Incursion (A James Shaw Mission Book 1)

by Richard Turner

  Shaw shook his head. “That was dammed foolish of them.”

  “I agree, but they live close by and are well known by the Germans. They figured that the Germans would have just sent them on their way if they didn’t want to talk to them.”

  Shaw could see in her eyes that Anna was holding something back. Controlling his growing frustration, he said, “So, what happened?”

  “The brothers say that they are all dead.”

  “Who’s all dead?”

  “The Germans, they are all dead. The men say that it looks like all of the Germans either committed suicide or murdered one another.”

  Shaw scrunched his face. It sounded too unbelievable. He had never heard of a couple of dozen men dying in such a bizarre way. “Are they sure of what they saw?”

  “You saw the look in their eyes. I don’t think they are making this up,” said Anna.

  Shaw had to agree. Something had terrified the men and he wanted to know more about it. Checking his watch, Shaw said, “We have plenty of time before the sun comes up. I want to check out this German camp.”

  Anna nodded her head. “So do I. This is bound to bring in more German soldiers. I want to know what happened before this area is crawling with Nazis, who will undoubtedly blame us for this massacre.”

  Shaw hadn’t thought of that. The delicate balance between the disinterested Germans manning the base and the local population was about to change for the worse.

  Anna stepped aside, spoke to the two men, and told them to go home right away. Shaw was already moving to the back of the truck.

  Their mission had just taken a detour that Shaw knew could change their assignment completely. Climbing back up into the back of the truck, Shaw told Bruce what had happened, and that they were going to the German camp to investigate. The dark masked Bruce’s face as it suddenly turned whiter than the falling snow.

  7

  German camp

  January 19th, 1942

  With his Thompson firmly held in his right arm, Shaw used his shoulder and pushed open the unlocked front gate. Stepping aside, he waved for the truck to drive inside the compound.

  Built on top of a small hill, the camp was surrounded by a tall chain-link fence with a row of barbed wire affixed to the top. The German weather and radio relay camp consisted of a half dozen buildings. Some were large, like the barracks for the men and the dining hall, while others housing the offices and workstations were somewhat smaller. The entire complex sat dark and ominous. If Shaw hadn’t been told that the garrison was still inside the camp, he would have guessed that the installation had been abandoned. Like tall frozen metal trees, the station’s ice-covered radio towers creaked and moaned as they rocked from side to side in the blowing wind. Shaw knew right away that without anyone to refill the generators, the camp would have lost power and descended into darkness. It felt as welcoming as a crypt. Pulling the gate closed behind him, Shaw felt uneasy. His hands reflexively tightened around his submachine gun.

  Jogging over to the parked truck, Shaw helped Bruce and the two Norwegian fighters climb down.

  Anna and the driver joined them; in their hands were British made automatic Sten guns. Cheap and easy to use, the Sten gun had been supplied to resistance groups throughout Europe.

  Anna looked at Shaw and said, “What do you want to do?”

  “We’ll split into two groups. You, I and Duncan will check out the nearest buildings,” said Shaw. “While the men from the back of the truck can check out the two long buildings on the far side of the camp.” Turning, he looked straight at the two young resistance fighters. “Whatever you do, don’t fire your weapons unless you can positively identify the target as a German soldier. The last thing we want is to be shooting at one another in the dark.”

  The two men nodded their understanding.

  “The driver can stay with the truck. I want it turned about so that it faces out of the camp. If we get into trouble, we can all pile into the back and get out of here post-haste,” explained Shaw.

  The driver, a wide-shouldered man with a thick, dark beard, nodded his head and then climbed back into his truck.

  Shaw passed on to Bruce what was going on while the truck was turned around.

  Before the group split up, Shaw leaned over and grabbed the arm of the closest resistance fighter. He doubted that the fighter was more than seventeen years old. “Don’t do anything foolish and for God’s sake don’t touch anything. Take a quick look around and then report right back to me.”

  “I understand,” replied the fighter, his voice tinged with fear.

  “What’s your name?”

