by Conor Bender
“I am.”
“Can I see some identification?” The courier wasn’t taking any chances. Faraday couldn’t help but notice that one of his hands was resting dangerously close to his Webley revolver.
Faraday produced his identification card and the courier nodded. “Thank you, sir.” He took the dispatch bag off his shoulder, pulled a folder out, and handed it to Faraday. He then saluted and started his engine before Faraday and Vance had a chance to return the salute.
Faraday looked over the folder. It had the usual confidential markings covering it, along with the letters S.O.E embossed across it. Faraday tucked the folder under his arm and walked into his office and set it on his desk.
He sat down hard in his chair, took a deep breath, and broke the seal on the folder. He read through the usual verbiage and letterhead that came with official military documents and skimmed down to the mission details.
Within 48 hours of reception of this order, Number 71 Squadron will execute a sortie flight with the intent of destroying building number 7 (see attachment 3). Building 7 has been identified by multiple sources to be housing high-ranking German officials vital to German operations in Normandy. Building 7 is to be destroyed at all costs.
Faraday set the orders down and thumbed through the attachments and found attachment 3. It was a large aerial photo of Dieppe with markers indicating where building 7 was.
Vance read the order over Faraday’s shoulder. “They’re asking us to minimize collateral damage and level a single building.”
“That’s unrealistic.”
“What’re we going to do?”
Faraday studied the building. It was smaller than other buildings surrounding it, and fortunately had a large, open road leading up to it, making it easier for a fighter to drop a bomb accurately. “We’re gonna slap a large bomb to the belly of one of the Spitfires and hope it gets the job done.”
“Spitfires don’t have the capacity for any sort of large payload.”
“No, but we can hit the building low to the ground and it should compromise the structure.”
“I don’t think that will be enough.” A hint of doubt in Vance’s voice.
Faraday chewed his lip as he worked the problem. “Who has the most experience with bombs?”
Vance paused for a moment as he racked his brain. “Faust, I believe. He participated in a training course implementing heavy ordnance on a Spitfire a few months ago. Rumor was that the research team tried to keep him.”
“Alright, let’s talk to him.”
They walked out of Faraday’s office and over to the ready line where a number of No. 71’s pilots sat and lounged. Faraday quickly spotted Faust.
“Danny!” Faraday got his attention and waved him over.
Faust turned and jogged over to him. “Good afternoon, sir.”
“Danny, what can you tell me about bombing from a Spitfire?”
Faust shot him a confused look. “Sir?”
“You heard me.”
Faust’s lip curled into a wicked grin. “It’s damned tricky, sir.”
“I heard you were a subject-matter expert?”
“Not to be arrogant, but I can hit any target you give me with a five-hundred-pound bomb.”
Faraday and Vance exchanged looks and motioned for Faust to follow them back into Faraday’s office. Once they were securely inside and away from prying eyes and eavesdroppers, Vance and Faraday started to ask more detailed questions.
“Could it take out a building?”
Faust put his arms akimbo and screwed up his face in thought. “How big a building are we talking about?”
“Three stories, and you have a clear approach to it.”
“Am I trying to disable a factory? Because there are better ways to do this.”
Faraday grabbed the SOE folder and tossed it to Faust.
Faust gave the front of the folder a long look, his eyes lingering on the SOE lettering, no doubt thinking the same thing every pilot thought when they saw an SOE mission come across their desk. He quickly recovered from the surprise and opened the folder. He started to read the order and study the photos. After a few minutes, he closed the folder and laid the photos out on the desk.
“This is feasible,” Faust said with some finality. “If I come in from the west I can line up the target and come in fast and drop the bomb. I can send it through the front door of the building easily, and be out of the city before anyone is the wiser.”
Faraday and Vance exchanged looks, and Vance shrugged. Faraday nodded slowly and turned back to Faust. “I want this building blown up by 0700 tomorrow morning. Come up with a flight plan. I want a brief in four hours.”
***
Flying Lieutenant Daniel Faust checked his map; he was ten miles off the coast of Normandy. After reviewing the maps of Dieppe and the surrounding area, he had quickly realized he would only have one chance to interdict the town before enemy antiaircraft crews would bring all their firepower to bear on him. He wouldn’t be able to slow down over the city to locate the building, which meant he had little margin for error.
Fortunately, the building wasn’t hard to locate. It was at the end of the main road that ran along the eastern side of the harbor. All Faust had to do was come in from the west, line up on the east side of the harbor, and head inland. He was sure he could identify the building in the seconds he had before releasing the bomb.
Faust checked his readings; his fuel was good and he was flying at one thousand feet MSL. As he got closer to the coast, he gradually descended. He checked his map against the terrain he was flying over and confirmed his position and swung east. He quickly flipped a switch and armed the bomb attached to the belly of his Spitfire and keyed his mic. “Control, this is Reese 5. Feet dry.”
“Roger, Reese 5. Good hunting,” the cool, detached voice of the female dispatcher replied. “Control out.”
“Alright, Jerry, let’s see if you’re early risers.” Faust opened the throttle. The Spitfire bucked, pushing Faust back into his chair for a moment, and roared low over the hills of Normandy. In a matter of seconds, the city of Dieppe came into view as Faust crested a hill.
