The decision to abandon the Philippeville landing was to prove an error of the first magnitude, as it resulted in the Germans being able to get strong forces into Tunisia before the Allies could do so, and a most costly campaign of many months' duration before the enemy were finally thrown out. But the matter which was causing such anxiety at the moment was the Casablanca landing. Being on the Atlantic coast the seas on its beaches were much rougher. On average there was only one really calm day per month, and on four out of every five the giant rollers were so high that they would make it impossible for the assault craft of the separate expedition, which was on its way over direct from the United States, to be beached without being battered to pieces.
Down in the Fortress Basement there was now nothing that anyone could do but await results, and there were still five days to go. The strain was almost unbearable, and like his colleagues Gregory could not help being affected by it; so he was glad when his tour of duty was up and he could concentrate solely on his own intensely harrowing problems.
That night he again reached the Tower at nine thirty, secured the countersign from the Governor's Office, stood the two wardresses a glass of port, and went in to see Sabine. She had frequently begged him to tell her how he was progressing with his plans for her escape, but he had refused to do so from fear that as the time drew near she might arouse the suspicions of the wardresses by showing signs of excitement. He therefore followed what had become his established routine of questioning her about leading Nazi personalities.
At ten to twelve Mrs. Wright unlocked the door to tell him that his time was up. As on the previous night he said impatiently that he must have a few more minutes. At five to twelve she came in again; so muttering angrily he began to get his papers together, but he appeared to have difficulty with the lock of his attaché case and it was close on midnight when he hurried out.
He ran the last hundred yards to the wicket entrance but, as he had planned, by the time he reached it the gate was closed. He saw the officer of the guard, but the regulations were positive. No exception could be made for him and he must remain within the precincts of the Tower for the night.
Retracing his steps to St. Thomas's Tower he rang the front door bell and with a crestfallen expression explained to Mrs. Wright what had happened. Then he put a brighter face on the matter and said philosophically:
'Anyhow, it will enable me to resume my interrogation for a while; and I can sleep on the sofa in the room that the prisoner occupies in the daytime.'
Sabine had been taken up to her bedroom, but she had not yet undressed and was brought down again. For about three quarters of an hour he put further questions to her, then he rang for Mrs. Wright. After Sabine had been taken away, the yawning wardress helped him to make up a shakedown with cushions, newspapers, a rug and his greatcoat on top of them; but when she had left him he got up.
Going to one of the mullion windows that had not been boarded over, he drew aside a corner of the curtain and peered out through its small diamond panes, hoping to find out how frequently the sentries left their boxes to walk their beats. The blackout, which so often in the war had proved his best friend, would, he knew, once again do so in his attempt to get Sabine away; but now it defeated him. Not a glimmer of light broke the sombre pattern of black outside, and gusty rain further reduced visibility. With difficulty he made out the line of the embankment, but he could only guess at the positions of the cannon along it, and nearer in there seemed little chance of picking up from above a moving figure against the dense blackness of the foreground.
After straining his eyes for twenty minutes he gave it up, and praying that he would be favoured the following night with similar conditions, made the best he could of his far from comfortable couch.
In the morning, knowing that the Tower gates were opened at six o'clock he rose early, and by seven was back at Gloucester Road. This was November the 4th, his D-Day, and he had much to do on it; so he had arranged to take it as his weekly clear twenty-four hours off from the War Room.
Having bathed and had his breakfast in a dressing gown, he rang up several boat yards along the Thames above London, enquiring if they had a motor launch for hire. At this time of the year most boats were laid up for the winter, but his fourth call was to a firm at Kew, which had one available and said that it could be ready for him by midday. Then he snatched the best part of two hours in bed.
On getting up he dressed in civilian clothes, hunted out a fishing rod that he had not used for years, threw a few things into an old suitcase, then, taking Rudd with him, took a taxi down to Kew. The manager of the yard expressed surprise that anyone should want to hire a launch for a week in November; but Gregory told him, with some truth, that he was a chair borne airman whose lot it was to work month in, month out, in a stuffy basement; so even if it rained cats and dogs it would not spoil for him the joy of a week's fishing.
The man warned him that the daily allocation of petrol he was allowed to give under rationing was small, so it would not take him very far; but Gregory took delivery there and then of his seven days' quota, which was ample for his purpose. Having paid the deposit they went aboard; Rudd, who had been brought only to jump ashore with the painter when the time came to tie up, was in the bow and Gregory at the wheel.
During the run down river he put the launch through her paces to make sure that her engine was not likely to break down, and soon after two o'clock they tied up at the landing stage fifty yards below the County Hall. By this short expedition Gregory had not compromised his faithful henchman, and he had no intention of doing so. He now told him to walk through to Waterloo Station and take the Underground home, then he himself walked the short distance to the south end of Westminster Bridge, where he took up a position near the blitzed entrance to St. Thomas's Hospital.
He had not long to wait before Kasdar arrived in a taxi. When the Moldavian had paid off the cab he gave Gregory a sullen stare and asked, 'Did you know about the diplomatic bags?'
'What about them?' Gregory replied innocently.
