Incursion (A James Shaw Mission Book 1)

by Richard Turner

  “Thanks, that will be all for now,” said Vogel. “Please let me know the instant that the headcount is complete.”

  Both men saluted Vogel and then left the office. The tension and stress building up on the back of Vogel’s neck heralded the start of a long and painful day. He had suffered from debilitating migraines most of his adult life. Vogel had hoped to put his head down, but with the latest revelation, he knew that he couldn’t afford to rest, not even for even one hour. Sitting down, he reached inside his jacket pocket, pulled out a tin of aspirins, opened it and then swallowed down four pills with a swig of lukewarm coffee. Calling out, Vogel told a young soldier that he wanted a fresh pot of coffee to be made right away, and that he wanted some rations. He knew he had to eat if he was going to remain on his feet for the rest of the day.

  26

  Weather Station

  The imposter stood outside of the mess hall staring at the men in black. He quietly watched the officer with the hair-trigger temper greet the new soldiers. Counting, he saw that there were a dozen new soldiers in the camp. He hadn’t expected fresh soldiers to arrive. Their unexpected arrival jeopardized his plan. He didn’t have time to sow fear into their minds. They weren’t tired and scared like the others. Time was running out. Clouding his identity placed an incredible strain on him, and his strength was fading. He would have to feed again if he was going to keep hidden among the soldiers.

  As a scout, his mission had been simple enough: observe and report. However, under no circumstances could he ever allow himself to be seen or captured. Turning on his heels, the imposter looked about the camp. He needed an easy target. Seeing the two bored-looking soldiers guarding the prisoners, he knew exactly where his next meal was going to come from. He would feed and then deal with the man who seemed to be able to break through his defenses. His death would be a welcome one and with one less irritant to worry about, the imposter could plan his escape.

  Sturmabnnfuhrer Wagner walked out into the cold and was instantly greeted by a sergeant who came rigidly to attention and gave him the Nazi salute. Returning the salute, Wagner looked over at the four jeeps. Cursing under his breath, he saw that he had only been provided with a reinforced squad of SS soldiers, not the platoon he had been promised. Still with these men, he would soon seek vengeance upon those who had dared to resist the German occupation.

  Quickly briefing the soldiers under his command, Wagner told the sergeant to get his men ready to head down into the village right away. A thin smile crept across Wagner’s face. He couldn’t wait to return and rub it into Vogel’s face how he had been able to find out who was behind the partisans operating in the local area. His report to his superiors in Oslo would naturally focus upon his efforts to eradicate the Norwegian saboteurs and murders, while making it clear that Vogel was a weak and inefficient officer who had to be helped by the SS in putting down a minor insurrection.

  As the small column of jeeps headed out of the front gate, Wagner looked up into the sky. Already more dark clouds were coming down from the north. Shaking his head, Wagner knew that he had best hurry up and do what he had to. He didn’t want to be trapped outside the camp when the snow came. The clouds looked ominously dark and heavy. He had no doubt that another heavy snowfall was on its way.

  The sound of a submachine gun firing startled Vogel awake. Looking about, he realized that he had fallen asleep in his chair. The coffee cup he had been holding in his hand lay on the floor, its contents spilt at his feet. Glancing at his watch, Vogel saw that he had been sleeping for just over an hour. His men, seeing how tired he was, had let him sleep. Standing up, Vogel shook his head and bolted for the door. Throwing it open, he ran outside and towards the sound of men angrily screaming at one another. Turning the corner of the building, Vogel saw Muller standing there with his submachine gun in his hands. A trail of smoke crept out of the barrel. He was heatedly yelling at a couple of soldiers who stood there with their rifles in their hands and anger on their faces. Lying face down in the snow was another soldier. As he got closer, Vogel could see that the soldier on the ground had been shot in the chest.

  Striding between Muller and the other soldiers, Vogel said, “Just what the hell is going on out here?”

  Muller said, “Private Koch came at me with a knife. I barely had time to react. He was screaming that I had killed Zabel.”

