Deathwatch: Inspirational WWII Suspense

by V. B. Tenery

  Judge Sullivan nodded as he placed his hat securely on his head and tightened a wool tartan scarf around his neck. “It should be. These boys have had lots of experience flying in and out of Britain. It’s an American plane and Hitler doesn’t want to start a war with us. Not yet anyway. He may be waiting for Japan to make the first move.”

  Grey grabbed the lever and opened the car door for the Judge. Grace slipped out beside him and they walked her father to the boarding stairwell. Judge Sullivan closed his eyes as he pulled his daughter into a long embrace. “I love you, sweetheart.” When he released her, he pointed his finger at Grey. “You promised to take care of her.”

  “My solemn word of honor, sir. Send us a wire to let us know you arrived safely.”

  Judge Sullivan nodded, and hurried up the stairs and into the cabin.

  Grey and Grace sat on the tarmac and waited for the plane to disappear down the blacked-out runway. “Do you want to go home to America, Grace? You’ll be safer there.”

  She gave a shaky laugh. “We’re been married three days and you already want to send me back to my father? I’ve made a great impression on you, haven’t I?”

  He grinned. “You know it isn’t that. It’s just that your father’s admonition about keeping you safe has unnerved me. I’ve become complacent about the air raids and other dangers. He made me aware how treacherous it is for you here. Bombs are falling from the sky and a killer is chasing you. Thank God your father didn’t know about that or he would have dragged you onto that plane.” He looked into her eyes and tried a half-hearted smile. “If anything happens to you, I’d better make sure we go together. Otherwise, your father will come after me with blood in his eyes.”

  “His bark is much worse that his bite. He’s really dear, sweet, and gentle. The most honorable man I’ve ever known.”

  “So you don’t want to go home?”

  She shook her head. “Do you know what would become of me, Grey, if I went back to America? I would become a socialite housewife, giving parties and doing my bit for charities. I would hate that. Don’t get me wrong. I love my home and my parents and it was hard to leave them.”

  She turned in the seat and looked at him. “Do you remember the story of Esther, in the Bible when her uncle told her she was placed in the king’s palace ‘for such a time as this’?”

  He nodded, vaguely remembering the story from his childhood.

  “I hope this doesn’t sound arrogant, but I think God gave me the intelligence to break cyphers and skills with languages for just this time in history. When I translate an important message that saves lives or helps military intelligence, I know it pleases God. I feel His pleasure. Do you understand, Grey? That’s why I can’t go home.”

  Grey swallowed hard. He did understand. This wisp of a girl was fighting the Nazi war machine the only way she knew how—with the gifts God gave her, and she had given up her home and family to do it. Her patriotism humbled him. He had started to realize her father was right. Grace Sullivan was indeed an original.

  He reached and cupped her face with one hand, stroking her jaw line with his thumb. He gazed into her luminous eyes, and his throat muscles tightened. After a moment he inhaled deeply and started the engine. “Come, let’s go home. We’ve a long, busy day ahead of us tomorrow.”

  ***

  The bed quaked followed by loud explosions and the roar of aircraft engines woke Grey from a sound sleep. At first he thought it was the Scapa Flow nightmare returning. Bright flashes of light quickly convinced him it wasn’t a dream. He pulled on his robe and hurried out onto the balcony. Fires blazed across the city skyline as bombs continued to fall. Blackout didn’t help when there were ground fires from earlier in the day to guide the Luftwaffe to targets.

  Grace moved up beside him, her arms crossed against the cold. He placed his arm around her. She didn’t resist, and leaned closer. “Do you want to go to the shelter?”

  She shook her head. “A bomb hit a shelter Monday and killed everyone. I’d rather take my chances here. It’s all in God’s hands anyway.”

  An incendiary bomb hit two blocks over. The explosion rocked the Bristol’s foundation, filling the air with smoke and debris. Grace trembled, put both arms around his waist, and buried her face on his chest. “They’ve never come this close before.” Her voice was almost a whisper. “May I sleep with you, Grey? I don’t want to die alone . . . away from my family.”

