Love is the death of me

by Dick Hardman

  He waited patiently for a staff car to arrive and carry him off to meet Schwalm. It was 20 minutes before the vehicle pulled up near him, during which the wind had developed into powerful gusts, and the rain fell in torrents. The driving rain penetrated his clothing and the biting wind made his exposed skin ache, before it quickly turned numb.

  For reasons of secrecy, Karl’s arrival on the island was not scheduled. However, just prior to landing it was made clear by Berlin, that Dedrick Schwalm was required to see the passenger, immediately he landed. It was that sort of exclusion from what was happening in Berlin, which made Dedrick question his role in the war, cast away on this godforsaken island.

  Strom instructed the two soldiers carrying the crate marked for the Oberst, from the plane, to place it carefully on the back seat of the car. They wedged it firmly into position with his travel bag.

  Karl was grateful for the relative warmth inside the car as he sat next to the driver, but in a display of arrogance, ignored him. Instead he stared blindly through the windshield at the torrents of water blasting over it. The two soldiers with the crate told the driver it was nitro-glycerine for the Oberst and from that moment on, the petrified driver moved as gently as mist.

  Schwalm and Strom meet.

  The journey to Fort Clonque was short and somewhat alarming as the breaking sea was churning over the narrow causeway that led to it. According to records, Schwalm had personal reasons for remaining separate from the other officers who were billeted at the Grand Hotel.

  Karl Strom dashed from the car, over the drawbridge into the keep. The flood of yellow light offering warmth and security within. He waited patiently inside the entrance, as the crate was lifted from the rear seat by the driver and a guard, and carried carefully into the Oberst’s office. Gently they lowered it to the floor and the driver left, relieved to be back in his car, cold, wet and intact.

  The aggressive voice of the Oberst bellowed from the office, “Herman, bring in our guest, let us find out who he is and what he wants so urgently at 2.00 am in the morning.”

  Herman approached Karl Strom with the air of overconfidence in his position as the Oberst’s personal guard and friend. Strom remembered from the personnel files, he was 50, and looked a very fit man of average build and height. Here was somebody who was well organised and knew all that was going on around him, a dependable man, trustworthy and discrete. The kind of person who would be sniffing around Strom’s business and knowing more than he should. Before he left Berlin, Karl had also read the files about Schwalm, his officers and immediate staff, looking for issues that might compromise his secret mission.

  “May I have your name sir, so I can present you to Herr Oberst Schwalm?”

  “No, you may not!” Strom barked. “Here are my orders for his immediate attention.”

  Strom gave the affronted man a withering glare as he handed them over and walked into the Oberst’s room unannounced, waiting while Herman passed the sealed orders to his superior. Schwalm was familiar with Strom’s type. Arrogant and well connected, probably Gestapo, although the way he was dressed gave no clue to this, or his rank.

  “Thank you Herman, you may leave and do not hover behind the closed door, my business with our unannounced guest will be strictly private. And there will be no interruptions, unless it is from Berlin.”

  Herman gave a salute and quietly closed the large varnished pine door behind him.

  ***

  Oberst Schwalm turned to face Strom and examined the man standing patiently before him, as he slit open the orders.

  About 35 years old, dark brown hair in need of cutting, calm intelligent brown eyes, youthful and handsome face, about 1.75m tall and of slim, muscular build. He had strong hands and long fingers with a distinct taper, ending in well-manicured nails, indicating a creative and sensitive person, contrary to his arrogant pose. His heavy black clothes were soaked and badly creased, but that was understandable in the circumstances. The highly polished shoes looked new, slightly spoiled with just a sprinkling of raindrops, glinting like jewels in the low light.

  Karl Strom appeared to be the cool, calm and alert type, but not the sort of man who would stand out in a group.

  In reality, only by talking with Karl socially would you appreciate his exceptional character. Quietly knowledgeable about so many things and blessed with an appropriate sense of humour, most people would tend to look to him for leadership, perhaps even guidance with their problems. For a first class manipulator, winning people over was crucial, in getting others to do his bidding. Karl had already started with Herman and now he would prepare to manipulate Schwalm.

