My Enemy Came Nigh

by Richard Townsend Bickers

  The flat mood of the preceding twenty-four hours, caused by the postponement, had changed to one of angry determination. The squadron had lost another day on the ground, keyed up for the night's work and neglecting the other opportunities in their usual hunting area.

  They waited with savage resolution to set about the enemy, yesterday's anger magnified by resentment at this further stretching of their nerves, the in-the-nick-of-time urgency that the weather and the threat of the Gestapo had forced on them.

  If there was one man more incensed by the delay than any of them, it was Grumitt. Almost slavering at the thought of ravishing Zdenka, impractical though it must be in the short time he would be ashore, he was yet able to convince himself, like the small boy whose cupidity is aroused by an Easter egg on the other side of a plate glass shop window, that he could somehow manage to get his hands (and more besides) on her.

  The three prisoners also had settled into a mood of highly-strung, sombre watchfulness when they had come to terms with the message the two girls had brought them. Even Charlie Teoh, his nervous system soothed again by a midnight visit from Maria-Pia, felt the pressure of the narrow margin that separated safety from danger.

  At lunchtime von Trampel had come to see them, his face stern. His manner was stiff, a daunting contrast with his previous relaxed way of treating them. "I have to tell you that one of my officers, who is, owing to the present political philosophy of my country, in an unassailable position of privilege, has felt it his duty to inform my Headquarters of your presence here. It cannot be more than a matter of hours before you are removed from this island; whatever your medical condition." His shame and humiliation were plain to see in his frosty, self-defensive demeanour and the hurt look in his eyes.

  "Thank you for what you've done for us, sir," Middleton said quietly. He was pleased to hear concurrent murmurs from his two companions.

  "I shall continue to delay your departure as much as I can."

  At the first opportunity that afternoon Middleton called for Zdenka and when she came, asked her to get a message to Afrona urgently, asking that no attack should be made on the house.

  "Why should you worry about von Trampel?" she asked.

  "Because he has been kind to us. If there are any rockets to spare, I'd rather they used them on Mojat, and got that bastard who threw the grenades at Tom Foster and his chaps."

  "Scheusal. Yes. But in war it is not possible to treat everyone as they deserve: many of the good must suffer and many of the bad must... triumph... is that right?"

  "Please try to send the message, Zdenka: I shall feel dirty if I don't at least try to do something for him in return."

  "Honour I understand. I will try."

  The three of them were thinking of this when they were taken up once again to von Trampel's drawing room. He was alone.

  "Let us enjoy each other's company undisturbed, gentlemen: I have invited no other guests. The two ladies will join us presently."

  They talked of books and music, of travel and systems of education, the Italian character (von Trampel with scorn, Charlie Teoh, prejudiced by his experiences with Maria-Pia, Gina and not a few others, robustly defensive), wine and whisky.

  Mindful of the necessity to keep their wits about them in a few hours' time, the three captives resisted as much as possible their host's frequent attentions with the bottle; they all accepted cigars as a means of slowing the drinking rate. Nevertheless, in the pleasant, intimate atmosphere of shared interests and mutual respect, as liking grew between them, the clublike aroma of Havana leaf and cognac induced a drowsiness which made the guests able to take their leave without giving offence.

  Middleton had noticed the glances that von Trampel was casting towards Eva, and her frozen, unhappy look. He divined what was in the German's mind (can't say I blame him, he admitted to himself) and recognised the signal for help in Eva's eyes as she turned to him when he first suggested that he and his friends should go to bed. He owed it to her to help her but whatever he did could only put matters off, not save her from von Trampel's bed. As Zdenka had said, in war the ungodly triumphed and good intentions had to be sacrificed.

  Charlie Teoh hoped ungallantly that Maria-Pia would not offer him her favours for a third night in succession. He had heard that making love was equivalent in exertion to a three-mile run and he felt he would have quite enough running to do at around two-o'clock in the morning.

