‘Yeah, I bet it was,’ Alf said. ‘I didn’t expect there to be anyone in here.’
‘No, me neither,’ said Henry. ‘Anyway, we’d better move out before he comes back. How are we going to get out of here?’
‘There are two keys in the office down there,’ Travers said. ‘One of them might open the workshop door. Hopefully, the other will unlock an outside door.’
‘Come on,’ Henry said. ‘We’re on a tight schedule.’
The four of them made their way to the other end of the cavernous room. The teenager crept in and fumbled around until he retrieved the keys, then scuttled back to the others waiting at the door. The first key fitted, but would not turn, but the second unlocked the door. After Henry was satisfied the coast was clear, they moved out into a dark corridor, illuminated periodically by the transient glare of the distant searchlights. They advanced sequentially through the ground floor of the building, occasionally hearing someone walking around upstairs.
In the centre of the property, a flight of stairs led up to the next level, and a wooden door provided a route outside. Henry was about to proceed down the corridor opposite when a door slammed at the top of the steps, followed by the sound of footsteps descending. He took up a position behind the foot of the staircase, waving the other three men down the far corridor.
Carrying his torch, the caretaker came down the last few steps. The man paused at a row of coats and overalls which hung on hooks next to the entrance door. Holding his knife, Henry waited impatiently as the old man struggled into an old overcoat, unlocked the wooden doors, and left.
As soon as the door locked again, he crept to where the others were waiting.
‘Sarge, Travers has found a way out,’ the medic said softly, spotting the sergeant approaching.
‘Good,’ he said, re-sheathing his blade. ‘The caretaker seems to have gone home for the night. That’s one less thing to worry about.’
O’Shea and Alf crouched in the corridor with guns drawn while Travers and Henry made their way towards the door at the far end.
‘I don’t know what’s on the other side of this, Sarge,’ the teenager said. ‘But the key fits the lock.’
‘Right, remove the safety catch from your weapon,’ said Henry. ‘But don’t fire unless we’re fired upon. Understand?’
‘Yep,’ smiled Travers.
‘If we get into a firefight, we’re going to have to retrace our steps back to the workshop, out through the window, and fight our way back up into the hills. We don’t want to become trapped in this building.’
Travers nodded grimly.
The young soldier eased the door open a few inches. Henry peered around the edge before creeping outside. They were in a delivery yard; a couple of civilian trucks were parked up ready for loading the next day. Once Alf and O’Shea were through the door, Travers went to lock it, but Henry stopped him, in case they had to flee through the building.
On the other side of the yard, an eight-foot-high, chain-link fence, topped with barbed wire, separated them from the dam complex. One by one, the four men dashed to the cover of a small group of trees.
‘We’ll climb over one at a time,’ Henry said. ‘Make sure you put your safety catches back on. We don’t want anyone’s weapons discharging as we’re going over.
Everyone nodded.
‘Once you’re over, take cover behind those gorse bushes,’ he instructed. ‘Clear? Right, Pat, you go first!’
O’Shea agreed grudgingly.
As soon as the searchlights had passed, the medic launched himself onto the wire fence. He scaled it adeptly, dropping to the ground on the far side. Henry threw his items over. O’Shea gathered his things and headed for the gorse.
The lights came around once more. When the darkness returned, he signalled for Travers to set off. He too climbed over without difficulty and picked up his belongings. Henry went next. Once across, he slung his weapon over his shoulder, then dragged his pack to where the other two were hiding.
Alf waited nervously for light to complete their cycle. Once it had disappeared, he threw his MP-38 over the fence, then launched his backpack. It skimmed the barbed wire and fell back down onto the same side. He tried a second time, but it happened again. It was only on the third attempt that the pack successfully made it over. Realising there was not enough time for him to climb over before the probing beam returned, he took cover in the yard.
He prayed the guards operating the searchlights would not see the backpack. Expecting a siren to blare at any moment, he waited anxiously among the trees.
