Henry looked around the room. Everyone was deeply engrossed in what was being said, their eyes fixed on the speakers. Taking out a small book from his jacket pocket, he jotted down a few notes.
Captain Williams pointed with a stick towards a pull-down chart containing a map of the Baltic coast. ‘The Pomorze industrial region lies twenty-five miles south of Danzig. This area is vitally important to Germany because it needs the steel it produces to make weapons. Also, vast quantities of coal and oil are transported by numerous barges along the Vistula River to the port in the city. These are vital resources the Germans require to support their war effort. If we can disrupt the production and transportation of these valuable commodities, then we can cut off the supply in the region, causing the German forces to grind to a halt.’
Fosdyke stepped forward, flicking a switch which turned off the overhead lights and started a projector. A black-and-white aerial reconnaissance photograph appeared on the screen in the centre of the stage.
‘As you can see, the industrial complex is built on the flood plains of the Vistula River. The surrounding area receives all its electricity from this large hydroelectric dam.’
He circled it with his stick before advancing to the next slide.
‘The dam contains a canal-style lock system which allows barges to ferry their cargoes up and down the river.’
A third slide appeared which showed a barge navigating the locks. Henry was amazed at the quality of the images being displayed, making him wonder how far in advance this mission had been planned.
‘Gentlemen, your only objective is to destroy this dam,’ the major said sternly. ‘The flooding and subsequent damage will paralyse the whole region.’
Captain Williams addressed the small group again. ‘From the drop zone, here…’ He pointed once more at the map. ‘…you will have to cover the ten miles to the industrial complex on foot. Bear in mind there are only seven of you, so engagements with the enemy should be kept to a minimum. You don’t want to become involved in an extensive firefight, because you’ll be rapidly outnumbered. The last thing you need is a full-scale engagement with the main body of the German Fourth Army. Consequently, keep a low profile at all times. Is that clear?’
Everyone nodded.
‘The trickiest area will be around the dam itself. This is where we predict you will experience the most opposition. At present, only a few maintenance staff work there, but due to its strategic importance, we expect a garrison to be stationed there at some point in the next few days.’
Henry nodded, jotting down the details.
‘Irrespective of whether the mission has been successful, you must be at the designated rendezvous site at twenty-three hundred hours on the eighth of September,’ Fosdyke said, circling a further area on the map.
Immediately, Robert Scott thrust his hand in the air, ‘Sir, it’s not going to take seventy-two hours to knock out that dam. Why do we have to wait?’
Captain Williams was surprised by the directness of the question, ‘Unfortunately, the weather forecast prevents us from sending a retrieval flight until then. So, you will have to keep a low profile.’
‘We’re anticipating you’ll take the dam on the night of the sixth. That gives you two days to reach the extraction point and be ready for extraction,’ Fosdyke commented.
‘Sir, what happens if we don’t make the pickup?’ Mayberry asked.
‘Well, officially, this mission, like this unit, does not exist,’ Fosdyke said openly. ‘Your success or failure will not make tomorrow’s headlines. So, if you miss the rendezvous, you will, unfortunately, be on your own. We will not be sending other troops to find you if you go missing. So, if the worst happens and you become isolated, you will have to make your own way back to Britain.’
Instantly, the atmosphere in the room changed. The cavalier attitude which had been building up over the past couple of days disappeared. Much whispering could be heard around the lecture room. The major returned to the pull-down map and tried to settle the group.
‘If you find yourselves isolated, then, sadly, there are not too many safe routes out of Poland. To the west lies Germany. Clearly, this is not a sensible route home. Czechoslovakia and Hungary are to the south, but German forces occupy both. Consequently, neither is really viable. To the east is Russia. Up until a few weeks ago, I would have suggested this would be your best way out, and probably still is. But, we suspect the Russians have made a deal with Germany over this invasion.’
‘We’re not sure what kind of reception you would get if you arrived in Moscow,’ said Williams.