  *

  The take-off, at last, was like pulling the cork out of a champagne bottle. Everyone on the tarmac outside the squadron hangar at Afrona was effervescent. The troops, although they did not know exactly what was afoot, had spread a rumour that this night operation was connected with the three officers whom another rumour had said were being held prisoner on Taf. The strongest body of opinion believed that Wg. Cdr. Beale was going to land on Taf (the fact that there was no airfield there was no deterrent to the erks when they had concocted a good rumour), pack them all into his aircraft (there wasn't room!) and fly out again.

  Gp. Capt. Mason had agreed that, as it was Beale's job as Wingco. Flying to lead the attack, and he himself lacked recent experience, he would merely attach himself to the squadron as tail-end Charlie, covering their rear and launching his rockets when he had the best opportunity. Beale would go in first, to attack on his own and drop flares. The six pairs would follow at irregular intervals of between three and six minutes. The commandos were to land, met by Petar and Guido who would guide them, only a quarter of a mile from von Trampel's house. The irregularity of the attack would confuse the Germans, who did everything with machine-like regularity. By maintaining a series of raids the enemy's attention should be held well and long enough to enable the rescue to be carried out without interference.

  von Trampel, sleeping heavily, was aroused by the noise of Beale's engines, the glare of flares and the sound of rockets bursting in the harbour. He scrambled from his bed, strapped on his false leg and shouted for Schwuler. By the time he had put on his uniform the house was noisily astir. The first pair of Beaufighters to follow the wing commander came roaring in.

  Around the harbour there was confusion. Hastily manned guns were hammering at the sky, rockets exploding, cannon shells and machinegun bullets flailing the gunpits and the quayside. Searchlights began to fan wildly about, seeking to pick up the aircraft.

  In the cellars the three prisoners, who had lain on their beds fully dressed, felt the earth tremble under the shock of rockets and heard the gunfire and aeroplane engines.

  "They're here!" Teoh cried. He helped Middleton to sit up and swing his legs off the bed, and put his shoes on for him. They waited, listening for sounds close at hand. They knew they had barely enough time and if they could not keep up with the Commandos they would be abandoned. At this last moment, with rescue imminent, not one of them could really believe that they would get away. It was too much against the odds.

  They heard shots from inside the house and Middleton whispered "Oh, my God! I hope the girls are all right."

  The door was flung open and Zdenka rushed in.

  Upstairs, as von Trampel had reached the telephone in the room he used as an office, Maria-Pia screamed for Schwuler. Schwuler, slow-thinking, did not stop to reason why she called him, but lumbered into the kitchen; and straight onto the sharp point of the carving knife she held pointed at the door. As the blade sank into his belly, she ripped upwards with both hands and with a scream he fell forward, knocking her hands away from the hilt of the knife and driving it right home as he fell to the stone-flagged floor.

  She bent and dragged his pistol from its holster, her ands slippery with his blood, her clothes splashed with it, and ran into the entrance hall.

  Eva, running down the stairs, called to her and held out her hand. Maria-Pia gave her the pistol, and Eva, thrusting into the office, shot von Trampel four times: the first bullet hit him in the shoulder, the others entered his chest in a slanting line and he died as she snatched his Luger from his belt.


  Maria-Pia was still standing where she had left her, tears of shock streaming down her face and her whole body shaking. "Come on!" Eva said sharply. "The prisoners," and they ran for the cellar stairs.

  When Zdenka came out of her cellar Klebrig was stretching sleepily on his camp cot outside the one which held the three R.A.F. officers.

  "What's the matter?" He asked.

  "I thought I heard someone call."

  "You're dressed," he said suspiciously.

  She was wearing slacks and a shirt. "I sleep every night in these clothes. You don't think I want you or those three in there to see me in my nightclothes, do you?"

  "I didn't hear anyone call."

  "You were asleep. I have been awake."

  "Expecting the air raid, were you?" He grinned, picking up the machine pistol beside his bed.

  "Don't be silly. Give me the key."

  "Here you are."

  As Zdenka went quickly into the prisoners' room she felt herself pushed unexpectedly from behind and stumbled. Turning with an exclamation of annoyance and surprise she found herself staring into the raised muzzle of Klebrig's machine pistol.

