by Conor Bender
“I’ll have my men start moving our wounded.” Carver agreed. He gestured toward the direction his team had assaulted from. “A and C Troops should be moving in soon from the north. We should begin planning for a counterattack. I’ll cover the southeast, you cover the southwest, and we can position our mortar team where the artillery is.”
Parker reloaded his Thompson. “Works for me, First Sergeant. Have Tarbor’s and Callum’s teams start setting up once they detonate the artillery.”
“I’ll take care of it, sir. I see the old man coming in; you two may wanna see him.”
Parker and Carver turned and spotted Lord Lovat with A and C Troops moving on to Objective 1.
Lord Lovat was as indistinguishable as any of his commandos, with the exception of his well-groomed mustache and curly brown hair. He cradled his Lee Enfield bolt action rifle in the crook of his arm the way a hunter would, as he strode toward the battery.
Both A and C Troops fanned out around the battery and started to fill in defensive positions. Lord Lovat strode over to one of the artillery pieces and began to watch as Tarbor and his team started to set charges in the gun’s barrel.
“How goes it?” Lord Lovat asked as he bent down, hands on his knees, and watched Tarbor set the charge.
“Wonderfully,” Tarbor said politely. “But right now, sir, I need you to move your ass out of the way . . . respectfully, sir.”
Lord Lovat chuckled and quickly moved out of the way and spotted Parker and Carver. “Gentlemen, well done. I’m afraid we have no time to rest on our laurels though. We—”
“Excuse me, sir, but we really should get clear of the artillery.”
Lord Lovat nodded and hopped down into a nearby trench and was quickly followed by both Carver and Parker.
“Fire in the hole!” Tarbor called, after looking around making sure everyone had sufficient cover. He repeated himself twice more before he pushed down on the plunger of the detonator. The charges in the remaining guns detonated with a muted thud. Parker looked up over the trench after the explosion and surveyed the damage; the whole battery had been neutralized.
“Well done,” Lord Lovat said, surveying the destruction. He clambered out of the trench and looked around, studying the hasty defense his commandos had set up. “Major Rackham! I want a CP set up right there.” He pointed past the battery near a clump of trees. “Begin communicating with Command about our retrograde from this place.”
Rackham nodded, and started issuing orders to his headquarters staff.
Lord Lovat turned back to Parker and Carver. “As I was saying, our primary objective has been seized, but we have an auxiliary mission that needs to be taken care of. He pulled out a map and knelt down and laid it on the ground. It was a map of the area of operation and Lord Lovat pointed at their present location. “We’re here.” He traced his finger to the west to a nearby town. “Roughly a kilometer away is the town of Sainte-Marguerite-sur-Mer. A British agent is there that we need to extract.”
Both Parker and Carver exchanged glances. This was the first they had heard anything about this mission.
“Sir, why wasn’t this briefed before our departure?”
The look on Lord Lovat’s face was one of annoyance. “I wasn’t told the explicit details myself until we were boarding the boats. Apparently, SOE wanted to keep this classified for as long as possible.” He stared at Parker. “Malcolm, I need you to take one of your teams and get there. I’ve been told that there is a house on the east side of the village with a low stone wall and dark red shutters. That is the safe house where the agent will be. I’ve been told the house is one of a kind and easily identifiable. The agent’s name is Cutter. I have information to prove his identity to ensure he isn’t an imposter when you bring him here.”
Parker grimaced. “What if we can’t find the agent?”
“I’ve been told we aren’t leaving without him, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. You’ll find him. I have faith.”
***
Faraday pulled the throttle and stick back, stalling the aircraft. He felt the wings of the aircraft strain as he quickly decelerated. A German ME109 blazed past him and quickly dove, taking evasive action after switching from the hunter to the hunted.
“Saxon Leader, watch out! You have another on your tail.”
Faraday swore and pushed forward again on the stick and turned into a tight, corkscrewing dive.
“He’s staying with you!”
