A marine lieutenant spoke behind his hand to a sergeant, looking slightly puzzled, in a whisper loud enough for everyone to hear, “Sergeant Arnold, I have no idea if this dragon breathes fire or not.”
The young sergeant coloured, and muttered “I never said that Sir.”
“Of course you didn’t, Sergeant Arnold,” said Foley, joining in the ripple of laughter.
There’s a good spirit here, thought Kelly. He knew that as a fact, acquainted as he was with some of these men. These were marines from 40 Commando, men he had fought alongside at Dieppe.
“Unusually,” said Foley, “I will also have a third-in-command on this show as Lieutenant Kelly will be detached for part of the operation and will be working with his comrades in SBS making sure we have a nice safe landing.”
The respect generated from the assembled marines was almost audible. Despite their desire to remain anonymous, the exploits of this elite group had become legend and, as an offshoot organisation of the Royal Marines, the rest of the corps had become fiercely proud of them.
Kelly himself was slightly disturbed by the respect. He felt he hadn’t earned it. In the three months since he had graduated from his training course, he had been stationed in the SBS base and had not taken part in any of the ‘tasks’ given to the section. He was effectively untried.
Foley was introducing Marine Captain Gareth Owen, Troop Commander of Two Troop, as his third-in-command. Kelly of course knew Gareth well by now, and they exchanged brief smiles.
“The rest of the appointments are as normal within the respective troops, namely one troop, Captain Pete Jackson as in-command and Sergeant Taff Williams second-in-command. Three troop, Lieutenant Jack Nash in-command, Colour Sergeant Bill Taylor second-in-command. Five troop, Captain Ashley Dunn in-command, Sergeant Tom Arnold as second-in-command. Any questions so far?”
A murmur, accompanied by shaking heads.
“Good! Let’s get on with the orders”
Pencils hovered over notebooks.
“Ground!” Foley emphasised the word, as he did with each key heading of his briefing. “We will be operating in the very north of Norway in the area of Grense.” As rehearsed, Kelly dropped down a map of the general area and pointed to Grense. As Foley continued his description of the ground, Kelly pointed out the salient features.
“Note this bay here,” continued Foley, “as we will be anchoring there prior to the assault. It’s called Volokovaya Bay. Now the land. This village is Grense. More later. This pass leads up to a chemical plant. Take note of that; it is one of our objectives. This line is the Russian border. Any questions so far?”
There were none.
“Now let’s look more closely at Grense.” Kelly dropped down a detailed map of the village. “This information comes directly from the Norwegian Resistance. This slipway is in the northwest and is a good approach; in the northeast we have the fishing quay. The Bosch have their HQ in this building here, previously a crèche. God knows what the kids do now. This is a factory. There is a detachment of Germans in there, approximately ten at any one time. The rest will normally be in the crèche or loitering in the village. Total detachment strength is one troop of about twenty-five men led by a Hauptman Jürgen Meyer.”
“Christ! Are we on first name terms with them now?” interposed ‘Colours’ Taylor.
Foley laughed along with the rest. “You can’t beat first-hand intelligence, eh Dan?” Kelly smiled and nodded. The others looked at him quizzically, but he said nothing.
“Onward!” said Foley. “Situation! This chemical plant here,” Kelly pointed, “is producing something we don’t like. This factory is making components for this plant. We don’t like that either.”
Nods.
“Mission! To impair the operational capacity of the factory and to destroy the apparatus in the production department of the plant.”
Foley repeated the mission, speaking slowly and clearly.
“Any questions?” he asked.
“Why does the RAF not just blast it out of existence?” asked Sergeant Arnold.
“It’s a good question,” answered Foley. “There are a number of issues.” He numerated them using his fingers. “One: difficult to find, quite well camouflaged. Two: lots of civilians, and the Government is at pains not to upset the Norwegians; we need their support now and after the war. Three: we need to be sure that the production end of this plant is totally destroyed; there can’t be any half measures. Four: the distance from Blighty is a problem for the Lancasters; they’d be struggling. Of course, we could possibly go in from Russia, but then icing becomes an issue.”
“Talking of the Ruskies,” said Colours Taylor, “don’t they want a slice of this?”
“Absolutely not!” said Foley. “They are very weak in that area, rather preoccupied elsewhere as you are aware. Any activity by the Russians in that area could bring the Hun hordes bearing down and expose their weakness.”
“That apart,” Foley added hesitantly, “we don’t actually want them to know what the Germans are producing.”
“What are they producing?” asked Pete Jackson.
“If I told you it was water, would you believe me?” asked Foley.
“Of course not!” Jackson answered.
“Fine,” responded Foley smiling. “Let’s just leave it at that. Trust me, we don’t want the Germans to have the substance they are producing there.”
Foley then went on to describe the execution of the raid, first in outline, then in detail. In essence, his plan was that they would go out in an Archangel convoy in a merchant ship carrying raiding boats. They would anchor up in Russian waters where they would rendezvous with a submarine, which would take Kelly and his SBS team back to the waters off Grense. The team would disembark and reconnoitre the possible approaches. The SBS team would then return to the main convoy, make their report and prepare for the assault.