The bright light came and went, but thankfully there were no sirens. Sighing, he scaled the fence to be met by Travers, who grabbed his pack and led him to the others.
‘That was lucky,’ the young soldier said. ‘They didn’t see it.’
‘Yeah, I think we got away with it,’ Morrison said.
‘Okay,’ said Henry, refocusing them. ‘We can’t hang around. So, we go in, plant the explosives along the whole length of the dam, then leave just as quickly. Now we’re this close, there’s going to be enemy everywhere. We’ll coordinate our movements with both the searchlights and the guards. We’re going to work in pairs. Alf and O’Shea, any problems?’
The two men shook their heads.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Terry, you’re with me. Okay?’
Travers nodded.
They navigated the open land, before stopping at a boulder to look down onto the dam and the vast expanse of water. Henry studied the patterns of the guards and searchlights.
‘Travers, you and I will disable the sentries. Keep the noise to a minimum, so use your blade. Remember, we can’t leave bodies lying around as they’ll be seen by the lights.’
The teenager smiled uncomfortably.
Speaking to the entire group, the sergeant said, ‘I suggest we go back the same way we came in, back through the workshop. Once your team has placed their bombs, leave. Don’t wait for the others. We’ll all meet up again in the forest, okay? Let’s go and good luck.’
The four men sneaked through a succession of trees and bushes until they stood next to a large, whitewashed building. The searchlights moved around again, causing them to press their bodies against the wall.
In the momentary, bright light, they could see a solitary guard walking along the single-lane road which crossed the dam.
‘The daft buggers have only one soldier patrolling it,’ Alf said under his breath. ‘This should be easy enough.’
The Wehrmacht guard turned, then started to walk back towards them.
‘Right, Terry, get ready,’ he said to the nervous-looking teenager.
Travers unclipped his pack and handed it to his sergeant. Blade in hand, he waited uneasily as the enemy soldier approached. The lights passed again. The guard, who was no more than a few feet away from their position, turned through one hundred and eighty degrees and set off back across the dam. Travers sneaked out from the shadows and stealthily pursued him.
From behind, he slammed his left hand over the guard’s mouth and plunged the knife into the poor soldier’s throat in one flowing movement. The blade severed the windpipe above the sternum, rendering the soldier incapable of making any noise. He twisted the knife before pulling it out, causing blood to spurt from wound. The solider tried to cry out but could only produce harsh, rasping breaths as air escaped from the hole in his neck. Grappling with the ailing soldier, he bundled the wounded man into the water. Now, he had to find somewhere to hide, but there was nowhere.
‘Come on, Travers,’ Henry whispered to himself.
With only seconds left, the young soldier climbed over the side and hung onto the wall by his fingertips. The searchlights illuminated the empty road temporarily. Henry breathed a sigh of relief.
Travers’ arms and shoulders burned as his entire body was supported by his fingers. His feet dangled a few inches above the lake as he clung to the rough stone. After what seemed like an eternity, the lights moved on. The teenager scrambled back over, ju
st as Morrison and O’Shea ran past.
His sergeant greeted him. ‘Great work,’ Henry said, handing the pack and weapon back to him. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
They sprinted as fast as they could, before hunkering down in their predetermined positions next to the stone wall. Travers unclipped his explosives from his backpack and set the timer for four o’clock. He dropped the bomb into the water near the middle of the dam just as Alf had taught him. Henry did the same, about a quarter of the distance from the bank. Once deployed, the two men raced to the cover of the whitewashed building.
17
Below, the searchlight continued to illuminate the valley periodically.
‘They must have been captured,’ Travers said restlessly. ‘We should go.’
‘No! We said we would leave at three,’ snapped Henry. ‘If there is still no sign of them then, we’ll go.’
There were only ten minutes to go, and O’Shea and Morrison had still not returned to the forest clearing. He could not understand it. They had been right behind him when they left the dam. His stomach knotted. Where were they? When they flew out of England, he had been the leader of a group of seven. Now, possibly, only two remained.
