Looking at our instruments, I realized we were hurtling up the middle of the estuary at eighty-five miles per hour, at an altitude of about fifty feet. Our airspeed was gradually falling. ‘Won’t she stall if we go too slowly?’
Nils’ reply hardly filled me with confidence. ‘We’ll soon find out, Finn.’
The landscape was hard to make out, but struck me as flat. I saw only occasional lights and the outlines of buildings whizzing past. I guessed that anyone at home would get the fright of their lives as we roared past their bedrooms or rooftops, but by the time they ran to their windows or doors we’d be long gone. The river looked scarily narrow in places too, and it seemed as if our wing tips were trimming the branches of trees lining both banks. Strange dark shapes in the water caught my eye: boats were moored mid-river and I dreaded unwittingly crashing into their masts. My other worry was German patrols out there in the darkness. They could be anywhere, even on the river itself, and we could do nothing about it. That was a job for our reception committee, the local Resistance. It was down to them to keep a lookout.
‘Green light. To our left. Three to four hundred yards,’ Loki announced.
Spotting it as well, Nils wasted no time. He throttled right back and set the flaps to their maximum angles, creating as much drag as possible. His treatment of the controls was so fierce, the plane seemed to jolt as if it had struck something. Our airspeed plummeted and we descended rapidly, everything rattling like bones in a metal coffin. Flying in so low, it took only seconds for our floats to strike the surface. We bounced off the water, the nose of the plane lifting about thirty degrees before pitching forwards again. Like a pebble skimming across the surface of a pond, we struck the water four times before the plane’s massive floats settled, the sudden drag slowing us down sharply. ‘Get going, you two. There isn’t a moment to lose,’ Nils shouted. ‘I’ll turn and position us as close to the bank as possible.’
I unbuckled and headed back, pressing past the others and making for the hatchway. Flinging the door open, Loki joined me and handed over a Sten, plus several magazines of ammunition. Moments later we were outside, crouching on the floats, machine guns poised, scanning the gloom. Jacques clambered down the ladder next and then set about catching each of the waterproof holdalls as Max threw them out. Although the engines were barely ticking over, the noise seemed frighteningly loud – I reckoned we could be heard for miles.
Thankfully the river was broad where we’d chosen to land, which made it slow flowing. When the moon briefly hid behind a cloud, the night grew as black as coal. It was chilly too, and a thin veil of patchy mist seemed to hang in the air, partially shrouding the banks.
All the supplies had been unloaded by the time I spotted the strange insect-like shapes of two rowing boats heading towards us, the rhythmic lifting and dipping of their oars making them look like bugs crawling over the surface of the water. Max helped Amélie and Freya clamber out of the Heinkel and then he slid down the ladder too.
The first rowing boat arrived, clonking hard against the metal of the float. The man in it hurriedly drew in his oars, flung Max a rope and said, ‘Bonsoir. Faites vite! Vite!’
Our contact was a hulk of a fellow with a huge moustache. Clad in dark jacket and hat, he struck me as extremely nervous, flashing glances up and down the river and at the opposite bank.
Jacques startled us all by drawing a revolver and pointing it at the oarsman. ‘Where is Monsieur Truffaut?’ he asked sternly in his native French. His hand was shaking. ‘We were expecting him.’
‘Albert was rounded up by the SS three days ago,’ the man snapped back. ‘Along with several others. Now get a move on. We haven’t much time.’
Jacques looked uncertain about what to do next. Was this a trap? I wondered. We’d been taught to be on our guard at all times, to be suspicious of everyone we met, and not to take unnecessary chances – and that was when everything seemed to be going according to plan! Any change, anything remotely unexpected happening, required urgent reassessment. Loki helpfully pointed his Sten at the boat and released the safety catch. Amélie grabbed Jacques’ arm. ‘It’s Monsieur Blanc,’ she said. ‘The butcher from Rochefort, remember? It’s OK.’
A boy arrived in the second boat and cursed aloud as he struggled to get into position. He saw what was happening and shouted, ‘Jacques, it’s me, Pierre. My father’s been arrested. We had to get some others to help us at short notice. Henri Blanc can be trusted. I give you my word.’
Pierre Truffaut was a tough-looking boy. Amélie seemed especially heartened to see him.