  He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. “Do you know what you’re asking?”

  She nodded.

  He closed the French doors behind him, and held her hand as they traversed the dark hallway to his bedroom. The darkened room had only a small nightlight as he drew back the covers and slid between the now-cold sheets. Grace dropped her robe and moved close to him, her silk nightgown whispered across the cotton sheets. Another bomb rocked the building and he pulled her close. A nervous tremor ran through her body. He wrapped his arms around her and held her until the sounds of war stopped, her breathing slowed to a steady rhythm, and he knew she had fallen asleep.

  Truth was he didn’t want to die alone, either.

  Bristol Arms Apartments

  London, England

  Sunday dawned cold and dreary with the inevitable rain pounding against his window. The weather matched his mood.

  Grace still lay beside him, and he was once again reminded of the blackmail photographs and why they were married.

  He hopped out of bed and made his way to the kitchen. After preparing the teapot, he placed the kettle on the stove. The soft pop of the gas ring igniting was the only sound in the silent morning.

  While he waited for the water to boil, he stared at the ceiling. This marriage had irrevocably complicated his life. They couldn’t live together as man and wife if there was no love between them and a divorce was imminent. He ran a hand down his face over the stubble on his chin. His life wasn’t conducive to having a wife and family.

  Michael Sullivan’s caution to take care of his daughter ran through Grey’s thoughts. He had promised to keep Grace safe, but was it a promise he could keep? So much of the danger was beyond his control. However, he could remove Becke from the equation. He would take care of that tonight.

  He heaved a deep breath and filled his tea cup. Reflection helped clarify the situation, but couldn’t solve his problems.

  As he sipped the tea he heard Grace leave his room, and decided it was safe to take his shower. He changed into black wool pants and a thick sweater then removed two weapons from their cases. While he oiled and cleaned them, he told himself for the hundredth time tonight’s operation was no place for a cryptanalyst. He must have been out of his mind to agree to include her in the investigation.

  He laid his coat, knitted cap, and gloves on the bed. “Grace, can you come here for a moment?”

  She appeared in the bedroom doorway, dressed in dark wool trousers and a high-necked sweater. A pink tint colored her cheeks. “Grey . . . about last night . . . thank you. I don’t know what came over me.”

  He sat on the bed and watched her. Her lips parted. “It’s okay. Your reaction was natural in such a frightening situation, and I didn’t want to take advantage of your fear. But don’t expect chivalry to win out every time. I’m human and you’re a beautiful woman.”

  It was time for a change of subject. “You shoot, right?”

  She nodded.

  “Rifle or handgun?”

  “Both. I’m better with a rifle, but I can hit what I aim at with either. However, my skills are a little rusty. I haven’t fired a gun since I arrived in England.”

  “Do you have a preference in handguns?”

  She gave him a quirky grin. “One with a trigger and bullets.”

  He laughed. “I think I can help you there.” He placed his Browning HP and a 9mm Luger semi-automatic on the bed. “Take your pick.”

  She examined each weapon, sighted them and checked the clips, then placed them back on the bed. “I like the Luger. How did you
come by that?”

  “A Gestapo agent gave it to me.”

  She lifted one delicate brow. “That was generous of him.”

  He shrugged. “He was dead at the time and no longer had need of it.”

  “Do you expect trouble when you take Berke into custody?”

  He handed her the gun. “I hope not, but we need to be ready if there is. I have an adjustable holster that can be made to fit you. Keep the gun on your person, not in your satchel.” He reached into his kit and pulled out a holster. “Come here. Let’s see if I can reduce this to your size.” He held the straps out for her to slide her arms into then reached around her to fasten the front. After tweaking the closures, he ran his fingers under each shoulder strap to make sure it wasn’t too tight. Her closeness made him all too aware of the lavender scent of her hair, just inches below his nose.

  He cleared his throat. “That should do. Is it comfortable?”

  She nodded, stepped forward, and slipped the Luger into the glove. “It feels a little heavy but I’ll get used to it.”

