Behind Enemy Lines
Book 3 in the
Combined Operations Series
By
Griff Hosker
Published by Sword Books Ltd 2015
Copyright © Griff Hosker First Edition
Smashwords Edition
The author has asserted their moral right under the Copyright, Designs, and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
Cover by Design for Writers
Part 1
The Channel Islands
Chapter 1
England felt more than chilly to those of us who had survived the rescue of General Carter and my father in North Africa. It had been winter there too but we had not known it. Now, when wind and icy rain driving in from the east we knew that it was winter. Gordy and I had been grateful that the first few days of our demolition course had been indoors. The Nissan hut might have been draughty but it was not as bad as it would have been outside. Jack Johnson, another sergeant in Number Four Commando had been on the course already and he had prepared us for the dullness of the lecturer. As Troop Sergeant Major Dean had told us, “He is not a music hall turn. He is not there to entertain you. Listen and learn. The skills you acquire will come in handy.” The commandos and their expertise were all that mattered to the Troop Sergeant Major.
And so we had. We had listened and we had practised. We had learned how to use the new timers, cord and explosives. We had come a long way since the first days of the war. Boffins were producing new ways for us to kill the enemy each and every day. In our off duty moments we huddled around the stove in the barracks and spoke of those we had left behind in North Africa. Old hands and newly volunteered recruits had died. We had achieved our goal and even helped the Green Howards stop a push by the Eyeties and Jerry but there had been a cost. Just six of us now remained from the section which had parachuted behind enemy lines. Our officer, Lieutenant Marsden, was still recovering in hospital. He would be there for a while yet. To be a British Commando was to put your life at risk each time you left on a mission. We did not wage war in the front line. We waged war behind enemy lines.
We got to know some of the others on the course. They were drawn from all of the Commando Troops. One of the sergeants from Number Two Commando came over to cadge a light from Gordy. He saw the fruit salad on my battle dress. Tapping the Military Medal ribbon he said, “They don’t give them out like toffees. You must have been at the sharp end.”
I nodded, “A couple of times.”
“Can I join you lads? My name is Fred Harris; from Wolverhampton.”
“Help yourself. Tom Harsker and Gordy Barker.”
Sitting down he took a long drag on his cigarette. “The reason I ask is that I am from Number Two Commando and I haven’t been in action yet. I joined after Dunkirk. Have you lads been in long?”
Gordy threw his stub into the stove and gestured to me, “The Sarge here has been in since before Dunkirk. He was in from the start. We have been in action a few times.”
He nodded and pointed to our faces which were brown. “And I see you got some sun. Been in Africa?”
I shook my head, “You will soon learn that we don’t talk about where we have been. No offence but that sort of information is, well, secret. What I will say is that when you do go behind the lines, and you will, then all of this training will stand you in good stead but this,” I tapped my head, “will be your best weapon.”
Gordy nodded his agreement, “The Sarge is right. You have to be able to think on your feet and think quickly.”
“Sorry about the questions.” He pointed to his own battledress which was bereft of any medal of any kind and his new Commando flash on his shoulder. “I just want to do my bit.”
“We all do. Don’t try to be a hero. We left too many mates behind. Some of them tried to be heroes. There are plenty of Jerries out there who will try to kill you. There is no need to give them a helping hand. This war will go on for some time yet.”
We chatted about life in the Commandos rather than specifics and we got on well. Fred Harris was young but he was keen. I wondered had I ever been that keen?
We returned to the Troop as soon as the training was finished. There were many lorries lined up when we arrived at the base. As we passed the Quarter Master’s Stores we saw Quarter Master Daddy Grant looking harassed. Daddy had been our sergeant until he had been wounded on a raid in France.
“What’s up Daddy?”
“We got orders last night. We have to up sticks and go to Falmouth. Falmouth; it’s bloody miles away!” He pointed to the office, “Reg Dean said to report to him as soon as you arrived.”
Troop Sergeant Major Dean nodded when we entered. “Glad you got back before we left. We have a new billet in Falmouth. We will be there for some time. Barker, you have been promoted to Lance Sergeant and Curtis to Corporal.” He smiled, “I know you are supposed to have a say in the appointment of Corporal but you don’t object do you?”
I would never argue with the Troop Sergeant Major. I grinned, “No, Sarn’t Major besides Ken would have been my choice too.”
“Good. He has the rest of the section and they can organise this little charabanc outing. You two take a lorry and go to Oswestry. Your new lads are there. You can pick up the other replacements too. “ He handed me a typed list. “There will be twenty lads altogether. Here is a chit for petrol. We expect you in Falmouth by tomorrow night.” My mouth must have dropped open for he laughed, “Aye I know; it’s a bloody long way up to Oswestry and then down to Falmouth. That’s why there are two of you. One gets his head down while the other drives. Now go, I have plenty to do here as it is.”
We were Commandos and the prospect of five hundred miles of driving did not daunt us. We threw our Bergens in the back of the waiting lorry. I saw that it was already fuelled. Gordy said, “I’ll take the first stag. You get your head down eh Sarge?”
