by Conor Bender
***
“Dickie, I have some good news!” Air Vice-Marshal Leigh-Mallory shouted excitedly as he walked into Lord Mountbatten’s office.
Mountbatten looked up from the brief he was reading, annoyed at the unscheduled interruption. “What is it Trafford?”
Leigh-Mallory said nothing but grinned broadly and laid a pair of photos on Mountbatten’s desk.
Mountbatten stopped what he was doing and inspected the pictures. “My God. Where did you get these?”
“One of my Eagle Squadrons flew over Saint-Nazaire the other day during a scrap and spotted this. This is the validation we need to move forward with the Saint-Nazaire raid.” Leigh-Mallory tapped the photos eagerly. “As soon as we do this, we can raid Dieppe.”
Mountbatten inspected the pictures diligently. He had been struggling to find concrete proof that could justify the raid; with this he could finally silence Hambro and Montgomery. A smile started to spread across his face. “Trafford, this is exactly what we needed. With this, Churchill will approve the raid.”
“What’re you going to do now?”
Mountbatten paused, deep in the thought. “If I show that fool Hambro or Monty, they’ll try to stop the raid or try and take the mission away from Combined Operations.” He drummed his fingers on the desk as he weighed his options. “I need to go see Churchill this morning and get his approval. I’m in no mood for a fight with that slippery bastard Hambro.”
Leigh-Mallory nodded. “I’ll have a few sorties flown to gather more photo reconnaissance for the raid.”
“Damn, this is spectacular! We finally have a chance to show how effective a large scale raid can be.”
***
Freddy Atkinson looked up from the newspaper he was reading and shot his boss a look of concern. “What’s going on? Is it Cutter?” Hambro walked past him, continued down the SOE hallway, and motioned for him to follow.
Freddy jumped from behind his desk and fell in step with Hambro. “We just got word that the RAF spotted dredging operations at Saint-Nazaire.”
Atkinson gave him a confused look. “What does that mean, sir?”
Hambro shot him a look of mild annoyance. “Since the sinking of that behemoth battleship, Bismarck, the Kriegsmarine has been building its replacement, Tirpitz. It was a damned herculean effort to sink the Bismarck it will be just as difficult to defeat the Tirpitz. If Saint-Nazaire is able to harbor the Tirpitz that blasted ship can cut off our lifeline to America.” Hambro frowned, his pace quickening as they raced down the hallway. “Dammit, this is not good. I thought we had more time.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Mountbatten outmaneuvered us. Leigh-Mallory brought the reconnaissance photos solely to him and he went straight to the PM with them. If this goes well, Mountbatten will get his Dieppe raid.”
“Sir, is that such a bad thing? If he succeeds we—”
Hambro impatiently raised his hand, cutting Atkinson off before he could finish. “Freddy, normally I would say yes.” He stopped walking and turned to face him. “Victory, no matter what, is ideal, but the way Mountbatten plans these missions is atrocious. Even with multiple defeats and failures he has managed to advance his military and political career dramatically. If these raids are successful it will be because of blind luck and someone else’s doing.”
“So what do we do?”
Hambro sighed and continued walking. “There really is nothing we can do, but help as best we can. If the mission fails no one wins, men die, and the Germans cut off our supply lines. I will not let Mountbatten fail due to grudges or lack of trust in him. As much as I hate to say it, we must ensure his mission is a success.”
“So where are we going?”
“Mountbatten’s people are developing a plan, but will want everyone to assist,” Hambro groused as they walked out of the building to the car. They both clambered in and sped off.
“Who are we meeting?”
“Leigh-Mallory; a Combined Operations gentleman; Lieutenant Colonel Newman, commander of No. 2 Commandos; and a Commander Ryder.”
“Anyone else?”
“I bloody well hope not. Changing topics, what’s the latest with Cutter?”
Atkinson exhaled between his teeth and shrugged. “Well, as you can imagine, he is royally offed about having to stay in Normandy for another month. His reports are showing that he is making progress, particularly to the south, but the east around Dieppe is proving difficult.”
