'It would also mean that there would no longer be any problem with the E-boat,' Radl said. 'They could be picked up as early as ten or eleven o'clock on the Saturday.' He smiled and took another cigarette from the box. 'So, you agree that this, too, is feasible?'
There would be a grave problem of concealment on the Saturday itself,' Hofer pointed out. 'Especially for a sizeable group.'
'You're absolutely right,' Radl stood up and started to pace up and down the room again. 'But it seems to me there's a rather obvious answer. Let me ask you a question as an old forester, Karl? If you wanted to hide a pine tree, what would be the safest place on earth?'
'In a forest of pines, I suppose.'
'Exactly. In a remote and isolated area like this a stranger - any stranger - stands out like a sore thumb, especially in wartime. No holidaymakers, remember. The British, like good Germans, spend their holidays at home to help the war effort. And yet, Karl, according to Mrs. Grey's report, there are strangers constantly passing through the lanes and the villages every week who are accepted without question.' Hofer looked mystified and Radl continued. 'Soldiers, Karl, on manoeuvres, playing war-games, hunting each other through the hedgerows.' He reached for Joanna Grey's report from the desk and turned the pages. 'Here, on page three, for example, she speaks of this place Meltham House eight miles from Studley Constable. During the past year used as a training establishment for commando-type units on four occasions. Twice by British commandos, once by a similar unit composed of Poles and Czechs with English officers and once by American Rangers.'
He passed the report across and Hofer looked at it.
'All they need are British uniforms to be able to pass through the countryside with no difficulty. A Polish commando unit would do famously.'
'It would certainly take care of the language problem,' Hofer said. 'But that Polish unit Mrs. Grey mentioned had English officers, not just English-speaking. If the Herr Oberst will forgive me for saying so, there's a difference.'
'Yes, you're right,' Radl told him. 'All the difference in the world. If the officer in charge is English or apparently English, then that would make the whole thing so much tighter.'
Hofer looked at his watch. 'If I might remind the Herr Oberst, the Heads of Section weekly meeting is due to start in the Admiral's office in precisely ten minutes.'
'Thank you, Karl.' Radl tightened his belt and stood up. 'So, it would appear that our feasibility study is virtually complete. We seem to have covered everything.'
'Except for what is perhaps the most important item of all, Herr Oberst.'
Radl was half-way to the door and now he paused. 'All right, Karl, surprise me.'
'The leader of such a venture, Herr Oberst. He would have to be a man of extraordinary abilities.'
'Another Otto Skorzeny,' Radl suggested.
'Exactly,' Hofer said. 'With, in this case, one thing more. The ability to pass as an Englishman.'
Radl smiled beautifully. 'Find him for me. Karl. I'll give you forty-eight hours.' He opened the door quickly and went out.
.
As it happened, Radl had to go to Munich unexpectedly the following day and it was not until after lunch on Thursday that he re-appeared in his office at the Tirpitz Ufer. He was extremely tired, having slept very little in Munich the night before. The Lancaster bombers of the RAF had pressed their attentions on that city with more than usual severity.
Hofer produced coffee instantly and poured him a brandy. 'Good trip, Herr Oberst?'
'Fair,' Radl said. 'Actually, the most interesting happening was when we were landing yesterday. Our Junkers was buzzed by an American Mustang fighter. Caused more than a little panic, I can tell you. Then we saw that it had a Swastika on the tailplace. Apparently it was one which had crash-landed and the Luftwaffe had put it into working order and were flight testing.'
'Extraordinary, Herr Oberst.'
Radl nodded. 'It gave me an idea, Karl. That little problem you had about Dorniers or Junkers surviving over the Norfolk coast.' And then he noticed a fresh green manilla folder on the desk. 'What's this?'
'The assignment you gave me, Herr Oberst. The officer who could pass as an Englishman. Took some digging out, I can tell you, and there's a report of some court martial proceedings which I've indented for. They should be here this afternoon.'
'Court martial?' Radl said. 'I don't like the sound of that.' He opened the file. 'Who on earth is this man?'
'His name is Steiner. Lieutenant-Colonel Kurt Steiner,' Hofer said, 'and I'll leave you in peace to read about him. It's an interesting story.'
.
It was more than interesting. It was fascinating.
Steiner was the only son of Major-General Karl Steiner, at present area commander in Brittany. He had been born in 1916 when his father was a major of artillery. His mother was American, daughter of a wealthy wool merchant from Boston who had moved to London for business reasons. In the month that her son was born, her only brother had died on the Somme as a captain in a Yorkshire infantry regiment.
The boy had been educated in London, spending five years at St Paul's during the period his father was military attache at the German Embassy, and spoke English fluently. After his mother's tragic death in a car crash in 1931, he had returned to Germany with his father, but had continued to visit relatives in Yorkshire until 1938.
For a while, he had studied art in Paris, maintained by his father, the bargain being that if it didn't work out he would enter the Army. That was exactly what had happened. He had a brief period as a second lieutenant in the Artillery and in 1936 had answered the call for volunteers to do parachute training at Stendhal, more to relieve the boredom of military life than anything else.