  Karl was well aware of how others saw him as a person, but they would never be close enough to know the real man. Deep inside, he feared people. They might discover his vulnerabilities, of which there were many. He was lonely and unable to share his true feelings, so an amicable loner was what he became. He craved the love and companionship he saw other men enjoy with women, he knew only sexual gratification. So far, he had never met a woman for whom he felt love, and he had met hundreds, so concluded love to be a fictitious emotion.

  Now he had become embroiled in the evils of war, as a spy. A world of distrust, deceit and the cold blooded murder of anyone, man, woman or child posing a threat to him or Germany. The only way he could live with himself was to know he was following orders. The British spies were no different, they had the same job to do but he had to be better than them to survive and win.

  When face to face with your enemy, if you show fear, you are done for. If distracted by such emotions, you are not focussing on survival. Many a time Karl had felt his guts knot up and his bowels turn to liquid, often while waiting to parachute behind enemy lines, or in a crowd surrounded by the enemy, searching for him. He soon learned how to push away the fear in his mind.

  ***

  Strom also read the Oberst, who scrutinised the brief orders. An Aryan of the Nordic subtype he recalled, 55 years old, thinning blond hair and rectangular shaped face. Karl knew that, in general, face shape played a large part in first impressions. Whilst identical shapes were best, his own square face would work well.

  Even though the orders had come from Berlin, Karl Strom still needed Schwalm’s personal cooperation to make this mission work.

  The Oberst had apparently appreciated the importance of his visitor and in spite of the late meeting, he had redressed specially, and was immaculately turned out. The man’s keen blue eyes skimmed the orders and studied the signature causing a momentarily raised eyebrow, and then re-read the whole document several times.

  “Glass! The choice of codename intrigues me, though I know it is meaningless and infers nothing. Still it had to be chosen, not entirely random.” Strom gave an inconsequential shrug. The man was trying to break the ice, but they would never become best friends, so let him move on.

  Schwalm took the hint; he wanted to get on with the meeting and came right out with it!

  “Please remove your wet coat and sit with me by the stove. I see what it says here in the orders, but what can you tell me so I am able to give you every assistance?”

  The room had felt warm to Strom when he walked in, but the stove had almost gone out and now he was chilled. The bare stone walls, for all the good they were, might just as well have been blocks of ice as they drained heat from him, and from the air in the room, even as he looked at them.

  He gladly dumped his wet coat over a plain wooden dining chair and dragged another from the table towards the large, but basic, round cast iron stove. He took the initiative by opening the stove door and threw bits of varnished floorboard into it, generating sparks and eager flame.

  Strom knew things were desperately hard on this island, but was surprised he had been offered no refreshment. By the look of the fuel for the stove, they were using floorboards and joists, with no logs in sight. As he glanced around the moderate sized room, he saw no upholstered furniture or carpets, and only the portrait of the Führer adorned the wall
s.

  Every expense had been spared!

  ***

  Strom began to speak. “I am delighted to meet you Herr Oberst. What I tell you must be kept between ourselves. As the orders state, this is a highly secret mission.

  Schwalm nodded his understanding.

  “I have been developing a radio beacon system so that our ordnance can home in on targets with unerring accuracy. I have a crate of beacons over there.” Strom pointed to its position in the middle of the floor.

  Schwalm exclaimed, smiling, “I am relieved to hear that! A good idea letting people believe the crate contains nitro-glycerine, no one will want to tamper with it. Marking it for me and not yourself, also reduces curiosity.”

  Strom smiled back appreciatively and continued. “There are three key features that make the system special. The beacon transmits very short wave signals that include a simple series of tones. The receiver in the bomb detects the signal and recognises the tones, so it cannot be copied. Different missiles can selectively home in on their programed tones. It cannot be jammed at the moment, as we do with the British GEE system. It is more effective than our X-Gerät, because of the very high frequency. The British have nothing that can transmit or receive the wave length we use. The frequency has the advantage of being very directional and needing only a short aerial. As you will know, our usual transmitters have long aerials making it difficult for them to be deployed secretly.