From his vantage point, Henry looked down at the complex. It struck him that nothing had changed. The area was in total darkness, except for the probing swathe of light. If they had been detained, he expected there to be much more activity, sirens, lights, or something, but there was nothing. Where were they?
‘It’s three o’clock, Sarge,’ Travers announced cautiously. ‘They’re still not here. We have to leave before those explosives go off.’
Sadly, his watch confirmed what the teenager had said. After one last look down into the valley, he nodded reluctantly before slipping on his backpack.
‘C’mon then,’ he said, the two of them setting off over the ridge towards Prebensz.
***
Roehm was exhausted. The day had been tough, and the journey in the squad car had left him drained. It was a little before three. He wound down the window, relieved to find everything was peaceful. They followed the river as it snaked across the flood plain towards the Pomeroze Industrial Estate. The vehicle stopped briefly at a checkpoint before continuing along a narrow road which climbed above the water. He was grateful when they pulled up outside a whitewashed building next to the dam. Stepping out, he stretched his weary body. The feel of the cold night air on his skin gave him a little extra energy, but he knew he needed to sleep soon.
It was the only place large enough to house the number of men garrisoned there, so he proceeded briskly up the stone steps, which led to some impressive doors. When he reached the top, he could not believe his eyes. In front of him, two Wehrmacht guards slept on a flagstone platform. One leaned back in his chair, neck fully extended with his mouth gaping. The other curled up beside him. Next to them, an automated searchlight revolved relentlessly, illuminating the night sky in arcs of light. Roehm’s blood boiled.
‘Incompetent fools,’ he muttered tersely to himself.
Drawing his pistol out of its holster, he held the tip of the barrel against the nearest soldier’s forehead. The cold metal against his skin made him jump.
‘Where is your commanding officer?’ Roehm demanded.
The soldier sat bolt upright with his eyes wide open, the severity of the situation giving him instant clarity of mind.
‘Don’t make me ask you again,’ he taunted, pulling back the hammer on his handgun.
‘The captain is in the barracks, Sir,’ said the terrified soldier.
‘Take me to him, NOW!’
The quaking soldier struggled to his feet, nudging his colleague with his foot. Roehm re-holstered his gun as the young soldier’s hand unlocked the wooden doors with a key from his pocket. Once inside, they continued down a dimly lit corridor before stopping at a room at the far end. The anxious man tentatively knocked on the door.
There was no reply, so Roehm banged impatiently with his gloved fist.
After a few seconds, a sleepy voice asked, ‘What is it?’
‘Sir, the SS are here to see you,’ the nervous soldier said.
A wave of satisfaction washed over the hauptmann as he listened to the frantic movement inside. Moments later, a bespectacled captain appeared through a crack in the door. Roehm barged in, almost knocking over the man.
‘I am SS Hauptmann Andreas Roehm. What kind of unit do you run here?’
‘Sorry?’ yawned Captain Miro, slightly perplexed.
‘Am I speaking a foreign language, or do I have to ask everything twice around here? What kind of unit do you run here?’
‘We’re tasked with defending the dam and the surrounding area,’ the captain replied. ‘As interesting as these questions are, hauptmann, I am sure they could wait until the morning?’
‘No! They can not,’ Roehm shouted, clearly irritated by this officer’s lackadaisical attitude. ‘I found two of your men fast asleep at their post.’
Without thinking, Miro said, ‘But the barges don’t travel on the river at night.’
Not able to believe what he was hearing, Roehm’s face reddened further. ‘Are you saying it is acceptable for men to sleep while on duty?’
‘No! No, I am not. Anyway, what is your business here, Herr Hauptmann? I’m sure the SS has better things to do than drive around the countryside in the middle of the night enquiring about the professionalism of the Wehrmacht.’
‘I rang your office yesterday, but you did not return my call,’ Roehm said with a supercilious air. ‘Why?’
‘Ah, yes! I received your message. I planned on calling you first thing in the morning.’
Roehm rolled his eyes.
