Incursion (A James Shaw Mission Book 1)

by Richard Turner

  “Sir, why don’t you nip down the hallway and have a quick shower and shave while I pack your bags?”

  Nodding his aching head, Shaw grabbed his toiletries and then, mumbling to himself, trudged down the cold hallway to the bathroom. After a quick shower in lukewarm water, Shaw shaved and then stood there for a moment looking at the man in the mirror staring back at him. His gray eyes looked tired. He had just turned twenty-five and was in peak shape, but at this hour of the morning, after tying one on with the new officers in the mess, he didn’t feel half as good as he looked. You need to go easy on the booze. Perhaps a little more time spent in the gym…at least during the week, thought Shaw. Heading back to his room, Shaw saw that Donald was gone but his uniform was laid out on his bed. He quickly dressed and met Donald downstairs.

  A staff car, its engine idling, waited for him.

  Donald saluted Shaw. “Captain, I’ve packed plenty of clean clothing. I wasn’t told how long you’d be gone or where you were going, so I packed enough to keep you warm and dry for about a week.”

  Shaw smiled and returned the salute. “Have you spoken to the driver? Does he have any idea where I am going?”

  “I did ask sir, but was told to mind my own damned business,” replied Donald, shaking his head at the rudeness of the driver.

  “The mystery deepens,” said Shaw. “Well, I expect that this foolishness is all part of some exercise. I suspect that I’ll be back in time for breakfast in the mess.”

  “Very good sir, I’ll have a clean uniform waiting for you,” said Donald as he came to attention and crisply saluted Shaw.

  Shaw returned the salute, opened the rear passenger door of the car, and climbed inside. Almost immediately, the driver placed the car in gear and sped off, leaving the lance corporal alone in the dark outside of the mess.

  Shaw said, “Driver, can you tell me where we are going?”

  “Sorry sir, that information is classified,” replied the driver brusquely. The man had a thick Scottish brogue and wore the uniform of the British Military Police.

  “Can you at least tell me if it will be a long ride?”

  “Sorry sir.”

  “Let me guess that information is classified,” said Shaw, shaking his head. With that, Shaw sank back into his seat wondering what was going on. He knew the British loved to conduct no-notice drills, but this seemed different. Something deep down in his gut told him that something usual was going on and that it was something he was not going to enjoy.

  3

  Bar Hill – England

  The olive-green jeep geared down; slowly, it turned off the main road and then headed down a narrow country lane that meandered through a snow-covered copse of evergreen trees. In the back, Shaw sat up and looked out the frost-covered windows.

  After leaving Achnacrarry, Shaw was driven to an airfield, where he boarded a Westland Lysander, a sturdy and reliable plane used by the British forces for liaison duties and the insertion of special operatives into German-occupied territory. Landing a few hours later at an RAF station on the outskirts of Cambridge, Shaw was met by a young soldier who escorted him to his jeep. The driver was a talkative, pimply-faced youth who explained that he had been ordered to drive Shaw to Bar End, a seventeenth-century country house. The soldier explained that Bar End had been taken over by the government just before the war started and was now a hospital for about thirty or so soldiers suffering from shell shock and other similar mental disorders.

  As the jeep rounded a sharp corner and left the woods, Shaw could see his destination. The driver, who was raised nearby, told Shaw that the three-story brick building had once been a monastery before being bought and enlarged into a stately mansion. For centuries, it was home to members of the British aristocracy, including Charles I before parliament saw fit to cut off his head. The driver chuckled at the thought of people rising up and doing in the current King. To Shaw, the building looked cold and dreary. Even though the sun was climbing in the early-morning sky, all of the windows still had their drapes drawn and were crisscrossed with tape in case of a bomb blast near the building. Shaw couldn’t put his finger on it, but the building seemed out of place. As they drove up to the front entrance, Shaw saw several army staff cars parked in a row with their engines still running. His curiosity grew by the second. Whatever was going on was not an exercise; that much was apparent to Shaw now.

