Cast No Shadow: A Thrilling WW2 Adventure (Dragan Kelly Book 1)

by Peter Alderson Sharp

  He pointed out the lights to one of his scouts and signalled for him to inform Foley. The marine returned within a few minutes and gave Kelly the thumbs up. At the same time he could hear the faint sounds of movement coming from the main body of the force as they moved into position. With the best will in the world they could not manoeuvre in a birch wood without some sound. He just hoped there were no German patrols in the area.

  Kelly led his two comrades to the same side of the plant he had approached on his first visit. The plan was simplicity itself. He would again creep close to the fence and plant a charge. Just before first light he would detonate this in the hope of creating a diversion in an area away from the main gate. Foley would then attack the main gate with one troop, whilst five troop, under Dunn, would hit the opposite side to Kelly, blowing a hole in the fence with an explosive charge.

  Kelly turned his service Omega watch around so that the dial was away from the plant. Only then did he unclip the cover to read the time from the luminous face and hands. He quickly covered it again. Even the faintest light could be disastrous in this situation.

  Fifteen minutes to go.

  It would only take a few minutes to crawl to the wire, place the charge and return to detonate it. At the operational level it wouldn’t matter if he were discovered whilst laying the charge, as that would create sufficient diversion to enable the rest of the plan to be implemented. However, at the personal level Kelly felt he would much prefer not to be discovered.

  Ten minutes to go.

  Kelly was tense. At any time, they could be surprised by a roving patrol, jeopardising the whole plan, not to mention their own safety. He wanted desperately to get on with it, but he had to wait for the right moment.

  Five minutes to go.

  He needed to move now! Slowly he slithered out from cover, keeping as low to the ground as possible, hoping that his camouflage would fool the casual observer. No sudden movements. Slowly. Easily dragging the white sack of explosives with him. He was leaving a trail, of course, but in a few minutes that would be irrelevant. He reached the fence, now a double layer he noted. They had taken his last incursion seriously. He attached the bag to the fence with the shaped charge pointing inwards, set the detonator and started to edge backwards towards the wood.

  Kelly froze. A sentry appeared from behind one of the nearby buildings and sauntered slowly in the direction of the fence. He was clearly visible in the glare of the security lights, whilst Kelly was in darkness and wearing camouflage, nevertheless it was an anxious moment. Kelly cursed the sentry under his breath. Move damn you! Move, he prayed. He could give the signal for the marine holding the firing mechanism to ignite the charge, but he would be fried in the explosion. If he delayed however, it could threaten the whole operation.

  The sentry didn’t move, but he did turn his back. It was all Kelly needed. He leapt to his feet and sprinted towards the wood screaming, “Fire it! Fire it!”

  “Achtung!” The cry from the startled sentry was dramatically cut off by the crash and roar of the charge as it ignited. Kelly had intended to dive into cover as soon as he was near the wood. He didn’t need to, the force of the blast lifted him and hurled him into the forest sending him over the heads of his companions, crashing through branches before the trunk of an old birch painfully arrested his flight.

  Winded, he crawled to his feet and moved towards his team intending to give the order to fire, but not knowing his condition the corporal had taken charge and opened fire on his own initiative. The other marine had followed his lead.

  Kelly moved into position alongside them and witnessed the turmoil below. The charge had blown a sizable gap in the fence through both layers and the nearest log-built cabin was in flames. Germans were emerging from a number of buildings and making their way towards the incident, whilst officers and NCOs could be heard bellowing orders as they tried to regain some control.

  Adding to the general mayhem were Kelly and his team firing bursts into the scattering Germans.

  The two explosions that followed were almost but not quite simultaneous. The first came from the far side of the plant as Ashley Dunn’s troop made their move. The second came from the direction of the gate as a round from a three-inch rocket launcher crashed into the gate house, destroying it and its occupants, prior to the frontal assault by Tom Foley.

  The roar of “COMMANDO! COMMANDO!” could be clearly heard above the din as the main force started their two-pronged attack. It was a shock tactic Tom Foley had introduced from one of the army commando units, probably Lovat’s. It had made Kelly’s hair stand up on the back of his neck when he had heard it at the slip; he could imagine the effect it had on the German soldiers coming under attack.

