Death Ray

by Craig Simpson

  He wasn’t talking to me!

  I suddenly realized that everyone else had jumped from the truck and were standing, sitting and lying in a bewildered state on the other side of it.

  ‘Jesus, Finn!’ said Loki, brushing past me. ‘They must have been hit by a grenade or something.’

  We rushed forward to help them. The next few seconds were the scariest of my life. No sooner had I reached Max than soldiers emerged from the gloom, British soldiers, their faces blackened with burned cork, their Tommy guns raised. And they were shouting at us, at one another, at anything and nothing. We were in the midst of the confusion, panic and bloodlust of a fierce battle. Their hearts would be pumping as quickly as ours, their nerves as strained, their fingers as horribly trigger happy. One wrong move and we’d all be dead. I dropped my Sten, fell to my knees, placed my hands on my head and yelled to the others to do the same. And then I joined in with Max’s chorus: ‘We’re Special Ops. We’re on your side!’

  They seized our weapons and surrounded us. The barrel of a Tommy gun was pressed against the back of my head. There was so much shouting and yelling and deafening gunfire that I couldn’t even think straight enough to say a last prayer. Max was kneeling three feet in front of me. Shards of glass from the shattered windscreen were embedded in his cheeks and forehead, and rivulets of blood were trickling and dripping from his chin. I turned my head. Loki had a barrel held inches from his left temple. For one agonizing moment nothing seemed to happen. It was as if time had stopped. And then came a voice out of the night.

  ‘All right, lads?’

  Startled, I gasped. ‘Smithy? Is that you?’

  ‘Most certainly is, Mr Gunnersen. I was told we might bump into each other.’

  His ugly face emerged from the gloom. There was a huge grin on it. He hauled me to my feet, shook my hand firmly and then began bellowing orders. Medics were summoned to help Max and the others. Three more paratroopers were ordered to escort everyone to the gully and down to the waiting boats.

  Reunited with Madame Lefebvre and having surveyed what was going on all round us, Jacques’ father suddenly understood the objective of our mission – to steal the Freya radar device. He grabbed Jacques’ arm and spoke quickly to him. Jacques nodded and hurried to where I was standing next to Smithy and Loki. ‘My father says that we must take the Freya equipment from inside the control bunker. The rest of it, all the aerials and stuff out here, will be useless without it. He says it’s vital.’

  ‘Ruddy hell, that’s a tricky one,’ Smithy said, rubbing his chin and peering at his watch. ‘They’re defending the bunker with machine guns. We haven’t got much time to break through. It’s already after twelve. We’ve got to be out of here in fifteen minutes. So far the lads have managed to maintain our position by keeping most of Jerry pinned down at the edge of the woods. But we can’t hold out for long, and no doubt their reinforcements will be here at any minute.’

  ‘I know what to look for!’ Jacques shouted. ‘Father described it to me. But I’ll need some help.’ He glanced towards me expectantly.

  Small-arms fire erupted close by, making us all flinch and duck as wayward bullets whizzed past our heads and pinged into the wall of the laboratories. We had to decide what to do – now! There was no time to think about it. I looked to Loki and he nodded to me. ‘We’ll come with you, Jacques.’

  ‘Oh, bugger,’ Smithy swore. ‘The brigadier will kick my backside all the way from Land’s End to John o’ Groats if I let anything happen to you under my watch. Suppose I’d better tag along then, hadn’t I?’

  ‘We’ll come too,’ said Amélie and Freya simultaneously.

  Smithy shook his head. ‘The four of us will suffice. Now get the hell out of here, ladies. My decision is final.’

  As we re-armed ourselves, I was glad to see the others being led towards the gully, the beach – and safety.

  ‘Right, lads, now I’m in charge of this one,’ Smithy said as we crouched in a huddle. ‘Listen, do what I tell you, and for Christ’s sake keep your heads down. Follow me, stay close, and don’t dare make a ruddy sound. If I hear as much as a fart I’ll have you all booted out of Special Ops and you’ll spend the rest of the war knitting scarves for the WAAFs. Have I made myself clear?’