‘Hurry up, for God’s sake,’ he added. ‘The noise those engines are making will wake up half of Normandy.’
When Jacques lowered his gun I allowed myself to breathe again. Hurriedly we set to work, throwing all the bags and cases into the boats. Pierre held out a supporting hand and Amélie hopped across into his arms. Freya turned to Loki. They both stood there, neither knowing quite how to say goodbye. Instead, Loki lowered his machine gun and wrapped his free arm about her. They would have remained entwined for ever if Pierre hadn’t been hissing ‘Vite!’ at them with ever-increasing urgency.
Freya let go and unwrapped herself from Loki’s grip. Without a word she turned and seized Pierre’s outstretched hand. Max and Jacques were already in the other boat and had pushed off. Loki and I stood and watched them disappear into the night.
‘Come on, let’s get out of here,’ I said. But Loki just stood and gazed after Freya’s boat. I grabbed his sleeve. ‘We must go!’ I pushed, shoved and cajoled him back up the ladder and into the Heinkel.
As I was about to haul myself up the last rung, something caught my eye. Up river two flares arced their way high into the night sky, then seemed to hang there like newborn stars. Their shimmering glow was so intense, so bright, it hurt your eyes to look at them. I blinked, looked down … and saw her – a boat heading in our direction. She was quite some distance away, although precisely how far, and how fast she was travelling, was hard to tell. She had a searchlight on deck and it was pointing straight at the Heinkel, although the beam barely lit us. Then I noticed tiny flashes. It dawned on me. Jesus! She’d opened fire. I flung myself into the plane. ‘There’s a German patrol boat heading our way! She’ll be on top of us in seconds, Loki!’ I shouted.
‘Hell! We’ve walked right into a trap, Finn. I told you I had a bad feeling. All those intercepted messages about Freya, then that Resistance man was arrested and now this! I can’t abandon her. I can’t do nothing.’ He grabbed a bag containing some emergency gear Smithy had prepared in case we crash-landed over enemy territory, swung it over his shoulder and pushed past me.
‘What on earth are you doing?’
Loki was already on the third rung of the ladder. ‘Going to rescue Freya, Finn. Coming?’
What a nightmare. I knew there was no way I was going to stop him, or change his mind, or explain the rashness of his impulsive decision. And, of course, the truth was simple: I couldn’t abandon Freya either. ‘Give me a second!’ I yelled before scrambling up the crawl way to the cockpit. There I grabbed hold of Nils just as he was about to push the throttles to full power. ‘There’s a boat on your tail. We’ll try and deal with it. Give us about thirty seconds and then get the hell out of here. It looks like the Germans are on to the others as well. We’ve got to do something to help them. You’ll have to fly back alone. OK?’
I expected Nils to remonstrate but he didn’t. I think he realized that we had few options. As I tore off my leather flying jacket, he simply nodded to me. I threw it down into the empty seat beside him. Knowing I was about to get wet, the last thing I needed was the extra weight. ‘Look after it for me. I’ll be back to collect it.’
‘For God’s sake be careful, Finn. And good luck. Go! Go! Go!’
Ten seconds later I was out of the plane, sliding down the ladder. Kneeling on the float, Loki was already well through his second magazine of ammunition, returning fire at the rapidly approaching patrol
boat. Nils must’ve counted to thirty mighty fast and pushed the throttles to maximum because the Heinkel’s engines suddenly roared like some fearsome beast. It was deafening, and the propellers whipped up a gale and a shower of water that hammered and buffeted us, almost knocking me off my feet. I grabbed one of the struts between the float and the fuselage and held on for dear life. Emptying another magazine, Loki somehow managed to maintain his balance and hit the searchlight on the approaching boat – it was pure fluke, a damn lucky shot.
The plane surged forward and gathered speed. Loki stood up precariously and grabbed hold of me. ‘Time to jump, Finn. Before she gets airborne,’ he yelled. Throwing the strap of his Sten gun over his shoulder and grasping the bag of emergency equipment against his chest, he let go of me and threw himself off the float, splashing into the turbulent, churning water of the plane’s wake. He’d done it. He’d actually jumped! He quickly disappeared from view. My grip on the strut remained vice-like. It was as if I just couldn’t let go. I’d frozen. Something deep inside was holding me back. We were going so frighteningly fast. Then I felt the Heinkel lifting beneath me. I’d run out of choices. In seconds we’d be airborne. I took a deep breath, shut my eyes, let go and jumped.