Faraday rolled out of his dive and moved into a rolling scissors, spinning tightly like one strand of a double helix along the horizon.
“Christ, Jerry is all over the skies.” Faraday checked his six, scanning the sky for any sign of his attacker, but couldn’t see anything. Thinking he had lost him, he leveled off. As he did so, he felt a jolt and out of the corner of his eye saw a flash of light. He turned to look and only saw four giant holes stitching up his right wing. Faraday moved the stick to take evasive actions but felt another jolt as three more bullets raked his aircraft. He heard a loud crack and part of his canopy shattered inward. A round from the ME109’s gun had entered and exited his canopy less than a foot in front of him. Two other bullet holes were visible along the engine compartment and smoke started to billow from it as the engine sputtered.
As the engine continued to cough, Faraday watched it for a split second, seeing if it would come back to life. “Goddammit, not again.”
The engine continued to sputter and Faraday realized the situation. He toggled the fuel valves and shut off the fuel to the engine, and then cut the engine’s power entirely. The last thing he wanted was a fire.
“This is Saxon Leader. I’ve lost power. I’m going to try and land and regroup with the raiders.”
“This is Victor leader. Copy all. Good luck, sir.”
Faraday struggled to keep control of the aircraft; the stick bucked violently and the rudder swerved. “I can’t land this.” He angled the plane inland toward a field, away from any civilian populated areas and started to unbuckle himself from his seat.
***
Parker walked over to Adams. Murray was on his feet, his shoulder covered in a bandage, and his mouth locked in a grimace.
“What’s the good word, sir?”
“We got a new mission. We’re extracting a British spy. He’s about a half a kilometer up the road from here in a safe house. I can explain the details on the way. Right now I need Tarbor’s and Callum’s teams ready to go. You’ll hang back and supervise things here.”
“Roger that, sir.” Adams motioned to Callum and Tarbor.
The pair of them trotted up next to Adams.
“What’s the word, sir?” Tarbor parroted.
“We got an SOE agent that needs extraction. He’s half a klick up the road.”
Callum grunted, “I bloody hate extractions.”
“Me, too,” Tarbor agreed.
“Did the boss ask your opinion?”
“No, First Sergeant.”
“Then stow the bitching and gear up.”
“Yes, First Sergeant.”
Callum waved his team over. “I assume my team will take point with Tarbor’s team hanging back with the anti-tank gun and Bren?”
Parker nodded. “Keep dispersion. We’ll stay off the road and in the treeline. Move out in five.”
***
Cutter looked up at the sky. Aircraft swarmed all over. He could tell that the raid was in full swing. He grabbed his Sten and made his way into the safe house.
“You think we were followed?”
Talia shrugged. “Difficult to say. It was dark after all. Someone could have seen the lights of the car, though.”
Parker nodded and bit his lip. He couldn’t help but wonder how safe the safe house really was. He scanned the fields for anything out of the ordinary, hoping to catch sight of the British Commandos that were coming for them. As he watched, a flicker of movement caught his eye, but it wasn't in the fields; it was in the sky.
Cutter loo
ked up in awe as a Spitfire went gliding over the house. The aircraft was no more than two hundred feet off the ground when a heavy wind hit and changed its course, making its tail skid out from behind it. Cutter watched as the aircraft lost control and went from gliding into falling out of the sky. A loud explosion erupted as the aircraft impacted the ground a hundred meters from the house. Flames spewed from the engine compartment where the hydraulics and fuel ignited.
“Oh good,” Cutter said blandly, “I’m sure that won’t attract any attention.”
***
Faraday gritted his teeth as he impacted the ground with a solid thud.
“Bollocks,” he grunted as he started to unstrap himself from the harness. He looked around and tried to get his bearings as he drew his Webley revolver. He needed to get back to the beach.
He struggled to his feet and winced as he put his weight down on his left ankle. It was definitely sprained, maybe broken.
“Shit.”