Hambro looked up from cleaning his glasses. “Oh, why?”
Atkinson rubbed the edges of his mustache. “Apparently Dieppe has become a hotbed for the Gestapo and Abwehr.”
“That’s news to us. I want an exit ready for him if things get too heated.”
“I have that covered, sir.”
The car came to a halt in front of the War Office. They both climbed out and walked past the checkpoint and made their way inside. They found everyone in a conference room waiting for them. Leigh-Mallory was the first to greet them and introduced them to Commander Ryder, Lieutenant Colonel Newman, and Commander Jacobs of Combined Operations. Each man had brought a handful of additional staff, filling the room to maximum occupancy. Once introductions were made, they all sat down.
Commander Jacobs spoke first, beating Air Vice-Marshal Leigh-Mallory to the punch. “Gentlemen, it has come to our attention that the port of Saint-Nazaire has begun preparations for the Tirpitz. If we do not shut down the port, our supply lines with America will be severely debilitated.”
“Well, he just gets right to the thick of it,” Atkinson muttered.
Commander Jacobs pointed to a board that stood along the wall opposite from the table they all sat at. A table of equipment and personnel was listed outlining what the Navy, the RAF, and the commandos were providing for the raid. “At this time, the Navy has provided us with two destroyers and a handful of gunboats in order to move a raiding party.” He looked at Lieutenant Colonel Newman and said, “It is my understanding that Commander Ryder has provided you with enough boats?”
Lieutenant Colonel Newman exchanged a smirk with Commander Ryder and nodded his head. “Yes, we’re retrofitting the Campbeltown to ram the dry dock. One way or the other we’ll at the very least delay the operational capabilities of the port. Once in the port, my commandos will break off into teams and attack multiple objectives to neutralize critical targets to the port’s operation.”
Commander Jacobs frowned and looked up from his notepad. “I’m sorry, can you say that again? What are you doing with the Campbeltown?”
A mischievous smile curled at the corners of Newman’s mouth. “We’re gonna ram her into the dry dock.” The statement got the desired effect. A flurry of side conversations erupted. Hambro watched a few people shake their heads while a few others shot Newman skeptical looks.
“Everyone quiet!” Commander Jacobs bellowed, restoring order to the room. “Commander Ryder, I assume you are aware of this plan?”
“I am.”
Leigh-Mallory cast a doubtful look at the young naval officer. “And you’re okay with this plan?”
Commander Jacobs shot Leigh-Mallory an annoyed look but kept his mouth shut.
Commander Ryder exchanged looks with Newman and shrugged gamely. “We’re attempting to sabotage a dry dock while conducting an amphibious raid in the early hours of morning. We have no beachhead to land on that gives us direct access to the dock and we aren’t confident that the explosives we bring will actually destroy the dry dock. I’d say this is the best way to ensure that it’s destroyed.”
Leigh-Mallory leaned back in his chair and looked at Jacobs. “I have concerns about this plan. We should land our forces on the Old Mol.”
Commander Jacobs tapped his pencil in agitation but kept his temper. “Sir, I appreciate your input, but Old Mol is nothing more than a narrow dock that leads to the outskirts of the port. In order for this to work we need to come up with a creative way to deliver our commandos inside the dock.”
/> Hambro nodded in agreement. He was surprised at Jacobs candidness and willingness to stand up to Leigh-Mallory. He suspected that Jacobs was cut from a different cloth than his boss.
Leigh-Mallory shot Jacobs a withering look, which Jacobs ignored. “That’s easy for you to say, Commander. Both you and Ryder won’t be aboard the Campbeltown. In my opinion it’s too risky. Too . . . unorthodox.” Leigh-Mallory looked around the room, daring anyone to challenge him. No one spoke up. Leigh-Mallory’s gaze fell upon Lieutenant Colonel Newman, believing he had an ally in the man who would be riding the Campbeltown. “I’d like to hear your thoughts, Newman. Surely, as the man who would be riding that amphibious battering ram, you have some concerns?”
