As we went down I said, "Were there many other survivors?"
He shook his head. "No, I am afraid not. Only a couple of hundred made it from the town. The captain reckons that over three hundred and seventy were either killed, captured, or are on the run in France but the gates were destroyed. It was a great success."
As we followed him into the bowels of the ship I thought that would be cold comfort to the men who would be prisoners until the end of the war. Number 2 Commando had largely ceased to exist in a single night. We could build more tanks and aeroplanes but commandos were harder to train.
We were left alone with the rum infused cocoa. It tasted good but what I really needed was sleep. Polly's eyes were red rimmed and his face covered in salt. I daresay mine looked the same. He smiled weakly. "Well, Sarge, it is never dull."
"No, that it isn't."
"Do you reckon Harry will be alright? I mean Daddy was invalided out but he was old. Harry would be mortified if he couldn't carry on."
"They have doctors aboard these ships. He has a better chance here. But I don't think he will be ready for active service any time soon."
"Surely we will have to have some leave and a bit of a rest."
"From what the subbie said most of Number 2 Commando has gone west. We are the ones left to go behind enemy lines. But we will probably get a few days leave." I drank some of my cocoa. I could feel my eyes closing, "I wonder how many of the lads got out."
"Well we know Jack Johnson didn't."
I felt us moving and the door to the mess opened. "Lieutenant Commander Cartwright." I began to rise, "No, sergeant, sit down. Let me shake your hand. What you have done is quite remarkable. You escaped from occupied France, captured an E-Boat and fought off attacks from the air and sea with three men. What do they feed you Commandos on? Steel?"
I smiled, "They train us hard sir. Do you know if any of the other lads from our Troop escaped?"
"Well I know that your commanding officer did because it was he who came up with that question. I thought it was a rum one myself but it worked. We worried it might be a German trap to sink us. We had been stooging around for a few days. Brass thought they might have captured you and made you talk. Your Major took umbrage at that and said you were the last person who would give that kind of Intel away. Anyway you gave the right answer and here we are. "You lads get your heads down. Your Oppo is doing well and we should be in Falmouth in six or seven hours." He pointed to the hammocks. "Use any of the hammocks. The petty officers won't mind."
"Thank you sir. I reckon we will."
I had used a hammock before. Once you were in one it was almost impossible not to sleep and we were exhausted. We slept.
Part 3
Behind Enemy Lines
Chapter 16
The sub lieutenant who had greeted us when we boarded us woke us. "Sergeant, we are approaching Falmouth. The Captain thought you might want to freshen up."
I frowned, "Freshen up?"
"There are newspaper journalists there. Apparently the Ministry thought this was good publicity. You know; brave commandos escape Germans, steal a boat and all that."
I sighed, "Right, sir. How is Private Lowe?"
"Awake and the doc has given him the all clear to go ashore. There is an ambulance waiting."
We dutifully washed up. There was no way I was going to shave but I was filthy. I confess I felt better when I was cleaner. We made our way onto the deck. I saw, from the darkening sky, that it was getting on for dusk. I could see a crowd gathered. There were some uniforms but they looked to be mainly civilians.
I sighed and Poulson said, "What's up Sarge? It will be great to have my picture in the paper. Me mam will be dead proud."
"I know but I could do without the fuss. I just want to get back to Mrs Bailey's and have a nice hot bath and some of her corned beef hash."
"But we are heroes!"
Shaking my head I said, "Don't go down that road. We are not heroes. We just do our job and we do it well but we are not glory hunters. It was luck that led us to the boat. That and a brave old lady. She is more heroic than either of us."
A barrage of flashlights went off as the captain edged us closer to the wall. Poulson had Lowe's Bergen over his back. We looked after our equipment. I carried Lowe's Thompson. We did not look like soldiers, we looked like pirates. Two orderlies came up on deck and stood next to us carrying Harry.
"How is it going Harry?"