‘They might hand you immediately over to the Germans,’ Fosdyke explained. ‘As far as we can see, the only other viable possibility is to head north, into Danzig itself. The port is very busy with both commercial as well as naval traffic. If you are separated from the rest of the unit, you could board a ship bound for a friendlier country.’
‘Sir, isn’t Danzig full of Germans?’ Scotty asked directly.
‘Yes,’ said the major, trying hard to hide his irritation from the direct question. ‘Gentlemen, the bottom line is, there is no particularly safe alternative to the designated rendezvous.’
‘So, there can only be one rendezvous. If you don’t make it, we will assume the mission has been compromised, and you have fallen into enemy hands. The Germans are continually pushing troops into Poland, as we speak. If they know you’re in the area, they will increase the troop numbers even further. To attempt a rescue in those situations would be suicide for both the team on the ground and the aircrew. So, you have one chance and one chance only.
The meeting continued for another forty-five minutes. Slides, taken from the air of the rendezvous point, were shown. The exact location for the pickup was demonstrated, and Henry carefully wrote down every detail and even made a sketch in his notebook. Many more questions were raised and answered, and many technical aspects were covered.
After the briefing, they were hurried into the stores of the quartermaster. In the room was a circle of trestle tables. At each ‘station,’ Henry was issued different pieces of equipment. First, he received his new uniform. Then, the archetypal Brodie helmet worn by all British soldiers. Captain Williams was behind the next table, with a large clipboard in front of him.
‘Write the name and address of your next of kin on this card for me, please, Sergeant.’
Henry paused for a second, then wrote ‘Private David J. Taylor, First Battalion Welsh Guards.’ Feeling unnerved, he moved on where he was provided with an empty backpack and the webbing to be worn over his uniform jacket. At the last table, he was given his entrenchment tool and mess tins. Struggling with the weight of his equipment, he headed for his room, supervised continuously by his armed escorts.
Looking in the mirror, Henry pulled on his uniform, admiring the symbol of his new unit, a swooping silver eagle, which adorned the right arm of his jacket.
He wandered through to the dormitory. Patrick O'Shea sat on his bunk, looking tense as he waited for the others. In addition to their usual equipment, he wore a green canvas haversack over his left shoulder containing all of his medical equipment.
The seven of them walked silently across the parade ground towards a squat, concrete building under the watchful eyes of their armed guards. He arrived to find two further soldiers standing either side of door. Inside, he strode up to a counter on the ground floor.
'Name, rank, and number?' an officer asked from behind a grill.
'Henry Taylor, Sergeant, six-four-two-three-five, Sir.'
The uniformed man checked Henry's name against a list.
'Sign here.'
A clipboard was thrust under the grill, Henry's hand shaking as he scribbled his signature. Following an instruction from the clerk, a guard standing to Henry's left opened a steel door and ushered him through to another room.
The small, dingy space was poorly lit by a solitary, unshaded bulb hanging from the ceiling. Another officer stood behind a counter that c
ontained various items of equipment and weaponry. Henry gathered his kit before being handed a Lee-Enfield bolt-action rifle and several clips of ammunition. Finally, he was given one explosive device, similar in size to a football. They were deceptively heavier than they looked. He had no idea where to put these, so he decided to stuff it into the top of his backpack and then forced it shut. The extra weight meant he had even more difficulty standing up and fought his way towards the door.
'Not that way, sergeant,' the guard said. 'Major Fosdyke wishes to speak with you.'
The grim-faced guard showed Henry through a door into a small anteroom. The major was sitting on the edge of a large oak desk, waiting for him.
'Okay, Taylor! It's nearly time for you chaps to get airborne,' he said, handing him a faded map which Henry tucked it into his top-left jacket pocket.
'Whatever happens, you and your men must be at the rendezvous at twenty-three hundred hours, on September the eighth,' he said.
'We'll be there, Sir. Don't worry,' he said confidently.