  Smithy led us along the cliff path in single file. We encountered a constant stream of sappers and soldiers heading in the opposite direction. All were carrying strange pieces of equipment. We had to give way when a team of four passed us struggling to roll a large metal dish along the path. Jacques gasped. ‘That’s a Giant Würzburg aerial,’ he said in astonishment. ‘Be careful not to bend the dipoles,’ he called out after them. More men appeared out of the gloom, lugging sections of a huge rectangular metal grid strung with wires. ‘See that?’ Jacques pointed. ‘That’s part of the new Freya system. My God, they’re really going to get away with this.’

  The gunfire grew louder as we approached the radar installation. In the darkness I could just make out men clambering over structures, hammering and levering bits off with crowbars. There was much shouting, chivvying and yells of encouragement. Reaching a small raised embankment, Smithy dropped down on one knee and waved us to do the same. He pointed to a low concrete structure some forty yards ahead of us and partially buried. It was located right in the middle of the whole radar site. ‘See the slits in the concrete walls, lads?’ he whispered. ‘They’ve got machine guns inside them. Ruddy great big ones. And the bastards have got every direction covered. If we simply charge them, we’ll get mown down. So, first things first. At least one position has to be neutralized.’ He removed a grenade from his pocket. ‘Now, here’s the plan. I’m going to count to three and then make a dash for it. I’d appreciate it if you gave me some covering fire.’

  He didn’t wait for us to question his plan. Counting to three quickly, he leaped up and made a zigzagging dash across the exposed ground. The three of us let rip with our machine guns. Unfortunately so did the Germans, forcing Smithy to take cover by throwing himself flat on the ground about midway to his objective. He was pinned down in the open.

  We set about reloading while trying to figure out a way to help him. While we dithered, the sound of hurried footsteps behind us heralded the arrival of Freya. Clutching a rifle, she threw herself down beside us. ‘What’s happening?’ she asked.

  ‘I thought you were heading for the boats with everyone else,’ I whispered.

  ‘I was, but then I remembered.’

  ‘Remembered what?’

  ‘That we promised to stick together, no matter what. So here I am. Where’s Smithy?’

  I pointed and explained the problem. Jacques lifted his Sten above the top of the embankment and emptied another magazine, but as soon as Smithy tried to move he got pinned down again. Freya lifted her rifle and rested it on top of the grassy mound. I immediately understood what she was thinking. ‘Do you think you can you hit whoever’s manning the machine gun behind that narrow slit?’ I asked.

  ‘I think so.’ She positioned herself carefully and seemed to take for ever to line up her sight. Her concentration was intense despite Jacques’ impatient muttering. For a moment I think Freya was imagining she was back home, out in the wilderness with her father, hunting an elusive deer hidden deep in the woods. Gently she squeezed the trigger, a shot rang out, the butt recoiled into her shoulder and she let out a small cry of ‘Ja!’ like she always did when she knew she’d shot well.

  Loki let rip again with his machine gun and Smithy crawled forward. This time no return fire came from the enemy’s position.

  Out of the darkness Smithy shouted, ‘Bloody good shot!’

  Freya really had done it! We scrambled over the embankment and hurried to the wall of the bunker, where Smithy was waiting. ‘For once I’m glad you disobeyed orders, miss,’ he said, looking relieved.

  Together we jumped down into a deep concretelined trench that led to the entrance of the control bunker. Smithy’s grenade blew the door. He led us inside, dispatchi
ng all resistance with short bursts of his Tommy gun. A corridor led us to the heart of the facility and the control room.

  I cast my eyes over all the equipment. There was tons of it – banks of dials, and screens that were used to observe the return radar pulses. There was so much gear it would take a month of Sundays to remove it all. And we didn’t have one Sunday, let alone a month of them. Jacques scanned the room and quickly pointed out the key items he was pretty sure were associated with the Freya device and, despite his calls for us to be careful, the rest of us set about levering the equipment out of the racks and consoles, using the butts of our weapons. Carrying as much as we could manage, we headed out, Freya covering our backs.

