by Griff Hosker
Beyond the Rhine
Book 10 in the
Combined Operations Series
By
Griff Hosker
Published by Sword Books Ltd 2017
Copyright © Griff Hosker First Edition
The author has asserted their moral right under the Copyright, Designs, and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
Cover by Design for Writers
Dedicated to the brave men who served in World War 2. They died so that we had our freedom. Let us never forget that.
Prologue
London January 1945
Liverpool Street station was heaving. I had never seen as many people in one place for a long time. Gordy and Hewitt were at different stations heading home. We had all landed together and then split up. A leave was not to be wasted. We would be back at the sharp end soon enough. I had one eye on the departures board and one eye on the entrance. Susan was supposed to be meeting me so that we could travel to my home together. It had been short notice. Yesterday we had been in Antwerp but Major Foster had pulled strings and we had been brought by an R.A.F transport to Croydon. We had managed to get to London and I had bought tickets for the train. We were going home. I had sent a message to Susan’s office but I was not certain if she had received it.
London was still a war zone. The bombers of the Blitz had first been replaced by the doodlebug, buzz bomb and now the even more deadly V-2 rocket. It was more terrifying as it came down vertically giving no warning. They could not be shot down and the devastation they caused was horrific. Air raid sirens could not give warning and people would be walking through the streets when the deadly missile landed. Major Foster had told me of one V-2 landing in the central square in Antwerp just as a convoy was passing through. Almost two hundred men had been killed or wounded. Herr Hitler had some terrifying weapons; this was one of his worst. The fear showed in the faces of the civilians. They no longer carried their gas masks but they still twitched at unexpected bangs. It would take some time for them to get over that fear. Death could strike and hit anyone!
Our train was due to leave in six minutes. I had Susan’s ticket. If she did not make it then we would have an hour or more to wait for the next one. I saw a hand wave above the heads of some sailors. I knew it was Susan. I hurried towards her. The sailors saw me coming towards them and an Able Seaman with a cigarette hanging from his lip shouted, “Ey up, someone is a bit keen”
The sailor next to him turned around and, seeing Susan, grinned, “And I don’t blame him! Must be all the fruit salad on the Major’s chest!”
They parted to allow me through, “Thanks lads. It will be a short leave!”
“Make the most of it eh sir!”
“I will do!” I swept Susan into my arms and kissed her. The sailors all gave a cheer. I held her close and whispered, “I wasn’t certain you would make it.”
She put her mouth close to my ear, “I would have gone AWOL if they had tried to stop me.”
“Come on then, let’s hurry. The train leaves in five minutes!” I grabbed her hand and we ran.
As we reached the barrier I plucked the tickets from my battledress and held them for the ticket collector. “Just in the nick of time, sir! The train is full. I think you will have to stand.”
As we passed through I said, “So long as it get us home I don’t care!”
It was a train with a corridor and the ticket collector was correct, we had to stand. Luckily it was not a long journey. Mum and Dad had bought our house in Essex because it was relatively close to London. Nor did I mind that Susan was pressed close to me. I could have happily inhaled her perfume all the way to Essex. After cordite and explosives it was a most welcome change. She bombarded me with questions. As she worked in Combined Operations she normally knew what I was up to. This time she did not. My last mission had happened almost accidentally. We were supposed to have been training American and British soldiers but we had become embroiled in the battle that was now known as the Battle of the Bulge. It had almost gone disastrously badly for the allies but the Americans had managed to hang on and what turned out to be the last German offensive of the war had failed.
When she heard that I had been wounded it was as though she had suffered the wound herself, “You must be more careful!”
I laughed, “You sound like Mum. It isn’t as though I go out of my way to get wounded. It is war. Besides it was a minor one.
“You know what I mean. You are a major now. Surely you don’t have to be in the thick of things all the time?”
“But I am a Commando. That means behind the lines.”
“Not every Commando unit does that.”
I said nothing for she was right. My section had specialist skills. While Commandos now fought as regular troops, we did not.
I changed the subject, “Hopefully Mum will be at the station. Major Foster had a phone call put through to her.”
“Well if not then we can walk!”
I nodded out of the window. It was sleeting, “In this weather?”
She laughed, “I thought you Commandos were tough!”
“Not when we are on leave.”
She coughed and I asked if she was unwell. She nodded, “I had the flu. All the time you were in the Ardennes I was lying in bed. They took me to hospital. I had three weeks there. It was not a very pleasant Christmas! They let me out on Boxing Day. I have only been back at the office for a few days. You know it is strange; when I went into hospital the office was a happy and cheerful place but since I have been back it is like working in a morgue.”
“It is always the same after Christmas. People are down and these V-2 rockets don’t help.”
“Perhaps.” She did not look convinced. She smiled. “Still you are home now! Even the office and the weather can’t spoil that!”