'I pray that you are, Taylor. I pray that you are.'
The major wished Henry luck before proceeding through the rabbit warren-like complex of the sprawling building. The other men of Bravo Section were standing in a chilly courtyard, busily blackening their faces as a tin of camouflage paint was being handed around.
A transport truck pulled up next to them, and they slowly struggled aboard. Alf Morrison was most encumbered, carrying a Bren machine gun across the top of his rucksack, adding an extra twenty-three pounds to his misery. He required three of his comrades to heave him into the vehicle before their armed escort nimbly jumped up and sat beside them. Looking at how uncomfortable all was lugging around all that weight, Henry could not help thinking the Bren was an inappropriate weapon for this kind of mission, but the top brass had insisted they took some extra fire power with them.
***
The cold Polish night had taken hold. Viktor shivered, as he continued to steer the horse along the deserted road. Struggling to see the edges in the darkness, he used the reassuring noise of the horse's hooves on the hard surface to direct them. Zofia was resting in the back of the cart, huddled under a blanket with the two boys beside her.
They had not stopped the previous night because he had wanted to be as far away from the city as possible. Now, he was exhausted, with only the adrenaline keeping him going.
The cart briefly mounted the grass on the side of the road, waking Zofia from her light slumber. She sat up carefully, trying not to disturb the children sleeping next to her. Wrapping her arms around her husband, she squeezed him tight.
'Where are we?' she whispered.
'I'm not sure,' he said, startled by the movement behind him. 'We're safe for the time being.'
The cart continued while Zofia snuggled into her husband's neck.
'You're frozen,' she said, her nose touching his skin. 'Let's stop here for the night. You need warming up.'
'No!' said Viktor forcibly. 'We have to get as far away from Danzig as we can.'
'There's no one else around,' she said. 'We'll be safe here. Listen, I can hear running water over there. Why don't we stop? You need to rest. We can get going again at first light.'
Reluctantly, Viktor brought them to a standstill on the grass verge. He unhitched the horse, leading it down to the water where it drank thirstily. After securing it firmly to a tree, he gave the horse some oats before crawling alongside Zofia on the cart. He pulled the shared blanket over himself and soon dozed off.
5
The men stood in a draughty hangar, chatting nervously while they waited for takeoff. Henry glanced at his wristwatch—almost midnight.
'Right, lads!' he said, only because the conversation had petered out. 'We've a big day ahead of us, so is everyone happy with the plan?'
'I was wondering, Sarge. How long’s the flight?' Travers asked.
'Between five and six hours,' Henry said, trying hard to recall the details from the briefing.
'I have a question about the pickup,' Mayberry piped up. 'How far is the walk to the dam?
'Oh! Um! I can't remember exactly, but it's quite a way,' he said, stalling for time as he thumbed through his notes. 'But, we should easily be able to cover it in a day.'
Before he could find what he was looking for, a door slammed, causing the group to turn around. The jump-master, Sergeant Miles Halstead, came out of his office at the far end of the hangar.
‘Listen up!’ he bellowed after introducing himself to Henry. ‘We’re going to take off in approximately fifteen minutes. For those of you who are interested, the flight is going to take us over the North Sea. We’ll fly around the northern tip of Denmark before landing at Copenhagen to refuel.
‘From there, we’ll have a short hop across the Baltic, towards Danzig. Now, once we’re over Poland, we’ll be in enemy airspace. So, we won’t be hanging around. I need you all to be ready when we’re ten minutes from the drop zone. We can’t afford any hesitation at the door, so when I say jump, you jump, okay?’
The group nodded.
‘Don’t worry—if you don’t, I’ll be right behind you to offer a helping hand,’ he said bluntly.
Pointing to rows of parachutes laid out along the hangar floor, he said, ‘Now, you’ll need to put on your main and reserve chutes. Pair off and help each other get ready.’