"Not so bad. I can't feel the arm yet but the doc says I will. He reckons I won't lose it." He looked at me nervously, "I will still be a commando won't I, Sarge?"
"If I have anything to do with it you will."
The Bosun came to stand next to us as the gangplank was lowered. He winked, "Give you pongos a good send off eh? We reckon you deserve it!" He piped us from the ship and his assistants saluted. It was a nice touch.
The Sick Bay Attendant said, "After you two, Sarge. It is easier that way."
We walked down the gangplank to cheers. I could barely see anything because of the flashes and I understood why the SBA had let us go first. Our bodies deflected the lights and they had an easier job getting the stretcher down the gangplank. There was an Intelligence officer waiting for us standing next to Sergeant Major Dean. The officer saluted, "Well done Sergeant Harsker!" he leaned in and said quietly, "Don't say anything to the press that is why I am here. You just smile and look tough."
Sergeant Major Dean said quietly, "He is tough and that is why he is here!"
Only the officer heard and he flashed an irritated look at Reg who just smiled back at him. There was a barrage of questions which the officer deftly handled. He made it sound as though we had planned it all. He kept patting me on the back as though I was a collie dog! When they were satisfied he turned to me. They headed back to their cars. No doubt the photographs would be in newspapers over the next few days and the newsreel would be in the cinema. "We will need you for a debrief tomorrow at nine a.m."
"Yes sir." There would be no leave then. We waved goodbye to Harry Gowland as he was whisked away in the ambulance.
Reg Dean said, "Well done, son. We are all as proud as punch of you. We lost a few good lads over there but your survival has cheered us all up."
Just then an umbrella appeared between us, "When are you going to let these two lads get home! Haven't they been through enough?"
It was Mrs Bailey. Reg Dean looked bemused. As Sergeant Major he was not used to being spoken to like that. "Sergeant Major Dean this is our landlady, Mrs Bailey." I smiled at her. "Quite right too, Mrs Bailey. Is that all, Sergeant Major?"
I winked and he grinned. "Off you go lads and my apologies, dear lady!"
"Don't you dear lady me!" Reg beat a hasty retreat. She threw her arms around the two of us. "My poor boys and poor Harry too! How is he?"
Polly grinned, still happy about the way she had dealt with Reg Dean. "He's tough is Harry. He'll survive."
"When the other boys came back and told me how you had been left behind I was proper upset and poor Corporal Curtis is still in the hospital." She stepped back, "And look at you! You need a good bath and a good meal." She linked us and marched us towards her house. The onlookers parted like the Red Sea in the face of such a formidable lady.
As soon as we entered the house the others descended upon us. We were bombarded with questions. Mrs Bailey shooed them away, "When they have had a bath and some food then you can question them. Be off with you!"
She was right. We did feel immeasurably better after the bath and complete after the meal. We sat in the residents' lounge and we told them all. It was good for us to discover what had happened after they had left the beach. Bill Leslie's launch had been one of the lucky ones. The other Hunt class destroyer, 'Tynedale', had escorted them all back to Falmouth. They had been like chicks with a mother hen. Captain Marsden and Major Foster had both survived but had been wounded. It had been a costly raid. Horace Maguire was also wounded but Lucky Gordy Barker had emerged, like me,
unscathed.
One thing was certain; there would be little chance of us engaging in any large scale attack in the near future. We would need at least a month to bring the wounded back to good health and train new recruits. We seemed to take three steps forward and two back. My bed felt comfortable, warm and cosy but I spared a thought for Jack Johnson and the others who would now be prisoners in Germany. I was the really lucky one and I knew it.
Despite my exhaustion the previous day my body could not rest too long and I awoke early. Mrs Bailey had washed and pressed my spare uniform. It felt good to be in clean clothes once more. Mrs Bailey was making the pot of tea ready for the boys. She silently poured me a cup at the table. Breakfasts were not the cornucopia of plenty that they had been before the war. You ate what was available. On that first morning back it was toast and margarine. The only luxury was the small jar of pre war bramble jam which Mrs Bailey brought out for me. She shook her head sadly, "There won't be enough for the other lads, Sergeant but you deserve a treat. Private Poulson told me what you did. It is no wonder you get medals."
