Invisible Foe

by Ronald Cove

  “Now Heir Haupt-sturm, what comments have you?” the SS leader solemnly enquired. “Well Reichsfuhrer it would seem I am to be dumped in amongst the British or French army and take my chances, and then hopefully somehow be rescued by the British, taken across the channel where I shall endeavour to avoid all further contact with their authorities. I will then act as an independent agent for the third Reich”. The Captain then turned to Himmler with a questioning glance “is that right Reichsfuhrer?” he enquired. Himmler reacted with a slight nod of the head “Your diagnosis of the document is impeccable Heir Haupt-sturm” he informed the Captain while holding out his hand in order to retrieve the document from Cpt: Egbert “Thank you Haupt-sturm” he offered as the document changed hands. “Now it just remains for me to give you a few dos and don’ts when you arrive at the beach” Himmler said lightheartedly, he then indicated the Captain should return to his seat.

  As the Captain made himself comfortable the SS leader took a firm hold of said document and very carefully placed a flaming match to one corner. When the envelope was engulfed in flame, he dropped the burning paper into a large tin which stood alongside his desk. The Captain sat back and watched in amusement as this little ritual unfolded, he realised it wasn’t the first time nor was it likely to be the last time, that a state document would be confined to Heir Himmler’s desk-side incinerator.

  “Well Haupt-sturm, as for the dos and don’ts, there’s only one thing for you to remember, and that is, just stay clear of the big ships which are rescuing the British troops, our brave Luftwaffe pilots will be making them their prime target” Himmler paused, studied the Captain enquiringly then continued “Now, once on the beach it is imperative that you find this motor launch”. Once again Himmler stopped speaking and handed a colour photograph to the Captain “As you can see, what you will be looking for is an unusual motor launch which has a bright yellow circle painted on top of the cabin, which the Luftwaffe have been advised to avoid. This launch will be lying further out in deeper water, it has a two man crew and shall appear to be suffering engine trouble, however, once you are aboard it will immediately get under way and head for England”. Having said this, Himmler once again pushed back his pince-nez from the tip of his nose. The Captain assumed this action to be a nervous affliction.

  Himmler, after a short pause addressed the Captain once more “Yes Haupt-sturm I think you are the right man for this little escapade I have in mind” Himmler informed him. He then went on to explain how the allied armies were making a brave but futile stand at Dunkirk. “It is a foolhardy gesture, but nevertheless offers us the opportunity to slip one or two agents in amongst them”

  While the little man with the big ego had been engaged in the aforesaid monologue, Cpt: Egbert although seemingly paying attention had in point of fact, been studying a large oil painting of Adolph Hitler which intrigued him somewhat. The Fuhrer had been portrayed posing in an aggressive stance, as though delivering one of his great pre-war speeches, but something about the painting which hung on the wall behind Himmler’s desk, was not quite right. However just what, seemed to elude him for the moment. He therefore smiled inwardly, sought further comfort in his chair, and paid more attention to Himmler’s screechy voice.

  “Now Haupt-sturm, I want you to pay strict attention” Himmler started up again in a monotonous tone. “Once you reach the Dunkirk area, you will of course be in grave danger from both sides. Although ingratiating yourself with the British and French troops, you will in fact become one of them. Is that clearly understood?” Himmler asked in an exciting manner. “Clearly” came a joyous reply. “It is therefore of vital importance that you find and board the waiting cruiser as soon as you possibly can. Do not forget Haupt-sturm, you will be clad in British khaki, which will make you fair game for any Luftwaffe pilot, or any German foot soldier you may come across, so be warned” the SS leader paused once again, adjusted his pinc-nez.