  One of Kelly’s team made as if to get up, but Kelly waved him down.

  “Keep them occupied from here!” he called, the need for silence now passed. “While they are dealing with us, they can’t oppose Foley.”

  The Germans, under fire from Kelly’s team, must have calculated that they were not facing a large force and were starting to manoeuvre, clearly with a view to assaulting Kelly’s position. Kelly had pre-warned his team that in such an event they would crash out, but would provide harassing fire whenever they could to keep the pursuers occupied.

  As one group of Germans provided covering fire on the team’s position, a second group started to manoeuvre forward. Before Kelly could give the order to move, the advancing German squad were brought under heavy enfilade fire. Several fell and others scattered for cover. Kelly and his team now brought as much fire down on the German position as they could as Sergeant Taff Williams and a squad of marines skirmished towards the Germans.

  It was one sided from there. Those Germans that survived the initial section attack quickly made it clear that they had no further stomach for this fight.

  Kelly joined Williams and they made their way cautiously, prisoners in tow and under guard, towards the building from which Kelly had made his escape all those months before. The firing had ceased by the time they reached it. Tom Foley waited at the entrance with a demolition team.

  “Hello Dan. Situation is under control. Ashley is dealing with the prisoners—rather more than I had hoped I have to say—and Pete Jackson is organising defence. That leaves you and me to sort this place out. Sergeant Williams, would you and three of your stalwarts accompany us in case we have any last pockets of resistance inside?”

  Williams barked out a few cursory orders and was joined by three marines.

  “Excellent!” said Foley, “Lead on Dan!”

  Kelly smiled. Foley, he thought, was completely unflappable, just like Archie Jenkins. No wonder Jenkins liked him and trusted him. Two of a kind.

  Kelly led them to the chamber that contained the huge cylindrical water processors he had seen from the upstairs balcony. There were a number of scientists emerging from behind desks and control consoles where they had taken cover during the assault.

  Surprisingly, the German scientists made no attempt to interfere with the team. It was instead the Norwegian scientists who had been co-opted onto the project that were pleading with Foley not to damage the equipment and processes they had dedicated so much time and energy to.

  Foley waved them away. “You may be happy to live under the German jack boot,” he said, “but I am not! You will leave this building and surrender to the troops outside. You will obey this command now. Immediately! If you hesitate you will be shot!” He motioned to Williams, whose team as a man, raised their weapons and trained them on the bewildered staff.

  The unfortunate scientists knew that Foley was serious. They collided with each other in their rush to be first out. Within seconds the building was empty, and the demolition team set about placing their charges.

  “Give me a second, Tom,” said Kelly. “There is something I want to collect.”

  “You can have ten seconds, Dan, no more!” Foley called after him as he rushed to the staircase and took the stairs three at a time. Kelly rac
ed along the corridor until he found the office he had previously entered. With only a second’s hesitation he burst in, his Sten at the ready. The office was empty.

  “Unfinished business,” Kelly said to himself as he grabbed the reports and graphs from the wall. “If these turn out to be the statistics from the laundry, I’m going to be the laughing stock of every Royal Marine mess in the world.” He bundled them together and crammed them into his map pocket.

  As he started for the door, he noticed a filing cabinet pushed against the wall in the position the German officer had died, probably hiding a rather nasty stain thought Kelly grimly. He sprinted down the passage, leapt down the stairs and came to a stumbling halt alongside Foley.

  “This could be important,” he said tapping his map pocket.

  Foley smiled encouragingly. “Good!” he said. “But let’s go.”

  Kelly took a last look around as they left the room. There were demolition charges on every cylinder, on every control and instrument console and on every item that appeared even vaguely technical. This will be one hell of a firework display, he thought.

  Most of the force were now embarked in vehicles commandeered from the MT compound, engines running, ready to go. The scientists had been shepherded to the shelter of a wooden building. Kelly indicated them. “What about them?”

  “Once that building has gone up, they will be redundant!” Foley replied.