'Why, that they had been stopped. We were notified of it only this morning. The Foreign Office informed us with regret that His Majesty's Government had instructed the G.P.O. to hold all bags delivered after midnight on Tuesday, and that none will be forwarded until further notice. Never before has such a step been taken. It is an outrage against International convention.'
'Really!' Gregory raised his eyebrows. 'I've no contact with the Foreign Office, and it is news to me.'
'But do you realize what this means? My message giving the date of D-Day and the Order of Battle are held up. They will not now be passed on to Berlin until after the expedition has reached its destination. I thought perhaps…'
'What! That I had double-crossed you. Don't be a fool; I have too much at stake.' As Gregory spoke he was feeling immense relief. He considered the Foreign Office to be reprehensibly soft in its treatment of neutrals and had feared that grounds might be put forward for postponing the measure at the last moment. Now he knew that his fears had been groundless and his timing all right; so he was over that hurdle.
With a shrug of his broad shoulders, the Colonel said more affably, 'Fortunately all is not yet lost. If you succeed in rescuing Sabine, she will act as our courier.'
Gregory heard the suggestion with grim satisfaction. That was just what he had been planning for all along. He need now no longer fear that, when Kasdar had got all the information he could out of him, he would double-cross him and fail to keep his side of the bargain. For his own ends now, he had to get Sabine out of the country. But in her case too there was this nightmare problem of exact timing.
'The objective?' Kasdar shot at him suddenly. 'I take it you have now found out about that?'
'Yes, and I will give it you within the next quarter of an hour. This is no place to talk about it. Come along with me.'
Crossing the road they walked almost in silence through York Street and down to the landing stage where the launch was t
ied up. Going aboard they entered her tiny cabin, then Gregory produced a piece of paper from his pocket. On it was a rough sketch map of the western half of the Mediterranean with arrows to indicate landing places. Handing it over, he said, 'There you are.'
After one glance the Moldavian exclaimed, 'Then it is not Dakar! That is surprising. We have had it from several sources that it was.'
'I thought so too,' Gregory agreed. 'But you will remember I warned you that it was only an idea of mine; and I was wrong. Now I've done my part it is up to you to do yours. Let's go ashore and send that telegram.'
Kasdar raised no objection so they walked the short distance to Waterloo Station and from the Post Office there despatched the agreed message to the tugboat Captain at Burnham. As they walked back to the landing stage, the Moldavian said in a low voice:
'It is just as well that this embargo on the diplomatic bags was not put on earlier. I was, anyhow, able to get through to the other side news of our intentions, and receive back the special recognition marks for our tug to display as soon as she is clear of British controlled waters. Otherwise she might have had the ill luck to be sunk by the Luftwaffe or a German E-boat.'
When they were back' in the launch Kasdar untied the painter and Gregory nosed her out. A quarter of an hour later, moving at a slow speed, they came opposite the Tower of London. Then Gregory said:
'You see the big block nearly in the centre of the Outer Wall. That is St. Thomas's Tower and Sabine is in it. However dark it is tonight you will still be able to identify it because the two turrets at its extremities will stand out against the skyline. I want you to bring this launch in under the embankment as nearly as possible halfway between the two turrets at a quarter to eleven. If Sabine and I are not on the embankment ready to come off at once, take the launch to the other side of the river' and tie up there; then come over again at a quarter to twelve. If we are not there repeat the process at a quarter to one and at a quarter to two. If we have still not appeared, you will know then that I have failed, and the job is off. Is that clear?'
'Perfectly. But what of the tide?'
'I have checked that. At low there are a few yards of imported sand beach on which children play in the day time. At high you would be able to get her right up to the river wall. Tonight will be fairly favourable. You should be able to get right in at ten forty-five, but it will already be on the ebb. Later we would have to drop in the shallows and wade out to you. In case we have to do that there is a suitcase in the cabin with dry slacks, socks and shoes in it for Sabine and myself.'
'You intend, then, to come too?'
Gregory shrugged. 'What the hell else can I do? There will be no disguising the fact that it was I who arranged her escape. I have got to disappear. If I remained in this country the police would get me within a week: And the charge would be treason.
No! I'll have burnt my boats; so the only thing I can do is go over lock, stock and barrel to the Nazis.'
'Don't look so despondent about it.' Kasdar clapped him on the shoulder. 'Personally, I envy you your luck in getting out of this benighted country. And, after all, there is the little Sabine. She will owe you much. Perhaps she will console you in your exile instead of going back to Ribbentrop.'
'I will confess,' Gregory admitted with a half smile, 'that possibility had not altogether escaped me.'
Meanwhile the launch had passed under Tower Bridge. For another two miles Gregory kept her headed downstream, then he brought her in close to the north bank, and said, 'I thought we might find a suitable place to land somewhere along here on the Poplar waterfront.'
Between the entrance to the Limehouse Cut Canal’ and the West India Docks there were stairs every hundred yards or so. Tying the launch up at one of them, they went ashore. At the near end of a street called Ropemaker's Fields they found a suitable place to park a car. So it was decided that early that evening Kasdar should drive down there with his chauffeur. Then, having made certain that the man knew how to find the spot again, the chauffeur should bring the car down himself to arrive a little before eleven o'clock and wait there with it, if need be until a quarter past two.