Chapter Seventeen
Lost in France
I STRUCK THE water at an awkward angle and with such force it felt as if I’d fallen onto solid concrete. Winded, I had to resist trying to gasp for air as I sank beneath the surface. Instantly the cold embraced me and my ears filled with the strange hollowness of an underwater world. I wanted to panic, to thrash my arms about, but our training in the Scottish lochs now paid off. Reaching the bottom, I turned and kicked with my legs. I shot upwards and seconds later broke the surface. At last I could breathe! I coughed and spluttered and frantically tried to tread water. My dark woollen sweater and trousers were heavy and threatened to drag me back under. The strap of my Sten gun was thankfully still wrapped about my neck but the gun had twisted round several times, the strap tightening like a tourniquet – I was slowly being throttled.
As I tried to unwind it I looked northwards, in the direction of the coast. Nils was airborne and the Heinkel was climbing steeply, now little more than a black speck in a dark sky, its engines already sounding distant. I realized that in the other direction the German patrol boat had given up the chase and slowed. She was nearly two hundred yards from me and had drawn close to the river bank. The last of the flares fizzled out as it returned to earth. I saw what looked like flashes of torch light aimed at the shore too, but they were feeble in comparison to the searchlight Loki had managed to put out of commission. His lucky shot might just prove to be a life-saver, I thought. Having freed the gun strap from around my neck, I headed for dry land, trying to make as little noise as possible. As I swam, it struck me just how far I was from where we’d off-loaded the others. The plane had taken us a good distance along the river before we’d jumped. Even in the few seconds between Loki leaping and me following, the plane had travelled another hundred yards or so. My first task was to find him.
Reaching a tall reed bed in the shallows, I waded breathlessly through thick mud and then crawled out onto firm soil. Remaining on my belly, I reached back, scooped up a handful of mud and smothered it over my face. I slapped a second handful of the slimy, gritty, stinking silt over my ears and neck. I needed camouflage as even a feeble torch beam would be able to pick out the white of my face. During training we’d used burned cork to blacken exposed skin and I’d always hated the stuff. But now I realized it was tons better than the smelly grime I had to improvise with.
Next to the reeds and mud lay a narrow strip of grass and a well-trodden path on a raised-earth embankment. I was too exposed. I had to reach the trees and bushes beyond. Keeping low, I checked the coast was clear, then darted across the path and into the undergrowth. I was just in time! Distant voices gradually grew louder, as did the burbling chatter of a diesel engine running at barely more than idling speed. Removing the magazine from my Sten, I drained out the water and reattached it, praying Smithy was right when he’d said you could get it wet and muddy and it would still function. Just don’t go jamming on me, I thought as I rose to my knees and pressed my right shoulder up against a tree trunk. I caught glimpses of torch light. The boat was drawing near. Shrinking back so the tree obscured me, I listened as she slowly motored past. The voices of those aboard were German and they sounded irate. Rays of light flashed and danced through the branches and leaves, creating an eerie world of moving shadows. I tightened my grip on the Sten, held my breath and flicked the safety catch off.
The boat continued north for about another thirty yards and then thankfully the captain suddenly gunned the throttle, turned her through one hundred and eighty degrees and opened her up. She sped back past me at quite a lick, her bow creating waves that quickly washed up and over the bank. Keeping to the trees, I headed after her, back towards where Loki must’ve scrambled out of the water, crossing my fingers that he was either patiently waiting for me or was heading my way, and that we wouldn’t slip past each other in the darkness.
Moving stealthily from bush to bush, from tree to tree, I was shaking, and it wasn’t because of the chilly, clinging damp of my waterlogged clothes. Was Fritz waiting in hiding? Had our team been rounded up? Was it game over before it had even begun? Or had Pierre Truffaut and Henri Blanc led the others to safety?
I heard a faint groan. It came from the tall reeds. Loki? I risked crossing the path again to find out and, on reaching the edge of the water, I saw him lying amongst the forest of tall, stiff, slender stems. He looked barely conscious. ‘Loki! You OK?’ I whispered.