It had become obvious immediately that he had a talent for that kind of freebooter soldiery. He'd seen ground action in Poland and parachuted into Narvik in the Norwegian campaign. As a full lieutenant he'd crash-landed by glider with the group that took the Albert Canal in 1940 during the big push for Belgium and had been wounded in the arm.
Greece came next - the Corinth Canal, and then a new kind of hell. May, 1941, a captain by then, in the big drop over Crete, severely wounded in savage fighting for Maleme airfield.
Afterwards, the Winter War. Radl was aware of a sudden chill in his bones at the very name. God, will we ever forget Russia? he asked himself, those of us who were there then ?
As an acting major Steiner had led a special assault group of three hundred volunteers, dropped by night to contact and lead out two divisions cut off during the battle for Leningrad. He had emerged from that affair with a bullet in the right leg which had left him with a slight limp, a Knight's Cross and a reputation for that kind of cutting-out operation.
He had been in charge of two further affairs of a similar nature and had been promoted lieutenant-colonel in time to go to Stalingrad where he had lost half his men, but had been ordered out several weeks before the end when there were still planes running. In January, he and the one hundred and sixty-seven survivors of his original assault group were dropped near Kiev, once again to contact and lead out two infantry divisions which had been cut off. The end product was a fighting retreat for three hundred bloodstained miles and during the last week in April, Kurt Steiner had crossed into German lines with only thirty survivors of his original assault force.
There was an immediate award of the Oak Leaves to his Knight's Cross and Steiner and his men had been packed off to Germany by train as soon as possible, passing through Warsaw on the morning of the 1st of May. He had left it with his men that same evening under close arrest by order of Jurgen Stroop, SS Brigadefuhrer and Major-General of Police.
There had been a court martial the following week. The details were missing, only the verdict was on file. Steiner and his men had been sentenced to serve as a penal unit to work on Operation Swordfish on Alderney in the German-occupied Channel Islands. Radl sat looking at the file for a moment, then closed it and pressed the buzzer for Hofer who came in at
once.
'Herr Oberst?'
'What happened in Warsaw?'
'I'm not sure, Herr Oberst I'm hoping to have the court martial papers available later this afternoon'
'All right,' Radl said 'What are they doing in the Channel Islands?'
'As far as I can find out, Operation Swordfish is a kind of suicide unit, Herr Oberst Their purpose is the destruction of allied shipping in the Channel.'
'And how do they achieve that?'
'Apparently they sit on a torpedo with the charge taken out Herr Oberst, and a glass cupola fitted to give the operator some protection A live torpedo is slung underneath which during an attack, the operator is supposed to release, turning away at the last moment himself.'
'Good God Almighty,' Radl said in horror 'No wonder they had to make it a penal unit'
He sat there in silence for a while looking down at the file Hofer coughed and said tentatively 'You think he could be a possibility?'
'I don't see why not,' Radl said I should imagine that anything would seem like an improvement on what he's doing now Do you know if the Admiral is in?'
'I'll find out, Herr Oberst'
'If he is, try and get me an appointment this afternoon Time I showed him how far we've got Prepare me an outline - nice and brief One page only and type it yourself I don't want anyone else
getting wind of this thing Not even in the Department
.
At that precise moment Lieutenant-Colonel Kurt Steiner was up to his waist in the freezing waters of the English Channel, colder than he had ever been in his life before, colder even than in Russia, cold eating into his brain as he crouched behind the glass cupola on his torpedo
His exact situation was almost two miles to the north-east of Braye Harbour on the island of Alderney, and north of the smaller off-shore island of Burhou, although he was cocooned in a sea-fog of such density that for all he could see, he might as well have been at the end of the world At least he was not alone
Lifelines of hemp rope disappeared into the fog on either side of him like umbilical cords connecting him with Sergeant Otto Lemke on his left and Lieutenant Ritter Neumann on his right
Steiner had been amazed to get called out that afternoon Even more astonishing was the evidence of a radar contact, indicating a ship so close inshore, for the main route up-channel was much further north As it transpired later, the vessel in question, an eight-thousand-ton Liberty ship Joseph Johnson out of Boston for Plymouth with a cargo of high explosives, had sustained damage to her steering in a bad storm near Land's End three days earlier Her difficulties in this direction and the heavy fog had conspired to put her off course
North of Burhou, Steiner slowed, jerking on the lifelines to alert his companions A few moments later, they coasted out of the fog on either side to join him Ritter Neumann's face was blue with cold in the black cowl of his rubber suit 'We're close, Herr Oberst,' he said 'I'm sure I can hear them.'
Sergeant Lemke drifted in to join them The curly black beard, of which he was very proud, was a special dispensation from Steiner in view of the fact that Lemke's chin was badly deformed by a Russian high-velocity bullet He was very excited, eyes sparkling, and obviously looked upon the whole thing as a great adventure
'I, too, Herr Oberst.'
Steiner raised a hand to silence him and listened The muted throbbing was quite close now for the Joseph Johnson was taking it very steady indeed.
