Fulcrum of Malice

by Patrick W O'Bryon

  René crushed his cigarette in the tin ashtray on the desk. “It’s come to our attention that saboteurs plan an action against your facility. Stolen charts and construction blueprints turned up in a recent raid in Nantes. Command West finds that discovery compelling enough to call for a closer look at your local operations.”

  Abandoning those papers in the warehouse had first caused great discord in the group, but Maurice and René ultimately decided on a quick and positive approach to turn their carelessness to an advantage. Assuming the incriminating documents had reached Gestapo hands, the information would surely move up the chain for risk assessment. Preemptive action seemed logical, and what better reason for an unannounced security inspection than an anticipated attack on the submarine base?

  Steiner did not attempt to hide his frustration. “Yes, I’m well aware of that misguided concern. Two of the Reich’s beloved secret police showed up a few days back to warn of imminent problems with partisans. So I’ll tell you exactly what I told them.” He crushed out his half-smoked cigarette. “This port is one of the most-heavily defended on the French coast.”

  Using a baton as pointer, Steiner rose to address two large maps hanging on the stone wall. “Here you see the secured port facility.” He tapped key locations as he continued: “Three large, lock-protected basins, the largest carrying the town’s name, and directly above it the ‘Penhoët.’ Over here to the east the so-called ‘Normandie Dock.’ Our U-boat pens,” he tapped a huge rectangular block in the middle of the map, “open out into the Bassin de Saint-Nazaire, as you can see. We have flak towers here at the north end of the basin near the rail yards, and others to either side of the swing bridges protecting both upper basins. And still more across the river and estuary.

  “By the way, this is the only Atlantic facility able to handle a battleship the size of the Tirpitz. We hope to berth her here soon to support our raids.”

  The men nodded but said nothing. They knew of that huge battleship so feared by the Allied Forces.

  Steiner had moved on. “Flak towers are also sited just below the completed pens.” His pointer moved down the map. “And ten gun emplacements line the eastern exposure from up by the Normandie dock, down past the East Lock into the Saint-Nazaire basin, and then south to the tip of the East Jetty. We have two additional batteries out on the Old Mole to lay down fire on anyone approaching from either the sea or the river. And finally, gentlemen, our searchlights can make day out of night over the entire docking facility at any sign of trouble.”

  “All fine and good,” René approached the maps, “but who steps in should your guards and base crews be compromised?”

  Steiner smiled indulgently. “Just look here.” He moved over to the second map showing the greater coastal area. “If ever needed, we summon two naval antiaircraft battalions and two artillery battalions, stationed here and here.” His pointer again designated positions close to the town. “And were that not enough, the 679th Infantry Regiment and two local labor companies are only minutes away.”

  Steiner set aside the pointer and lit a new cigarette before taking his chair behind the desk. “So you see, gentlemen, Command West need have no worries about our preparation.” He gave a fleeting smile. “In fact, I’d love to see partisans challenge such defenses, only to be squashed like bedbugs beneath a thumbnail. You’ll be equally impressed by what you find inside our bunkers, so be my guest and see for yourself. Your investigation will find us secure within the base itself and armed externally to fend off anything the enemy might throw at us. There’s absolutely nothing a few partisans or British operatives might do against the forces we’ve aligned here.”

  René nodded his appreciation for the thoroughness of the defenses. “I’m sure that’s exactly what we’ll find inside. But you know how Command works, always demanding confirmation of what it already knows. And Berlin is also seldom satisfied, nicht wahr?” René had remained standing, and now Malraux followed his lead. “We all have jobs to do, and ours remains to verify personally that all these fine security measures are first-rate.”

  Steiner encompassed everything beyond his cramped office with one sweeping gesture. “It’s all out there waiting for your appraisal, sir.” His look spoke of resigned acceptance.

  He buzzed in an aide and directed him to provide the visitors with a tour through the submarine complex. After a final exchange of salutes with the commandant, the two saboteurs left the headquarters and followed the young sailor toward the pens.