  Pursued by enemy small-arms fire, we trailed back along the cliff-top path. The gear was heavy and sharp metal edges bit deep into my hands. As we groaned and cursed, lugging our treasure as best we could, it dawned on me that we were pretty much on our own. The paratroopers had already evacuated, heading for the beach. We were the last ones remaining on the cliff top, and our time was up. It was past 0030 hours. I prayed one boat had stayed long enough to pick us up. I puffed and panted, my muscles burning from the weight of the equipment held agonizingly against my chest.

  ‘Not far now!’ Smithy shouted.

  We reached the gully, right on the edge of the cliffs. I peered down at the churning, foaming sea that glistened in the moonlight, and saw a landing craft. They’d waited for us! I felt euphoric. We were going to make it. About to begin my descent towards the beach, I heard a single burst of machine-gun fire. It sounded close. Very close. I turned round. Some twenty yards behind me Jacques lay face down, motionless.

  Returning fire, Smithy appeared at my shoulder. ‘Christ! It’s too late. Leave him. Down to the beach. Now! All of you.’

  Ignoring the order, I dropped my equipment and ran to where Jacques lay. Freya arrived beside me. We turned him over. His eyes were open but held a lifeless stare. Freya looked up at me and shook her head. ‘He’s dead, Finn.’

  I reached inside his coat and pulled out the folded blueprints.

  As our landing craft motored through the swell and headed out to sea, Loki and Freya huddled together in the bottom of the boat to avoid the worst of the spray. I couldn’t bring myself to look at the grieving Lefebvre family, so instead I gazed back at the slowly vanishing cliffs of Normandy. Jacques, I realized, had accomplished what he set out to do – rescue his mother and father. In doing so he had paid the ultimate price. In spite of him, in the end Operation Death Ray had been completed successfully. I decided I’d talk to the others as soon as we got back to Mulberry House before any debriefings. I wasn’t sure if they’d see things my way. I saw little point in shouting from the rooftops that Jacques had betrayed us. That wouldn’t solve anything. In his parents’ eyes Jacques was a hero. Perhaps that was for the best. After all, he’d faced one of the hardest dilemmas imaginable. Who the hell was I to judge him? My thoughts turned to home, to Mother and Anna. Wherever they were, I prayed they were still alive and not suffering at the hands of the Nazis. Home suddenly seemed far, far away, and yet I desperately wanted to be back there.

  Véronique appeared at my shoulder and put her arm round me. ‘Quite an adventure, don’t you think?’

  ‘A nightmare, more like,’ I replied. ‘I was convinced you were a double agent.’

  She laughed sarcastically. ‘Sometimes even I’m not sure whose side I’m on.’

  I looked at her in astonishment.

  ‘In our line of work we have to do things we don’t like, Finn. Things that we don’t want to do, that seem wrong, all to keep one step ahead. Our job’s certainly a hellish one, but the prize is precious and worth the sacrifice. Freedom is priceless, but you already know that, don’t you?’

  I thought for a moment and then said, ‘Do you mean like killing that man at the hotel and then running back to Renard to make sure your cover wasn’t blown? Like me, I guess you didn’t know the waiter was a member of the SIS, one of your own.’

  ‘No, I didn’t know,’ she replied. ‘But I didn’t kill him, Finn. You did, albeit unintentionally. He never recovered from banging his head against the table when he fell.’

  The boat rocked viciously in the swell. I suddenly felt sick. The world seemed to spin. I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, Véronique had gone from beside me. The drone of aircraft engines drew my attention to the sky. There were dozens of planes passing overhead and they were sweeping in low towards the French coast. Minutes later powerful explosions, sounding like claps of distant rumbling thunder, reached our ears and flashes lit up the horizon. It wasn’t long before it seemed like the whole of France was on fire. I reckoned Rochefort was getting a pounding too. I thought back to the London Blitz and the carnage wreaked by the Luftwaffe. Now we were returning the ghastly favour and I had no doubt civilians would suffer hellishly. Would it ever end?

  Smithy appeared beside me. ‘Our lads in Bomber Command are putting on quite a show, aren’t they? When we get back I expect you’ll appreciate a few days’ rest. Recharge those batteries.’