  “So, undetectable and uncopiable signal, highly directional and compact design,” summed up Schwalm.

  “I need to train several of your best technical men. They in turn can train our agents in England to use, place and maintain the beacons in the field. Can you help me with that, Herr Oberst?”

  “We have nearly 400 men and officers here. We should be able to find what you need amongst them, I am sure Karl.”

  Karl continued. “Alderney was chosen because of its isolation, yet close proximity to England, where the beacons will be deployed. This is the last place the British will have spies. We are sure that the average radio technician can learn how to train our agents to use the beacons.

  “The downside of this technology is its fragility; the circuitry and thermionic valves are very sensitive because of the frequency used and they have to be made by hand. A sharp knock can detune a beacon so it will not work.”

  “How do you plan to transport them to England, will they withstand an air drop?”

  “An air drop is out of the question. I have thoughts on how to transport them, but I need to check the detail, before I can say more, Herr Oberst.”

  ”By the way, have you heard of Cherry Stone?”

  The Oberst’s irritation showed. He looked away from Strom, who noticed the pointless sideways shuffle of his feet. Yet again, Berlin had kept him out of the loop.

  Diplomatically, Strom brought him up to date. There was more to be gained in good relations than keeping a secret known by everybody but Schwalm.

  “As you probably know, Cherry Stone is the code name for the V-1. The first of the so-called Vergeltungswaffen series designed for terror bombing London. The V-1 will be fired from launch sites along the French (Pas-de-Calais) and Dutch coasts. We have a period of several months to get trained in England and trial the equipment. When everything is working, the beacons will be placed on or inside the chosen targets. As I am sure you know, there are always unforeseen challenges to overcome and although it looks like we have plenty of time, I doubt we have any to spare.”

  The Oberst was less irked now and Karl could see the man was warming to him. It is only human nature to resent exclusion and the favourable shift in attitude was due to Karl manipulatively sharing his secrets. A strong bond was formed, one that would be tested over the coming weeks.

  The sound of flame and crackling wood came from the stove, interrupting the briefing and both men leaned closer to the promise of warmth. Keen to return to his warm bed, Schwalm used the break to suggest the next move.

  “Thank you for telling me as much as you have, it is reassuring that you trust me, and knowing so much about your purpose will help me to help you to a greater extent.

  “I suppose you will want to start your selection and training first thing in the morning. I will provide you with suitable personnel records and you can begin there. Would breakfast at 8.00am be acceptable to you?”

  “Yes, Herr Oberst that would be perfect.

  “It was a long flight from Berlin, and there was no refreshment available on the flight. Perhaps you can offer me some food, drink and accommodation?”

  “Under better circumstances, you would have already been offered refreshment, but we have very limited supplies and replacements are long overdue. I will have Herman take you to your room straight away. I will also post extra guards outside at every window and door.

  “To keep things simple, what would you prefer me to call you?”

  “How about calling me Pieter Klein, Herr Oberst? Consider me a technician and not a ranking officer. It should make working together less formal, is that agreeable to you?” Pieter gave his warmest smile and saw that it was reciprocated.

  The man had already pulled a bell cord in anticipation of the meeting’s conclusion and waited a moment for Herman to attend.

  “Herman, meet Pieter Klein, he is a technical expert who will be staying with us for a short time and will be telling some of our men about the latest technology. Please give Pieter our best guest room, the one with the sea view. Breakfast will be in here 8.00am sharp. Post extra guards outside to all windows and doors. Allow only myself and Pieter into this room. That means you cannot set out breakfast until I am in here at 7.30am.”

  “Of course, Herr Oberst.

  Herman turned to leave. “Pieter, please follow me to your room.”

  “Oh! Herman, please remove the excess wood from the stove, it will not be needed for heat now.”

  “I will return at once to do that, Herr Oberst.”