  Vogel turned to look at the two soldiers standing over Koch. “Is this true? Did Koch try to kill Sergeant Muller?”

  “Yes sir, he did,” said a young blonde-haired soldier. “But Koch was right, Muller killed Zach.”

  Vogel shook his head. What he heard was fear talking. He was about to say something, when he saw at least a dozen men walk out of the barracks all holding their rifles in their hands. They quickly formed a loose circle, penning everyone in. The hair on the back of Vogel’s neck went up. Something dangerous was going on, and he needed to tread lightly. The air was electric. Like a powder keg, all it would take was one match to set it off.

  “Why do you believe that Sergeant Muller killed Zabel?” said Vogel calmly to the blonde-haired soldier.

  “He was there when Zabel was killed,” replied the soldier.

  Vogel shook his head and said, “He was out there on my orders. Do any of you honestly believe that I sent Sergeant Muller out into the night to kill one of the men under my command? Come now men, doesn’t that sound a bit ridiculous?”

  “But what about prisoners?” called out a man from behind Vogel.

  “What about them?” said Vogel in reply.

  “The sergeant is far too friendly with them. The men and I believe that he has made a deal with them to stay alive,” said the blonde-haired soldier.

  Utter crap, thought Vogel. Turning about on his heels, Vogel looked into the faces of the men standing around them. To a man, they looked tired and frightened. The men of the weather station must have gone through the same madness before killing one another.

  Deciding that he had best act before the soldiers did, Vogel said, “Alright I’ve heard enough of this foolish nonsense. You’re all tired. Hell, so am I. Muller was out last night because I asked him to be. As for the prisoners, I can assure you that they are not in communication with anyone outside of this camp and that Sergeant Muller is a loyal German soldier. Now remember this men, we are all German soldiers, and we will all act accordingly. I am your superior officer, and you will all do as I say. I want you all to return to the barracks immediately. I will not tolerate any more outbursts. Any man speaking out against his superior in the chain of command will be deemed by me to be in mutiny and will be dealt with harshly. Do I make myself clear?”

  For a second nothing happened and then slowly heads nodded everywhere.

  A flood of relief surged through Vogel’s body. He wasn’t sure he could pull it off. He had done it, but doubted that he could do it another time. Ordering the blonde-haired soldier to place Koch’s body with the others in the mess hall, Vogel held his breath as he watched the men walk back to the barracks.

  “Thank you, sir,” said Muller, trying to sound as if nothing had just happened.

  Vogel turned towards Muller and said, “Find Lance Corporal Steiner, Lieutenant Beckers and Corporal Zach. I want the men disarmed. From now on, all of the men’s weapons will be held in the headquarters building. They can draw their weapons when they are on duty. Once their shift is over, the weapons will be returned and accounted for.”

  Muller nodded his head.

  “This rule does not apply to myself, you, Zach, Steiner and Beckers.”

  “Right sir,” said Muller, as he left Vogel to brief the others on the new orders.

  A cold breeze surged through the camp, sending the freshly fallen snow up into the air. Turning his head, Vogel looked up into the darkening sky and saw that another heavy snowstorm was heading their way. Had it not, he probably would have given the order to abandon the camp. But with visibility about to drop to mere yards, he knew he couldn’t risk driving the narrow ice-
covered roads all the way back to Haugesund. Mother Nature had conspired to trap them where they were for another day. Cursing his luck, Vogel began to wonder if they could survive another day trapped in the weather station. He no longer cared about solving why an entire German garrison had gone mad and killed one another. It was obvious that the same thing was happening all over again, this time to Vogel and his men. Staying alive was all that mattered to Vogel now.

  Unfortunately, he had no idea that hell was about to be unleashed upon them all.

  27

  Weather Station

  “What the hell do you think that was about?” Bruce said to Shaw. Standing, he strained to see out the side of the window. He had heard the submachine gun fire and now he could clearly hear men yelling back and forth in German. Whoever they were, they sounded mad, thought Bruce. “Captain, what are they yelling about?”

