Night Action (Commander Cochrane Smith series)

by Alan Evans

  The corporal warned, “Ammunition’s low.”

  “I know.” Tallon returned to the house. He crawled through the rooms at the front because they were under heavy fire now, talked to the men kneeling by the windows and had the same warning from them, gave the same encouragement. And hoped it was true. He moved on.

  One of those in the upstairs rooms was Phil, who had blasted a way through the houses for Suzanne, McNab and the others. Tallon said, “You made a mess of that place next door.”

  Phil nodded, “Mr. Brent’s orders, sir.”

  Tallon remembered when the original plan for the raid had to be abandoned and he had described the demolition engineers with their rucksacks packed with explosives as being: “All dressed up and nowhere to go.” And David Brent’s reply: “We’ll need them all.” They had.

  He found McNab, who reported sombrely, “I brought back two wounded and lost three.” He had been forced to leave their bodies in the S.S. headquarters at the far end of the quay. Tallon’s weary brain did the sum, adding McNab’s casualties to the others: five dead and four wounded. The wounded were in the two rooms on the ground floor at the rear of the house.

  Suzanne sat on the floor in the former guardroom with her back against the wall and Paul’s head in her lap. Michel sat on one side of her, Louis on the other. Albert stood close by, bewildered now and needing the reassurance of the girl’s presence. Suzanne knew that, and said in French, “I want to lay him down. Can you see something we can use as a pillow? And is there a light we can use as we move him? I can’t reach my torch.” It was deep in the pocket of her trenchcoat.

  Michel edged through the children who crowded the room and returned with a small pillow from one of the camp beds. Albert pulled his torch from his pocket, held it out and Louis took it. He switched it on for Michel to see to lift Paul’s head gently so that Suzanne could slide her legs from underneath and insert the pillow instead. She said softly, “I think he has some colour now. And he seems to be breathing more easily.”

  Chris Tallon came to their side and said, “Don’t use that torch too long. It’ll spoil your vision when you go outside.”

  Suzanne told Louis, “All right, put it out now.” She rose to her feet and moved towards Albert.

  Louis obeyed, stepped back to give her room — and slipped the torch into his pocket.

  Suzanne asked Tallon, “We’re going outside now?”

  He hesitated before saying, “Not yet.”

  She noted that hesitation. “What’s wrong?”

  Tallon admitted, “The drifter’s sinking. Brent is still signalling to it. I don’t know what he has in mind. But it won’t be long.” Casualties, a shrinking supply of ammunition, more and more of the enemy pouring across by boat from the new town. Not long. “I’m going to look at the wounded.” He did not want to answer any more questions.

  As he left, Suzanne translated for Albert and he shrugged, “If the drifter is sinking, then we are finished.”

  She shook her head, “I don’t believe that. There are the other boats.”

  Albert waved a hand at the children. “The little boats can’t take us all.”

  Suzanne put her arm around him, “Don’t worry.” She trusted David Brent but was afraid.

  Louis, standing unobtrusively in the background, had listened to Suzanne’s explanation. He gathered there was a plan for the raiding force and the others to escape by sea. He dared not go to England. His story had been swallowed, but for how long? Suppose the battered wireless operator survived and said he had not told Schleger about Suzanne’s rendezvous with the important agent? Then Louis would fall under suspicion again. The operator might admit he had talked — but that was a gamble Louis would not take. The unconscious man might die, and Louis was prepared to see that he did, but there was no chance now. And later? That, too, was an unacceptable risk.

  He had to get out. But only to run the gauntlet of the cross-fire? Did he have to get out of the house? If he could stay in St. Jean then he was safe, Schleger and Ostmann would see to that. Ostmann... Louis remembered and now knew how he could stay.

  Brent stood at the side window and watched the guardship getting under way. Her screw churned at her stern and men forward and aft cast off her moorings. She moved forward slowly towards the mouth of the harbour. He had asked Jimmy Nash if the guardship had steam up, and she had. Suzanne had said the guardship sometimes went to sea, so there was a chance she would have steam.