Mum was at the station waiting for us with the shooting brake. She hugged us both, seemingly oblivious to the sleet flecked rain. “We hoped you both might be here for Christmas! We will have Christmas now!”
As we ran to the car Susan said, “I only have a three day pass.”
“Then we will pack as much into the three days as we can eh?” As she sat behind the wheel Mum added, “Your dad is coming home later tonight. He is flying in to R.A.F. Rocheford. One of the lads will run him over from there.”
“I thought he was in the Middle East?”
“He was but he is being sent to the Far East now. They are giving him a two week leave. The two of you can catch up. He is looking forward to spending some time with Susan here.”
It was good to be back in the family home. The chestnut tree was like a reassuring friend. Every year it got bigger and bigger. Each year Dad would threaten to prune it but he never did. I liked that. The world might change but not the tree. Mum waved a hand upstairs as she hurried to the kitchen where the aromatic smell of rabbit stew drifted along the hall, “Susan, you can use Mary’s room. Tom, well , you know where you are.”
“Right Mum!”
“Help yourself to a drink and then you can come and help do the veg!”
Mum was a great believer in everyone helping. I did not mind. The kitchen range was a warm and comfortable place to be. Growing up there, the four of us would all be in the kitchen, helping out. It was where we learned about t
he world as Mum and Dad prepared our meals with us.
I dumped my Bergen and greatcoat on my bed. I slipped out of my battledress. I was tempted to change into civvies and then thought better of it. I would change for dinner. I poured myself a whisky. It was just a blend. I would wait until Dad arrived to start on the single malts. He had a fine collection. As I sipped the first whisky in a while, I reflected that this was the first drink of the New Year. I lifted the glass and said, just to myself, “ Cheers lads, here’s to you, Bert, Reg, Harry, Jack, Jimmy, John, Ken and Alan. You are gone but not forgotten.” Somehow toasting the men who had died in the last five years made me feel better. It was as though they were still here.
Mum handed me the peeler, “You are on spuds.”
“Mash?”
“Of course!” She suddenly looked worried, “Susan is not funny about rabbit is she? I mean I…”
“She is fine, Mum. She is not a fussy eater. Rabbit will be fine. Where are they from?”
“Old Ron, down the road, shot them. He always has a few and as soon as I knew you were coming home I thought of him. The meat ration is so small and…”
“I would rather have rabbit.”
“When you have done those open a bottle of the Burgundy will you. It needs to breathe.”
“Do we still have the Chateau Bouzeron?”
“There are half a dozen bottles left. Your Dad likes it and it goes well with the stew.”
Susan appeared. She had reapplied the lipstick I had kissed off and she was beaming, “Well, what can I do?”
“Carrots. We had a good crop this year. They might not even need peeling.”
Susan was a hard working girl and she donned the apron Mum offered and took the peeler. We chatted away as we prepared dinner. Mum had a good kitchen. When they had bought the house the kitchen had been a priority. It had had to be big enough to accommodate a small table so that we could eat there. I knew that, tonight, we would be eating in the dining room. Mum knew when to make a meal into a special occasion. She even put candles out. This would be special for the four of us had not eaten together before. Either Dad or I were always away.
Mum was looking at her watch when we heard the key in the door. “It’s me, I’m home!”
Susan and I did not need telling. We moved aside so that Mum could greet Dad. We knew that they needed the space. While they hugged in the hall Susan spread a hand around the room, “I like your house. We need one as nice as this.”
I laughed, “On a Major’s salary?”
“I have savings. Haven’t you?”
“Of course but we have to decide first, where we are going to live.”
“That depends on you, Tom.”
“Me?”
“What do you intend to do after the war?”
I saw the concern on her face. I shook my head, “That is a good question. I haven’t given it much thought. Chaps who look beyond the next mission make mistakes. I suppose we can live anywhere. How about that? You find somewhere you want to live and then I will think about after the war.”
“After the war?” Dad had entered with one arm around Mum. He put his hand out for me to shake.
“Yes, Dad, Susan and I are trying to work out where to live when this is all over.”
Mum shook her head, “You are both silly! You can live with us until you know what you want to do. We didn’t buy this as soon as the war was over. We lived in a rented house. It was nice but I was glad when we bought our own.”
“How on earth did you afford such a grand house?”
Mum and Dad looked at each other. Mum smiled, “The simple fact is that we couldn’t, Susan. The mortgage would have crippled us but, luckily, Bill here, was left money.”
I nodded, “I had forgotten St. John Browne.”
Susan asked, “St. John Browne?”
Mum said, “We will save that for dinner. It is all ready. Bill, go and wash up. Tom has already opened the wine.”
Mum was like a whirlwind at times and the table was laden with food before we knew it. It was a wonderful meal not least because just a week ago I had been in the Ardennes fighting the S.S. and German paratroopers. I appreciated such moments. We told Susan the story of the benefactor who had briefly met Dad and left him a sizeable amount of money. We told her of the house in France. What we did not talk about was the war. Nor did we talk about when our leaves would end. For one night we were just a family enjoying good food, good wine and the best of company. Life did not get any better than that. Such moments, in wartime were precious.