  “I was told to tell you that my name is Carl and that my brother is called Gert.” Both men stood no taller than Anna. They looked so much alike that people always mistook them for twins. There was however more than a year between them. The only way Shaw could tell them apart in the dark was that Carl wore glasses, while his brother Gert did not.

  “Very well, Carl, do as I say,” stressed Shaw.

  “Yes sir,” said Carl, cocking his Sten gun.

  Bruce stepped beside Shaw and in a hushed voice said, “Sir, I’ve never fired a tommy gun before.”

  Shaw gritted his teeth. He could feel himself growing frustrated. Taking a moment to calm himself, he knew it wasn’t Bruce’s fault that he wasn’t trained on the Thompson. However, poking around a German base in the dark wasn’t the place to learn either. The last thing Shaw needed was a scared and inexperienced man shooting him in the back by accident. Reaching down, Shaw placed the weapon on safe and told Bruce to use it like a cricket bat if he was attacked.

  Shaw looked over at the two brothers and said, “Thirty minutes. That’s how long I want to be in here and not one second more. If you’re not back at the truck in precisely thirty minutes, we’ll leave without you. Got it?”

  Carl and Gert nodded their heads, turned about and then began to warily walk towards the far side of the camp. Within seconds, the blowing snow swallowed them up.

  “Ok, follow me and stay close,” said Shaw to Anna and Bruce.

  With his Thompson tucked into his shoulder, Shaw advanced towards the nearest building, its front door wide open as if inviting them inside. Stopping at the door, Shaw told Bruce to find his flashlight and turn it on. A moment later, a beam of light lit the way inside. Shaw could feel his heart racing inside his chest. Training for combat was one thing, but placing your life on the line was completely another. Calling out in German, Shaw asked if there was anyone in the building. The response was stony silence. Fighting the urge not to step inside, Shaw took a deep breath to calm his nerves and then quickly moved inside. Dropping onto one knee, he looked over his weapon’s sights. Right away, he could see that they were in the camp’s office building. Snow blown inside covered the wooden floor. Shaw could see that the room was completely empty. There were several rows of desks with their typewriters sitting there looking like they were waiting for someone to return and get back to work. At the far end of the room was an office; its door was closed. Standing up, Shaw waved for his companions to enter the room. Reaching into his parka, he pulled out his flashlight, turned it on, and then handed it to Anna. The light instantly helped brighten the darkened room.

  Pointing towards the closed door, Shaw brought up his Thompson and advanced. Stopping at the door, Shaw once more called out in German. As before, only silence greeted them. Reaching down, Shaw slowly turned the knob. It wasn’t locked. Pushing in the door slightly, Shaw steeled himself. He half-expected someone to be standing there with a knife in their hand ready to plunge it into his heart.

  The eerie silence bothered him. An indefinable threat was slowly seeping into his mind. He would have preferred something, anything to happen rather than the continued stillness.

  Stepping inside the room, Shaw’s heart instantly leapt up into his throat. He had to stifle a surprised cry. Sitting behind a long wooden desk was a German officer. His frozen body was slumped over, his head resting on the d
esk. Taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart, Shaw looked down and saw that the dead man seemed to have been writing something when he died. Suddenly, a cold breeze blew inside the office from a window left wide open above the dead officer’s desk, sending some loose papers flying across the room, shaking Shaw out of the shock of seeing the body. Moving over, he reached up and closed the window.

  A gasp of shock escaped Anna’s lips.

  Turning his head, Shaw saw Anna and Bruce standing in the doorway. Neither seemed inclined to enter the room, not that Shaw could blame them. He didn’t want to be there either. Lowering his submachine gun, Shaw told Bruce to pick up the loose papers while he took a closer look at the dead officer. Moving carefully around the desk, Shaw shook his head when he saw that the man had slit his own wrists. A bloodied straight razor still hung loosely in the man’s right hand. The blood had escaped his veins and frozen into large, dark-red pools at the man’s feet. A long red icicle of frozen blood hung down from each wrist. A sad expression was etched on the dead man’s face. A shiver ran up Shaw’s spine as he pondered what could make a man take his own life in such a manner.