  Suzanne. Now he knew why she had sent him away so long ago. But he had still lost her. Another man’s wife. What had been a mystery was now a sentence. He swore under his breath, strode back through the house and came on Tallon in the hall. Chris crawled out of one of the front rooms as it was raked by automatic fire and plaster fell from the ceiling, was kicked from the wall opposite the window. He shoved up to his feet and Brent told him, “I want all the seamen at the back of the house. Get ready to go. We’re leaving aboard the guardship.”

  “The guard —” Tallon broke off, stared at Brent open-mouthed, then finished, “You’re a bloody marvel!”

  David Brent said grimly, “We haven’t done it yet.”

  Chris nodded sober acceptance of that, answered in a voice hoarse with dust and shouting, “We’ll be ready when you give the word. Now, if you like.”

  “Minutes, that’s all. And two good men to take Neumann first of all.”

  “I hope he’s worth it.” Chris was remembering his dead and wounded.

  Brent left him, went to the back room and edged through the crowd to where Suzanne stood over Paul and Michel. He told her, “We’re leaving, starting in a minute or two.” He paused, staring down at Paul’s face, as the girl translated for Albert. Brent said, “His eyes are open.” He could see the whites of them in the gloom.

  Michel said, “He’s waking!”

  Louis stood close by the door and now he eased around the frame, out into the passage. He was only two paces from the open back door, the racket and whine of the firing, but he turned away from it and strode quickly into the deeper darkness under the stairs. Ostmann had said, when they sat in the car after the ambush, “All those houses on the quay have cellars.” And Ostmann had then added, “I hear the Herr Oberst keeps a good one.”

  Louis found the door, opened it and stepped through, closed it behind him. He felt for a bolt or a key on the inside, but there was neither. No matter. They would all be gone in a few minutes and he would go up and show a white flag, make sure the German swine didn’t shoot him. Till then he would keep well out of the way. He could use Albert’s torch to find his way down —

  But now he realised that there was light below in the cellar. He turned, breath held, transferring the torch to his left hand, with his right bringing the Luger pistol from his pocket. The source of the light was far back in the cellar and out of his sight, the edge of its radiance barely touching the bottom of the steps. Was one of the soldiers down here? No, that didn’t make sense; they could not defend the house from the cellar. A light left on by accident? No again, because the power had failed — Schleger’s office had been plunged into darkness until the yellow emergency lighting cut in. He started down the steps, carefully, quietly.

  Ilse had not heard the door open and close. She did not hear Louis walk soft-footed across the floor of the cellar. The noise of the battle above her was muted but the distant crackling was still enough to cover his approach. She sensed his presence and jerked upright; her hands fell from her face and she stared into his.

  Louis reached out a hand, seized her under the jaw and began to force her back on the couch. She tried to struggle but now he showed her the Luger pistol and she was still. He said, “If they find you, they’ll kill you. Make a sound and I’ll turn you over to them. Only I’ll say you tried to grab the gun.” His face was close to hers, his grip on her throat thrusting her head back. He lowered the gun and laid it on the floor under the couch, where he could reach it and she could not.

  *

  Su
zanne and Michel knelt by Paul, David Brent stooping over them. The girl said, “This is Suzanne. Can you hear me? See me? We got you out.”

  Paul squinted up at her out of swollen eyes and his voice came thickly, “I can see you. Out? Where are we?”

  “A house on the quay. There’s a boat. The Navy is going to take us back.”

  Paul did not seem to hear that. He said, “I didn’t tell them anything. Just my cover story. Nothing else.”

  Suzanne and Michel looked at each other over his body, then stood. Michel whispered, “Can we believe him? He might have given something away when he was only half-conscious, and doesn’t remember that now.”

  “I believe him.” She said that with certainty, suspicion surfacing again.

  “Then if he didn’t give us up —” Michel glanced down at Paul, then up at the girl. “Who else knew?”

  “You. Me. Albert — Louis.”

  They turned as one and saw Albert watching them. Suzanne asked, “Where’s Louis?”

  The old man looked around him, and shrugged, “I don’t know. He was here a minute ago.”

  David Brent asked, “What’s going on?”

  Suzanne told herself coldly that suspicion was not enough and other possibilities had to be examined. Albert could have betrayed them — but would he then have met her at the landing and acted as a guide for Brent?