  “And the prisoners?” Kelly asked.

  “In two of their own trucks, with their own drivers and no guards, wedged between our vehicles.” Foley grinned, his eyes alight with mischief.

  “But Tom,” said Kelly, “there are numerous turn-offs along that road. They will be able to disappear into the forest.”

  “Yes, let’s hope so,” said Foley. “Frankly, Dan, I haven’t the manpower or the inclination to bother with them. If they make good their escape into the woods it will please me greatly. They will be out of our hair and will certainly make their way to Kirkenes and not into Grense.”

  He looked into Kelly’s eyes. “Talking of which, I omitted to inform anyone that intelligence tell us there is a very substantial garrison in Kirkenes, twenty-five miles away. Whilst we stopped communication between Grense and this plant, we had no control over communication between the plant and Kirkenes. My bet is that the garrison was informed as soon as the assault started.”

  “Like you said earlier, Tom,” Kelly nodded, “let’s go!”

  They climbed into the last vehicle. The only person now remaining was a solitary marine holding a black demolition firing box. He was looking up at Tom Foley, his finger poised over the red button.

  Foley nodded. The finger descended and the earth shook. Smoke and flames roared out of the main building as it was consumed in an orange inferno. The marine dropped the box and climbed onto the last vehicle. Someone at the front of the vehicle hammered on the roof of the driver’s cab. Lights flashed. A horn sounded. The convoy moved out.

  By the time the convoy reached Grense, the two vehicles containing Germans had made their escape; no real attempt was made to stop them. The vehicles ground to a halt at the quayside and troops started to disembark and head for the rigid raiders. Makeshift stretchers had been improvised by Gareth Owen’s team and were being used to carry the wounded to the assault boats, now all together at the quay. The whole scene was one of busy calmness.

  It was now morning and people had started to emerge from houses, cautiously at first but with more confidence as time went on. Kelly approached one man to ask, “Amundsen, Doctor Otto Amundsen, where is he?”

  The man understood and nodded, pointing down a side street, attempting to explain in very poor English. Kelly grasped enough to confirm he was on the left near the end. He sped off down the street in search of the surgery.

  Kelly found the right door, the brass plaque announcing to the world that this was the surgery of Dr Otto Amundsen. He turned the handle and opened the door onto a flight of stairs. At the top was a door on the right. Kelly tapped. A voice immediately called out, “Come in Dragan! I’ve been expecting you.”

  Kelly walked into a room taken directly from a Dickens novel. The floors were wooden and badly stained, and the walls were panelled, almost certainly in pine, but that wood had also discoloured and taken on the look of old oak. The ceiling was whitewashed, with smoke stains over the fireplace and over a workbench set in one corner. The bench was cluttered with miscellaneous pieces of scientific apparatus, vials, burners and test tubes.

  Dotted around the walls were various charts and posters, some torn and in poor condition. In the centre of the room was a huge oak desk covered on the top with green leather but showing much wear. In front of the desk was a solitary wooden chair, presumably for the patient, whilst behind the desk, in stark contrast, was a padded leather swivel chair. Sitting in the chair, smoking an old pipe, sat Otto Amundsen.

  Amundsen motioned to the empty chair in front of the desk. “Sit down Dan.”

  “I’ll stand. I have no time—” He didn’t finish.

  “Sit down Dan!” Amundsen repeated. Kelly sat. There was something in Amundsen’s voice.

  Before Kelly could ask a question, Amundsen removed the pipe from his mouth and spoke quietly, his tone level and without feeling.

  “Gunnar Thorstaadt is dead. Hans Knudsen is dead. Thomas Borg is dead. All executed by the Gestapo.”

  Kelly was thunderstruck. He started to say something, but his chest was constricted. He cleared his throat, but then hesitated, afraid to ask the question. After a moment he spoke, his voice strained. “And Sybilla?”

  Amundsen paused before answering, puffing on his pipe. “Escaped,” he said, “with Hauptman Meyer.”

  “What!” exclaimed Kelly. “She must have been abducted!”

  Amundsen lowered his voice even further. The eyes that looked at Kelly were full of sympathy and compassion.