  “What happened?” asked Anna.

  “It looks like he slit his wrists,” replied Shaw.

  “Jesus, what a horrible way to go,” moaned Bruce.

  Shaw turned his head and looked down at the desk. Spotting an open journal, Shaw reached down and pushed the dead man’s frozen hand off it. Brushing off some loose snow, Shaw picked the journal up. Walking back towards Anna he asked her to shine her light on the journal so he could read it.

  “What’s it say sir?” said Bruce, trying to see the journal, not that he could read German.

  Shaw flipped back a few pages and began to read. After a few seconds, he looked over at his companions. “This is the journal of the station commander, Lieutenant Bose. He wrote that he felt that a resistance fighter had somehow infiltrated his camp.”

  “Why would he write that?” said Anna.

  “Well, according to the late Lieutenant Bose, three days ago one of their men was found murdered,” replied Shaw.

  “We had nothing to do with it,” said Anna defensively. “We had nothing to do with this. Why would we? The last thing we need are more Germans stationed in this valley.”

  Shaw looked down and read some more. “He wrote that he wanted to inform higher headquarters about the death, but somehow all of their radio equipment had developed technical difficulties. The next day another man was found dead.” Shaw paused to read some more. A few seconds later, he continued. “Here things get confusing. He wrote that the men began to distrust one another. Several fights broke out. The men began to accuse each other of collaborating with the infiltrator. They searched the camp several times over but could not discover how the partisan was getting in and out of the camp. That night, one man in a fit of rage murdered his friend while they were on guard duty together. Bose ordered that the men were to be armed at all times and that they were not to go anywhere by themselves. Later, that night, a soldier went berserk and shot three others before he was shot and killed.”

  “Bloody hell,” said Bruce. “What got into these lads?”

  “The next morning another body was found,” said Shaw. He hesitated for a few seconds, reading and re-reading the passage in the journal. “Bose wrote that the body had been mutilated.”

  “Mutilated, how?” Anna asked.

  “He doesn’t say. After that, his entries don’t make much sense at all. He claims that one of his men is not who he appears. He goes on to say that he no longer trusts any of the men under his command. He wrote that he has decided to take his own life and hopes that his wife will understand and forgive him for what he has done.”

  “What is that written at the bottom of the page?” asked Anna, shining her light on the journal.

  “Do not pray to God, for God cannot save you from him,” replied Shaw somberly.

  “I don’t like the sound of that at all. Just who is him?” said Bruce. Turning about, he shone his flashlight behind them.

  “I don’t know who or what Bose was talking about,” said Shaw. “I suppose it could be the mysterious infiltrator whom he wrote about.”

  “If someone infiltrated this station and killed off the garrison, he was acting alone. I can assure you of that,” said Anna.

  “I don’t mind saying sir, but this building gives me the creeps,” said Bruce.

  “Me too,” said Shaw under his breath as he jammed the journal into a deep pocket on his parka. Stepping out of the room, Shaw pointed back the way they came. Stepping back outside into the driving snow, Shaw led them around the office building and towards another wooden shack. Trying the door, Shaw found that it was unlocked. As before, he called out in German, not that he expected a response anymore. Edging his way inside, he saw that the building was the station’s radio-relay station. Four large radio sets sat silent in the darkened room. Shaw had barely stepped inside when he felt his boot touch something. Looking down, Shaw recoiled slightly when he saw two frozen bodies lying on the floor. Reaching back, he took Anna’s flashlight and shone it on the bodies. He was not surprised after reading the lieutenant’s journal when he saw that the two men were wrapped in a deadly embrace with knives sticking out of each other’s chests. They had fought to the death and now lay on the cold, wooden floor. Like the dead officer, Shaw could not fathom what had driven men who had known one another and lived in close quarters for months to suddenly turn on one another. Stepping over the frozen corpses, Shaw walked over to the radios and shone the light on them. They were smashed. Pieces of the radio lay strewn all over the floor. An axe lay propped up against an empty chair.

  “Looks like one of them walked in on the other while he was smashing the radios,” said Anna from behind Shaw.