I did not like attention and I deflected it, "I'll tell you what, Mrs Bailey when the berries are on the bushes in September me and the lads will pick some. You can make a whole batch of it."
She shook her head, "A kind thought but we can't get the sugar."
As I ate the thin smear of jam on the bread I was suddenly aware of the shortages. The war was hitting not just us but all of the civilians. That Focke Wolf we had seen had been looking for more than us. It was spotting the convoys for the wolf packs to sink. We were three years into the war and there was little sign that we were either hitting or hurting Herr Hitler. St. Nazaire had made his eyes water, no more. She waved me off at the door. "I will make a special tea for you and the lads. I have enough meat rations for a nice piece of shin. I shall stew it all day with the carrots and the onions left from the winter store. I have some early tatties I can pick."
"I am looking forward to it." My sentiments were genuine; I was already salivating at the thought of a home made stew.
I headed up the hill as soon as I had finished. I had two Bergens and two Thompsons to carry. I had to fight the urge to dive into the bushes each time I heard a vehicle. Here I was safe. This was England. When I passed the boarded up beach huts I thought of the old French lady. Would she be having a picnic by the hut again? I suspected she would have raised a glass to us when we stole the E-Boat. It would give hope to those in France that Jerry was not getting it all his own way.
Sergeant Major Dean gave me a strange look as I entered the Headquarters building. He was alone. The clerks had not yet arrived. "Morning, Tom. Have a seat. I have just brewed up a pot of tea. It should have stood long enough by now."
I knew what that meant; the spoon would stand up by itself. He brought me a mug. It was heavily laden with sugar. He had a sweet tooth and, unlike Mrs Bailey, appeared to have no problems acquiring the white gold.
"Your landlady is a feisty lady."
"Mrs Bailey? She has a heart of gold. She lost her husband as a result of the Great War and they had no kids. I think she sees me and the lads as her surrogate children. I don't know what she will do when the war is over. I think she will find it hard to go back to being just a landlady."
"How old will she be? She looks young enough to still have children."
I shook my head, "I am not certain but she said she was in her teens when her husband died and he died in the last year of the war. Probably early forties."
"She is still young enough then. In our town there were women in their fifties still popping sprogs." I sipped my tea. It was as strong as I had expected. He nodded towards the clerk's desk next to him. "Intelligence will be here to debrief you and Poulson later on this morning. You had best start your report off. I think that the brass are keen to use these sorts of experiences for training purposes. Up to now you and the other two lads are the only ones who escaped the bag. The French Resistance has reported commandos being captured hundreds of miles away. Some almost made it to Spain."
I nodded and began to write. As I wrote I said, without lifting my head, "One thing is maps, Sergeant Major. Because we went in early and needed maps we were able to find our way out again. If we hadn't had them then we would still be wandering around the Marais."
"Right. Put that down then."
"And Gowland; I discovered he knew engines. If he hadn't been able to start that E-Boat we would be stuck there yet."
"Aye but we can't put a mechanic in every section."
"I suspect you don't have to. My Dad was good with engines. He liked to tinker. You can bet your bottom dollar there will be others like that. You need to get the sergeants talking to their men and find out what they are good at. Poor Reg Smyth was a poacher. That was a hell of a skill. If he had survived who knows when that might have come in handy. They should know their men."
"You know yours."
I nodded, "They are good lads and I am lucky but aye, I know my men. I know their strengths and their weaknesses; horses for courses."
I knew, as I scribbled away, that I had set a train of thought away in the Sergeant Major's head. Despite his gruff exterior he was a thoughtful man. It took a long time to write the report. The clerks appeared and set about their daily chores. I had almost finished when Gordy Barker came in. "The wanderer returns!"
I looked up and saw Gordy's grinning face; the inevitable cigarette hanging precariously from his bottom lip.