  "Don't point that at me," she said authoritatively.

  "What's going on?" asked Klebrig. "We've never had a night air raid before. What is this, a rescue? Are you escaping?"

  Middleton, trapped by his injuries, bunched his muscles as he prepared to hurl himself at Klebrig. It was impossible. He saw the other two ready to spring like terriers. "Steady, chaps," he said slowly. "Don't be an ass, Klebrig. What chance have we got without arms?"

  Cheerfully Klebrig said "I only asked because, if you have got an escape laid on, I'm coming with you. Can't stand these bloody Krauts a minute longer: no sense of humour and the food's rotten. That grub we had on Sprot was the first decent food I'd had for months." He handed his machine pistol to Teoh. "I'm ready to escape, but I'm not going to shoot my own mates; although their company was forced on me! You're the only uninjured one: take my gun."

  Teoh grabbed it.

  Middleton said "We heard shots upstairs..."

  Eva came into the room, a pistol in each hand. "Quick... shoot him..."She aimed at Klebrig.

  Zdenka knocked her pistol aside, spoke quickly in their own tongue, and took one of the pistols from her. She looked with disgust at the blood that she felt on her hand from its butt. "What happened?"

  Eva said "von Trampel and Schwuler ... both dead," and turned to run up the stairs. The others followed her.

  The front door of the house stood open, they all crowded into the hall and six commandos burst in followed by Ianto Parry-Jones and Grummitt.

  "Thank God you're all right, boyos..."

  Grummitt called "Stretcher bearers," and pointed at Middleton and Tindall. He turned to Zdenka and yanked her by the arm. "You're coming with us." His eyes lit on Eva and he stood transfixed for a second. "By God, so are you!" He reached for her with the other hand. As he turned away he saw Maria-Pia and shouted at Charlie Teoh "Don't just stand there: grab her, Charlie."

  "Come," Eva ordered her. "If you stay, they will shoot you for killing Schwuler: they will know it was you who knifed him."

  The procession trooped out into the noisy night, while the Beaufighters swooped overhead, the gunfire roared and the rockets burst around them.

  They had almost reached the beach when there was a ripple of automatic fire close at hand and Middleton cried out. The commandos returned the fire and ran foward to confirm their kill. Grummitt thrust the girls towards the waiting landing craft and ran to Middleton's side. The Rev. Parry-Jones was already praying over him.

  "For God's sake don't be morbid, Padre," Middleton said through clenched teeth. He groaned. "I'm not bloody well dying, I've only been hit in the leg again."

  Four commandos who had been posted outside the house had a prisoner: a German naval officer who had come running to the Commandant when he could not reach him by telephone.

  But the Commandant was already dead and the commandos took Kapitänleutnant Wüstling.

  In the dim light of the stars and the shaded blue light in the landing craft, Hargreaves and Wüstling ogled each other, each instantly recognising the other for what he was. Hargreaves felt a delicious shiver. What a lovely hunk of seaweed. This was going to be a very long interrogation.

  Grummit, having attended to Middleton and two wounded commandos, was ensconced in a dark corner with Zdenka, his practised fingers, under her clothes, "interfering" with her tumid charms, as the more sensational Sunday papers would put it. Eva and Maria­Pia sat together morosely, apart from the others, remembering their revenge and shocked by the recognition of the qualities in themselves which had made them capable of it.

  *

  The party in the mess that night was adorned by three lady guests.

  Eva had argued with Zdenka all the way to the landing craft, but Zdenka had convinced her that it would be suicidal to remain on Taf, and now she was reconciled to her flight. The Germans would assume the girls had been abducted by the British (the biggest seizure of females since the Sabine women had it, Tommy Tindall had remarked on the way back) and no reprisals would be taken against their families. They had told the soldiers to take the knife from Schwuler's body and throw it in the sea; it would look as though he had been bayonetted.