Robert Scott was paired with Henry. Scotty fussed with the straps and buckles on his parachute. The corporal towered head and shoulders above anyone else in the group, but his manner was very gentle.
Halstead helped Travers initially, then wandered among the other members of the unit, checking that the rest of their parachutes had been fitted correctly. As the jump-master checked Mayberry’s parachute, he said, ‘When you jump, make sure your rifle is across your chest rather than over your shoulder. You probably think it is easier carrying your weapon that way, but, if you do that, the butt will hit the ground when you land, forcing the barrel into your face.’
Without further comment, they adjusted the position of their weapons. Next, Halstead handed out small, folded squares of paper. Inside was a single, scored white tablet.
‘These are anti-emetics,’ he said, prompting a sea of blank faces to look back at him.
‘They’ll stop you from getting airsick,’ O’Shea whispered to Henry.
‘Please take them,’ said the jump-master. ‘It’ll mean I won’t have to clean the plane on the way home.’
Everyone laughed at the graphic image, as they washed down their tablets with a swig of water from a canteen being handed round.
After a few final safety tips, the men walked outside onto the airstrip. As they emerged from the hangar, a black squad car pulled up alongside them. Its rear window slowly wound down to reveal the cheery face of Captain Williams.
‘Stand easy, men. I thought I’d come and wish you fellows luck,’ said Williams jovially.
‘Thank you, Sir,’ said Henry.
‘We’re expecting great things from you chaps,’ the captain said.
The car sped off, parking on a grass verge at the edge of the runway, giving its occupants a vantage point from which to observe the unit leaving on its first mission.
In front of them stood a huge transport plane on the tarmac. Henry was shocked at how much bigger this model looked, compared with the one they had used for the practice jumps the day before. Sergeant Halstead expertly pulled himself into the entrance hatch behind the wing. Henry tried to follow, but the weight of his kit hindered him. After two failed attempts, the jump-master reached out, grabbed Henry by his shoulder straps then unceremoniously heaved him into the aircraft. Slightly embarrassed, he squeezed down to the back and sat on one of the parallel benches running along the internal walls of the plane.
Once everyone was seated, Halstead closed the door, shutting out the lights from the airstrip, plunging the interior into darkness. In the gloom, the men started cracking jokes to calm their nerves, as they waited. The starb
oard engine choked into action, causing the plane to judder. When the propeller reached its maximum pitch, the aircraft rocked again as the port engine kicked in.
The noise was immense. So much so that Henry could not hear what Patrick O’Shea was saying from the bench opposite, so he just smiled back. They started to crawl along the runway until it was positioned for takeoff. The pilot increased the throttle further, causing the aircraft to vibrate vigorously, as the extra power of the engines fought against the brakes on the undercarriage. The noise grew louder and louder until the brakes were released with an audible clunk.
The aircraft rocketed down the runway before finally lifting into the night sky. At 3,500 feet, the plane levelled out, then banked to take up a northeasterly heading. The combination of the gloom and the tablet caused Henry to quickly drift off to sleep.
***
Viktor woke with a start as a solitary fighter roared overhead. To his surprise, it was already morning, though it felt as if he had only been asleep for a few moments. He felt Zofia wriggle next to him and realised the two boys were beginning to stir too. He reached inside his jacket and checked his fob watch—it was twenty past five; time to get going. He made sure everyone was awake, then set about preparing for the day ahead. Niklos and Peter helped their mother untie the horse from the tree before leading it down to the water where it drank thirstily.
After it had drunk its fill, they led Miedziak back up the bank and hitched him to the cart. Meanwhile, Viktor wandered down to the stream to wash his hands and face. The initial shock of the ice-cold water on his skin made him flinch, removing any trace of sleepiness. He filled several green bottles with water to replace those which had been drunk during the previous two days. He walked wearily back to the cart and stretched his aching limbs before climbing onto his seat. With a brief look over his shoulder, they set off on the next leg of their journey.
The Danzig Corridor Page 4
