Love is the death of me

by Dick Hardman

  The shallow cuddy (cabin) bridged the two floats. The long steel floor swept up smoothly and back over, to form a long roof covering the cargo, and the four passengers, who would lay out on their bellies. By the look of it, it should keep them dry, even when plunging through waves.

  The thick Perspex viewing ports in the curved front portion, were only practical as windows when manoeuvring in still water, during daylight. As it was, the floor would be just above the surface of the sea, and the wave crests would be above the viewing ports. Nevertheless, they gave the illusion of being functional and made the cuddy seem less claustrophobic.

  There was a thick power cable plugged in by the controls, and Pieter deduced the batteries were being topped up with electrical current, until the craft was launched. In that state, they would boost power and speed by up to 10% for a short while, until the charge in the batteries dropped to normal.

  He clambered down and looked at the frame supporting his novel landing craft. The floats would slide along the supports, onto a hinged extension that would be raised for launching. They would ensure the craft dropped clear of the S-boat. After launch, the entire frame would be thrown overboard to restore full efficiency.

  The captain returned and explained more about Pieter’s invention.

  “We have practiced launching, and it is quite spectacular. The whole thing dives under the water and surfaces well away from the boat. There is a tether line, so we don’t lose it.

  “The long tubes, or floats, provide a smooth and level ride up to force 3, where the craft punches through the waves. That is why we provided the extended roof, to keep you dry. It is a frightening sensation when you suddenly go underwater, but so far, it has always come back to the surface.

  ”There are plenty of fixings on the floor inside, to tie on your equipment and cargo, so you should have no problem there.

  “To sink it, there are three bungs on each float, one at each end underneath, and one on top, midway along. Unless all three are removed, it will only partially submerge, due to trapped air.

  “It has a top speed of 60 knots and a range of 10 miles. You will get more mileage if you reduce the speed, of course.

  “We wondered how easily it would be picked up by radar, but even in calm water you will be hard to spot, if you are at least two miles away.”

  “Well thank you for the guided tour Captain, I am glad someone has tested it successfully, and so thoroughly. A lot depends on us getting ashore smoothly and safely; this should help us achieve it.”

  Breaking point.

  An hour later, the team were aboard the long, sleek S-boat. They lay out on bunks to keep clear of the busy crew, who were hastily carrying out their duties.

  “I have never been on an S-boat before,” remarked Horst to no one in particular. He felt it his duty as the older member to keep everyone calm.

  “I have not, also,” replied Andreas cheerfully, his English even worse than usual. “The dark night and fog, we hidden from British. I think they stay in bed tonight.”

  “If you believe it. You are a fool!” retorted Carina hotly in her phrasebook English. “In these conditions, it keeps them alert for spies. They have radar, like us. You know that.”

  Horst butted in. “To make up lost time, I reckon the captain will run a direct course until we are way out in the Channel, and then take a zigzag course as we get nearer to the south coast.”

  “Do we know where we are landing?” questioned Andreas, like an excited child.

  Carina was at breaking point. His question tipped her over into a fit of mindless rage.

  “We don’t, you stupid little boy. Pieter has not told us. You know it! We are together. Always! Why do not you think? Stupid mouth! You know what? I am going to bloody kill you now. Shit lump! Not with you, I am risking this mission and my life!”

  Pieter heard the commotion and raced down the gangway to stop the argument, but her rage was infectious.

  “She is right you know Andreas; taking you along is asking for trouble. I had hoped you would have grown up by now, but I was wrong.”

  Pieter pulled out his luger and flicked off the safety catch. Slowly and resignedly, he dragged back the cocking mechanism. Stuffing a pillow over the man’s panic stricken face, he forced the barrel hard into it.

  Andreas struggled blindly by turning his head this way and that, but Pieter had pinned down Andreas’s arms by straddling his chest. The muzzle followed the depression in the pillow, from which the screams came. Exhausted and resigned to his imminent execution, the boy stopped moving.

  Pieter Klein reconsidered his action. He withdrew the muzzle, un-cocked the pistol, flicked on the safety catch and snatched the pillow away. Andreas had finally learned his lesson. It was also noted that neither of the other two had defended him in any way, they just remained silent while anxiously looking on.

  ***

  Pieter calmly walked away to discuss matters with the captain.

  “I am glad you resolved that little matter so decisively, Pieter. I hope you did not intend to actually shoot the man.”

  “It was a close call actually. There is so much at stake. I neither want him with us, nor can I afford to lose him from the team. But I know what you were concerned about, the bullet could fly around in here and do a lot of damage, probably injuring others. So, no, I would not have shot him. I would have snapped his neck and thrown him overboard.”

  ”Fair enough Pieter! We do what we have to do in this war, necessity makes for strange bedfellows.

  “At the moment, we cannot see any enemy ships on radar, so we will continue at full speed on a direct course towards Southampton. You will know soon enough if that changes.”

  “Thank you Captain.”

  “I feel the sea is building and the wind is strengthening. You should hang on tight, tell your team so they aren’t sick all over the place. I hope it does not blow the mist away before we head for home.”