  Zdenka and Eva could work as effectively with the British as with the partisans, and Maria-Pia would be looked after. Besides, Zdenka was thinking, Eva was too strait-laced and it would do her good to have a romp with someone like Grummitt. As for herself, she was looking forward to cutting a broad swath among these officers.

  Klebrig had insisted that he was not a prisoner, but a volunteer for non-combatant duties in the R.A.F. He had surrendered voluntarily and provided the escapers with a weapon. He would, he said, rather like a commission in the Intelligence branch. Meanwhile he was locked up in the guardroom at Afrona.

  The party moved on to the hospital where Middleton, in a room with Tommy Tindall, was being nursed by Fay. "You must be the only man who ever got himself wounded on a stretcher," she had complained when she first took charge of him. "You need looking after."

  "For life, please," he agreed. "But let's start with some leave in Rome together as soon as I'm fit."

  As everyone gathered around their beds, Ianto Parry­ Jones said plaintively "Well now, surely this does call for a rum issue?"

  And the group captain announced that, before leaving, he would like a few minutes in private with Matron.

  If you enjoyed reading My Enemy Came Nigh you might be interested in Torpedo Attack by Richard Townsend Bickers, also published by Endeavour Press Ltd.

  Extract from Torpedo Attack by Richard Townsend Bickers

  One

  The new pilot, who was not new in the profession or the Royal Air Force, paused outside the squadron Adjutant's office to watch a Vildebeest take off. There was nothing special about the event and certainly not about the obsolescent biplane. Pilots have always stopped what they were doing to watch take offs and landings with critical eyes.

  The squadron commander turned from the window, through which he had also watched. It was a warm day, the window was open and Wing Commander Tregear kept being distracted from his paperwork by the sounds of aircraft coming and going. Like most pilots he was bored by office work and it was not difficult to divert his attention from it, even when, as now, it was urgent.

  His Adjutant opened the communicating door. 'Flying Officer Alden, sir.'

  'Send him in.' Another welcome break.

  The new arrival was a little under six feet tall and looked spare despite his breadth of shoulder. His bony face, long, with a dominant nose and forceful chin, looked stubborn. The Wing Commander thought that here was a man who would readily show intolerance. Alden's deep set eyes were grey and his lips thin. He stood very straight and Tregear wondered whether this was his usual way of carrying himself. From the general look of him, it probably was. All new arrivals did their best to appear pa
rade ground erect, but with most of them it was an effort made for the occasion.

  Tregear rose and held out his hand across the desk. 'Good morning, Alden.'

  'How d'you do, sir.' Alden had large hands with long fingers and it occurred to his new Commanding Officer that they felt as hard and strong as though they were used to gripping the loom of an oar.

  'Welcome to the squadron.'

  'Thank you, sir.'

  'Sit down.'

  Alden removed his Service Dress cap to reveal straight light brown hair. He wore the mauve-green-mauve ribbon of the General Service Medal, awarded for serving in various Eastern and African countries. The single wide braid ring on each sleeve was faded. He sat as erectly as he had stood, knees and feet together, cap on lap, hands on knees.

  He must make a lot of people nervous, the Wing Commander thought. He leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers on his desk. It was a habit about which his wife teased him. She said he did it when he was tense. He became aware that he was apparently betraying tension and told himself crossly that this was absurd. A wing commander made tense by a flying officer? It was because he had a great deal of work to do, he silently reasoned. And although he loathed sitting at his desk and dealing with humph, he wanted to get on with it. The R.A.F. was mobilising for war and the group captain commanding the station, where there were two Vildebeest squadrons, was hot stuff on administration.

  The calendar on the wall showed that it was Wednesday 30th August 1939. Wednesdays were half holidays in the Services, known as sports afternoons. But there would be no half day today and probably not for a long time to come.

  Alden's personal documents had preceded him, but his new squadron commander had not had time to read them. All he knew was the salient fact that the squadron Adjutant had told him after a cursory glance. The Adj was very much occupied with other duties also. He was, anyway, and as usual, one of the pilots who had had the job wished on him as an additional function. So his appetite for paperwork was no sharper than his C.O.'s.