“I’m not tired yet.” The train from Scotland had been an overnight one. We had slept, albeit sitting up, for most of the journey. A Commando could sleep on a clothes line. I watched the land change as we drove. The further north we went the more peaceful we found the land. We saw animals grazing and horses pulling ploughs. It might have been pre war. And then we neared Wolverhampton and Birmingham. There we saw clear evidence of the bombing raids. Great swathes of both cities had been levelled. We were used to that on the south coast but this was the heart of England. Once through the Midlands we drove through the countryside. We had enough jerricans of petrol to get us to Oswestry and so we pushed on. We drove the two hundred miles in just under seven hours. I was pleased with the speed but it meant we arrived in late afternoon. Days were short at this time of year.
The duty sergeant looked at our orders. “Do you lads want a billet for the night?”
I shook my head, “No, Sarge, we have our orders. We have to be in Falmouth by tomorrow.”
“Bloody hell! That is over three hundred miles and the roads in Cornwall…”
“Aye I know. Any chance of some grub. We haven’t eaten all day.”
Gordy nodded, “Aye me stomach thinks me throat has been cut!”
“Mess is across the square.”
I nodded, “I know, I did my training here.”
“I’ll have your twenty lads ready a
s soon as you have finished. Don’t expect too much from the canteen will you? The cooks here change more than the recruits.”
I handed him the chit for the petrol. “Could you have the lorry and jerricans filled up, Sarge? It will save us a job.”
“Aye, Robinson, fill up the lorry.” He handed me back my chit. “Keep this. You might need it. You won’t get to Cornwall on a full tank from here.”
As it turned out the food wasn’t too bad. I liked corned dog hash. I had never eaten it until I joined whereas to most of the lads it had been a staple. Gordy was less enamoured of the fare. He had grown up with food like this. To me it was still a novelty. It filled a hole. After that and some stodgy pudding we made our way back to the lorry. The twenty recruits were waiting there expectantly. One or two had a sullen look on their face. The prospect of a night in a lorry did not appeal. I decided not to get their names at that moment. I would find out who was who were later. It would be better to listen to them talking in the back as we headed south.
“Right lads, I am Sergeant Harsker and this is Lance Sergeant Barker. We have a three hundred mile drive ahead of us so make yourselves comfortable. If you need a pee have one now. The next time we stop will be when we have to change drivers or fill the tank up. Get your gear on board and we leave in five.”
I heard the grumbles as soon as I turned to speak with the sergeant. I smiled. I would have been surprised if they hadn’t grumbled. I wondered what they would have made of our task when we had left Oswestry. We had been told to make our own way to Poole in Dorset with no transport at all. I shook my head; I was becoming an old soldier already!
“Thanks Sarge. Anything I should know about these likely lads?”
“No. You know the score. There are some cocky buggers. Some have just cut their mam’s apron strings and the rest, well, if they couldn’t take a joke they shouldn’t have volunteered.”
I laughed, “In other words the usual suspects?”
“Got it in one. But if I was you I would keep my eye on the big lad. He is a bit handy with his fists.” I saw the man he meant. He pushed the others aside to get the seat closest to the cab; it was the warmest. The sergeant turned to go and then said, “Oh by the way your new officer left this afternoon. He took the train to Falmouth.”
“Didn’t he know we had a lorry coming?”
“Oh aye, he did. He said he didn't fancy riding in a lorry all that way. He likes his comfort does Captain Grenville.” I cocked my head to one side. What did he mean? “Don’t worry you will soon find out all there is to know about Captain spit and polish Grenville.”
I did not like the implication but then that might have been the fact that I was used to officers like Major Foster and Lieutenant Marsden. Change was always difficult. I clambered behind the wheel and I drove for the first hundred miles or so. Gordy snoozed and I was able to hear the conversations in the back. I could not identify faces and names but it was their tone and what they said which interested me.
“Did you see that fruit salad on the Sarge? He had the MM ribbon on his chest.”
“Means nowt, old son. NCOs and officers are all the same. They get the glory and it's poor buggers like us who take all the risks. You look out for number one. That’s my motto.”
From another part I heard, “Well I am glad the training is done. I want to do my bit. They bombed the 'Pool' the other day. Blew up my dad's old boozer!” I heard the distinctive tones of a Scouser.
“Aye I know. We had it bad enough in Manchester but we heard it was a bad ‘un.”
“It’s all the convoys, see.” A sing song Welsh voice chirped in. “Jerry knows we have to get everything by convoy now and Liverpool, well you are the nearest port.”
“Aye well I am just glad they sunk the Bismarck! That was a big bugger. It sunk the Hood. My uncle was on the Hood.” The Scouser again.
“Well don’t get your hopes up boyo. I read as how they built another one just as big, Tirpitz! If she gets out then it will soon be all over.”
“You are a right misery guts, Taff. The RAF or the Navy will handle whatever they throw at them. And remember our lot, the Commandos, have been doing their bit. There was that raid in Norway. Very successful so I hear.” That was the Mancunian.