  Albert had told Suzanne of his accident and Louis’ care for him. But Albert and herself had plotted an “accident” to a German sentry, so... Louis had had ample time to pass a message to Schleger. He had not been shot. He claimed to have been kneed — but there was only the one corporal in the room with him. Not two troopers in a cell, not Schleger nor Ostmann. Just one corporal. And an empty desk in the hall.

  Suzanne threw at Michel, “You and Albert look after Paul.” Then she pushed past Brent to the door and as he followed she explained rapidly, “We brought three men away from the S.S., those two in there and another, Louis. We’ve just found out he was the one who gave us up. He was in that room. A big thug.”

  They were at the open back door and Grundy appeared, Cullen at his shoulder. Suzanne demanded, “Did you see a big Frenchman come out of here?”

  Grundy shook his head, “No, miss. But we’ve just come back. And out here we’re all watching for fellers coming from the other direction.” He turned to Brent. “Mr. Tallon said you wanted us, sir. The rest of the men are over by the wall. There’s a drifter closing.”

  Brent saw them crouching in the shelter of the sea-wall. He ordered, “Take her lines. That’s Mr. Nash. I’ll be with you.” Then he told Suzanne, “This Louis, he’s gone, and we’ve no time to search for him. Wait here.” She would be first out of this hell and aboard the guardship, along with Max Neumann, he was determined on that. He ran to join Grundy and his men lining the sea-wall.

  Suzanne listened to the unending din of the firing and saw the flicker of muzzle flames only a score of yards away at the mouth of the alley. She said to herself: “Louis wouldn’t risk his skin. He’s found a hole and when this is over he’ll crawl out of it.” To betray and inform again. She turned back into the house, ruled out the rooms at the front of it and started towards the stairs, then hesitated. Tallon’s men were in every room in the house so there was no hiding place in any of them. She thought that if Louis got away then it would be her fault. She should not have believed his explanation when she found him in an office in the butcher’s house while Michel and Paul were both in the cellars —

  The word triggered the thought. She went back along the passage and found the door under the stairs. She paused then: Louis had been armed with a Luger. She stood to one side of the door and turned the handle with her left hand, her right holding the Mauser pistol, then threw the door wide. No shot was fired. She edged forward until she could see the steps leading down and the faint glow of light at the bottom of them. She descended the steps steadily, watchful. The cellar was a place of shadows, the only light coming from behind racks of wine-bottles at the far end. Her eyes probed the shadows but saw no one and now she was crossing the cellar floor, closing on the light. She checked a moment when she first heard the panting breathing, the sobbing, then moved on more quickly until she could see beyond the racks.

  Louis held the girl by her throat with one hand, the other was thrust under her rucked-up skirt. She was trying to fight him. Suzanne saw the girl’s face, eyes closed tight and tears on her cheeks. Suzanne jabbed the muzzle of the Mauser into the back of Louis’ neck and ordered, “Stand up!” It did not sound like her voice.

  For an instant Louis was frozen with shock then the pistol jabbed again and he knew what it was. He let go of the girl lying under him and pushed himself up on the couch, head turning as the pressure of the pistol barrel was removed. He saw Suzanne, standing two strides away now and holding the pistol with both hands but pointed at the ceiling. She knew, he was certain. The one they called Paul had talked and she knew Louis had betrayed her. It might have been a lot worse if he had been found by Michel or that hard-faced commando who had nearly killed Louis in Schleger’s office — but it was only Suzanne.

  He was thinking quickly again, pretended to slip and fall as he tried to stand. His hand sought and found the Luger under the couch, swept it up. Suzanne still had her pistol pointed at the ceiling, was retreating, side-stepping away, but she was a fool if she thought that would save her at this range.

  *

  David Brent stood on the yard-wide sea-wall, lit by the red glare from the burning house, as the guardship slid in with Tommy Vance at the helm. Her lines were caught by Brent’s men lining the wall and made fast. He shouted down to Jimmy Nash, ten feet below him on the deck of the guardship, “Did you bring that sail from the drifter?” And when he saw Jimmy lift his hand: “We’ve a bigger party than we planned.” He told a staring Jimmy about the children, then gave his orders and asked, “Understood?”