  Turning his head, Shaw said, “The lieutenant wrote in his journal that the radios had stopped working a couple of days ago. I think one of these poor fellows came back to ensure that they could never be used, and that’s when the fight started. Either way, we have a room full of useless radios and two more dead Germans.”

  Handing his flashlight back to Anna, Shaw moved back outside and led the way to the next closest building. As before, the door was unlocked. Not bothering to call out, Shaw pushed the door open while Bruce shone his flashlight inside. Sitting in a chair at his desk facing the front door was another dead German. From where they were, it was easy to that the soldier had committed suicide. Bruce shone the light on a large, jagged hole in the side of the man’s head. His pistol lay on the floor at his feet. They all stood silent for a moment looking over at the frozen corpse. No one wanted to enter the room.

  Shaking his head, Shaw closed the door and led the group around the side of the building. Right away, a German Army truck came into view. Walking towards it, Anna shone her flashlight up at the cab of the truck. Inside sat two more men; their bluish-white frozen bodies sat wide-eyed, staring out accusingly into the dark. Moving the light down the side of the truck, they all saw a hose leading from the exhaust pipe up to the cab. The men had chosen to die by asphyxiation.

  Shaw could feel himself and everyone else becoming unnerved with each gruesome discovery. Whatever had happened here made no sense.

  He had seen enough and wanted to leave the camp behind, when he suddenly heard a noise. It sounded like someone moving around in the dark, just out of sight. Instantly, his heart began jackhammering away in his chest. Raising his hand to warn the others, Shaw pointed into the blowing snow. Anna brought up her Sten gun and moved beside Shaw while Bruce stepped behind them and brought his Thompson up like a bat.

  The noise grew. Someone…something was moving towards them.

  Shaw wasn’t taking any chances. Moving his gloved thumb over, he changed the selector switch on his weapon from safe to automatic.

  Edging slowly forward, Shaw and Anna peered into the gusting snow. If someone had survived the massacre, Shaw wanted to capture him alive. He had to know what had happen
ed here.

  Suddenly, a large, darkened shape leapt over a forty-five gallon drum and landed on the ground in front of Shaw with its teeth barred. Instinctively, he fired a burst. With a loud yelp, their attacker dropped to the snow dead.

  Pushing past Shaw, Anna shone her flashlight on the dead animal. It was only a wild dog. Blood covered the fur around its mouth. It had been eating.

  “A bloody dog,” said Bruce, his voice cracking with fear. “We come all the way to Norway and shoot a bloody dog.”

  “It probably had rabies,” said Anna. “If Captain Shaw hadn’t shot it, I would have. Trust me you don’t want to be bitten by a rabid animal. The treatment is worse than the bite.”

  “I was hoping for a survivor,” said Shaw to his companions as he lowered his weapon.

  From behind, a voice called out.

  Spinning on his heels, Shaw brought up his Thompson to his shoulder just as Carl ran around the side of the building.

  Seeing Shaw standing there with his weapon at the ready, he slid to a complete stop. With his eyes as wide as saucers, he shot his hands up into the air.

  “Jesus kid, I could have shot you,” said Shaw, slowly lowering his Thompson.

  “I’m sorry,” replied Carl, struggling to catch his breath.

  “Don’t be sorry, be careful.”

  “Have you found something?” Anna said to Carl.

  Carl nodded his head.

  “What is it?” Shaw asked.

  Carl hesitated. “Sir, it would be easier if you would just come with me.”

  “Lead on,” said Shaw.

  A minute later, they all stood inside the camp’s mess hall. Not a word was said; the only sound was the breathing from the people, as they looked disbelieving at the horror in front of them. Tied to chairs throughout the room was the remainder of the garrison. Each man had been shot in the back of the head. Blood, bone and pieces of brain matter lay frozen to the cold, wooden floor. No one could take a step without stepping in the gore. A single corpse, not tied to a chair, lay on the floor. Shaw recognized the man’s rank as an oberfeldwebel, a master sergeant. It appeared as if the senior most non-commissioned officer had systematically executed all of his men before taking his own life.