This settled, they returned to the launch, and headed back up river. On the return journey Gregory made his companion take the wheel and controls, so that he should get some practice in handling her. After tying up again at the stairs below County Hall, they ran over their plan again to make certain that they fully understood one another; then they clambered ashore, walked to the nearest street corner, shook hands and separated, Gregory making for the Waterloo Underground. Soon after five he was back at Gloucester Road, and a quarter of an hour later in bed sound asleep.
Rudd roused him at half past seven, and reported that soon after six the 'foreign gentleman' had rung up and left a message. It was that 'the sailor had telephoned to acknowledge receipt of the telegram'. This news heartened Gregory considerably, and he felt that he was lucky in having anyone so efficient as Kasdar to work with him. That the Moldavian might fail him that night he now had little fear; and as the creek near Burnham, off which the tug was to lie, was not much over forty miles from Poplar, he reckoned that, if his own part of the job went without a hitch, Sabine should be aboard her soon after midnight.
He had a bath and got into uniform; then, as he had had no lunch, he ate a very hearty dinner. After it, he packed into the bottom of a suitcase a short electrically driven saw with a blade of tungsten steel and a battery he had attached to it by a yard of flex, some spare blades, a mallet muffled at one end with a cloth pad, a dozen ten inch steel spikes, and two belts, with quick release buckles, attached to one another by fifteen feet of thin wire cored rope. Over these he laid a rug, a dressing gown, and pyjamas, packing among them three more bottles of port.
When he had put on his greatcoat he told Rudd that he was going on a dangerous expedition and did not expect to be back for some time. Rudd pleaded to be taken with him, but he said that was not possible, and with his old friend's 'Well! All the luck, sir; and a safe return' ringing in his ears, he went out into the blackout to play the last desperate hazard.
The Final Hazard
Chapter 25
It was again dark and misting with rain. At Gloucester Road station an old newsvendor was shouting, 'Speshul Edition! Speshul Edition!' Gregory joined the little crowd eagerly reaching out for the man's papers, and bought one. It had a banner headline great desert victory.
A special communique had been received in London that evening from General Sir Harold Alexander. After twelve days and nights of desperate fighting, Rommel's army had broken and was now in full retreat. His disordered columns were being relentlessly pursued by Montgomery's troops, and ceaselessly strafed by Coningham's Desert Air Force. Nine thousand prisoners had been taken, two hundred and sixty tanks and two hundred and seventy guns captured or destroyed. General von Stumme was among the dead and General von Thoma among the prisoners. This was no limited success but a victory of the first magnitude, which would make the words 'El Alamein' and 'Eighth Army live in history.
To Gregory this splendid news meant even more than it could have to the people with whom he was sitting in the cold gloomy underground train, for he knew that this was only the first phase of the great overall plan. Would the second prove equally successful? By now the armada must be off the Straits of Gibraltar. For the next two days they would be carrying out their perilous regrouping, then on Friday night, with all lights out, they would be steaming in an endless column at full speed through the narrows. By Saturday afternoon they would be within range of General Kesselring's powerful Air Force based on Sicily; so might be subjected to ferocious aerial bombardment. Would they, in the dawn on Sunday morning the 8th and the true D-Day succeed in getting ashore, or would they instead have become victims of terrible disaster?
When he came out of Mark Lane Station he found the night even more murky; for down there by the river, as was often the case in November, the atmosphere was laden with fog. Thanking his gods that cond
itions were so ideal for his purpose, and flashing his torch now and then, he made his way across Tower Hill to the gateway of the Fortress.
When he had signed himself in, he went to the Governor's Office. There, he stated his intention of remaining in the Tower for the night, on the grounds that having had to do so the previous night had enabled him to prolong his interrogation and extract valuable information from the prisoner, owing to the fact that she had become tired out and been no longer able to stand up to the pressure he put upon her. No objection was raised and at a quarter to ten Mrs. Sutton let him in to St. Thomas's Tower.
She had heard the news of the desert victory, and was full of it. After they had discussed it for a few minutes, he told her that he meant to stay the night, and had brought a few things to make himself more comfortable. Unlocking his suitcase, he gave her a glimpse of his pyjamas and dressing gown; then he asked, 'How is the port situation?'
'We're nearly out, sir,' she replied in her deep voice. 'She's got the last bottle in there now; and judging by what she usually drinks it must be nearly empty.'
Gregory had expected that, as he had carefully budgeted for it. Unpacking the three bottles he had brought in the suitcase and standing them on the hall table, he said, 'It's just as well I brought a new supply then. Call Mrs. Wright and we'll have our evening ration before I go in to her.'
The red headed wardress joined them at Mrs. Sutton's call, with three glasses and a corkscrew. Gregory took the corkscrew from her, tore the capsule off one of the bottles, pulled the cork and poured out the wine. As they took up the glasses he said cheerfully:
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