He wouldn’t be getting to the beach fast in this condition, not walking at least. He looked around. No doubt a German soldier had seen him bail out of his aircraft. He needed to move.
He continued to look around and spotted a cottage a few hundred yards away. Its red shutters standing out against the green scenery. Maybe they have a car or a horse. He stood and gingerly placed his weight on his foot and bit down an oath of curses as pain shot up his leg.
He half hobbled, half stumbled toward the cottage, picking up a stray tree branch and using it as a makeshift crutch as he went. As he got closer, he spotted a low retaining wall and quickly slid over it and continued up toward the house.
He cautiously made his way up to one of the windows and peered through it. No one appears to be home.
Faraday leaned against the wall of the house and continued to move around to the front. As he hobbled to the front, a French automobile came into view. Faraday couldn’t believe his luck. He stumbled toward it and grabbed the door.
“That’s far enough, old man,” a voice behind him called in English.
***
“That looks to be our house, sir,” Callum whispered as they reached the edge of the treeline.
Parker looked out into the field and spotted the lone cottage. Red shutters and on the edge of town; it met the criteria for where the SOE agent was supposed to be.
“Seems we’ll be extracting more than one.” Tarbor nodded toward the sky. Parker and Callum looked up and spotted a parachute floating down to the ground, a smoking Spitfire gliding toward a crash-landing.
“Shouldn’t be an issue. Should we get ready to move?”
Parker shook his head. “No, let’s observe a moment. The pilot will probably move toward the house. He can make contact with the agent first.”
“And if we’re in the wrong place, sir?”
“Then we move fast and aggressively.”
“Will do, sir. We’ll get the lads ready.”
***
Cutter gazed out of the back window of the cottage and watched as the pilot glided to the ground in his parachute. He couldn’t help but wince as the pilot impacted the ground. He clearly had limited experience with parachutes, and looked to have hurt himself on landing.
The pilot struggled to get up and quickly removed the parachute harness and drew his sidearm and started to survey his surroundings.
“You’ve gone and cocked it up soundly,” Cutter whispered softly.
German soldiers would no doubt have seen the parachute and would be there in minutes. He watched a moment longer as the pilot started to stumble toward the cottage, then he walked away from the window into the living room. He drew his pistol and double-checked to make sure a round was chambered.
“Olivier!” Talia called softly.
“I see him.
“Are we going to help him?”
Cutter didn’t say anything, he was still deliberating on what to do.
“He’s coming up to the back of the house.”
“Stay upstairs and out of sight until I say otherwise.” Cutter moved to the far side of the living room. He watched as the pilot walked up next to the house and ducked behind a bookcase as the pilot stuck his head up next to the window to look inside.
A moment later, a soft thud emanated from the side of the house. Cutter assumed the pilot was leaning against it for support.
Cutter slowly moved toward the front door and watched as the pilot limped toward the car. He was hyperfocused on the car, Cutter could tell, fixated solely on his escape plan and oblivious to all else.
Cutter softly opened the front door and raised his pistol and aimed it squarely between the pilot’s shoulders.
“That’s far enough, old man.”
Faraday slowly turned around and looked at Cutter. He eyed Cutter for a long moment and slouched back against the car, taking his weight off his ankle.
“Your English is very good.”
“Well, Normandy once was part of Great Britain. Who are you?”
“Squadron Leader Ian Faraday of His Majesty’s Royal Air Force. Who are you?”
Cutter didn’t respond.
Faraday eyed him a long moment and looked behind him, half expecting a German patrol. He looked back at Cutter, unsure what would happen next. “Are you going to shoot me or take me to the coast?”
Cutter ignored his question. “Drop the gun.” He wasn’t entirely sure what to do.
Faraday slowly set the pistol on the top of the car and continued to slouch against it.
Cutter eyed Faraday a moment longer and lowered his pistol. “Christ, get in the damn house.”
Faraday grabbed his pistol and stood up. “You look like you really had trouble making up your mind there.”
“Who said my mind has been made up?”