  “Perhaps Dan, but I don’t think so.”

  “Where have they gone?” asked Kelly. He knew it was a hopeless question even as he asked it. Amundsen shook his head.

  “No one knows. Best guess is Sweden. Meyer wouldn’t dare chance Russia. Needless to say, the Gestapo are keen to interview the two of them.”

  “But how?” asked Kelly, still incredulous. “The radio?”

  “They were betrayed,” said Amundsen. “Most people assume by Sybilla. That would explain her disappearance. What it doesn’t explain is the disappearance of Jürgen Meyer. He could have made capital out of this if Sybilla was the informant. It would have fully justified his collaboration with her. There would have been no need for him to disappear.”

  Kelly’s mind was racing. “Inga?” he asked.

  “Gone,” said Amundsen. “The resistance in Bjornstad have ‘relocated’ her. She wasn’t implicated in any way, but I imagine they felt that was the safest option. She’s probably in Bergen or Oslo by now, living under a new name.”

  Kelly thought for a moment, then asked, “What about Erik Jorgsen? Was he also executed?”

  “No,” said Amundsen slowly. “Odd that, isn’t it?”

  “Damn odd!” said Kelly with heartfelt bitterness. “Where is he?”

  Amundsen sat for a moment in silence as if deciding. Then without a word he reached for his pad and jotted down an address, adding a simple sketch map. He handed it to Kelly. “He’s keeping a low profile at the moment, but you’ll find him there.”

  Kelly took the slip of paper, rose, and turned on his heel. At the door he half turned and looked over his shoulder. “Thank you, Otto,” he said. The Norwegian nodded, looked down and started shuffling papers.

  The house was only a block away. It was detached, fairly modern and well maintained, speaking of affluence. Kelly approached via the back of the house, keeping low and out of sight. He spotted a figure out in his garden sawing logs. He was a little taller than Kelly, but slimmer. Kelly remembered the clothes he had received from Erik on his previous visit. This man would certainly fit those cloth
es.

  Kelly broke cover and walked towards him, his Sten at the ready.

  “Erik Jorgsen!” Kelly said and waited for the effect.

  The man, clearly startled, raised his arms and backed away. “Yes,” he stammered, “what do you want?”

  It was the confirmation that Kelly had wanted. “Inside!” He motioned towards the door, ushering Jorgsen into the living room.

  “What do you want?” Jorgsen repeated as Kelly faced him square on. There was a coldness in Kelly’s eyes that froze the man’s soul. Before Kelly could ask his own questions, Jorgsen broke down and started babbling almost incoherently.

  “I had to,” he was saying, “they made me. They said I would be tortured if I didn’t tell them.”

  Kelly broke in. “Where is Sybilla?” he snarled.

  “I don’t know. I really don’t know. Inga knows. You need to ask Inga. Find Inga. She will tell you. She knows. You need to find Inga. I can help you. I still have contacts.” And then he was babbling again, tears running down his face and mucous fluid dripping from his nose. Erik Jorgsen was clearly terrified.

  Kelly turned and made his way to the door, unsure of what to do next.

  A slight sound from behind caused Kelly to wheel quickly, bringing his Sten up as he did. Jorgsen was moving up on him, a knife held high ready to strike. Kelly’s response was instantaneous and instinctive. He sent a burst into the chest of the advancing man.

  Jorgsen was flung backwards, the knife spinning out of his hand as he crashed onto the floor, blood oozing out from under him. Kelly kicked the knife away and leaned over him. He was trying to speak. Calmness seemed to have descended as though he was accepting death. His voice as he spoke was a throaty rattle. Kelly leaned closer to pick up the words.

  “Tell them I’m sorry. They made me do it.” He paused taking shallow wheezing breaths. “You need to search for Inga. She knows.”

  They were his final words.

  Kelly peddled furiously towards the quay. The cycle he had ‘acquired’ from a nearby dwelling was an old rattler, but it would suffice. It was downhill all the way and he was able to gather speed. Despite being nearly unseated several times due to the potholes in the road, he arrived at the quay in one piece to see Tom Foley pacing up and down.