  Fixing the Captain with a long stare Himmler ploughed on “Now one more thing I will draw your attention to Haupt-sturm”. Egbert responded with a raised eyebrow and leant forward as though being privy to a state secret. “You see Haupt-sturm, I have recently been perusing a few documents concerning yourself and it would seem that you function at a finer degree of excellence when not hampered by authority” the SS leader paused, gave the Captain a knowing smile, “Am I correct Haupt-sturm?” he enquired. “Well yes Reichsfuhrer, you see I do prefer to work alone if possible” Egbert confessed. “Right, now it would appear that in the past, many of our operatives have come under suspicion by frequently sending reports back to Germany” once again there was a pause then with a spread of his hands Himmler asked “Are we also agreed on that Heir Haupt-sturm?” “We most certainly are Reichs- fuhrer” Egbert answered with enthusiasm and was about to continue, however Himmler’s raised hand called for silence, having achieved this he rattled on “Good, it is for that reason I have decided to relieve you of all responsibility concerning your whereabouts when in England. In other words Haupt-Sturm you will have carte blanch the moment you leave the Dunkirk beaches. You will not have to answer to anyone” Himmler then stood and shook hands with Egbert. “I wish you luck Haupt-sturm and a very successful war”.

  5:

  THE START OF A CHASE

  As it turned out Dave and I had to wait a full week before the ‘Super’ called us into his office. He indicated two chairs, “Please be seated Gentlemen” were his first words on that Monday morning. Just the sound of those few pleasant words coming from this giant of a man, who stood some six foot five inches, possessed two chins and proudly exhibited the belly of a pregnant woman whose time was almost up, should have put us on our guard immediately. The fact that he had said ‘please’ and ‘gentlemen’ seemed strange, because normally he would just leave us standing in front of his desk, then in all probability ask ‘what the bloody hell we wanted’ after he’d called us in, in the first bloody place.

  Dave looked at me with a frown on his face, I retaliated with wide eyes and a shrug of my shoulders. “Right gentlemen now as we all know our army has just taken a terrible beating at Dunkirk and our navy is doing its damned best to bring home as many as possible,” James Rickman the Superintendent began. Both Dave and I gave a sympathetic nod. Nevertheless at that point I suddenly realised that the dear old ‘Super’ had something special in mind for Dave and me. “However gentlemen” he continued “what concerns us is the amount of enemy agents that may well have slipped back across the channel with our lads, passing themselves off as British tommies. Then once on English soil, lose themselves in the crowd” he paused, studied Dave and myself for a moment then added with a wry smile “so to this end gentlemen, certain officers from the Metropolitan police are being transferred to the most vulnerable places in England”. At this point he shuffled amongst some papers on his desk and finally came up with two separate envelopes, first he handed one to Dave, then the other to me. “And you two gents, I’m pleased to say have been seconded by the Essex police to join them at some godforsaken place called Hornchurch. These are your transfer papers” he gestured to the envelopes he’d just handed us. Then for good measure put in “Apparently a school called ‘Suttons’ which adjoins the airfield have already been complaining about broken fencing” Once again the ‘Super’ fell silent. After a moment or two, to give us a clue the briefing was over, he added “Be sure to close the door on your way out” then gave a little laugh which caused his jelly-like belly to wobble.

  I made quite sure the ‘Supers’ door was closed tight behind me, in fact the aggression I used on closing it, he’d be bleedin’ lucky to open it for at least another bloody week. Once outside I grabbed Dave’s sleeve “‘Ere Dave, I wonder what’s wrong with the old boy, he don’t seem to like us two a lot” I ventured. Dave gave me a lopsided grin “Blimey don’t yer know? Fine bloody detective you are, yer say he don’t like us, the man hates the bloody sight of us”. “But why?” I began. Dave threw both arms in the air and growled back at m
e “Cos he was a bleedin’ Major in the Cavalry, that’s why” Dave took time out to enlighten me. “Oh yer mean he was one of those military jockeys who don’t like us riflemen” I concluded. Dave smiled again “You’ve got it”.

  I believe it was DC Tony Willis who found us a map with Hornchurch clearly marked on it. It even showed a line where a fence divided the airfield from the school. Tony also explained to us that Hornchurch was on the district railway line, and it takes about an hour from London. So saying Tony disappeared. But of course before we could actually pack our bags and leave, another surprise awaited us in the form of the Assistant Chief Constable, Richard Allen, who everybody referred to as Dickie Doughnut. This time however we found ourselves speaking with someone, unlike the Superintendent, who spoke our language. To start with, he was a more likeable man, stood about five foot seven inches, so for once I didn’t have to stand on a chair to make eye contact, and there was no bullshit about this man.