  “Some men are accusing one of their sergeants of killing one of their own,” explained Shaw, trying to catch what was being said.

  “Lord no. Not again. It’s like back at the camp and poor old Carl all over again,” moaned Bruce.

  Anna sat straight up and said, “Did I hear gun fire?”

  “You sure did, lass,” said Bruce. “I think the Germans are having a wee bit of a dispute.”

  Shaw shushed Bruce and tried listening. He recognized Vogel’s voice. He was telling the men to go back to their quarters. After a couple of minutes, the talking died away and then as before, the only sound was the wind buffeting their rickety wooden building.

  “What do you think happened?” asked Anna as she ran a hand through her hair trying to look and feel more awake than she really was.

  Shaw turned away from the window and looked over. “Whatever is happening, it has repeated itself three times that we know of. First with the residents of this camp, then in the woods and now here again. I’m not a shrink, but I believe that some form of group hysteria has taken hold of some of the Germans. Before too long, they will turn on one another until not a soul, including us will be left alive to tell anyone what has happened here.”

  “Not sure I’m following you sir,” said Bruce, scratching the irritating stubble on his chin.

  “It’s kind of like the Salem Witch trials back in New England in the 1600s. There were no witches, but all it took was one person to believe that there were and before too long others thought the same way too. Rational people turned on one another accusing their friends of being witches and dabbling in the black arts. Women were burnt on the stake for the crime of witchcraft. The long and short of is that people in isolated communities are susceptible to these kinds of behaviors,” explained Shaw.

  Anna said, “But didn’t that take place over several years, and this has manifested itself within days.”

  “I’m not saying that they are perfectly alike, I’m just suggesting that once an irrational fear is placed in the minds of a small group of individuals, it doesn’t take much for that fear to spread. Add stress and fatigue into the mix and before too long sound people have the potential to turn into murderers.”

  “What are we going to do?” said Anna. “I don’t want to be tied to a chair and shot in the back of the head by a delusional German solider.”

  “I second that,” said Bruce.

  Shaw stood and then absentmindedly ran his hand through his hair. “Ok then, we only have one realistic option available to us. As soon as it gets dark, we’re goanna make a run for it.”

  “I have contacts spread out all through the valley. I now they will help us,” said Anna confidently.

  “That’s all well and good, but just how do you propose that we break out of a camp full of German soldiers?” said Bruce.

  “I haven’t thought that far ahead,” said Shaw. “Let’s eat the last of our rations and then think this through.”

  A half-hour later, they all sat by the stove sipping coffee and eating hard, dry crackers with strawberry jam from a can. It wasn’t a meal any of them would rave about, but it filled their empty stomachs.

  After licking some jam from his fingers, Bruce said, “You know the more I think about that crashed plane, the more I become convinced that it is more Buck Rodgers and less Ministry of Defense.”

  “Who is Buck Rodgers and what does he have to do with the German plane?” asked a confused-sounding Anna.

  Shaw chuckled, shook his head and then explained, “Buck Rodgers is a fictional radio and movie character who lives hundreds of years in the future and travels around in a rocket ship.”

  Anna gave Bruce a disbelieving look.

  “No, just think about it for a moment,” said Bruce. “There was nothing normal about that craft. Where were its wings, or its propeller? I didn’t see a joystick and please don’t tell me that the exterior of the plane was made from any alloy you have ever heard about. And what about the pilot’s chair? It was molded right into the floor of the craft. I also didn’t see a single nut and bolt holding the bloody thing together. How do you explain that?”

  Shaw took a sip from his coffee. “You may be right. In fact, Duncan, you may be on to something. You told me back at the camp that you didn’t trust our superiors back in England to tell us the whole truth; well I can see now why they didn’t. Would you have believed them if they had told us that we were going to take pictures of a crashed rocket ship, or whatever you want to call it instead of a downed German airplane?”

  “No sir, I would have thought them all a bunch of raving lunatics,” replied Bruce.

  “As would I.”