"Let Sergeant Harsker finish his report before you start bending his ear, Barker!"
"Sorry Sarn't Major. Is there a brew on?"
"Help yourself."
It did not take me long to finish and I handed the report to Reg. "You two cut along now. Don't go far Harsker, the Major will need you."
"Right, Sarn't Major."
Gordy lit another cigarette as we left the building and headed towards the training ground. "How are things here then, Gordy?"
"A bit of a mish mash Tom. We just have two officers left now and you and I are the only sergeants. We can't function as a Troop. The Captain said we would have two new lieutenants by the end of the week but that will just mean more work for us as we will have to show them the ropes."
"What about Sergeants? Have you any who could be promoted?"
"Norm Thomas is a good lad. He is lance corporal at the moment. He handled himself well in St. Nazaire; he didn't panic. The other good lads were in Jack Johnson's section and none of them made it back. What about your lads?"
"Ken is a definite. It just depends on his wounds. Paul Poulson is ready for promotion but I would prefer him to be a Corporal and learn the ropes that way. I think it helps you become a better sergeant. You are the grease which smoothes out the bumps."
"You are right there." He gestured over his shoulder, towards the sea. "How the hell did you manage to sail that bloody big E-Boat back?"
"Harry Gowland is a damned good mechanic. If I were you I would find out what skills you men have got. His certainly came in handy."
We had reached the training ground and I saw his section, what remained of it, lined up and waiting for him to take them on a run.
My section had not wasted their time since their return and I found them at the shooting range firing their Colts. We were a smaller unit now. There were just six remaining. Poulson was the most experienced of those who remained and he had organised them. "I thought we could do with some practice Sarge. The Colt was the most useful weapon last time out."
"Good thinking, carry on."
Scouse Fletcher asked, "Any chance of some leave, Sarge?"
"I daresay there will but we will have to see the Major first. He will be along later."
In the event neither the Major nor the Captain returned from Intelligence and I was spared an interrogation by those who planned but never had to perform. At least when my Dad gave advice to pilots it was based upon his experiences. I called in to see Reg before I left. "In case you are asking for recommenda
tions, Sergeant Major, I was going to suggest Ken Curtis for Sergeant and Poulson and Gowland for Corporal."
He nodded, "What about Poulson as Lance Sergeant? Do you think he is ready?"
"I like to give lads the chance to learn the ropes first but he could handle it. He organised my lads today."
"I'll tell the Major tomorrow. If he gets back tomorrow, that is."
When I returned to Mrs Bailey's I spent some time writing letters. I wrote a short one to mum. It was more to put her mind at rest and a longer one to Dad. I left out any direct references to the raid but he would be able to read between the lines. The I wrote a couple to the mothers of my dead commandos. They were harder and took much longer. I owed it to the dead men to tell their loved ones what they had done. After supper I wandered, alone, to the pub. There were none of the lads in there but I had a quiet pint. I like to think that the ones who didn't make it back were there in spirit. I could almost see their faces. I had a second pint for them and then headed back to the digs. I felt better; I don't know why but I did.
The next morning we were playing our adult game of hide and seek when the Captain found us. "Good to see you Tom. We were worried that we had lost you."
"Thank you sir, but I had a bit of luck and two good commandos with me."
He nodded, "Poulson, could you take charge here?"
"Yes sir, er, " he added cheekily, "any chance of some leave?"
Captain Marsden laughed and shook his head, "Where is the innocent, keen, young lad we first met eh Sergeant Harsker? He is an old hand now. Sergeant Harsker can ask the Major for you but I dare say a short furlough may be in order."
As we walked back to the office I said, "He didn't mean anything, sir. He is a good lad."
"I know he is. If it was up to me you would all have had leave as soon as you landed. That was a hell of an operation we pulled off." When we neared the office I saw a staff car and a Naval rating. "Oh by the way Tom, just a warning. There are senior brass about. Very senior brass."
Behind Enemy Lines Page 20