  Since the Captain mentioned it, Pieter could feel the boat cleave strongly through the waves. It had become more pronounced, spraying the sea sideways, and he hoped the beacons could withstand the pounding.

  A ghastly sick feeling churned in his gut. Supposing they came all this way, only to wreck the beacons at this stage. The damage would only be discovered if they failed to guide the V-1s to their targets. It just was too unbearable to think about.

  Channel of hell!

  At 02.30am, the radar scope showed a bright green dot at its edge. The captain thought it was most likely a cruiser on patrol.

  “Pieter, we have a contact, probably a patrol, heading away from our course. Being much taller than us, we will see him before he sees us. We are running at 40 knots, so we can outrun it. I expect we will be attacked from the air, soon after we are spotted.”

  Pieter looked at his watch and figured things out in his mind.

  “In thirty minutes, we should have some air support, although the low cloud will give us cover for now. Then, just before we leave you, I have a little diversion planned.”

  The captain smiled. The subdued lighting from the controls cast sinister shadows across his features, exaggerating them and adding an evil twinkle to his eyes.

  A group of six blips just entered the radar scope from the north east and approached rapidly. Fighter planes were about to attack. The radar system scanning the Channel had picked up S-125 soon after they left Alderney, but it was not clear why the boat was heading their way.

  However, S-125 was now close enough to become a threat, so the Spitfires were scrambled.

  The general alarm sounded and the three whining diesels rose up in pitch, to a scream at full power.

  ***

  Pieter looked behind expecting to see the long white scar of a wake gouged in the black water, but was surprised there was nothing much showing. Then he remembered the rudder units were fitted with devices that lifted the stern, and greatly increased propeller efficiency. The additional benefit was a significantly reduced wake. Without the white w
ake, the boat would be hard to spot from the air or nearby ships.

  Out of the night came the sudden brief glimpse of a Spitfire as it hurtled along, barely 100 feet above the sea. It passed across their bow less than 300 feet ahead. No doubt the pilot was just as shocked to see his quarry, careening towards him. The cunning devil was criss-crossing the sea, hoping to spot a wake, and would then turn to attack from the rear, strafing along the boat.

  The 20mm guns, one near the bow the other on the afterdeck, opened up and tracked the plane into the mist. They swivelled, aiming towards the stern, anticipating the next attack.

  The captain could have turned to evade the plane, but instead he decided to dispose of the threat quickly. The boat without a wake was a hard target for the plane, until it was right behind the boat. However, the S-boat guns could quickly adapt.

  A minute later the engines were cut, and above the swish and splash of the hull slicing through the water, the gunners could hear the approaching Spitfire. Guessing its position from its engine sound, they opened fire and clipped bits off a wing. The damage was severe enough for the plane to break off its attack and head for home.

  The engines spun up again and the boat veered to port a few degrees, so the following planes would have to carry out their own search. Coastal radar would direct them to the area, but not within the few hundred yards needed to spot it, and fire. Plane to plane communication had the course pegged to Southampton, but the S-125 was now headed on its true course, to Chapmans Pool, Corfe Castle.

  There was a loud ‘whoomp’! A mortar like projectile shot high into the blackness and exploded, releasing a vast spread of chaff. The small pieces of foil would hang in the air and show up on the radar screens as a large bright green patch, and somewhere, lost inside, would be the blip representing the S-boat.

  Very soon Pieter’s craft would be launched from S-125, to make the dreaded journey to shore.

  What would be lying in wait for him and his terrified team?

  Raven’s warning. 18th December 1943

  At 3.20am on the 18th Raven managed to transmit a message, which was immediately passed to John Caplin at MI5. It informed him S-boat S-125 had already left Alderney, at 23.50 hours on the 17th, carrying Pieter Klein and his team to the south of England, armed with their secret device.

  The wireless transmitter had been Raven’s only option, because of the urgency of the warning. Now soldiers were combing the clifftop, for the elusive spy.

  Apart from setting up a long aerial at Fort Tourgis, right in the midst of billeted troops, he had to dig up the transmitter and steal a fully charged motor cycle battery to power it, before he could transmit.

  Having keyed the message, Raven was on the run. Soldiers were already jumping off vehicles and forming a search party. The men were side by side in a long cordon, determined to comb every inch of the island, for the spy.

  The suitcase transmitter was replaced in its waterproof bag, and wedged into a rock crevice overlooking Fort Clonque. The Raven headed down the cliff path, known as the Zig-Zag, towards the fort, and made his escape.

  Final journey. 18th December 1943

  Pieter checked his watch. 3.00 am. It was time.

  “Captain, how far from shore are we now?”

  “Navigator, distance to landing site please.”

  “Just under fifteen miles Captain. At this speed we will be 10 miles off in about 6 minutes, and we will be right over the minefield. But with a shallow draft and non-magnetic wooden hull, we need not worry.”

  “Crew, prepare to deploy the floats.

  “I will take you in as far as I can, but I will bear off now, in case we are showing up clearly on radar. I doubt we are though, the planes have not been back.