As soon as the city came into sight, puffs of bluish-black smoke started to appear around him. Faust swore softly as flak exploded around his aircraft. It wasn’t concentrated, which Faust thanked God silently for, but a lucky shot could still knock him out of the sky. He quickly scanned the city, spotted the harbor, and maneuvered his aircraft inland over it. He checked his vector, made sure he was following the eastern harbor road, and started to frantically search for the target building.
“Come on. Where are ya, you bastard?” Faust scanned the port frantically. “There she is!”
At the end of the road, standing out against the other white stone buildings around it with large Nazi flags hanging from the windows, was his target. Faust adjusted his angle of attack and started to take aim. He intently eyed the large Nazi flag hanging over the main entrance. The large swastika acted like a bull’s-eye. Flak continued to pepper his aircraft, and he could feel a few bits of shrapnel tearing through the fuselage. He hadn’t lost control of the aircraft and hadn’t been hit yet, so that was the only input he needed. He pulled back gently on the stick and raised the nose of the Spitfire, his hand hovering over the bomb release lever.
Confident in his vector, he released the lever. He felt the Spitfire jerk slightly as five hundred pounds of drag suddenly vanished from his aircraft. He quickly pushed the throttle forward and banked hard to the left, turning the Spitfire back out to sea.
Faust stole a quick glance back toward the city. Smoke billowed from where the bomb had landed, but there was no way to determine whether or not the bomb had done its job. However, he was confident in his work. He scanned the skies around him, double-checking that there were no enemy aircraft around, and gradually pulled the throttle
back to conserve fuel. “Control, this is Reese 5. Feet wet, bomb dropped on target. Returning to base.”
“Roger, Reese 5. Continue on your present course and climb to Angels 5.”
“Roger, Control. Reese 5 is climbing to Angels 5.” Feeling jubilant, Faust couldn’t help himself, adding, “And heading to London to buy you a round.”
“See you at the Fox and Hound in Piccadilly,” she shot back without skipping a beat. “Control out.”
***
“It’s done.” Claude stood at his usual place at the table in the barn.
“And the Gestapo agent?” Eagerness filling Talia’s voice.
“Obersturmbannführer Weber as well as the suspected Gestapo agent were killed by the bombing.”
“There’ll be repercussions.” Durand shook his head remorsefully.
“Calm down, we’re going to lie low for a week and see what happens. Things should cool down quickly. We’ve done a good job compartmentalizing everything, so we should be fine.” Cutter did his best to sound confident.
Everyone around the table nodded hesitantly, not entirely believing that everything would be alright.
“I hope this was worth it.” Claude muttered, “We’ve never gone after the Gestapo before, they’ll react violently.”
“It was necessary,” Cutter defended. He looked over at Talia, who nodded in agreement.
“Amsel will come after us.” Durand shook his head, doubt scribbled over his face. “Even if he knows nothing, he will make life difficult for the nearby villages.”
“All will be well,” Cutter reassured. “We’ll wait a week and see if this blows over.”
Claude opened his mouth but quickly closed it, unsure of what to say. As the commander of the circuit he had the ultimate say on the matter, but it didn’t matter. They had made their move. Now all they could do was wait. He studied Cutter, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before, but the last time we did something like this it was before the raid on Saint-Nazaire.”
“Yes, and?”
“You’d tell us if something was about to happen, right?”
Cutter opened his mouth, a quick lie dangling from his tongue, but he stopped himself. “No.”
“No?” Durand looked at him in surprise, his visage quickly reddening. “What the hell do you mean no!” He took a step toward Cutter, his hands clenched into fists. “You better tell us what you know!”
Claude’s eyes didn’t leave Cutter’s. He placed a hand gently on Durand’s shoulder. “Settle down, lad.”
Durand opened his mouth to protest, but quickly closed it as Claude’s grip tightened on his shoulder. “It’s time for us to go.” Claude’s eyes lingered on Cutter, understanding in them. He realized why Cutter couldn’t tell him the truth, and appreciated that Cutter hadn’t tried to lie. For some it may not have meant much, but for Claude he was grateful that Cutter hadn’t tried to piss on his back and tell him it was rain. He gave the slightest of nods and, without a word, he departed the barn with Durand in tow.
“Olivier, you can’t leave them like this.”
“I have to.” Cutter furrowed his brow and looked up at the ceiling in frustration. “I can’t reveal the next step. If one of them is captured . . .”
Talia gave him a conflicted look and watched in sadness as Claude and Durand walked toward Durand’s horse-drawn wagon.
“I’m sorry, but there is more to this game than a matter of trust. The less they know, the better off the Resistance will be.”
Talia frowned and looked at Cutter in bewilderment. “How can you be so passionate with me one second and so cold and analytical with Durand and Claude the next? Are they just cattle you need to keep calm before the slaughter?”
Cutter remained silent for a moment and motioned for Talia to follow him out of the barn toward the car. “I’ve been with you every day I’ve been here. I can’t say the same for Claude or Durand.”
“But Claude is the leader of this cell.”
