringway would have been proud of me. I released my parachute and unclipped my gun. I took my knife from my boot and quickly cut the parachute cords. They were always handy. Lieutenant Poulson and Lance Sergeant Beaumont landed almost at the same time as I did. With the precious cords stowed in my smock pocket I rolled the parachute and jammed it into the bag. I scrabbled a hole in the snow and buried it. It would be found but by the time it was we would, hopefully, be heading west.

  More shapes landed. I counted them. There were two missing. It was Scott and Hay. They were the last two out. We would not wait for them. Every man knew that if he became isolated then he was on his own. I checked that every chute had been buried and, with my MP 34 in my hands I waved my men forward.

  It helps, in the Commandos, to have a good sense of direction. I had marked the position of the hamlet as we had landed and I headed down through the trees. It soon became obvious that I was following some sort of trail. I could see where branches had been lopped off from the forest through which we passed. I also smelled smoke. We were heading for houses. It was early evening here in Germany. With luck everyone would be indoors, in the warm, enjoying the rationed food. They would all have little to eat and that would make the meal something of a highlight. Germany was struggling for food. Much of their potato production now went to make aeroplane fuel. I guessed that those living in the Swabian Jura would hunt and have slightly better fare than in the cities but the principle was still the same. The evening meal was when you would be indoors.

  The trees began to thin and I held up my hand. I did not look behind me. They would all stop and keep watch. I edged forward. I peered from behind the bole of a huge tree and saw the seven houses that made up Schlatt. There was a road running east to west. That would be the quickest and safest way into Hechingen. All that we had to do was cross the track and join the road on the far side of the hamlet. I waved Polly forward and I stepped out from the trees and made way across the darkened houses. The footprints in the snow from the daytime activities were already almost covered by the falling snow.

  I was half way across the clearing when I heard a door creak open. I dropped to my knees. A shaft of light showed a woman come out with a bag. She went around to the side of the house and deposited it, noisily, in a bin. I waited until the door closed and then I moved. As I was about to enter the woods on the other side there was a slight movement and a shadow. My MP 34 was up in an instant. A hand appeared and then a face. It was Bill Hay. He pointed to Scott. I saw that he had his left arm strapped to his body. We had an injury. I gestured for Hay and Scott to join us at the back.

  After thirty or so yards I dropped down to the road and, after scanning left and right to make sure it was empty, I stepped on to the road. It had been cleared for there was just a thin covering of snow. It would get worse for the snow was falling faster and, since we had landed, the wind speed had increased. The storm front Flight Lieutenant Ryan had spoken of was arriving a little earlier than expected. After we had run a mile I could see, in the distance, the shadow of buildings that was Hechingen. I held my hand up so that I could check for danger. I heard familiar noise in the distance. It was the sound of people. Hechingen was a town and activities were going on all the time. The town would not be empty. We would have to ghost in and rely on our white camouflage.

  I waved us forward. The aerial photographs had shown us that the bakery was slightly away from the centre on a higher piece of ground to the south west, on the road to the castle. As soon as we came to the first road on the left I took it. The houses to our right were dark but I could hear, as we passed the windows, the buzz of conversation from within. I knew that it would be nerve wracking for the new men. We were walking through a town in enemy country. I had used the white snow suits before. In the blizzard through which we trudged they made us almost invisible.

  It was the smell of baking bread which told us precisely where the bakery was. It would not be large. When I had spent holidays in our cottage in France I had often gone to the boulangerie. The tiny one in the village could still produce almost five hundred loaves a day. I guessed there would be no more than six bakers. They would not be the problem. It would be the soldiers guarding the underground factory who we would have to contain. We turned a corner and I saw the bakery. It stood alone. I saw that there had been buildings nearby. The R.A.F. must have destroyed them. I had not been able to tell that from the aerial photographs.

  I slung my MP 34 around my neck and, taking my Colt from my holster fitted the silencer and then cocked it. Davis already had the silencer fitted to the Mauser. Now was the time for us to split up. Polly led his section to the bakery proper and I raised my hand to take my saboteurs around to the rear of the building and the factory. I was aware that Lieutenant Poulson had a wounded man with me. I hoped that he and Fred would be experienced enough to compensate. Davis came ahead, with me, at the front.

  There was a high wall running around the building. When we reached the corner, I stopped and peered around. There was a sentry there. He was forty feet away. It was a risky shot with my Colt but Davis would be able to hit him with the Mauser. I pointed and made the kill sign. I levelled my pistol in the unlikely event that Davis missed. There was a pop and the sentry fell. To my horror there was a second sentry on the other side of him. As Davis worked the bolt I aimed at the German’s chest and fired. He fell back. We were on our feet in an instant and running to the two men. The widening pool of red in the white snow told us that they were dead. Fletcher and Hay quickly took the grenades and ammunition from the dead men.

  Davis and I peered through the gates. There were fresh tyre tracks and I saw, in the yard, a German truck. It was not a military one and the snow melting on its bonnet told me that it was still warm. We ran to shelter behind it. I saw the glow, on the far side, of a cigarette. There was a German sentry having a sly cigarette. It would be his last. I tapped Davis on the shoulder. He slipped under the truck as the rest of my men ran to us. The pop of his gun was followed by the sound of a body slumping to the ground.

  We ran around the truck and reached the door. Fletcher moved the body out of the way and I tried the handle. It was open. Before I could go in there was a flash of light from behind us. We all turned and levelled our guns. It was Emerson. He held up his hands. I nodded and pointed to the truck. We had our escape vehicle.

  I held the handle of the door with my left hand and my gun in the right. I turned the handle and pushed slowly. From the interior, I could hear the hum of machinery. There was a dim red light; it was a safelight. I opened the door more confidently. They had a light lock system. The red light would not alert night time bombers and there would be another door at the bottom which led to the factory. I waved Bi
ll Hay next to me. He also had a silenced Colt. Davis became tail end Charlie. I went down the concrete steps. This was not an old stair. The treads were made of concrete and looked new. It had been built for the factory.

  As I descended the hum of motors became more obvious. I hoped that it would mask any noise which we might make opening the door. I recalled that slave labour was being used in the factory and that meant German guards. I reached the door and put my hand on the handle. Bill Hay held his pistol in the two handed grip. He was ready to leap in ahead of me. I tried the handle and it turned. I pushed and the door opened a fraction. Light flooded from the crack and the noise from inside became louder; much louder. I pushed the door open and Bill leapt inside. I followed. There was a double pop and then the sound of a Mauser firing. It sounded ridiculously loud. Bill had gone right and I turned left. An S.S. Lieutenant was drawing his gun. I fired at his chest. He was five feet away and a .45 shell makes a huge hole at that range. Fletcher had followed us and his Colt, without the silencer, barked loudly.

  I saw some emaciated figures. They looked terrified. “Get down! We will not hurt you!” I guessed that they spoke German.

  A rifle cracked and a bullet gouged a lump of concrete from the wall. Peter Davis seemed to be aiming at me with his Mauser. There was a pop and, when I turned, I saw an S.S. soldier slumped on the ground.

  Beaumont closed the door and began to unpack his explosives and timers. I ran around the machines to look for more Germans. There were none left alive. The six of them had been shot in the short fire fight. “Anyone hurt?”

  There was a chorus of ‘No sir.” From my team.

  Leaving Hay, Fletcher and Beaumont to set the charges I said, “Search the bodies for any papers and the like.” Then I turned, “All the workers come here. I wish to speak with you.”

  There were thirty of them. I had not expected as many. We were lucky that none had been hit by flying bullets. It was testimony to the skill of my men that what we aimed at, we hit. I said, “Do you all speak German?”