  “If we go in much closer than ten miles, Bovington will be waiting for you. By now, they will already be at action stations.”

  “I was depending on two things Captain. When you turn and head for home, I am hoping the British will assume no one is rowing to shore from this far out. The other thing…”

  Faint flashes and distant explosions could be heard to the north east. The other thing Pieter had planned was the bombing raid, and it had just commenced, being centred on Southampton, always a worthwhile target, and with plenty of strays towards Corfe Castle.

  Pieter expected the British would link the attack to the presence of the S-boat, and although it was still possible for someone to row ashore from it, it would soon be light, and quite foolhardy. Anyway, this part of the coast was not a soft option.

  The British army were teaming all over the wide open countryside on the lookout for the enemy. Access to land was by infrequent coastal foot paths, eventually leading to narrow roads, and miles further on, to small towns and villages.

  No one in their right mind would attempt to travel so far on foot, especially at night. But that is precisely why Sundown had arranged the pickup point the way he did.

  ***

  The screaming engines slowed to a growl and the pitching turned into a roller coaster ride. They were as close in as the captain considered safe, so now the floats must be launched.

  The side rails were raised and pinned in place, the power cable was disconnected, and the crew released the clamps holding the floats to the rails. The captain directed the helmsman, and once the boat became stable enough, he signalled the floats be released. Two of the crew timed their push on the floats with the roll of the hull.

  Out and down into the sea the strange craft plunged. Like a dolphin it leapt out of the sea, and finally settled low in the water. The crew heaved on the tether and it glided in gracefully, to be held alongside the S-boat. The team, already dressed in their underwater gear, clambered aboard and loaded the equipment.

  Pieter checked everything was firmly lashed down and slid into the driving position.

  “OK team. Goodness knows how this craft will perform, so prepare to submerge. Make sure your flippers, masks and rebreather equipment are properly fitted. Also, hang on tight to the hand grips and push your feet against the foot board, it should ease the strain on your arms if the ride is lively.

  “Grab hold everyone. It’s time to go.

  “Now, let’s work through the start-up sequence. First, I pull the power lever back to zero. Next I press ‘start’.” The switch lit up green.

  “Cast off!” Pieter yelled to the crew.

  Finally, they were on their own.

  ***

  The S-boat eased forward and as Pieter had previously agreed with the captain, it headed directly for Chapmans Pool. This was to give Pieter a direction to aim for, because placed so low in the water, he could see only wave tops. Now he prepared to set the gyro so he needn’t navigate.

  With the S-boat way out ahead, Pieter nudged the power control forward a fraction, and the two propellers whirled almost silently, making the craft surge forward at 10 knots.

  “My god! The power control is very tricky to regulate. The slightest movement on the lever, and the power comes on, hard.”

  With only moments to adjust his heading, he avoided a collision with S-125, and shot past. Looking back, he verified he was on course and switched on the gyro. Pieter allowed about 15 seconds for it to spin up to operating speed, and applied more power. The propellers emitted a muffled bubbly scream, just like a torpedo. But then, these were practically torpedoes, so why shouldn’t they?

  Pieter had no way of knowing he was running at 30 knots. As the craft sliced through a wave, and out the other side, there was no time to care. Everyone screamed in terror, as the solid wall of water rode over the cuddy and off the roof at the back. Although quite open at the rear, the water had no chance to wash back in and immerse them.

  As the cabin, for want of a better word, emerged through the wave, the craft was rising fast and it bridged the wave trough, ploughing straight into the wall of water that was the next wave.

  Almost in a state of panic, Pieter shouted over the roar of turbulent water. “Hang on, this thing is uncontrollable
at the moment and I don’t know why. It is just so fast, and powerful. We’re in for a very rough time.”

  The bow dropped, as it bridged and then ploughed deep underwater, way below the next trough. They were in a sort of darkness, not the pitch black at Alderney harbour, but a kind of very dark greenish grey. The cause was bioluminescence, though no one cared about that. Would the damned thing ever surface?

  Instinctively, Pieter yanked the power lever back and the speed rapidly fell away. Now they were climbing steeply through the crest of one wave, and belly flopped right into the face of the next. The impact winded everyone, but more important, had the fragile beacons survived?

  Without power, the craft turned side-on to the waves, and threatened to capsize; as it was, water flooded their cabin. Suddenly immersed in the swirling black water, they all shrieked again in terror.

  Easing the power stick forward by the smallest amount shot them forward, turning hard at the same time. The gyro was forcing the craft back onto the correct heading. They shot over the crest of the wave and hurtled down the other side. This time, although the cabin ploughed through the wave, the craft levelled out and they continued in a stable manner.

  “We seem to have hit the right speed for the sea conditions. At this rate, it should take us about an hour to reach land. By then, the bombing run will be over and the coast will be peaceful again. No more flashes to spoil the enemy’s night vision, not that they will see the craft, with the waves towering above it.”

  Pieter was shouting to his team and worried they might be just as terrified as he was. He hoped they would feel better about things if they had some information to process.