No reply. Scrambling down to reach him, I knelt and gave him a good shake to bring him round. Extremely groggy, he let out a groan as I tried to move him. Hunting for the bag of emergency supplies, I spotted it caught in the reeds about six feet further out. I waded in to collect it. Unzipping it, I began rummaging inside. As well as some high-energy biscuit rations, bottled water and a box of matches, there was a revolver and a box of bullets, three grenades and a handful of plastic explosive plus timers and detonators. Digging deep, I found what I was looking for: a small pen torch. I shone it onto Loki’s bedraggled face and saw a trickle of blood from his scalp. Closer inspection revealed a nasty gash. Placing the torch between my teeth, I shone it into the bag and dug right to the bottom to locate the small first-aid tin. Carefully popping it open, I saw it contained some syringes, small glass ampoules of morphine, some bandages, antiseptic, tweezers and scissors, mostly stuff for someone who was seriously hurt. What I wanted was the tiny brown bottle which I seized and opened, exposing the rim, then stuck it beneath Loki’s nose. The bottle contained smelling salts, and the sharp, stinging odour brought my friend back into the here and now with a jolt. ‘Finn? Ow, my bloody head hurts.’
‘You must’ve fallen on a stone or something. You’ve got a nasty gash. Wait a minute.’ I soaked a piece of gauze in some antiseptic. ‘This is going to sting, so don’t cry out.’ I placed the gauze on his head and got him to hold it there. ‘We can’t stay here. We must get to the trees. Can you make it?’
He was unsteady on his feet, but with him leaning heavily on me we made it back across the path. I got us deep into the bushes, where even the brightest torch light wouldn’t reach us. We’d been lucky. The reeds had provided just enough cover for Loki as the boat crawled past him. Had he been lying a few feet either way, Fritz would have seen him for certain.
As if suddenly waking from a dream, Loki snatched up his Sten, looking extremely alarmed. ‘Where are they, Finn? Have they been captured?’
‘Calm down. I’ve no idea. I’ve not seen or heard anyone other than that German patrol boat.’
He seemed even more confused. I was too. Had Fritz been lying in wait I would have expected to hear some gunfire, maybe even one hell of a firefight. Even if he had pounced before a single shot was fired, surely we would have heard shouts, maybe the barking of guard dogs, or the r
oar of engines as our friends were taken away in cars and trucks. But I’d heard none of those things. ‘You know, we may just have been unlucky,’ I said.
‘Unlucky?’
‘Yes. Perhaps that patrol boat simply happened upon us … Or came to investigate the noise of our engines … Or maybe some local patrol or coastal observer saw us fly in and put everyone on alert.’
‘Are you trying to tell me that they weren’t waiting for us after all, Finn?’
‘I don’t know. It just all seems so quiet now that boat’s gone. Too quiet.’
He slumped back onto the soft earth and swore. ‘This was a bad idea, wasn’t it, Finn?’
‘I think so. Probably in your top five worst ideas ever.’
He didn’t laugh. ‘Sorry.’
‘Too late for that.’
‘Thanks, Finn – for staying, that is.’
The thought of leaving Freya behind and in great danger was never an option. We could hardly have left her and the others to face the Germans alone. I felt a wave of guilt and I reached out and grabbed Loki’s shoulder. ‘You know, it’s me who should be sorry. You were right when you said the three of us should stick together through thick and thin; that we rely on each other. That evening they announced Operation Death Ray, I should have backed you up when you said as much to the brigadier and Walker.’
‘I suppose we were all taken by surprise.’
‘True. And I think I was sidetracked by the chance to fly again. It clouded my judgement.’
‘We’re in a mess, aren’t we?’
‘You could say that.’
The true horror of our predicament was beginning to sink in. We were in occupied France and it was crawling with Nazis. We didn’t have any French documents such as identity cards, travel permits or ration cards, nor were our clothes convincingly French. Our grasp of the language was untested, but it hadn’t even been good enough to convince our instructors to send us on this mission, and unlike Freya and Max we didn’t possess false identities and well-rehearsed cover stories to fall back on. Worst of all, we were Special Ops, not RAF or soldiers, and that meant we weren’t in uniform. If we had been and we were captured, we’d be treated as prisoners of war. Without uniforms, we didn’t have that protection. The authorities would rightly treat us as spies and question us before having us shot.
Death Ray Page 13