  “Keep it handy tonight at all times. Be sure to wear a warm coat and gloves. It will be bloody cold on the water.”

  She sent him a cheeky grin. “I used to track moose in Wyoming with my father. I know how to dress for the hunt.”

  ***

  Grace pulled her hair back into a ponytail and tucked it under a knitted cap. She turned away from the mirror and pulled up the hood of her pea coat, aware she could pass for a young boy from a distance.

  She tried to focus on the mission, but what transpired between her and Grey last night still heated her cheeks whenever it crossed her mind, which was often. Terror had fueled her actions—sure she was about to die.

  How long he’d held her before she went to sleep, she didn’t know. She only remembered feeling infinitely safe nestled in his arms. Acute awareness dawned for the first time. She was falling in love with Grey Hamilton, and that would never do.

  New Scotland Yard

  London, England

  She and Grey rendezvoused with Aubrey at New Scotland Yard to run through the mission one more time. New was a misnomer. The multistoried red brick building on the Victoria Embankment was completed in 1890.

  Grey led her into the tiny office Aubrey shared with his sergeant. A gas fire in the corner kept the area cozy.

  Aubrey stood and greeted Grace with a smile and a kiss on the cheek, then introduced his office mate. The sergeant was of medium height, with red hair and intelligent blue eyes. “This is Sergeant Fred Rudd, and Sergeant, I’d like you to meet Commander Hamilton with MI6 and his wife, Grace. I can have Fred get you some coffee, but I don’t recommend it.”

  Grey shook his hand. “We’re fine, thanks. Are you and Sergeant Rudd the only ones you want to include in the briefing?”

  Aubrey nodded. “We’ll get the constables together later.”

  Grey walked over to a map tacked to the wall. “My team will wait off-shore for the arrival of the Nazi boat. We’ll take Becke after he boards. Aubrey, radio me on the cruiser as soon as Becke is in the water. We’ll take it from there. We will turn him over to you after we dock.”

  Aubrey glanced over at his sergeant. “We’ll remain hidden until Becke pushes out to sea, then we wait until the MI6 team brings him back. It’s pretty straight-forward if all goes as planned.”

  “Why don’t we just arrest him on the dock?” the sergeant asked.

  “That’s a good question, Sergeant,” Grey said. “The answer is we intend to capture the boat. If Becke doesn’t keep the appointment, the vessel will try to make it back to France. In that event, we would have to stop them by whatever mean possible, including blowing the ship out of the water. It’s critical we get the opportunity to interrogate the men on board. The Nazi’s are holding some of our RAF pilots in France. We want to know where they’re being held before they are shipped off to a German prison camp.”

  CHAPTER 14

  London Docks

  London, England

  Grace and Grey arrived two hours early and boarded the sleek black craft outfitted by the Royal Navy for MI6 operations. Grace listened intently as Grey went into great detail on the craft’s speed and special features, but it meant little to her.

  Eight agents had already arrived when she and Grey stepped on board. Grey didn’t bother to make introductions. This would be her first and last operation.

  A burley man with a strong Scottish accent took the helm. With waves pounding the hull, he moved the boat out two miles from the English coastline.

  “Thank the good Lord ye have the coordinates, Commander. It’s so bloody dark it’s like sailing in ink.” The man glanced over at Grace who stood in the shadows. “Yer recruitin’ em young aren’t ye, Commander.”

  Grey nodded in her direction. “Sharpshooter.”

  He assembled the men on the darkened bridge and braced his legs against the craft’s roll as he addressed the crew. “We expect the Jerries to use an E-boat. They’ll want to get Becke on board and get out quickly. That craft normally runs with a twelve-man crew: two officers and ten sailors. E-boats are faster than anything we have in our fleet and the Royal Navy is anxious to get their hands on one.

  “Scotland Yard will be on the dock to capture Becke if he shows and changes his mind about meet his compatriots. Otherwise, as soon as our man is on the German boat, we take it over and capture the crew alive if possible. They have information we need. Is everyone clear so far?”

  “Aye,” they responded.