  I yanked the folded blueprints from inside my coat. ‘Here – a present for X and the brigadier.’

  ‘Well done, Mr Gunnersen.’ He cheerfully gave me a hearty slap on my back. ‘Good work. I knew you lot would turn out all right. Could feel it in my guts from the first day we met.’

  Yawning, I suddenly felt woozy with exhaustion. ‘I feel like I could sleep for a month!’

  ‘A week will have to do, I’m afraid. According to the brigadier, X is planning another job for you.’ He laughed in a manner I didn’t much care for. ‘Consider what you’ve just been through as a taster, a gentle introduction. Your work has barely begun, Mr Gunnersen, barely begun!’

  Postscript

  In the years leading up to the Second World War rumours abounded that a horrific death ray had been invented which could blast aircraft out of the sky. Although the rumours proved false, scientists in Britain’s Air Ministry worried whether building a death ray was technically possible. The question arrived on the desk of Robert Watson-Watt at the National Physics Laboratory. His assistant (Wilkins) set to work on the problem. The answer was rather surprising. He calculated that in theory radio waves could be used to create such a device but it would require an incredibly powerful beam, far more powerful than they were presently able to produce. However, he reckoned it ought to be possible to test the idea out by seeing if they could detect ordinary radio waves reflected from an aircraft. Their experiments proved successful. Radio direction finding (RDF) was demonstrated for the first time. Today we call it radar!

  Because of their work, by the time war broke out Britain had a defensive chain of coastal radar stations providing our fighter squadrons with a vital early warning system. Had we not had radar, maybe the outcome of the Battle of Britain would have been different, and maybe Hitler would have given the green light for Operation Sealion, the full-scale invasion of Britain!

  The Nazis developed radar too, but their version appeared different and so the British set out to discover how it worked. It resulted in one of the most daring raids of the war. During the night of 27–28 February 1942 British paratroopers landed close to the coast of Normandy and a village called Bruneval. They fought their way to the tall cliffs, and the location of a German radar station comprising the Giant Würzburg and Freya installations which lay at the heart of the enemy’s defences. Under fire, they dismantled the equipment and carried the pieces down the cliffs to waiting landing craft belonging to the Royal Navy. The mission, codenamed Operation Biting, was hugely successful. The local French Resistance also played their part, providing important information about the strength of German forces and the extent of defensive positions. Capturing this vital equipment led to a method of radar jamming being perfected, thus protecting the pilots and aircraft of Bomber Command. This amazing true story inspired Special Operations: Death Ray.

  Eventually, aircraft were fitted with a form of radar a
s well, enabling pilots to detect the enemy at night and in thick cloud. A vital component in this system was the magnetron. You may not have heard of a magnetron before but it is very likely that you have one at home – in your kitchen – because a magnetron is also used to generate the microwaves in your microwave oven!

  Although Death Ray is a work of fiction, Finn Gunnersen’s clandestine world of Special Operations is also firmly rooted in real events. A dozen houses in the beautiful New Forest in southern England were requisitioned during the war and, along with other locations, including Arisaig in the Scottish Highlands, formed part of a training school for secret agents. The organization was called the Special Operations Executive (SOE). In total secrecy about three thousand men and women of more than fifteen different nationalities passed through the school during the course of the war. Many were subsequently sent behind enemy lines on dangerous missions. Most of these volunteers were ordinary people, not highly trained military personnel. The heroism and sacrifice of numerous agents is well documented and we owe them a great debt of gratitude for the work they did. The training Finn and his friends received at Mulberry House and at Arisaig has been based on true accounts of the skills taught to agents at the time. Lying on the foot plate and rolling off really was considered the safest way of getting off a fast-moving train! Of course, it is so dangerous that it’s not something that should ever be attempted. Unless, that is, your country is at war and you are running for your life!

  The Playfair Code

  In the early years of the Second World War both the SIS and the SOE used the same method of enciphering their Morse-code messages. Each agent was given a unique keyword or phrase to memorize. It was a closely guarded secret. In Death Ray Finn’s key phrase was: On a dark and stormy night. The Playfair code worked as follows: