Raider

by Griff Hosker

  It took most of the day to sneak across the sea. We surfaced just off Southsea and sailed into Portsmouth. The captain had radioed ahead and there was an ambulance waiting to take Daddy off to hospital. As I stepped ashore I viewed the sailors on the submarine with a new found respect. I could never do what they had done. We had had a reasonably incident free voyage and yet I had been wringing with sweat the whole way; it had been fear for I had been truly terrified.

  Harry and his two companions were whisked away. I gave Harry my parent's address. He wanted to keep in touch. We had both lost so many comrades that we clung on to those we still had. Writing to me at the base would be hard. We moved around too much. It was midnight before Sergeant Major Dean arrived with a lorry. I sat in the back with Gordy and Ken. When we were alone we spoke of the mission. We had come closer to death more times than in any other raid and yet all of us were still excited about what we did. I think that was what made us Commandos.

  "Who do you reckon will replace Daddy?"

  "Who says he has to be replaced? He has a wound that is all." I did not want to contemplate my friend being out of the war.

  "But Corp, did you not hear the Major? He reckoned he wouldn't be able to continue. I mean his arm and his shoulder were a mess. Suppose he is holding a rope with you on the end of it; would you trust his shoulder to hold?"

  I had had the same doubts myself but I owed Daddy a great deal. "Let's just wait and see. I will run the section until he gets back."

  "Unless they stick someone else in charge." Gordy's cheery thought kept us silent all the way back to Weymouth. The other two actually fell asleep but I had too much racing through my mind.

  Reg Dean came around to the back and lifted the flap. He shook his head, "A pair of sleeping beauties eh Corporal?" He gestured with his thumb. "I can drop you here at your digs. You can leave your guns in the lorry. I will see to them for you."

  I jumped down with my Bergen. "Thanks Sarn't Major."

  He nodded, "And don't worry about Grant. Even if he can’t fight there will always be a place for him in the Commandos. I reckon you will be in charge until someone makes a decision." He tied the flap in place. "And well done, son. From what Major Foster told me you saved the mission more than once." He nodded, "See you at noon eh? The Major wants a debrief."

  Such praise was better than a medal and I walked up to my room with a spring in my step. The rest of the lads were asleep and there was no hot water for a bath and so I stripped and rolled into my bed. Despite my exhaustion sleep would not come. Sergeant Greely's reappearance had set me thinking about dad. Mum was right; Randolph Marshall would have told mum if he had been wounded or was busy or whatever. The silence meant he was hiding something. Was he missing in action? Had he been sent behind the enemy lines and disappeared? He had done that sort of thing after the Great War but then he was much younger. I must have fallen asleep eventually but my dreams were filled with haunting images of my dad being shot by Waffen SS.

  Mrs Burgess, who ran the boarding house, had heard me come in and, when I awoke, she greeted me with the news that there was hot water for a bath. She had forbidden anyone else from taking it. She said that I would need it. Mr Burgess ruled the guest house with an iron hand. The rest of my section might be in the dark about my whereabouts. The other sections would not have a clue where we had been sent. I might have been behind enemy lines but Mrs Burgess knew I had been in danger and she watched out for me. A hot bath was a luxury she would ensure I enjoyed.

  I reached the troop headquarters at eleven. I picked up my guns from the armoury and went to clean them. I still had the Luger I had taken from the Feldwebel. I had not needed it but it would come in handy some day. I also retained the German fatigue cap. One never knew when one would need it. It was eleven forty five when I was satisfied with my weapons and I returned the Colt and the machine gun to the armoury. I headed for the office.

  Gordy and Ken ran to catch up with me. "I slept the sleep of the dead last night."

  "Me too Gordy. Hey do you think that we had too much carbon dioxide on that sub?"

  I looked at Ken, "I don't think so. They have filters and gauges. The sailors survive don't they?"

  "I suppose. I would rather jump out of an aeroplane any day."

  Gordy shook his head, "The Corporal here nearly bought it, remember? He barely got out of that Whitley."

  Ken was a fatalist, "If your time is up then there you go."

  I shook my head, "You don’t give up. Even if you think your number is up you keep fighting. Daddy is still fighting isn’t he?"

  "I dunno. Have you heard owt?"

  Shaking my head I said, "The Sergeant Major will keep us up to speed."

  Major Foster was already there along with the Lieutenant Commander and Reg Dean. For the life of me I couldn't remember the officer's name. He looked to be a happy chap.

  "Well done you fellows! You exceeded our expectations! That news about the submarine pens was top drawer stuff."

  The Major shook his head, "Right lads. I will go through my draft report. If I miss anything out just shout out. Don't be shy!"

  When he had finished he said, "Well?"

  The other two shook their heads. I said, "There is that information that the prisoners of war gave us. That we don’t have a bomb big enough to blow it up."

  The Lieutenant Commander said, "I wouldn't say that. The boffins are working on some extraordinary stuff you know."

  Ignoring his fatuous comment I added, "I think the weak point for both the basin and the dock is the gates. If you damaged the basin gates then submarines couldn't get out and if you destroyed the dock gates then they couldn't use it as a dry dock. The gates have to be made of wood and metal and have a mechanism. That would be how I would attack it. Less loss of life that way."

  The Lieutenant Commander stood, "Thank you for your comments, Corporal, but I am sure that the powers that be will have whole panels of great minds working on the solution to this problem." His patronising tone really annoyed me. It was the fact that I was not an officer which coloured his judgement about my comments. The Major was not like that and he valued comments from all of his men, regardless of rank.

  As he shook Major Foster's hand Sergeant Major Dean said, to no one in particular, "The difference is that those great minds are sat on their arses in an office somewhere sipping tea. They haven't actually seen the place like these lads."

  Major Foster said, "Sergeant Major!"

  "Just passing a comment sir." He smiled at the naval officer, "I'll just get your driver eh sir?"

  The two of them left and Major Foster said, "I agree with you Corporal Harsker. I will be sending a report to Lord Lovat and another to Combined Operations Headquarters. I will add that piece of information. Someone might take notice. Right you two lads cut along and find the rest of your section. I believe they are on the range. I want a word with Corporal Harsker here."

  When they had gone the Major reached into his desk and took out an envelope. "This arrived the day after we left. Congratulations, Tom, you have been awarded the Military Medal."

  The Sergeant Major returned and he shook my hand, "You deserve it laddie. Well done."

  "Thank you sir but I didn't do anything special."

  "Don't be modest. You behaved impeccably. To be honest you deserve a medal for this last little jaunt too. You are supposed to go to London to receive it next month. However our schedule means that you may not actually make that date."

  "It doesn't matter sir. I am just grateful for the honour."

  "And now, Sergeant Major?"

  Sergeant Major Dean went to his drawer and took out a pair of sergeant's stripes, "Congratulations Corporal Harsker. You are now Sergeant Harsker. You take over Sergeant Grant's section until he is fit to return to duty."

  "Thank you both. I don't know what to say."

  "I do. When you were in St. Nazaire you made some confident decisions. To be frank, Tom, I don't know why you aren't an officer. You are a born
leader. I saw that in Belgium and I have not changed my mind since then. If you don't end the war as an officer then I will eat my hat." Major Foster stood and held his hand out. "I daresay you will want to go and sort out your section. I know Jack Johnson will have done his best but they are your lads now."

  I went to the range where, rather than firing, Gordy and Ken were telling both sections about our adventures. They all looked at me as I approached. It was the kind of look that says they had been talking about me. Jack said, "Don't worry about Daddy, Tom. He's a tough customer. He'll pull through."

  "I know."

  "And I take it they are leaving the section with you?"

  "They are," I held up the sergeant's stripes, "Sorry Corporal Higgins; you are still playing catch up!"

  To be fair to Sean he was delighted, "I am dead pleased for you Tom, er Sergeant. And from what the lads have been telling us you fully deserve it."

  I nodded, "And now, with your permission, Sergeant Johnson, I will take my section for a five mile run." I turned, "Right, you shower, full kit and meet me at headquarters. You have five minutes!"

  They had not lost their edge and the run went well. I felt proud of them as they stood smartly to attention at the end of it. For the next five days I worked them as hard as I could and I never saw the slightest dissension nor heard a single grumble. On the sixth day we were at the firing range where we were taking it in turns to shoot with Gordy's newly acquired rifle. Sergeant Major Dean walked over.

  "Right lads, gather around. This concerns all of you. Sergeant Grant is being discharged from hospital." Everyone cheered. Sergeant Major Dean held up his hands, "However he will have to have some rehabilitation and physiotherapy." I sensed he had not brought us good news. "The MO has said that he will never be fit enough to be able to operate as a fighting Commando." It felt like the heart had been ripped from us all. "However there is good news. The Quarter Master Sergeant, as you all know, operated his own little systems. He thought he had a cushy little number. Major Foster has returned him to his regiment and, when he is fit, Sergeant Grant will be the new Quarter Master Sergeant. Major Foster spoke to him personally and he is happy with the appointment." He glowered at everyone, "So no sulking!" He turned to me, "Sergeant, a word if you please."

  I wandered back towards the Headquarters. "You will need a new Corporal. Who do you have in mind?" He held up a warning finger, "Bearing in mind that I have an idea in my head and that agrees with the idea in Major Foster's. So with that in mind who would you pick?"

  Without hesitation I said, "No argument. Private Barker. He is a natural leader, the men like him and he doesn't panic. "

  The grin told me I had chosen correctly. "Then you can tell him." He handed me the stripes. "You will get a replacement for Barker by the end of the month."

  I went back to the others. I decided to just tell Gordy simply, "Here you are Corporal Barker, your new stripes! You can buy me a pint tonight to celebrate!"

  That evening as I was walking to the pub to meet the other sergeants I stopped at a red telephone box. I had written a letter to mum telling her of my promotion and the medal but I needed to speak with her. I wanted to ask her about dad and I couldn't wait for a letter to reach her and then return. One perk of dad's job was that the Air Ministry had had a telephone put into our home. It was a luxury and I would take advantage of it.

  Mum's voice was full of worry when I rang. It told me that she had not yet received my letter, "What's wrong, Tom!"

  "Nothing Mum, can't I ring home now and then?"

  "As this is the first time since you left University that you have just rung to chat I will let that pass. It is good to hear from you. You weren't in Portsmouth the other day when they had that awful air raid were you?"

  "No mum, nowhere near. I have some news. I am now a sergeant and they have awarded me the Military Medal."

  She let out a squeal of joy, "How wonderful! I can’t wait to tell your father."

  My heart skipped a beat, "Have you heard from him then?"

  There was a pause, "No I forgot for the moment but I am certain that he will be home soon."

  "Any more news from Uncle Randolph?"

  "No and I was told that he had moved departments."

  That sounded ominous and I could hear, in mum's voice, that she was getting upset. I changed the subject and asked about Mary and Aunty Alice. By the time my money had run out she appeared a little more cheerful. I, on the other hand, was not. However I remembered dad telling me, once, that you left your personal feelings and worries behind when you took command. I vowed to do the same and, as I bounced into the pub I was a different man. My smile did not reflect the fears I felt.

  Chapter 12

  The south coast was both wet and cold that January. We still trained every day but, after a five or ten mile morning run in full kit, we arrived back wet and cold. The rock climbing was even worse for slippery ropes can be deadly. It was fortunate we lost no men. Some other sections had injuries but we were lucky. With just one troop at Weymouth we often found ourselves training alone. Its advantage was that it brought my section closer together. In many ways it forged us into a hard and tough weapon. We had been under fire before now and knew how each of us reacted. The cold and the wet allied to the repetitious nature of our training was a different kind of adversity and we learned more about each other.

  Gordy proved to be a perfect choice for Corporal. He was totally different to me. I think he was a better Corporal than I had ever been. He used humour to chivvy the men along and the section responded well to him. He could talk their language far easier than I could. No matter how much I tried I still sounded a little too posh. His skill with a rifle also gave him an edge. It had been his shots, in St. Nazaire, which had cleared the guards from the camp and enabled the prisoners to escape.

  Ken Curtis had become the number three in the section. He had taken over from me as the bomber and demolitions expert. He had learned, again from me, how to improvise booby traps. As sergeant I now had other responsibilities and problems. Ken was also the signaller. I knew that I should have given that task to another but Ken could do both jobs really well.

  Norm Ford was now the oldest member of the section. It made him a little grumpier at times but it also made him the one that the younger lads would go to with their problems. Perhaps I was too distant. I know that some of the section thought I was a different class to them; whatever that meant. I don't think they resented my background but it made them a little wary of talking to me about problems in their lives. Dad had not had that problem in the Great War; his background was the same as the men I now led.

  Polly Poulson, despite the newer members of the section, always felt like everyone's kid brother. He was shy but he was also the most of loyal of Commandos. Everyone knew that Polly would never let them down. He was reliable.

  Bill Becket had been wounded. It had changed him but in a good way. In our off duty moments he would find out all that he could about first aid and medicine. He hounded anyone who could teach him how to tend to the wounded. He was our first aider. Gordy and Ken referred to him as Doc. I think he enjoyed the accolade.

  John Connor had also been wounded. In his case it made him enjoy life more. He was the one most likely to be off chasing skirts when we were off duty. He became something of a Don Juan. He had had a brush with death and it made him relish life even more. He was an even better Commando than he had been before his wound for he left Don Juan at home and focussed on being alive at the end of each mission.

  Harry Gowland and George Lowe were both new. They fitted in well and they were reliable. Both had married at the outset of the war and, although neither was a dad yet their young wives and the letters they exchanged filled their off duty hours. As yet neither had a particular skill although both had shown themselves to be handy with ropes. The problem with the Commandos was that you never knew what skill you might need. You had to think on your feet. The important thing about our newest Commandos was that
they fitted in and there was no friction.

  Daddy Grant returned towards the end of that cold wet month. Reg Dean had warned me of his imminent arrival and the whole section was waiting for him when he arrived from the station. He looked thinner and he favoured his right side rather than the weaker left. Otherwise he was the same. His pipe jutted from battle dress pocket and he had a big smile for us all.

  "You didn't think a couple of German bullets would keep me away did you? I might be a cripple but I reckon I can still run the Quarter Master's stores and keep an eye on you!"

  Everyone bombarded him with questions. He fended them all well. Then he looked at Gordy, "Well done, Gordy. I am pleased for you." Then he turned to me, "And you Tom, Sergeant and the Military Medal!"

  Gordy and the others turned, their jaws dropping. "You got the MM! Why didn't you say anything Sarge?"

  I had not told anyone in the troop. The Major and Reg Dean knew. If I had said anything it would have sounded like boasting. I shrugged, "It is just a bit of fruit salad. You should all have one."

  Gordy shook his head, "We are the only section to have someone who has won the Military Medal! It is not just about of fruit salad!"

  When Daddy and I finally dragged ourselves away from them I said, "We kept your room at the digs."

  "I know. I dropped my stuff off before I came here."

  "Are you all right, I mean," I tapped my head, "in here."

  Daddy and I had trained together and faced bullies and thugs together. We could talk this way. We understood the problems that the mind could create.

  He nodded, "I realise that I am just lucky. The arm and the shoulder just ache now and then; especially in the wet. And this has been a cold couple of weeks. The doc wanted to give me another month off but, you know me, I couldn't sit on my arse doing nowt. Besides it's not as though I will be exerting myself issuing clean underwear to Commandos is it. Another thing is that our lass is made up that I am not in danger anymore." He tapped me in the chest. "You stop worrying about me! Worry about yourself. You are a good lad but you take too many chances. You have a future."