'An easy one, Herr Oberst' Lemke grinned in spite of the fact that his teeth were chattering in the cold 'The best touch we've had yet She won't even know what's hit her.'
'You speak for yourself, Lemke,' Ritter Neumann said 'If there's one thing I've learned in my short and unhappy life it's never to expect anything and to be particularly suspicious of that which is apparently served up on a plate.'
As if to prove his words, a sudden flurry of wind tore a hole in the curtain of the fog Behind them was the grey-green sweep of Alderney, the old Admiralty breakwater poking out like a granite finger for a thousand yards from Braye, the Victorian naval fortification of Fort Albert clearly visible.
No more than a hundred and fifty yards away, the Joseph Johnson moved on a north-westerly course for the open Channel at a steady eight or ten knots It could only be a matter of moments before they were seen Steiner acted instantly 'All right, straight in, release torpedoes at fifty yards and out again and no stupid heroics, Lemke There aren't any medals to be had in the penal regiments, remember Only coffins.'
He increased power and surged forward, crouching behind the cupola as waves started breaking over his head He was aware of Ritter Neumann on his right, roughly abreast of him, but Lemke had surged on and was already fifteen or twenty yards in front
'The silly young bastard,' Steiner thought 'What does he think this is, the Charge of the Light Brigade?'
Two of the men at the rail of the Joseph Johnson had rifles in their hands and an officer came out of the wheelhouse and stood on the bridge firing a Thompson sub-machine-gun with a drum magazine The ship was picking up speed now. driving through a light curtain of mist, as the blanket of fog began to settle again. Within another few moments she would have disappeared altogether. The riflemen at the rail were having difficulty in taking aim on a heaving deck at a target so low in the water and their shots were very wide of the mark. The Thompson, not too accurate at the best of times, was doing no better and making a great deal of noise about it.
Lemke reached the fifty-yard line several lengths in front of the others and kept right on going. There wasn't a thing Steiner could do about it. The riflemen started to get the range and a bullet ricocheted from the body of his torpedo in front of the cupola.
He turned and waved to Neumann 'Now!' he cried and fired his torpedo
The one upon which he was seated, released from the weight it had been carrying, sprang forward with new energy and he turned to starboard quickly following Neumann round in a great sweeping curve intended to take them away from the ship as fast as possible.
Lemke was turning away now also, no more than twenty-five yards from the Joseph Johnson, the men at the rail firing at him for all they were worth. Presumably one of them scored a hit, although Steiner could never be sure. The only certain thing was that one moment Lemke was crouched astride his torpedo, surging away from danger. The next, he wasn't there any more.
A second later one of the three torpedoes scored a direct hit close to the stern and the stern hold contained hundreds of tons of high explosive bombs destined for use by Flying Fortresses of bombardment groups of the 1st Air Division of the American 8th Air Force in Britain. As the Joseph Johnson was swallowed by the fog, she exploded, the sound re-echoing from the island again and again Steiner crouched low as the blast swept over, swerving when an enormous piece of twisted metal hurtled into the sea in front of him.
Debris cascaded down. The air was full of it and something struck Neumann a glancing blow on the head He threw up his hands with a cry and catapulted backwards into the sea, his torpedo running away from him, plunging over the next wave and disappearing.
Although unconscious, blood on his forehead from a nasty gash, he was kept afloat by his inflatable jacket. Steiner coasted in beside him, looped one end of a line under the lieutenant's jacket and kept on going, pushing towards the breakwater and Braye, already fading as the fog rolled in towards the island again.
The tide was ebbing fast. Steiner didn't have one chance in hell of reaching Braye Harbour and he knew it, as he wrestled vainly against a tide that must eventually sweep them far out into the Channel beyond any hope of return.
He suddenly realized that Ritter Neumann was conscious again and staring up at him 'Let me go/ he said faintly 'Cut me loose You'll make it on your own.'
Steiner didn't bother to reply at first, but concentrated on turning the torpedo over towards the right Burhou was somewhere out there in that impenetrable blanket of fog There was a chance the ebbing tide might push them in, a slim one perhaps, but bet
ter than nothing.
He said calmly, 'How long have we been together now, Ritter?'
'You know damn well,' Ritter said. 'The first time I clapped eyes on you was over Narvik when I was afraid to jump out of the plane.'
'I remember now,' Steiner said. 'I persuaded you otherwise.'
'That's one way of putting it,' Ritter said. 'You threw me out.'
His teeth were chattering and he was very cold and Steiner reached down to check the line. 'Yes, a snotty eighteen-year-old Berliner, fresh from the University. Always with a volume of poetry in your hip pocket. The professor's son who crawled fifty yards under fire to bring me a medical kit when I was wounded at the Albert Canal.'
'I should have let you go,' Ritter said. 'Look what you got me into. Crete, then a commission I didn't want, Russia and now this. What a bargain.' He closed his eyes and added softly, 'Sorry, Kurt, but it's no good.'
Jack Higgins - Eagle Has Landed Page 6