The merchantman would then make its way, under cover of darkness and completely alone, into the Grense waters. After his previous experience, Kelly felt this part of the plan was very risky, but he accepted the logic. A single merchantman would be less likely to be detected on its own than if it was surrounded by a fleet of warships.
The SBS team would go in first to disable the telephone exchange. Their intelligence contacts had assured the WD that this was the only means of communication between Grense and the plant. Radios were useless because of the terrain. Therefore, the element of surprise could be maintained.
Three troop, plus seven of the eight SBS team under Owen, Nash and Taylor, would secure Grense, whilst one and five troops under Foley and Kelly would head for the plant.
There were a number of questions about detail when the briefing was concluded, after which Foley dismissed the team with a shake of Gareth Owen’s hand.
“Well, what do you think, Dan? Is it do-able?” asked Owen.
“Eminently,” answered Kelly. “We will need a bit of luck on our side, but after Dieppe we probably deserve that. What about you Tom? What are your feelings on this?”
“I have total confidence in the team they have assembled for this raid, but it’s the unknowns that bother me. The weather when we get there. The disposition of the Germans between Grense and the plant. They are reported to be at about company strength with one troop in Grense and two at the plant. If that is the case then, with the element of surprise, we should succeed. However, if the Germans get wind of the raid, or if somehow, they can get a message to the plant from Grense when that show begins, we could be up against it.”
Tom Foley pondered for a moment and spoke again, “As you know Dan, without the element of surprise we wouldn’t normally mount an attack against a company with anything less than a full commando unit.” He paused, then shrugged. “Anyway, all of this will soon be academic; we crash out in two weeks’ time.”
Norway Again
The journey out from Devonport had been on a merchantman, as part of an Archangel bound convey. Thankfully it had been
uneventful. As always on this run, as Kelly knew well, the tension was almost tangible, but there had been no incidents. The marines had of necessity remained below deck for most of the journey, trying to keep fit and amuse themselves as best they could.
As they had rounded the north of Norway, Kelly had spent some time on the bridge. He’d asked the officer manning the bridge at the time to let him know when they were passing Grense. As they’d turned in starboard to enter Volokovaya Bay, the bridge officer had called, “Grense will be off the starboard bow when we turn to port.”
Kelly had strained to see as the convoy manoeuvred themselves, ready to enter the bay. There were a number of merchantmen and warships between his own ship and the shore, but through the gaps he’d been able to make out the lights of Grense, twinkling in the frost. He’d searched for the first light on the right of the village, the northwest. That would be Sybilla and Gunnar. Would he see Sybilla? He had to!
That had been the night before.
The convoy had anchored in Volokovaya Bay, in Russian waters, and the SBS team had transferred to the submarine for the short journey back to Grense.
Now the moment had come for phase one of the raid. The submarine was within about five hundred yards of the shore, dangerously close, but to minimise the chance of discovery they had decided to swim the shorter distance rather than paddle kayaks from further out.
Kelly and his team climbed out of the submarine hatch and onto the deck, slippery with water and oil.
Sitting on the deck, they adjusted their fins and breathing apparatus, checking each other’s equipment. On Kelly’s signal they slid quietly into the water and swam on the surface for about two hundred yards, keeping their fins submerged to avoid splash. Kelly signalled again and they submerged and swam a further two hundred yards until they reached the reef that had previously saved Kelly’s life.
They surfaced slowly, showing only their heads above the water. Kelly lifted his arm out of the water and indicated that he wanted the teams to disperse. They split into teams of three, and then each team submerged in turn and made for their pre-arranged objective. Delta team, led by Kelly, was the last to go. He and his other two team members, Corporal Allen and Marine Smith, headed for the north west of the town.
They were only submerged for a few minutes when Kelly felt the bottom. Remaining submerged, he stopped and waited for about thirty seconds, then slowly raised his head out of the water. One head was already up, mask off, surveying the shore. After a few seconds the third appeared. Kelly took off his own mask and motioned Smith to do the same. They stayed in position until Kelly felt as certain as he could be that they were not being observed.
Kelly tapped Allen’s shoulder and the corporal immediately, but slowly, moved forward to take up a position at the bottom of the very slip Kelly had climbed onto during his previous ‘visit’.
How long ago was that? It seemed a lifetime.
Allen had removed his fins and was removing his Sten from his waterproof pack. He peered around the slip until he was satisfied before signalling to the others to join him.
Kelly moved to the left-hand side of the slip with Allen, while Smith took up a position on the right-hand side. Kelly waited until he and Smith had removed their fins and armed themselves, then the three crept slowly up the slip, keeping as close as possible to the walls. They reached the cottage of the Thorstaadts and melted into the shadows of the side wall. Kelly’s heart skipped a beat as he touched the wall. So close.
There were no lights on in the building and no sounds from within. Kelly pictured them, asleep in their separate beds. He forced his mind back into focus and, lying full length, peered around the side of the building to observe the crèche, some five hundred yards away. Lights were on, but it was too dark to make out any detail.