  The plan formulated in Nantes had called for René to pose as a naval engineer from Berlin on a surprise inspection tour. They’d hoped to find some target for sabotage which might slow completion of the submarine base, but work had proceeded at such a record pace in Saint-Nazaire that only a few pens remained unfinished. Those not yet complete were under tight watch as Organisation Todt, the Reich’s construction arm, labored day and night to meet its deadline. An alternate plan was clearly needed.

  By the end of the tour René breathed a sigh of relief, happy to have avoided encountering the chief engineer of the project. His study of naval engineering under Maurice had been superficial at best. Thankfully, it had also proved unnecessary. They did wonder at the self-assurance of the local commander regarding his security measures, and looked forward to comparing notes with Maurice before meeting again with the merged partisan groups. They would find a way to make Steiner a bit less confident, a task made easier thanks to Malraux. A limited amount of Nobel 808 explosive was arriving from the Brest network he had helped establish.

  The more impatient partisans from both Nantes and Saint-Nazaire had grown weary of long-range planning and worrying about reprisals against civilians. Led by Jean-Philippe and Henri, the hotheads demanded a fierce and immediate attack against the existing pens. René and Malraux had reluctantly agreed to surveil with that as a backup option.

  Now the two faced the group with news that would rattle a few cages. “My friends, our sabotage plan’s not going to work.” René prepared himself to counter protests which immediately filled the room. “At least, not as we’d hoped.”

  “But we’ve been over this a hundred times.” Jean-Philippe jutted his jaw out in challenge. “What’s the problem with you two, afraid of killing your own countrymen?”

  René ignored the jibe, forcing himself to remain conciliatory. “It’s true we have concerns, but only because we now know what we’re up against. Men, we’re outnumbered by superior forces, and those fortifications are too strong and too complete for our limited explosives.”

  Jean-Philippe took stock of the partisans one-by-one. “Then perhaps we need someone else on the inside. Right, copains?” A few men nodded, but René saw little conviction on their faces. Several turned to Maurice and the respected Frenchman spoke up. “Let’s allow Rénard his say, my friends. These two have been inside those walls. They know what we’re facing.” He gave René an encouraging nod. “Go ahead, out with it—tell the group what you’ve learned and what you’re thinking.”

  René knew some action was urgently needed to retain group cohesion, but rash action would doom them. “Just take a look around,” his hand swept the assembled partisans, “only a dozen of us here when a major assault would require hundreds. Let me show you what we’re up against.” He rapidly sketched the nine completed pens plus five additional under construction. Each opened to the massive Bassin de Saint-Nazaire. He designated a perimeter of barbed-wire fencing and a guarded entrance gate. “All right, here’s the floor plan.” He used his pencil as a pointer, and the men crowded the table for a better look. “First off, you’ll find a guardroom just inside the main entry on the right. They were loose with the password—it’s “Ostpreussen.” A squad with Schmeissers waits there, day and night. A dozen naval police, perhaps more. Still others patrol with dogs inside the fenced perimeter.”

  “What about the boats?” A question from young Raymond, the barber’s apprentice. “Let’s destroy a few U-boats.”

  “It’s true
they’re minimally-crewed overnight, primarily maintenance personnel. Most of the mariners are billeted over in La Baule and only a few stay in Old Town. Within a year they will all house on-site. By the way, the local commander scoffed at even the possibility of sabotage in such a heavily-fortified port facility.”

  The normally taciturn Cerberus looked pleased. “More power to us—surprise equals success.”

  René damped down such optimistic expectations. “Yes and no. The Boches do feel invincible, especially since the British have done so little since Dunkerque.” That reference was sure to rile Jean-Philippe, so he moved on. “The bays berthed nine submarines when we went through this morning. Each gets its own pier and dedicated shore crew. Refueling pumps are situated along each walkway, here and here,” the tip of the pencil tapping out a staccato beat, “also alarm boxes at either end of each bay.”