‘If you are told something is urgent, that tends to suggest it can’t wait until the next morning,’ he said. ‘For your information, British soldiers have been seen in this area. I suspect this dam complex may be their target.’
The captain was suddenly awake and listening.
‘Drag your men out of their grubby beds and get them out on patrol,’ he said forcibly. ‘Mark my words, if anything happens, I shall let the Führer know you are personally responsible. Do I make myself clear?’
Miro nodded, grabbing his uniform jacket from a hook on the back of the door. Once dressed, he turned to the soldier standing in the doorway and ordered him to wake Unteroffizier Klein.
The soldiers lined up outside the barracks; most were confused as to what was going on—specifically, why an SS hauptmann had woken them in the early hours of the morning. Miro walked back and forth in front of those assembled, explaining this was not a drill. He tried to explain they believed the dam was a likely target for a band of British saboteurs while Roehm stood menacingly behind him. With the aid of Klein, the men were divided into groups and ordered to search every inch of the complex.
Once the men had dispersed, Klein came over to where Miro and Roehm were talking.
‘Sir, one of my men is unaccounted for,’ the unteroffizier said, addressing the captain.
Miro went to speak, but Roehm beat him to it. ‘Who is he?’
‘Private Faulks, Sir,’ the young officer replied. ‘He’s meant to be on foot patrol, but there’s no sign of him.’
‘Faulks,’ exclaimed the captain. ‘He’s one of our most diligent soldiers.
The hauptmann looked at Miro despairingly before saying, ‘Let me know when he turns up.’
Roehm sat on the stone steps leading up to the barracks. The landscape was speckled with torchlight from the soldiers searching the complex. Letting out an exhausted sigh, he stared out across the lake behind the dam. His body ached, but he had a horrid feeling of uneasiness. The missing soldier confirmed the British were nearby. He was sure of it.
An object drifted into Roehm’s peripheral vision, distracting him. Something was in the water. He squinted hard, trying to work out what it was. Strangely, it did not reflect the moonlight as the rest of the lake did. Realisation dawned on him; it was a
man’s lifeless body. The mystery of Private Faulks was over. Roehm sprang to his feet and headed for the water’s edge, but an explosion threw him back onto the steps. From where he lay, he could see a pillar of water rising into the air. It seemed to hang for several seconds before cascading into the valley. Several other explosions followed in quick succession, visibly shaking the dam.
Despite being a hundred yards from the water’s edge, pieces of masonry peppered the ground around him. A small fragment stung his cheek as it whizzed past him. He watched helplessly as a trickle of water seeped through cracks which had developed. Ominously, the structure let out a sickening groan as the rate of flow increased.
Miro ran from the barracks in time to witness the spectacular failure of the dam, releasing a roaring torrent. Roehm smashed his fist angrily on the step next to him.
‘The Führer will hear about this, Captain,’ he said, his voice livid.
Miro said nothing.
‘Gather your men. The British can’t be too far away. I hope for your sake we find them.’
Roehm made his way inside, marching along the corridor to Miro’s office. Picking up the telephone, he attempted to call Kruse in Malbork, but the line was dead. He rattled the receiver’s cradle, but it made no difference. His driver had joined Miro on the steps. They were watching the final demise of the dam as Roehm emerged from the building.
‘Take this letter to Lieutenant Kruse,’ he ordered. ‘I need him to send us reinforcements as soon as possible. Give it to him, and no one else. I don’t care how you get there, drive across fields if you have to. Just get it to him as soon as you can, okay?’
The driver nodded, then started the engine.
18
Unable to sleep, Viktor crept from the cart and made breakfast for the rest of the family. He woke Zofia and the children and then hurried them during breakfast. By five o’clock, everything had been cleared away, and they were back on the road. He had hoped their early start would have allowed them to make better progress, but as with most of this trip, their plans had not come to fruition. Frustratingly, they had come to a complete standstill. A queue of traffic wound into the distance.
The Danzig Corridor Page 14