  Pieter felt the familiar gnawing anxiety in his guts; strange unwelcoming surroundings and people he could not trust. There was every reason to be paranoid. So far he had only met the Oberst, a decent enough man, and Herman, still an unknown quantity. What about the others here in the fort; a new face is bound to raise questions in their minds. There is always the potential for a spy to inform the British of his arrival and would then be asked to dig deeper into his mission. This was part of Herr Hitler’s Atlantic wall, after all.

  Pieter wondered if his deep depression had much further to fall, it probably did, he had not tried the bed yet and a poor night’s sleep would just about finish him.

  Memories of the grenade attack still terrified him, manifesting themselves as nightmares. The scar tissue down the right side of his back and buttock had many adhesions. He had told no-one how much they pulled and hurt, especially at night, because he feared he would be prohibited from active service, desk bound and marginalised. He loved the challenge of solving an engineering problem, but living on the edge as a spy meant everything to him. He didn’t want to die, but then that possibility was what kept him sharp. He also had a personal mission, one he must complete at any cost. This was his chance to accomplish it. A matter of honour, not his, but one far more important than anything else in the world.

  The encounter.

  Herman showed Pieter into the guestroom and hastily drew the curtains before switching on the light. The wind howled outside, banging the ill-fitting softwood window frames like someone breaking in. A constant draught ceaselessly wafted the thick drapes. Pelting rain driven horizontally by the storm force wind, rattled like dried peas against the single panes of glass. As rain leaked through the wood frame it ran down the granite wall and puddled on the bare stone floor. Even the wall surfaces away from the window glinted with beads of moisture, in the depressing yellow light. The room was clean, but very damp.

  Herman pulled fresh bedding from a large cupboard and the two men set about making up the bed. The simple bed of varnished pine headboard
and frame with stretched wire links to springs, was as close to luxury and comfort as Pieter was likely to get. He was grateful though that Herman had replaced the very thin and quite damp mattress on the bed, with a fresh one from the cupboard.

  “Pieter it is now 2.30am, if you give me your damp clothes, I will attempt to dry and press them for the morning.”

  Pieter turned on the charm, now he had got some measure of the man. “Thank you Herman, I am most grateful. Is there any chance of a dressing gown I can borrow?”

  “I will loan you my new one, which I will bring when I return to collect your clothes. By the way, the bathroom and toilet are next door and there will be a fresh towel on the back of the door. There will be no hot water though, bath night will be in a week, and I will remind you nearer the time. Fortunately, the weather is usually milder than this and the tap water seldom freezes.”

  Herman left the room and Pieter undressed, hanging up his clothes neatly, and went naked to the bathroom. The man had provided a towel and dressing gown for him, as promised.

  By now, the Oberst had returned to his bedroom, undressed and slipped into bed. A young girl murmured sleepily from under the thick blankets. “I am glad you are back, Dedrick, I have missed you!”

  He slid up to her warm, petite body and pressed against her.

  “You are so cold Dedrick, let me warm you up again and relax you.” As he rolled onto his back, the girl pushed on top and straddled him, pulling up her nightdress. It was not many minutes later,before Dedrick was warm, very happy and sound asleep.

  The girl was now wide awake. Pulling her dressing gown over her shoulders she braced herself for a dash to the bathroom. The patter of her bare feet on the stone floor was almost inaudible above the noise of the storm, but Pieter heard it. He slipped silently and naked from his warm bed, into the cold, to investigate. The noise was suspicious in his paranoid brain, because it was not the sound of masculine footfalls on the way to the bathroom for a pee, but stealthy, possibly the prelude to an attack or to tamper with the crate. As he soundlessly eased open his bedroom door, he realised he could no longer hear the footsteps. Perhaps his quarry had heard him and was hiding in the bathroom, there was no light showing. He barged open the bathroom door and switched on the light. The girl stood facing him startled and quite naked, her legs apart and cloth in hand, about to wash. Strom and the girl stood squinting, as they recovered from the shock and examined each other. Before the girl could cover up or utter a rebuke, the light went out and Pieter was gone.