  “So where do we plant our explosives?” The question came from Félix Mercier, a trawler captain with a balding head, full black beard, and missing right ear, souvenir of a clumsy on-board misstep in his youth. Félix had helped integrate the two groups, and he was one of the few refusing to use a nom de guerre. “Félix means happy,” he’d say when asked, “and I’m happy to give the Boche this!” There followed a rude hand gesture which invariably brought a laugh.

  “The standing orders are to submerge the boats in event of attack to prevent the placing of limpet mines. And these concrete walls,” René’s pencil now retraced the exterior lines of the drawing, “are enormously thick, built to take anything the Allies might throw at them from sea or air.” Now his pencil shaded in the entire floor plan in broad smudged strokes. “Last but not least, you’ll find reinforced concrete over three meters thick capping the structure. No RAF bomb’s going to breach that, and certainly no partisans armed with plastique, that’s for sure.”

  Henri protested: “I say we’ve got all we need—the password, the interior layout, where the guards hang out. And the explosives are due in at my uncle’s dry goods store this afternoon. So let’s go do some damage!”

  “And just what do we do with that explosive?” Malraux’s turn to stifle unwarranted optimism.

  “Kill Boches, of course!” Henri glared at René, muttering an aside to Jean-Philippe heard by the group. “Unless mein Herr here hates spilling a little German blood.”

  René stepped forward, fists clenched, forgetting his commitment to remain calm.

  Maurice placed a restraining hand on Henri’s arm. “Just back off and let it go. Rénard showed his worth in Nantes, killing Boches with the best of us. Besides, those arms and shoulders of his would make mincemeat of you.”

  René smiled mirthlessly and turned aside.

  Maurice wasn’t through. “If all you hotheads want is to do some killing, then have at it.” He gestured through the grimy windows toward Old Town and the basins. “Grab your pistol and head on down to the wharves. No shortage of Germans there.” Several of the younger partisans nodded eagerly in agreement. “But innocent civilians will suffer for such recklessness, and you’ll end up strung up on the nearest lamppost with nothing accomplished. Nothing at all.” He appealed to the entire group: “Come on, men, we’re here to weaken that smug sense of invulnerability, right? That calls for a plan with some hope of success.”

  “So what would you have us do?” The conciliatory question came from Félix Mercier. “Did you spot anything at all we can put a dent in?”

  Malraux was most knowledgeable about munitions. “Well, the walls and roof are far beyond the Nobel explosive’s capabilities. We’re promised ten kilos, a generous gift but hardly enough to damage a colossus like that.” He pointed to René’s sketch. “And let’s face it—we haven’t a single demolition expert in this crew. I can teach the basics, but we haven’t time, place or sufficient materiel to test that limited training.”

  Jean-Philippe was clearly impatient. “As Raymond suggested, what about the submarines? Any vulnerability there?”

  “Even with surprise on our side, we’ve nothing capable of sinking a U-boat. Hell, they can handle a depth charge and keep on moving.”

  Now Raymond sounded discouraged. “So we just forget the whole thing and get drunk?”

  Henri spat on the wooden floor, his eyes still fixed on René.

  It was Maurice who spoke up. “Of course not.” He turned to Malraux and René. “These two have already put together an alternate plan. I think you’re going to like what they’ve come up with.”

  Malraux took the lead. “Here’s our proposal, men. The three of us hope it meets your demand for action. U-552 and U-593 are scheduled to ship out tomorrow at midnight. They share a common berth here in the southernmost bay.” His finger tapped at René’s sketch. “Let’s say a small group approaches in a skiff from the north, hugging the basin wall until they reach the northernmost portal.” His finger was now positioned at the end of the completed pens adjoining the construction zone. “These men swim under the metal gates and take up positions at the rudder end of the two subs now in that bay. They carry bundled 808 with timed pencil fuses.”

  René interrupted to poll the assembled men. “How many strong swimmers here?” Ten raised hands, two were more hesitant. “More than enough—I doubt we need more than four actually setting the explosives and one piloting the skiff. Our fisherman Félix can handle that end. The U-boat crews will be pre-occupied with the departures at the other end of the facility, so no one should notice our incursion. But this plan calls for everyone to exit on that skiff at the end of the raid, so be prepared for the strong swimmers to come to the aid of the weaker.”