  Anna shook her head at all the talk of rocket ships and decided to change the subject. “Captain, have you had a chance yet to think about how we’re going to escape?”

  “It looks like more snow is on the way. So when it gets dark. I think our best option is to have you fake an injury. I’ll call for help. When our guards out front come to see what has happened Duncan and I will overpower them. We’ll borrow their jackets and helmets, commandeer one of the jeeps parked over by the headquarters building and then drive straight out the front gate as if nothing was amiss.”

  Bruce scrunched up his face and said, “So yah honestly think it’ll be that easy to do?”

  “Yes, I do,” said Shaw, grinning.

  “And if they try to stop us at the front gate?” asked Anna.

  “Then we shoot the guards and drive like hell.”

  “Oh well, that fills me with nothing but confidence,” said Bruce dryly. “Did you by chance happen to hit your head when you took all that commando training?”

  Shaw shook his head and said, “Have some faith Duncan. It’s not the best plan I’ve ever come up with, but it’s all we have to work with right now.”

  “Aye sir,” replied Bruce unenthusiastically.

  Shaw looked over at Anna. “Do you think you can fake a really bad stomach ache?”

  “If it’ll get us out of here, I’ll make the Germans think I’m about to die,” said Anna with a glint in her eyes.

  “Ok then all we have to do is relax in here for a few hours and wait for night to fall,” said Shaw. Standing up, he walked over to the window and looked out at the two German soldiers shuffling their feet as they tried to stay warm. When night fell, he would wait until it was early morning and the guards would be especially cold, bored, and tired before trying to escape. Even if it failed, a death on his feet as a soldier was preferable to an ignominious end with a bullet shot into the back of his head.

  Outside, the wind gradually picked up. Slowly, the snow began to fall. No one knew it yet, but the worst snowstorm in a decade was about to hit Western Norway, blanketing it under several feet of snow.

  28

  Weather Station

  No matter how many times he tried, Vogel couldn’t bring himself to write a preliminary report on what had transpired since he had arrived at the camp. He had no idea where to start or even what to say. The more time passed by, the less any of it made any sense to him. What had started as a simple mission to see why a weathe
r station had gone off the air had quickly degenerated into a horrible nightmare from which he could not wake himself. Staring down at the pen and paper on the desk in front of him, Vogel decided to give in. He was just too tired to think clearly anymore.

  “Sir, all of the weapons have been collected and accounted for,” announced Muller from the doorway.

  Vogel lifted his head and looked over. Muller may have been as tired as everyone else, but he didn’t show it. His tough exterior looked as it always did, ready for battle. “Thank you, Sergeant,” said Vogel.

  “I have two men on the front gate, two more guarding the prisoners and have assigned two teams of three to walk the perimeter of the camp. I thought it best to keep the men busy until we leave,” explained Muller.

  “Yes, good thinking. I would have done the same.”

  “Sir, what are your intentions? Do you know when you would like to leave tomorrow? If I can keep more men busy packing and cleaning until we depart. The less chance of another disturbance will occur. Keeping the men busy can only help us in the long run.”

  “Yes of course Sergeant, if the snow stops during the night, I want to be on the road no later than eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  “Very good sir, I’ll have the chains placed on all the vehicles’ tires in case the road conditions continue to deteriorate and you still wish to leave.”

  With that, the two men saluted each other. Muller left to put the men to work while Vogel turned and sat back in his chair feeling drained. Had the nation not been at war, Vogel knew that he would have resigned his commission after this assignment, but he was a soldier and soldiers don’t have the luxury of quitting. Rubbing his tired eyes, Vogel stood up, walked over to the stove and poured himself a cup of coffee. He had lost track of how many he had drunk in the past few hours. As long as it kept him awake, Vogel was willing to drink it until it came out of his pores. Looking out the window, he saw the snow coming down. Vogel had always loved the snow as a child. He and his father would go skiing in the mountains behind his home in Southern Germany. Now, looking out at the seemingly endless snowfall, he cursed the snow. If he never saw another snowflake in his life after the war, Vogel would be a happy man.