There were three houses on the road up to the crèche, but otherwise the ground was fairly open. He felt confident that his team could reach it without being discovered, but not tonight. Being spotted tonight could jeopardise the whole assault.
They moved back down the slip, stowed away their weapons, retrieved their fins and re-entered the water. Kelly swam around the shore to the left of the slip looking for other landing areas, whilst Allen and Smith went off in the opposite direction. When he reached the end of his search area he had found nothing. He returned to the slip to find Allen and Smith waiting. Allen shook his head, indicating that their search had also been fruitless.
Kelly submerged and swam to the reef, knowing the other two would follow. When he reached it, he turned to face the shore and raised his head out of the water to check that there was still no activity.
Silence and stillness.
The other two joined him and took up positions giving all round observation. None of the other groups had returned by that stage, but now, at intervals, they did so. No words were spoken, but as each leader returned, they gave a thumbs up to indicate that their task had been completed successfully.
All of Kelly’s team had now returned and were resting against the reef, waiting. Kelly strained his eyes as he peered into the dark in the direction he knew the sub to be. Ten or fifteen minutes passed, then the faintest of light for the briefest of periods. It was the signal he was waiting for. He made a hand signal to those nearest and waited to check that it was passed on to everyone, then he kicked out, quietly and slowly, in the direction he had seen the light signal, using a star as a marker. The distance was not sufficient to worry about the relative motion of the stars. After a while he sensed rather than saw a bulky shadow against the horizon and altered direction slightly towards it. Soon he could see the outline of the conning tower against the stars.
A rope ladder had been let down from the hatch and Kelly and his marines removed their fins and climbed into the relative safety of the submarine. Only when the sub was battened down, submerged and underway, did they allow themselves to relax, shaking hands and patting each other’s shoulders, but still speaking in whispers. It was a release of tension known to all combatants who have successfully returned from a dangerous mission.
Kelly felt a huge sense of relief and achievement. He had successfully completed his first real mission as an SBS leader, had gathered the information needed for the raid, remained unobserved and hence maintained the element of surprise. Most importantly he had returned with all his men. It was a good night’s work.
Once in open water away from the shore, he debriefed each of the three-man sections in turn, writing down their verbal reports. What they had observed, what landing sites were available, what the approach was like, what would be the field of fire from the opposition; anything that might conceivably help Tom Foley plan the details of the next phase of the operation.
By the time they reached the convoy, Kelly had his report ready.
“Thanks for that, Dan. Right, you’ve heard what Lieutenant Kelly and his SBS team found at the objective and clearly this has a bearing on how we go in.”
Kelly had just completed his briefing to the assembled officers and senior NCOs of the Commando Force. He had briefed Tom on the previous night to give him time to prepare for this ‘O’ group. Tom had suggested that everyone heard his briefing; they needed to know from the horse’s mouth so to speak. “Any questions to Lieutenant Kelly on the ground briefing?” Tom Foley continued.
There was silence for a while before ‘Colours’ Taylor piped up, “Did you bump into Jürgen this time, sir?”
“Not this time,” replied Kelly without thinking. There was chorus of “Aha!” and “I see!” accompanied by tapping of noses and winks.
“We figured you had been here before, Dan,” said Captain Ashley Dunn. “Care to share your previous experiences?”
“Perhaps another time,” said Kelly smiling. No one pressed him.
“Right then,” said Foley, “let’s see how this affects us. Originally, I had intended to go with two waves, each with six rigid raiders. However, because of the limited landing places we will opt for three waves of four r
aiders, each raider manned by ten marines. Not ideal, but the best we can do.”
Kelly, acting as map man again, rolled down the detailed map of the Grense area. He pointed out the key elements in turn as Foley referred to them.
“The landings will take place as follows; one raider in at the slip, two on the quay and one in the north east. We won’t be able to get the rigid raider right in on that last one, so some of your marines will get wet feet. That will be repeated twice more for the other two waves.
“Dan and his friends will be going in first to sort out the telephone exchange and the crèche building. We dare not warn the Norwegians who work in the telephone exchange so there will be some local casualties.”
He looked around at the gathered faces. “Final details of deployment tonight before we go in.”
The day seemed to last forever. They had some protection within the stationary convoy, lying as they were in Russian waters, but were still too close to the Norwegian border to relax. The rest of the seamen had to be on tenterhooks too, raring to get to the relative safety of Archangel.
Just before last light, their merchantman weighed anchor and moved slowly away from the convoy. They arrived off the coast of Grense in the early hours. Kelly and his SBS team had transferred to the submarine for the journey and had arrived ahead of the merchantman, again close into shore to avoid the use of kayaks. They waited for the designated hour and slipped quietly into the sea in a repeat of their reconnaissance approach.
Kelly had delegated the telephone exchange to the three members of Alpha team, whilst Bravo team would lie off the factory to cut off any Germans fleeing from that area. Kelly, with the remaining five members of Charlie and Delta teams, had the crèche as their objective. The signal for everything to start would be the explosion at the telephone exchange. At that stage, Foley’s men would have rowed from the merchantman to within about a quarter of a mile of shore. On hearing the first explosion they were to row frantically for the shore.
Cast No Shadow Page 14