Lieutenant Colonel Newman paused as he measured his words. His lips pursed under a neatly manicured mustache in the style of Montgomery. “If I daresay, sir, as the man riding the battering ram, I’d rather much prefer the Campbeltown to a rubber dinghy landing anywhere other than my objective.” He paused and for a brief second exchanged a knowing glance with Commander Jacobs. “No. 2 Commandos thrive on the unorthodox.”
Jacobs looked down at his journal and quickly jotted down a few notes, not bothering to look up as he spoke. “I think that settles it, sir.”
Leigh-Mallory shot him a murderous look, but Jacobs ignored him and finished making his annotations.
Oh, he’s nothing like Mountbatten. Hambro thought with a smile.
“What about air support, sir?”
Leigh-Mallory cleared his throat. He eyed Jacobs coolly but didn’t attempt to challenge him. “We have squadrons prepared for bombing runs as well as diversionary raids; we just need a date.”
Jacobs nodded his head again and made a note. “Ryder what is your recommendation?”
“With the small boats, I’d recommend early May at the earliest.”
“That’s four months away! If Tirpitz pushes out to sea even a month prior we’ll be in hot water.”
“Fine, no earlier than March,” Ryder grumbled, not pleased with the idea.
Jacobs nodded and turned to Hambro. “Mr. Hambro, do you have anything to add?”
“Whatever intelligence you are receiving from the RAF recces I believe they will be far more reliable than whatever I can gather in the next month.”
“You have no further input?”
“I will attempt to develop intelligence for the raid, but at this time I have nothing in place for anything this imminent.”
Jacobs jotted down some final notes and looked up. “Anything else?” The room was quiet.
“Alright. Lieutenant Colonel Newman and Commander Ryder are the action officers for planning and coordination. We will reconvene a month from now for final planning prior to the raid.” Everyone stood up and started to depart the conference room, each person having either another meeting or another pressing issue to attend to. Hambro and Atkinson made their way back to where their car was waiting for them.
“Do you want me to retask someone to the Loire valley?” Atkinson asked. “Maybe Chessman or Artemis?”
Hambro paused and thought about it before answering, “I appreciate the initiative, Freddy, but I don’t think the juice is worth the squeeze. You saw how perfunctory that meeting was. The War Office is planning a major raid as though it were a weekly business meeting they hold in poor taste. I don’t want to create a precedent of retasking agents at the last minute.”
“What do you think about Jacobs?”
“I think he’s a step or two ahead of his colleagues in Combined Operations.”
“He ruffled Leigh-Mallory’s feathers quite a bit.”
“He better watch himself. Trafford isn’t one to let that lie.”
“I’m getting a report from Cutter tonight. Is there anything you want me to pass?”
Hambro shook his head. “No. Just keep me in the loop.”
PART II
CHAPTER 8
THE CARTOGRAPHER
Cutter grimaced as he surveyed the map of enemy locations. “I’ve been here two months and we barely know anything outside the immediate area of Quiberville.” He looked around the room at Claude, Durand, and a handful of other Resistance members. “This isn’t enough. What else have we found?”
Claude studied the map for a long moment and shrugged, his bushy eyebrows merging into one as he frowned. “We’ve received reports from Fécamp and Le Havre; they are establishing concrete defenses near the beaches.” He looked up at the other Resistance fighters in the room hoping for further confirmation, but received none.
“Forces are being diverted from Rouen to bolster defenses,” Claude continued. “In addition to this, the cell we established in Dieppe has been unresponsive for the past week.”
“Who was the cell controller? Is he still in contact?”
“He is. We heard from him yesterday.” Unlike the cell, the cell controller didn’t operate in Dieppe. He worked on the outskirts of the town and served as the buffer between Claude and the cell operating there.
Cutter nodded. It could always be worse. If the controller had been captured they all would already be dead. “He’s our cutout. Have him moved to another city and start again. We can’t risk him interacting with other cells. He could be compromised.”