Chapter 1
As with every leave it ended all too soon. Susan managed to come down at the weekend and we made the most of the brief time we had together. Once I went back to the war then Susan would know what I was doing. At Headquarters, she was privy to the signals and messages concerning Combined Operations. In the field it was a comfort. I knew, from our conversations together that it both helped and worried her to know where I was and what I was doing behind the enemy lines.
I spent time with Dad. When we were away from Mum then we spoke of the war. We went to the village pub, largely empty now, where his familiar pipe filled the air with the rich smell of his tobacco and then we spoke of the war. He knew of the battles I had been involved in even if he did not know the details. I filled him in. He told me about his posting. He had been promoted to Air Commodore. With the Middle East now free from the Axis he was being sent to do the same in India and Burma. I was just grateful that he was not putting his life on the line any more. He was now an organizer. He had spent his life, since the age of sixteen, serving his country.
“Tom, I know you are good at your job. Everyone I speak to tells me so. Even Winston knows of you. But you need to pull back a little. There are others who can do what you do.” Dad had first met Winston Churchill in 1919. They were not friends, the prime Minister was too lofty for that, but he and Dad got on well.
I shook my head, “Sorry, Dad, but that isn’t true. My team have skills that I have not seen anywhere else. I have seen and fought alongside brave men: the Loyal Lancashires, the Free French, the Canadians, the American Rangers and Cavalry but none could do what we do. We have language skills as well as skills in sabotage and, let us be honest, in killing the enemy. If they sent less experienced men in then they would die. We lose less than most.” I knew that Dad did not want to hear what I was saying but it was true. “The war in Europe will be over by the end of the year. We are at the Rhine already. When Germany is defeated then my war will be over.”
“You are not staying on as I did?”
“I don’t think so. I am a wartime soldier Dad. You were a pilot. I am a Commando. They need me in wartime.”
“You are well thought of you know.”
“That is good to hear but I don’t want to sit behind a desk and just plan. That isn’t who I am.”
I thought of our conversations as I sat on the train, heading back to London. I looked out of the window and saw the scars of the war. Britain had been punished for defying the odds and taking on Germany alone. We had been in a dark place but now there was light at the end of the tunnel. We were nearly at the end. I had to be strong. I had to believe that I would survive. I had so much to live for. Susan and I would be married the moment the war was over. We would live with Mum and Dad until we had decided what we would do with the rest of our lives and where we would do it.
The letter which had summoned me back early from my leave had ordered me to London and not Falmouth. That meant I would get to see Susan again even if I could not be with her. The worrying part was that such a visit normally resulted in going behind the German lines again. The despatch rider had also brought me information about my team. I had recommended many of the men for promotions. Whitehall was still controlled by generals who had last fought in 1918. Things moved slowly there. Polly had been promoted to Lieutenant, Gordy to Sergeant Major, Bill Hay was now a sergeant. Roger Beaumont was promoted to Lance Sergeant.as were John Hewitt and Scouse Fletcher.
In my eyes the others all deserved a promotion but I was pleased with the decisions which had been made.
I now had a section of twenty men. Half of them I knew and we had fought together for almost four years. The other ten were new. Lieutenant Poulson and Sergeant Hay were busy training them at our old camp in Falmouth. I knew that I would not have long enough with them. I would have to rely on Polly and my sergeants to bring me up to speed with their skills and attributes.
I would not be staying at my club. My father’s old servant, Bates, ran a genteel hotel in London. We had arranged for a room there. I dropped my bag in the lobby before proceeding to Whitehall. John was not here but I was expected and the concierge assured me that my clothes would be hung in my wardrobe by the time I returned. Knowing Bates as I did I knew that would be a certainty. He was the most organized man I had ever met. His hotel would be no different.
I had some time before the meeting, which was scheduled for three o’clock, and so I went to my tailors in Saville Row to order a new uniform. It was one for the mess and for special occasions. My old battle dress would suffice for the battles we would face in Germany.
When I arrived at Whitehall I was disappointed not to be going up to our offices where I would have been able to see Susan. Instead I was taken to a conference room. The disappointment was slightly offset by the presence of Captain Hugo Ferguson. He, too, had become embroiled in the Ardennes. He beamed when he saw me.
“I was delighted when I found out that we were to serve together again, sir.”
“Me too Hugo. Any idea what it is about?”
He looked around and said, sotto voce, “Germany this time. You were especially asked for.” He straightened my tie. “And the PM is here! Winnie is interested in this one!”
Inwardly I groaned. Whenever Winston Churchill was involved then the pressure increased. The presence of Hugo meant that I did not have to flash my papers as often as I usually had to. Once we reached the doors of the conference room, however, there were two MPs there. I guessed we would have to wait.