  On entering his office, after a firm handshake we were designated a chair each, and also told ‘smoke if you like’. He next asked if tea or coffee was our choice. Tea was the choice, and when it arrived, Dave and I both took and lit a Goldflake cigarette that Assistant Chief Allen had offered. So now with three men smoking, within minutes the room was a smoke pit. Nonetheless at this point the ACC gave us a clue as to why he had acquired the nickname ‘Dickie Doughnut’. it was only a small clue really, which amounted to six doughnuts that had been brought in with our teas and placed purposely on the ACC’s desk alongside his tea within easy reach of his hand. Although Dave and I glanced at each other, no words were exchanged as Dickie munched on a doughnut, puffed on a cigarette, then happily sipped his tea, his light blue eyes studying us. Two doughnuts later after wiping his mouth with a paper napkin, this likeable man dressed in a dark blue suit, leant across his desk and began to explain why it was Hornchurch that needed the assistance of a Detective Inspector and a Detective Sergeant. “It does seem a long way out to send us Sir, when there’s so much crime going on here in London” Dave put forward. “Well that’s as maybe Dave, but you see, the people you and the Sergeant will be hunting for are not the common home grown variety of criminals”. At this point the chiefs cigarettes came round again, and although we could hardly see each other through the thickening smoke, old Dickie bravely continued “No Inspector, you and Auger will have to use all your skills and a lot of patience to weedle out some very intelligent highly trained operatives, whom our intelligence people think have been shipped across with our boys from Dunkirk and are now operating in the Essex area”. And there ended Dickie Doughnuts sermon. Dave and I then stood, shook hands with Assistant Chief Allen and made for the door. Just before we left however, he made a gesture towards DC Tony Willis who was at that moment heading towards us, while at the same time shuffling a bunch of papers about in his hands. “DC Willis has all the relevant papers that are needed” were the last words we heard from ACC Allen before I closed the door.

  Now with all the essential documents safely confined to Detective Dave Selby’s briefcase, DC Willis once again referred us back to the rail map “Here you are Inspector” he began addressing Dave “Like I said Hornchurch is on the district line” he marked the map with a pencil “Mr: Allen did try to arrange a car but no dice I’m afraid” DC Willis informed us with a shake of the head, then quickly added “Never mind I’ve got a couple of police railway passes here”. He handed Dave a long brown envelope “Ah, thanks” Dave replied. As he handed me mine I chimed in with “Where the bleedin’ ‘ell do we catch this bleedin’ train anyway?” Dave looked at me with a puzzled frown. So just to confuse the issue a touch more I added “And where for Christ sake do we get off?” Dave immediately turned to Willis and was about to speak when the DC raised his hand “Don’t worry I’m coming with you, so you’ll be alright” he kindly informed us. “Nevertheless” he continued “our best bet will be to catch the underground train at either Westminster or Charing Cross, you pick” he invited. “Or failing that we could either jump on a train at Whitechapel or if you like Bow Road Sergeant” he said nodding in my direction. “Ok, I think we get the idea now Constable” Dave threw at him in order to curtail any other snippets of information that Willis might want to share with us.

  6:

  A VILLAGE CALLED HORNCHURCH

  When Dave and I arrived at the Hornchurch Police Station, we found it to be an old wooden shack which had been thrown up just after the First World War. The structure itself lay back off the road behind a six foot fence. The first obstacle was a swinging gate. Having once negotiated the gate, step too far to your left, and in these bloody night time black outs, you could quite easily bang your head on a pole, lucky for us it was a bright sunny morning. The pole stood around twenty two feet in height, with the air raid siren perched on top, which happened to be sounding the ‘all clear’ as we approached. No doubt half the Hornchurch and Elm Park population would be vacating their Anderson air raid shelter about now. The time was nigh on 8am and in spite of a long continuous blast of the siren sounding ‘all clear’, we first heard then clearly saw a number of spitfires creating a tapestry, as they raced across a blue sky heading towards that well known Hornchurch aerodrome.