  “We’ll approach in two rafts from both sides.”

  Boyd turned from the helm. “Yer going to lead the way, right, Commander?”

  The crew laughed.

  Grey grinned. “No, I’m going aboard behind you, Boyd. Your bulk will stop any bullets headed my way.”

  It struck Grace for the first time these men would be in grave danger if the Germans decided to fight. Grey was a natural leader, good at his job, and he obviously had the respect and loyalty of the men, but that knowledge didn’t quell the drum beating a wild rhythm in her chest.

  Grey leaned back against the control console. “You have all seen the picture of Becke, so you should have no problem identifying him. He’s the prize we’re after.” Grey reached into a bin on the floor and retrieved ten pairs of goggles. “We confiscated these from a German infantry in France. They’re called night vision glasses. They were invented for nights such as this. They’ll allow us to watch the boat without using lights.”

  Grace slipped on the goggles and the men came into focus in a greenish glow. Amazing.

  Forty-five minutes before zero hour, Aubrey radioed from shore. Becke was in the water, headed in their direction.

  Grey led her below deck to the small galley and poured two cups of coffee from a chipped blue pot. He handed her one of the metal mugs. “I want you to stay on deck out of sight. Things will get crazy when we board her. There may be gunfire. I promised to include you in the investigation but I don’t intend to expose you to any more danger than necessary.”

  She sipped the very strong brew and nodded. “I think I can manage to stay out of sight, Commander, and out of gun range.”

  “See that you do.”

  The craft had made its way under the cover of darkness into its current position. A steady rain peppered the deck as they stared into the distance through the green glow, awaiting the Royal Navy’s signals that their quarry was incoming.

  Static crackled on the bridge and Grey slipped on the earphones. The message came from a British Motorized Torpedo Boat that patrolled the Channel. The only ships in the vicinity tonight were there for a purpose. “Radar picked up a craft headed towards your coordinates, Commander. Approach is on your port side. About fifteen minutes out.”

  Grey relayed the information to his crew. “Get ready. Our guests are on their way.” He sent a glance towards the big Scot. “Boyd, get us a close as you can to the E-boat without revealing our position. When Becke steps on deck, we’ll ap
proach in the rafts. Once we’re in the water move around to the bow, and when we’re on board, light up the boat with the heavy spotlights. The rest will be up to us.”

  “What if she turns and runs?” Boyd asked.

  “She won’t. We’ll be there to see that she doesn’t. Our guns will be trained on her, and there are two MTP boats closing in. She won’t get away.”

  The MI6 crew watch in silence as the German craft moved into place. A few minutes later, Becke’s small outboard motor-boat came into view. As he neared the larger craft, someone threw him a line. He pulled next to the hull and boarded. Two German sailors were left fore and aft while the others went below deck.

  “Let’s go,” Grey whispered. “Oars in the water.”

  With the goggles, Grace could clearly see the black-clad figures slip over the side into the rubber rafts and moved quietly towards the Nazi’s stern.

  A short time later eight men clambered onboard the ship, four to the port side and four to starboard, quickly dispatching the guards.

  She prayed Grey’s injured leg wouldn’t be a problem in the damp cold, but he moved like and agile cat as though he’d never had an injury. Probably helped by the adrenalin rush.

  Boyd steered the cruiser into position and brightened the E-boat with lights bright as day.

  Two agents stayed on deck, one at the helm, and one at the stern, while six rushed down the steps into the cabin. Within minutes, the agents returned to deck with nine men and Becke.

  In the bright light, Grace watched spellbound as movement on top of the bridge revealed a man lying on his stomach, an automatic weapon in hand. Her heart plummeted. The agents couldn’t see him and she couldn’t make that shot with a handgun from this distance. Even if she were closer, the sea was too rough to aim properly.

  “Boyd, there’s a man on the roof of the bridge. Do you have a rifle?”

  “No rifle.”

  Grace became frantic as the man crawled closer to the edge. He could pick them all off one by one from that position. She had to draw Grey’s attention to the shooter. All she needed was for Grey to look up.