Faraday hobbled past Cutter into the house. “I assume you have a plan?” Faraday asked as he collapsed into a chair in the living room. “I’d rather not become a permanent resident here.” He propped his foot up and started to massage it.
“If you sit still and be quiet we may get out of here alive.” Cutter walked over to the stairs. “Talia! Get down here!”
“Germans are driving up the road toward us!”
“Bollocks.” Cutter walked to one of the windows and looked outside. A German half-track and Kubelwagon were driving toward the cottage.
Faraday groaned as he stood up and checked his revolver. “Right. I’m not one to go quietly into the night, and I’m not particularly fond of being a POW.”
Cutter looked at Faraday, his mind racing. “Go upstairs with Talia. Keep quiet and I may be able to get us out of this.”
Faraday grunted as he moved as fast as he could up the stairs. He checked the nearest room and found Talia sitting under the windowsill.
“You must be Talia, nice to meet you.” Faraday slid down next to her.
“Be quiet.” Talia racked the bolt of the Sten and chambered a round, her heart pounding in her chest. This is it. She had no idea how Olivier would extricate them from this without a gunfight. The sound of the half-track could be heard as it rumbled up the dirt road to the cottage. Their best hope was Olivier getting as many of them out of the half-track as possible before she started shooting from the second floor.
Cutter peered through the window and watched as the half-track rumbled up the path. Obersturmführer Amsel could be seen standing in the bed of the track, goggles covering his eyes and an SS cap sitting atop his head at a jaunty angle. Cutter continued to watch as the track came to a stop in front of the cottage. As Amsel’s troops began to disembark the track, he noticed they all had the markings of the SS on their shoulders.
Cutter quickly checked his pistol and made sure it was secure in his waistband in the small of his back. He took a deep breath and walked out. “Obersturmführer, what is going on? Are we under attack? Are the British invading?”
“All is well. Just a failed British raid on Dieppe. I just received word that we are retaking the beach now. No need to fret.”
>
Cutter’s heart sank at the news. If the raiders were being thrown back into the sea, he had no chance of being rescued. He smiled gamely and did his best to look unperturbed. “I’m relieved then.”
“Perhaps you shouldn’t be, Mr. Deschamps. I understand that you make maps in your spare time.”
A voice screamed in the back of Cutter’s head. He was compromised. He eyed Amsel for a long moment, trying to see if he was fishing. Maybe he’s bluffing. Cutter looked at Amsel in confusion. “You’re mistaken. I deal in antiquity.”
Amsel gave a thin smile and switched to English. “ So the name Cartographer means nothing to you?”
“Je ne comprends pas.” Cutter responded, his face straining to denote what he thought was innocent confusion.
Amsel eyed Cutter with a hint of disappointment and switched back to French. “What about the downed pilot?”
“Who?”
“My men saw a Spitfire go down near here and saw the pilot bail out. Did you see him?”
“I’m afraid not, Obersturmführer.”
“Dommage, Olivier.” Amsel leered at Cutter, his blue eyes alight with amusement.
The bastard knows; he’s just toying with me. Cutter threw his arms up in confusion. “What is it that you want, Obersturmführer?”
Amsel shrugged and motioned to his men. “There is nothing you have that I want, but I hope you don’t mind if we search the cottage.”
“Of course.” Cutter struggled to stay calm. They were so close to the finish. It couldn’t end like this. His mind flashed to the dark, moldy alleys of Paris. Running through the labyrinth that was Paris’ underworld; struggling, raging to escape and survive. Now here he was in some empty farmer’s field at the end of a game of cat and mouse with Amsel. Was this his end?
“Olivier, you disappoint me,” Amsel mocked. “Durand put up much more of a fight when he was captured.”
Cutter’s face turned pale.
***
“Who the bloody hell is that?” Faraday asked as Amsel walked up to Cutter.
“Obersturmführer Amsel of the SS.”
“Well, this really is a lovely day. You got another Sten?”