  Excitement spread across the room and René felt heartened. “Malraux and I show up in Kriegsmarine uniform at 23:45 hours, ostensibly there to observe on behalf of Command West. Given our carte blanche reception today, no one bats an eye. Meanwhile, two of you set up diversionary explosions on the basin’s south caisson, as close to the South Lock’s winding mechanism as possible.”

  Now the partisans exchanged broad smiles. Even Jean-Philippe and Henri appeared intrigued as René continued with laying out the plan: “The men handling the diversion will have set the putty to blow just as the U-boats are entering the lock. You won’t do much damage—our swimmers will need most of the 808 for those rudders—but the blasts will grab attention and night patrols will double-time over once the alarm sounds. The lock operators will focus on getting those submarines out into the Avant Port. Our swimmers attach their explosives to the rudders of the two targeted submarines with fuses timed for two hours, then join us to open up for the team waiting out front. Together we finish off any remaining defenders.

  Henri, always eager to die for the cause, smiled broadly. “So we hit them on two fronts?”

  René pocketed his pencil. Remembering the plans inadvertently left behind in Nantes, he tore up his sketch as he answered, “Precisely. With the diversionary explosives set to blow at a quarter past midnight, that team rejoins the saboteurs waiting just out of sight up front, and everyone waits for our signal. Remember, silent killing if possible, so use your knives. Malraux and I will open the entry door from the inside, and then the two groups go for any remaining guards.”

  René could feel the enthusiasm as Malraux picked up the thread. “If we disable those boats for a couple of weeks, we’ve made our point, right?” He received animated agreement all around. “So once we’ve cleared the bunkers, we gather at the mouth of the north portal, swim into the basin, and Félix picks us up outside.”

  “What about the berthing crews?” Henri was clearly heartened by the prospect of killing Boches at last.

  “We’re told they leave through a side entrance once the subs are underway, but any stragglers are fair game.”

  Raymond expressed concern about the flak batteries and searchlight stations lining the basin. “Won’t they just light us up and blow us out of the water? One shot from a flak battery would turn any skiff to kindling.”

  Maurice jumped back in: “Look, as Ma
lraux says, the skiff will hug the basin wall. The water level is well below the reach of those lights. Besides, the enemy’s going to be concentrating on the South Lock where the subs appear to be under attack. The flak crews will be watching the skies. Once we’re all on board the skiff, we backtrack, clamber up the basin wall, cross the rail yards and disappear. It’ll work. We still have a full day tomorrow to fine-tune the plan and scout out a rowboat.”

  “And just how do we get it into the basin?” Henri still had a few doubts.

  “It’s true, said Félix, “the fishermen keep all theirs upriver.”

  “We ‘borrow’ one of the provisioning skiffs. A half dozen or so are always anchored in the main basin to service the torpedo boats. Malraux and I confirmed that they dock along that wall just north of the construction zone. Unlikely we’ll find them guarded at night, but our swimmers should be prepared with knives and garrotes. Remember, dockside security stinks—the Boches believe they’re invincible and consider the very idea of an attack ridiculous.”

  The mood of internal strife had lifted, the men anxious to act at last. “And one final thing,” Maurice eyed each man in the group, “let’s avoid reprisals against the local population. Malraux’s going to make this appear an SOE operation, so no matter what happens, if you don’t speak fluent English keep your mouth shut. And carry no identification. We’ll agree on hand signals tomorrow.”

  Raymond objected: “All well and good, but what about clothing?” He gestured to the working class garb worn all around.

  Malraux spoke up, the best saved for last. “We’ve got that covered, copains. Just open those crates there.” Two shabby wooden boxes sat in the corner of the tower room. Raymond pried loose a lid. The partisans gathered around to admire piles of BEF uniforms as well as two Bren assault rifles and a number of British pistols with ammo belts.