  With a loud, protesting squeal from the jeep’s brakes, the driver brought the jeep to a jarring halt directly in front of the building. Shaw got out of the jeep and felt the cold morning air on his skin. He grew up in Northern Pennsylvania and was used to long, cold winters. Whenever he was asked, Shaw would always say that winter was his favorite season. He was an avid cross-country skier and hockey player. Shaw grew up using his older brother’s hand-me-down skates. For a brief moment, Shaw’s mind turned to his brother Andrew. A Lieutenant Commander in the navy, Andrew Shaw had been killed when his ship, the USS Arizona, sank during the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. Far too much alcohol drunk over the past few weeks had been his way of dealing with the tragic news. He would never admit it but he had come to the realization that he missed his brother terribly.

  “Sir, if you’ll follow me,” said the young driver, shaking Shaw out of his reverie.

  “My bags?” asked Shaw, looking back towards the jeep.

  “I was told to leave them there.”

  “Guess I’m not staying long,” Shaw said under his breath.

  With that, Shaw followed the soldier up to the stone steps leading to the entrance of the manor. Just before they arrived, the door swung open and a British Military Policeman wearing a red cap stepped outside and asked for Shaw’s identity papers. After a cursory glance at Shaw’s identification, the MP came sharply to attention, saluted Shaw, and then told the driver to wait in his jeep.

  “Sir, if you’ll follow me,” said the MP.

  Stepping inside, Shaw saw that the manor home was not what it was purported to be. There wasn’t a single patient in sight. Instead, there was an eclectic mix of military and civilian personnel moving about. Some, like the MP, were dressed properly, while the majority seemed to be wearing an odd blend of military and civilian attire. Shaw almost burst out laughing when a British colonel with thick white hair walked past him wearing his issue khaki sweater and shirt, with black dress pants and well-worn slippers on his feet. The delicious smell of bacon cooking in the kitchen wafted down the hall, reminding Shaw’s stomach that he hadn’t eaten any breakfast yet. He hoped that whatever he was here for that they would at least let him eat something before he had to be on his way again. The MP led Shaw to the back of the building before stopping outside of a closed double-door. Knocking twice, the MP opened the doors and ushered Shaw inside. With a polite nod to his escort, Shaw entered the room. He was surprised to see how large the room was. Looking about, he saw dozens of paintings and animal trophies covering the wooden walls. In the corner of the room stood three men, they were all silent, their eyes fixed on Shaw.

  “Please do come in Captain,” said a middle-aged man dressed in civilian clothing. Shaw saw that the man was carrying a few extra pounds around his mid-section. He had curly, salt-and-pepper hair that was in desperate need of a good comb. Perched on the man’s large bulbous nose were the thickest glasses Shaw had ever seen.

  “Thank you sir,” replied Shaw. Removing his cap, he walked towards the men. The other two were in uniform. One was British and the other American. Both men were colonels. Shaw had to suppress a chuckle. Both officers were in their late fifties and had snow-white hair. Aside from a walrus moustache on the British colonel, they could have easily been mistaken as brothers. Their gaze and silence, however, was unnerving. Shaw quickly grew uncomfortable. He felt like a schoolboy being summoned to see the principal for some transgression.

  “Please gentlemen, let us all sit down,” said the British civilian, with a warm smile of his face.

  Taking a seat around an old oak coffee table, everyone sa
t there for a moment in silence. A few seconds later, a side door opened and a young soldier walked in carrying a tray filled with coffee cups and freshly baked scones. Shaw’s stomach growled at the delectable aroma.

  The civilian gentleman smiled and said, “I take it that you haven’t had a chance to eat yet this morning, Captain.”

  “No sir, I’ve been on the go since three this morning,” replied Shaw as he took a cup of coffee and a warm scone.

  After everyone was served and the soldier had left the room, the civilian gentleman looked over at Shaw and said, “So Captain, what do you think of Bar End?”

  “It’s a very clever disguise sir,” answered Shaw. “You tell the locals that it is a hospital for soldiers suffering from shell shock, all the while you are running what looks to me to be a covert intelligence gathering operation. Since people already believe that if they know what happens out here they don’t feel compelled to poke their noses in your business.”