Claude took a sip from a glass of wine and nodded. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”
“What else?”
“We’ve received a supply drop the other night from SOE. I’m attempting to set up additional radio personnel to the south to coordinate additional drops.” Durand pointed out where on the map.
“What are we getting?”
“Sten submachine guns and some explosives. I have a man going around and teaching a class on how to use the explosives as well as the Stens.”
Cutter nodded but said nothing, they weren’t ready to start attacking the Germans but it was a decent start. “Let’s pull our forces away from Dieppe. This is the third cell to be destroyed in the city. The town is too hot right now.”
“What about attacking Germans in other areas? I think we are ready to start conducting attacks.”
Claude nodded his head in agreement. “Durand is right, we need to start fighting back.”
“We aren’t ready yet.” Cutter looked up from the table and spotted Talia in the back of the room staring at him. Since the night he had slept with her, their relationship had become tepid. Some days she would be friendly and helpful, other days something Cutter would say would aggravate her. Today was one of those days. He could tell she was brooding on the idea of being active, and by the look on her face was preparing to give a heated argument. Cutter knew that if he didn’t ask her opinion there would be hell to pay. “What is it?”
“We need to start killing German patrols.”
The room went dead quiet and all eyes turned to Talia. Cutter rubbed his forehead in frustration. “We can’t just go and start offing German soldiers. We need to kill their informants and limit what the Gestapo and Abwehr can do before we start attacking actual troops.”
Talia didn’t respond, but stared frostily at Cutter. Cutter stared right back at her, not blinking. “Why do you want us to start targeting troops?”
“Oberleutnant Amsel has been asking about you with renewed interest.”
Claude swore under his breath and the room erupted into a buzz of hushed whispers.
Cutter kept his eyes on Talia and she stared right back. He couldn’t help but wonder if she was telling him this because she worried about him or because it affected the Resistance. Either way it was unwelcome news. Amsel had proved to be a nuisance. Cutter’s initial impression of the man had turned out to be accurate. He wasn’t a professional soldier. Like a rat casting a long shadow, the man enjoyed the fear and respect that came with his title; and, like any good Nazi, enjoyed instilling fear through murder, brutality, and bullying.
“Everyone, calm down,” Claude barked, restoring order.
“Why is he asking about me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did anyone in Dieppe know about me?”
Durand shook his head. “No, they never met you and we never mentioned you.”
“Then why is Amsel asking about me?”
Talia shrugged uncertainly. “I’m not sure, but the other day I saw him and he asked when you were returning to Cherbourg.”
Claude leaned over the table close to Cutter’s ear. “Do you think the Abwehr knows about you?” he asked softly in English.
Cutter shrugged. Amsel’s reasons for asking about him weren’t limited to professional queries. He still strongly disliked Cutter because of his “relationship” with Talia. “It’s possible. It could be that he just doesn’t like me.”
Durand frowned. “Do you think he would hurt you because he’s jealous?”
“I doubt it, but you never know.”
Claude vigorously rubbed the scruff on his neck and shook his head. “He shot the LeBlanc boy last week because he accidentally spilled a bucket of milk on his boots.” He reached for his wine glass and took a heavy sip. “Two weeks before that he beat a farmhand within an inch of his life for not moving his cows out of the road quick enough for him to pass.”
“We should kill him before he can kill you.” Talia looked over at Cutter, waiting to see his reaction.
Cutter eyed her for a long moment, unsure of what to say. She was clearly trying to protect him. “If it’s simply a matter of a love triangle and not a professional interest, let’s leave it be. Nothing attracts the Abwehr or the Gestapo like a curious death of a Nazi officer.”
“We could do it,” Claude said.
Cutter shot him a dirty look for even contemplating it.
“What? We could! We would need something to shift the blame from here, though.”
“Such as?”
“Amsel likes his alcohol, and he is known for driving after a hefty night at the bar,” Durand provided.
“We should do it the next night he is at the bar,” added Claude.