  “Aye, aye, sir!”

  Brent jumped down from the wall and called to Grundy, nearby and listening, “Get them moving! Get them aboard!” He glanced towards the house, saw the girl had gone and strode towards the door.

  Jimmy Nash said disbelievingly, “A boatload of kids!” Then he turned to the signalman waiting at his side, “Got that lamp?”

  “Sir!”

  “Send now.”

  The signalman directed the lamp out to sea and began to work the trigger.

  *

  Crozier’s boat lay within feet of Dent’s, the bows of both turned towards the shore a mile away. The sound of the firing came out to them over the sea as an irregular crackling. A house was burning and in its light they could see the mouth of the harbour, saw the guardship turn out of it and edge in to the sea-wall near the fire. A minute later they read the signal flickering out from under the sea-wall and Crozier told his signalman, “Acknowledge.”

  As the light flashed from his bridge he called across to Dent, “See that? We cruise offshore and give covering fire.” That was the import of the two-letter signal flashed to them. Brent had also told them of another two-letter combination that would be used if Jimmy Nash failed, that would have called on Dent and Crozier to close the sea-wall and take off as many as they could. Crozier said “So it seems to be working, so far.”

  Little Dent replied, “Bloody marvellous! I can’t believe it.”

  Crozier thought: Neither can I.

  The engines of the boats rumbled and they ran in towards the fire, the flames reaching higher as they closed and now the crackling was louder and they could see the pin-prick flashes in the night.

  *

  Brent shoved his way into the passage, going against the tide: the commandos were bringing out Max Neumann, Michel, Albert, Paul and a shuffling, whimpering trail of children. He worked clear of them when he passed the doors of the kitchen and guardroom on either side. That was when he heard the shots. There was firing from the front and rear of the house but these reports came from below. There were four of them and they echoed u
p the steps from the open door to the cellar.

  He went down them at a run, grabbing the Colt .45 from its holster and cocking it. He saw light at the far end of the cellar, drifting wisps of smoke and ran towards it. He found Suzanne standing still with her hand holding the Mauser pistol hanging loosely at her side. A man lay on his back with his arms flung wide. There was a couch, a girl curled up small at one end of it, as far from the body as she could go. Her brown hair hung tangled about her face and her eyes were big with fright.

  He knew who the man had to be: “Louis?”

  Suzanne nodded, “He had a gun. I believe he thought I wouldn’t shoot. I nearly didn’t. I had to move to one side because he was right in front of her and I didn’t want to hit her. And then I knew he was going to kill me.”

  She was shaking and David Brent put his arm around her and said softly, “All right. Put the safety catch on that thing.” And when she lifted the Mauser and obeyed, he asked, “Who is she?”

  “The daughter of the Oberst. She lives here. Louis must have found her down here by accident. He was trying to —” Suzanne broke off there, then finished, “I’m very sorry for her.”

  Brent understood and stared down at Louis. “Her father would have had him shot.”

  “No.” Suzanne knew Louis now. “She wouldn’t have been able to tell her father anything when he found her. You and your men would have been blamed.”

  David Brent asked, “Do you speak German?” And when Suzanne shook her head he muttered, “Where the hell is Johnson when we need him?” But he knew the answer to that: the German-speaker would be with Tallon.

  Suzanne said, “She understands French. I know the woman who comes in here to clean for them.”

  “Well for God’s sake say something to take that look off her face. Tell her we’re taking her out of this bloody place and she won’t be hurt.”

  Suzanne did that and they each took one of the girl’s hands. They led her up the steps and into the now-empty kitchen. It was lit by the glow from the stove but Brent pressed the torch he had brought up from the cellar into Ilse’s hand. “Tell her to sit on the floor in the corner away from the windows. When we’ve gone she must shine the torch on herself and keep singing in German, anything, as long as it’s loud.” So her father’s men would not indiscriminately shoot their way in. He waited until Suzanne had got that message across. There was intelligence in the German girl’s eyes now and she did as Suzanne said. Brent glanced over his shoulder as he left the room and saw her face turned towards him from her place in the far corner, watching.