  The man sat there with a grin from ear to ear.

  “Precisely Captain,” said the British colonel, stabbing a finger on the table. “It also ensures that Jerry will be none the wiser as well.”

  The civilian gentleman cleared his throat. “Do you have any idea what you are doing here, Captain?”

  “No, sir, I do not,” replied Shaw.

  “Well then I think it is time that we got down to business,” said the civilian. “By means of introduction, my name is Doctor Robert Hill. These gentlemen are Colonel Thomas Barnes of the U.S. Army and Colonel Frederick Somerset from British military intelligence.”

  “Gentlemen,” said Shaw politely.

  Hill took a sip of his coffee. Looking over at Shaw with a cold analytical stare, he asked, “Captain, why were you seconded to the British Army?”

  “Sir, I was told that I was moved from the US Army Military Mission in London to Number Ten Commando to be its second-in-command when it stands up later this year,” said Shaw. He normally would have said executive officer, but that was an American, not British way of describing the position.

  “Yes, that is all correct and well documented in your personnel file, but why you?” prodded Hill.

  “I suppose it’s because I was already in-country when we entered the war, and because I have a bit of ear for languages. The unit is going to have men from all across Europe, so knowing a few languages will be an asset to the unit,” explained Shaw.

  “Which languages can you speak, Captain?” asked Somerset, the British colonel.

  “English naturally,” said Shaw with a smile on his face that was wasted on the old colonel. “Sir, I am also fluent in German, Norwegian, and French. I studied Spanish and Italian at West Point, but am not as comfortable with these languages as I am with the others. However, give me a week or two immersed in either language, and I could probably pass as a native speaker.”

  “Dammed confident in yourself, Captain,” snorted Somerset.

  “Sir, I don’t mean to come off cocky, but it is something that I have always been good at,” said Shaw.

  Hill smiled.

  To Shaw, the man looked like a cat about to eat a mouse and he had no doubt that he was the mouse.

  Barnes, the American colonel, reached into his briefcase, removed a file folder, placed it on the table and then opened it. Shaw could see that it was his personnel file.

  “According to your file Captain Shaw you were born in Bradford, Pennsylvania,” said Barnes, as he read from the file. “You joined the U.S. Army in 1935 and did quite well in West Point, graduating near the top of your class. You were attached to the U.S. Army Military Mission in 1940 as Brigadier-General Michaels’ aide de camp. Promoted early to Captain, you volunteered to attend British parachute and commando training. Doing well in both, you lobbied your boss for a position with the British Army and were subsequently selected to join Number Ten Commando.”

  “Yes sir,” said Shaw, nodding his head.

  Hill reached into a pocket on his gray sweater and pulled out a piece of paper. He quickly read over what was written on the paper and then looked over at Shaw. “Now Captain, is there anything you would like to tell us?”

  What an odd question, thought Shaw. Feeling uncomfortable, Shaw sat up in his seat and saw that all three men were looking straight at him.

  “Sir, I’m not sure what you’re getting at,” said Shaw.

  “Son, I’ll be blunt,” said Barnes as he closed Shaw’s file. “Your background is a lie. You weren’t born in Pennsylvania, hell you weren’t even born in the United States.”

  A sickening knot tied in Shaw’s stomach. He felt himself beginning to sweat. He had hoped to keep his family background secret. Not that there was much to tell he just preferred the lie that he had built up over the past few years to the truth.

  Taking a long, deep breath, Shaw sat back in his chair feeling trapped.

  Hill saw the look of anxiety in Shaw’s eyes and said, “Captain, there is nothing to be ashamed of. Lots of people fled Germany and made new lives in England and America when the Nazis started to agitate for power.”