  “That’s a bleedin’ lovely sight Dave,” I remarked as we pushed through the swing gate. “Yes, it would be if that poor sod wasn’t amongst them” Dave retorted shielding his eyes with one hand while pointing with his other hand to one spitfire that was being followed by a long trail of black smoke. “Sweet Jesus” I croaked “‘Ope the poor bugger makes it”. That’s when we heard a voice from inside the police station “I think he’ll be alright Sergeant, we phoned the airfield, told them he was coming” the voice of DC Willis informed us by sticking his head out of an open window. The DC had travelled down from London with us but had left the train at Elm Park, a station before Hornchurch, in order to procure a police car from some sort of car depot or car pool, I didn’t know exactly which, the Essex police apparently had this facility at Elm Park.

  Anyway after first meeting the police Superintendent of Romford, who had decided to travel into Hornchurch especially to meet us, we were then informed by DC Willis, that he had secured a car for us, but for some reason or other we must wait until the next day before it could be delivered. However, in the meantime Superintendent John Jarvis left us plenty to think about. For a kick off, he told me and Dave we must be constantly on our guard, because the top brass reckoned that jerry had by now already unloaded something like five hundred clever bloody agents on British soil by way of Dunkirk, and MI5 hadn’t got a sodden clue where to start searching for them. “No my friends we’ll only know where they are when they become bleeding active”. This then was the delightful piece of information old Johnny Jarvis served up to us before he returned to Romford.

  Once again Dave and I found ourselves relying on DC Willis, this time however his task was to find us somewhere to live while we stayed in Hornchurch, and again the young DC came up trumps. He’d not only managed to book us into a two bedroom flat on a six months lease, but the cheeky bugger also arranged with the Romford Superintendent Johnny Jarvis for the Essex police to foot the bill. It turned out to be a large house that had been converted into flats and stood opposite a beautiful park called ‘Harrow Lodge’, and in spite of the widespread bombing that seemed to be affecting even this small village tucked way out in the Essex countryside, we could see some teenagers happily playing cricket on one of the parks big fields.

  We also found out later that DC Willis had acquired a room for himself a couple of doors away from our flat. It also appeared that this bright lad Willis had found himself a lady admirer in the form of Mrs: Daisy Drake, his young landlady, whose husband coincidently happened to have been lost at Dunkirk. Dave and I went along to meet said young landlady and offered our commiserations. In doing so it became abundantly clear to both of us that this Hornchurch lady had firmly set her sights on DC Willis and was relying on his broad shoulders for p
rotection.

  Back at the Hornchurch police station we received the news that an old boy named Daniel Ross may have seen a saboteur. Anyway dear old Daniel had said he saw some bloke taking photos of the airfield. So Dave and I were handed the unenviable task of ferreting out the old boy. We were given an address, 22a Stanley Road, as it happened, it turned out to be a road just before the bloody police station in fact we must have walked by this sodden street on our way from the railway station that morning. “Never mind we’ve found it now” Dave sighed pointing to number 22a, and at that moment Dave stopped to light a fresh cigarette, while I pushed on through the gate. As I did so some snotty nose little urchin playing in the street with others, yelled out “Oi mister, they’ve just put a new spring on that old bleedin’ gate”. I stopped. Trying to comprehend what the kid had said, and of course by then the bloody spring had proved its worth, the gate swung back with such bloody force, it felt like a rocket had hit me up the arse. The gate propelled me up the path leaving me in a heap on number 22a’s doorstep. The little urchin looked over the gate at me, wiped the back of his hand across his snotty nose and said “There, told yer mister, didn’t I.” Then him and his mates ran off laughing. “You alright Bill?” Dave spat out between fits of laughter. “Yeah, course I’m alright, I always do this sort of thing, gives them snotty nose little buggers something to laugh at” I offered back as I picked myself up, anyway I don’t think Dave heard me, the silly sod was too busy laughing at my misfortune.