Then the second voice I had heard, the disparaging one growled, “Well shut it now ladies. I want to get some shut eye. God knows what they will have us doing when we get where we are going. Why that bloody sergeant couldn’t have let us have another night in barracks I’ll never know. Probably brown nosing.”
There was grumbling and then silence which was soon punctuated by the snuffles, snores, heavy breathing and flatulence of the twenty recruits. I had learned a little, at any rate. It would be interesting to see the commando who had spoken with such derision. They had all obeyed him which meant one of two things: either he was a bully or he had done enough to merit their obedience. From his voice I suspected the former but I had been wrong before. I was guessing he was the big lad the sergeant had warned me about.
We changed drivers twice more and used the jerricans to fill up the tank. I awoke as we were heading to Launceston. When we had stopped some of the men in the back had descended to take a leak. It had been hard to see their faces in the dark and we still knew no more about them. I stretched and yawned. My mouth tasted as though I had been eating sawdust all night. We had drunk water from our canteens but I needed tea.
“I fancy a brew.”
Gordy shook his head, “You sound like the big bruiser in the back.” He gestured with his thumb. “He started shooting his mouth off about how they were entitled to a brew and some food. He reckoned he knew his rights.”
I shook my head, “A barrack room lawyer?” Gordy nodded. “We don’t often get them in the Commandos.”
“Aye I know. The other lads didn’t seem bothered but they looked to be a bit wary of him. He is a big lad.”
“What happened?”
He laughed, “Nowt. I told him to shut it and he did. He grumbled and whinged for an hour or so and then fell asleep I reckon. Been quiet since Exmouth.”
“I just hope he isn’t in our section.”
“You can sort him out Sarge! You have winning ways!” He laughed.
“I’ll take over in a minute. I just need to check the directions.”
“Don’t bother Sarge. It is only an hour or so down the road. I’m not tired.”
I nodded my thanks and took out the instructions. This time we would not have to find our own digs. There was a camp we would be using; temporarily at least. I wondered why they had chosen Falmouth. It was about as far west as you could get without falling off the end of England. At least we would not have as many air raids here. The Germans had stopped their daylight bombing but their fleets of bombers spread over the country each night like swarms of bees. Dad had told me how they had honed their bombing skills in the Spanish Civil War. Having rescued Dad from North Africa I now knew that Dad had been up to something in those days. I had thought he had just been a military attaché. Now I knew better. When we had time I would press him to tell me what really happened all those times he was away from Mum, Mary and me.
The camp had a beautiful although somewhat exposed position high above the port. It was far enough away so that we would not disturb the townsfolk with our flashes and bangs. The rest of the troop had not beaten us by much. I guessed that the last of the lads had arrived shortly before night had fallen the previous day. Boxes were still being unpacked.
Major Foster looked harassed. “Ah, Harsker, welcome to Fort Shambles!”
Reg Dean sniffed, “I think that is a little unfair sir. We only arrived yesterday.”
“I know Sarn’t Major and I realise you have done your best but the good news is we are here for the duration.”
“We have heard that before.”
The office orderly said, “Telephone Major Foster.”
Troop Sergeant Major Dean shook his head, “Officers! Right Tom, get them out of the lorry eh?
Let’s see what sort of shower we have.”
I went to the rear and dropped the tailgate, “All ashore that’s going ashore, my lucky lads! Get your gear and let’s have one line.”
As they descended I watched, with interest, for the man with the mouth. Having heard Gordy’s description I was certain that I would recognise him and I was right. He was enormous. I would have put him at more than six feet two. I had not had a close look in the dark but now I saw why the others deferred to him.
I handed the list to the Troop Sergeant Major. He looked at it and shouted, “Hargreaves, get out here and check the new lads off while I shout out their names.”
I saw Ken Curtis wander over. Like Gordy he had new stripes. He saluted, “We have a nice little billet for the new lads Sarge.”
Troop Sergeant Major Dean said, “We will get yours out of the way first Sarn’t Harsker.” He looked down his list, “Crowe, Fletcher, Grimsdale, Groves, Hewitt and Smythe, front and centre!”
The six men snapped forward together. I was pleased that the giant stayed put.
“You six are with your driver, Sergeant Harsker. Take them away, Sergeant.”
“Right turn, quick march!”
There was a snort from the line. I was about to respond when Troop Sergeant Major Dean snapped, “Man mountain; unless you have a medical condition I don’t know about keep your thoughts to yourself! I have my eye on you. What is your name?”
“Waller, Sarn’t.”
“That is Troop Sergeant Major to you, Private Waller. There is a note here about you. You don’t like authority, well you and I are going to be best friends, believe you me! I am Sergeant Major Authority in these parts!”
I heard no more as I marched my section off to the barracks. The old hands were waiting for us outside. Gordy shouted, “Halt! About face! Stand at ease.”
I stood before them with my hands behind my back. “We have had a long and arduous journey but I am afraid there is no rest for the wicked. Get yourselves squared away and then meet me in the cook tent.”
Behind Enemy Lines Page 1