  Shaw nodded his head. Knowing that they probably knew all there was to know about him, he took a deep breath and said, “Gents, I was born in Hasselberg, Germany in 1917 to a German father and a Norwegian mother. Both of my parents were schoolteachers, but when the Nazis began to look for a scapegoat, they found it in Germany’s Jewish community. My family is Jewish and was harassed incessantly for months by local thugs from the Brown Shirts. It wasn’t long before both my parents lost their jobs. It was then that my parents decided that we needed to leave Germany. Knowing that there was a large German population in Pennsylvania, my father selected that as our new home. He thought it would be easier for him to find work there.”

  Hill said, “Captain, what was your original name before your family changed it?”

  “Sir, I suspect that you already know the answer to your question,” replied Shaw. “I was born Jakob Shoyer. When we arrived at Ellis Island, my father wanted us to fit in so he adopted Shaw for our last name. My first name Jakob was anglicized to James. The rest of the file, however is correct. I did spend my youth growing up in Bradford, Pennsylvania.”

  Barnes looked Shaw in the eye and said, “Captain, I don’t want a bullshit answer, I want to know why you enlisted in the US Army.”

  Shaw leant forward in his chair, his gray eyes fixed on Barnes. “Sir, to be blunt, I hate the Nazis. It’s really nothing more than that. I have plenty of family who remained behind in Germany, who have disappeared under the Nazi regime. My parents still believe that things will work out and that my grandparents, aunts, uncles, you name it, will all miraculously turn up one day alive and unharmed. I, however, am a realist and have no doubt that most of them are already dead. Colonel, I doubt that you will find a person in uniform who despises them more than me.”

  “Captain, you knew that it was a service offence to lie on your application to West Point, but you did it anyway,” said Barnes.

  “Yes sir, I know what I did was wrong,” said Shaw, realizing that there was little more he could say in his own defense. He had lied.

  Somerset said, “Then why did you do it Shaw?”

  “I wanted to be in the Army. I knew that it was only a matter of time before we got into the war and I wanted to be part of it,” said Shaw. “The false background was my brother’s, idea. He did the same thing when he applied to Annapolis. He reasoned that we wouldn’t be accepted into the military if we told the military the truth about our German heritage. When he got away with it, I thought there was no harm if I tried the same thing as well. In retrospect, I should have trusted the military to accept us for who we were, but what’s done is done. It’s too late now to change the past.”

  Somerset sagely nodded his head and then sat back in his chair.

  Barnes said, “Shaw, I could easily have you dismissed from the Army for what you have done. However, I don’t feel that is in our best interests to let a person with your skills an
d abilities go.”

  Hill smiled at Shaw. “Now that we have all of that out in the open, we can get down to business. Captain you said earlier that you believed this place is used for intelligence gathering. I and everyone here work for the Special Operations Executive.”

  “Sir, I’ve never heard of the Special Operations Executive,” said Shaw.

  “And that’s a good thing,” said Barnes. “It means that our disinformation efforts are working.”

  Hill said, “Captain, we in the SOE are just as committed to the war effort as anyone else. We are deeply involved in intelligence gathering, irregular warfare, and special reconnaissance. All of the people who work here at Bag End were personally selected by me along with Colonels Barnes and Somerset because of their unique talents and skill sets. Our focus here is on gathering intelligence regarding advances in German military technology.”

  “Sir, I’m an infantry officer, not an engineer,” said Shaw, not sure where the conversation was heading.

  Hill smiled and said, “We know that, Captain. We are interested in you for your ability to speak multiple languages.”

  Barnes reached down and opened up Shaw’s file. Removing a piece of paper, he handed it over to Shaw. “This is a copy of your transfer orders, Captain. As of this morning, you are now a member of the SOE.”

  Shaw sat there looking down at the transfer order feeling as if he had just been shot in the gut. He had worked hard to get a position with the commandos and didn’t want to lose it working behind a desk in some cushy office in the English countryside.

  “Sir, if you need a linguist, I’m sure there are thousands of allied soldiers all over England from the occupied countries who would do a far better job than me,” said Shaw, pleading his case.

  “We don’t need another bloody translator,” said Somerset with a decidedly sour look on his face. “We need operators.”

  “Pardon sir?” said Shaw.