Cutter gave Talia a quizzical look and opened the car door for her. “It’s funny you should say that. Since I’ve returned, it would seem that Claude and Durand follow your lead sometimes.”
“Is that a question?”
Cutter got behind the wheel and started the car. “I guess my question is what happened after I left?”
“You mean after you abandoned us?”
Cutter frowned but didn’t take the bait. “Talia, what happened?”
It was Talia’s turn to frown. She debated how much to tell Olivier. Blackmailing Claude and Durand into letting her help wasn’t something she was proud of, but it had granted her the opportunity of controlling her own life. For that alone, she felt justified in her actions. She wondered if Olivier would have done the same in her situation, and suspected he would have. As much as he annoyed her she couldn’t help but notice a number of similarities between them. They both were fighting to control their own destinies. Where he was still fighting to do so, she had succeeded. Talia looked up at Olivier and decided half the truth was enough. “After you left, the Nazis started conducting aggressive searches of all the villages. It put a lot of pressure on Claude and Durand. We lost a lot of men and women during the searches and a lot of equipment.”
“This is the first I’m hearing about this. Why didn’t the SOE know?”
“We were constantly moving the radios. After you left, there was hardly time to transmit anything.”
Cutter drummed his fingers on the wheel in frustration. “Bugger all, no wonder you’ve resented me this whole time. So what did you do?”
“I started moving our weapons and equipment to caches further away from the villages.”
“By yourself? Christ, that took balls.”
Talia shrugged. “No one else was doing it. If I hadn’t, the Resistance would have lost everything we had built these past few months.”
“And that’s why Claude and Durand listen to you now?”
“More or less.”
Cutter frowned and weighed his next words carefully. “Thousands of lives are on the line. If this raid isn’t a surprise, many will die. I have to protect this secret. I’m not ready to trust Durand and Claude with this, but I’m willing to trust you.”
Talia wondered how much truth was in his words. She wanted to believe him, but his words the night before he left for England still hung in her ears. “But how can I trust you? For all I know, you’re just telling me what I want to hear.”
Cutter grunted and turned the car down the alleyway to the house. He put the car in park and silently studied the stones in the low wall. After a long pause he finally spoke. “I am a spy. My job is to serve as a provocateur for my country and conscript others into her services. I lie easily, and I change who I am like I change my clothes.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Let me finish,” Cutter said sharply. “When Victor died, it was the first time a contact died as a direct result of my decisions, and it wasn’t pretty. He and I were close, but even then I always told him what he needed or wanted to hear to keep his mind on the mission. I always minimized the risk when talking to him.”
“And what about me?”
“I’d like to think that you always knew the risk when working with me. I may have been deceitful about myself, but I never lied about the risk or what we were doing.”
“No, you just withheld information.”
“That doesn’t mean I lied.”
Talia gave an exasperated sigh and eyed Cutter coolly. “So why tell me all this?”
“I—” Cutter’s face turned crimson. “I want to keep you safe. I want to take you back to England with me.”
The revelation stunned Talia. For a long moment, they sat in silence. As the seconds ticked by, Cutter started to worry that he had said too much. He had exposed himself in a way he
had never done before and it terrified him. He could feel hot blood filling his cheeks and opened his mouth to say something, but stopped as a small smile crept over Talia’s face.
“Do you have a plan?”
Cutter grinned in relief. “Of course!”
***
“Sir, what do you think the mission is?” Callum asked Parker.
Parker sipped at his beer and looked around the table at First Sergeant Adams and the other team leaders of Baker Troop. “I’m not sure.”
“I think it’s a night raid,” Ferguson said as deadpan as he could.
“No shit, Fergy, what makes you say that?” Murray laughed. “One thing is for sure. Shimi has been training each troop ragged. Whatever it is, it will involve all of No. 4.”
Parker exchanged looks with Adams and nodded in agreement. They had been thinking something similar.
“Don’t call Lord Lovat Shimi. You and he ain’t friends,” Adams growled.
“It’s going to be close to here.” Callum took a deep draft from his beer and set his mug down. “After Operation Claymore, they sent us to Sierra Leone to train to invade the Canary Islands. If you ask me, it’s going to be France again.”
“If that’s true, then I’d be willing to bet we’re going to Normandy,” Adams grumbled as he motioned to the bartender for another round.
“Your old stomping grounds, First Sergeant.”
“I was in Champagne not Normandy, you idiot.”
“It’s the one place we haven’t raided,” Parker agreed.
“If so, Jerry is going to be right and proper ready for us.” Tarbor belched and swiped a meaty paw across his face, removing any stray beer.
Carter nodded in agreement and looked at Parker. “The boys are well trained, as long as Command does their job, we should be able to do ours.”
“Clearly, you weren’t at Saint-Nazaire,” Sergeant Callum chuckled bitterly.
Parker’s mind quickly flashed to that panicked scene on the Campbeltown. The memory of manning the ten-pound gun and carrying Tarbor to the boat quickly jumped out in his mind. As quickly as it came, Parker turned his mind from it. The fear he felt that day was something he couldn’t afford to feel now. As a troop commander, the last thing he could show was fear, especially for the unknown.
