SBS, page 20
And Eric, who like so many had suffered for so long, had suddenly thrived. And now here he was, a friend of the general. A friend of a distinguished SS colonel. A man of substance. A man with a golden future.
Eric entered the commandant’s office and suddenly stopped. He stood in the doorway for a moment. Then he saw the smashed picture on the ground. And in a moment Eric’s wonderful evening was as shattered as the broken picture glass.
It didn’t take him that long to form some sort of idea of what had happened. Someone had been here. Someone had broken into the commandant’s office. But who? Who could possibly have done this thing and, more importantly, why? And what exactly was missing? At first sight, he thought, not much. In fact, bizarrely, apart from the smashed picture, everything else appeared to be in precisely the place in which it had been put by the general himself. It was all very strange. He simply couldn’t understand what had happened.
Finck ran out into the night, saw a guard, and then an officer, an Afrika Korps captain he didn’t recognise. He shouted to him, ‘Hauptman. Run to the officers’ mess. Find General Kellner immediately. Tell him his office has been broken into. But nothing’s missing.’
The officer nodded and ran off towards the officers’ mess block.
*
Finck turned away and walked back inside the commandant’s office and as he did so, unseen by Finck, the DAK officer he had ordered to tell the general to come at once, changed direction and ducked down a gap between two of the blocks, followed by one of the guards.
Martin smiled at Knox and Hunter, ‘Blimey. That was good, sir. That Jerry captain thought you were the real thing.’
‘Yes, but now the game’s up and we’re only playing for time. And we’re bloody lucky he didn’t rumble me. Phelps, you alright?’
‘Yes, sir, better now.’
‘Good.’
He turned to Martin. ‘Keep an eye on him, Harry. Right all of you. Come on.’
He left the passage and carried on walking, followed by the three men, trying to make for the direction of the area of the wire where they had got in. Several of Finck’s words kept resounding in his mind, most notably: ‘Nothing’s missing.’ Thus far they hadn’t clicked that the safe had been opened. That at least was reassuring. More of a problem was that the element of surprise had been blown. Wilson and his men would arrive soon, at the appointed time, and the camp would be crawling with guards, all of them on the alert. And what then?
*
At that moment, just as Hunter and the others were trying to make their way to freedom, Eric Finck had turned and gone back into the commandant’s office. He looked again at the scene. Tried to work it out. What was there in here that would have justified such a break-in? Had the intruders planted a bomb? Finck bent down and scanned the floor for trip wires. Nothing. He felt gingerly under the desk and then ran his hand along the tops of the desk drawers. Nothing appeared to have been tampered with.
He looked around the safe and then stopped. The safe. Of course. That was it. Someone might have broken into the safe and ransacked their files. Even, he supposed, the ones they hadn’t yet deciphered. British commandos. It must have been them. It was obvious. But they had been clumsy. One of them had knocked over the picture and surely the noise must have alerted the guards? And why hadn’t they blown the place up when they had gone? Nothing made sense. Perhaps the general would have an answer.
But it took another ten minutes before Finck realised that the general wasn’t coming back. And a moment after he did realise, all hell broke loose.
Finck began to yell. They had been attacked by commandos. By damned British commandos. Gangsters the Führer called them. Not soldiers at all. Not honourable men. They came by night and fought dirty. If caught they were to be shot. And it looked as if at least one of these bastards was dishonouring the German uniform. Had had the gall to dress as a DAK officer.
Finck alerted the guards to stop any officer of the Afrika Korps. He had no idea what they wanted or what they had done. But he knew that they were somewhere in the camp. And he knew too that he had to do all he could to find them. And to kill them.
*
Hunter was walking as slowly as he could now. Which was almost impossible, as he was at the same time trying to stop himself from shaking with fear.
The night was still relatively quiet. Perhaps his ruse had worked. Perhaps the general was still at dinner and the ADC hadn’t been believed. Perhaps they had got away with it. Perhaps…
At that moment a siren went off, wailing into the night. It was followed by another, and another. And with their wailing, Hunter’s hopes vanished. This was it. The ADC had raised the alarm. It was now of no matter what General Kellner thought. The SS man, whoever he was, would of course relish all this. Hunter carried on walking. That was the only way they would get out. Bluff it out.
Everywhere around him were German guards, running in all directions, looking for orders. Thankfully, as yet, they seemed to be taking no notice of him. To his left were Martin and Phelps. Somewhere over to his right was Sergeant Knox. But God knew what had happened to Duffy and Russell. He looked again across to Martin and Phelps. Wondered if Phelps was in trouble again. His reason conquered by fear. At least he was moving alongside Martin. Propelled by the other man’s momentum. Hunter knew that he would snap out of his funk eventually. But when? All that he could hope was that when his mood did change, Phelps wouldn’t panic and run. He had to act as calm as possible. For now, more than ever, was the time when they had to behave as if they were really part of the garrison.
Hunter carried on walking. Saw over on his right, Russell emerge from behind a building, walking, just as he was, as if he was a part of the place and knew exactly where he was going. Trying desperately to look as if he had been given an order to carry out. Walking with a purpose. That was the trick they had all been taught at Athilt. Get a brass neck. Bluff it out. He kept on repeating the four words to himself, over and over in his head.
Where, he wondered was Duffy? Hunter had now seen all of the others. So why then was Duffy nowhere to be seen? He was dressed as a German officer. If that bloody ADC had realised that Hunter was a fake, and had spread the word, the guards would also think that Duffy was an imposter. Everyone would be looking for any officer wearing a feldmutz and riding boots. Hunter felt suddenly utterly exposed. He was naked.
Quickly, he removed his headdress and, rolling it up, pushed it into one of the pockets of his tunic. Less conspicuous now, he thought. Better without the hat. Much better. Still moving in the general direction of the gap in the wire, he began to look again for the others. Realised that Knox was suddenly beside him. The sergeant spoke quietly, ‘Sir. We’ve got to get away from here, before it’s too late.’
‘Sarn’t Knox. Thank God. Any sign of the others?’
‘I lost track of Martin and Phelps a little while back down that line.’ He pointed. ‘Haven’t seen Russell at all, not since the off. Duffy’s over there.’
Hunter looked and saw Duffy coming towards them. He was running and mouthing something initially inaudible. At last Hunter caught it. Breathless: ‘Did you hear what I said, sir? There are three SS officers going around, telling the guards to arrest any man in Wehrmacht or Afrika Korps officers uniform. Looks like you and me are their prime targets, sir.’
Hunter put a hand on Duffy’s shoulder. ‘Don’t panic, man. There are three thousand men around this bloody airbase. How many officers is that? About a hundred and fifty, I should think. You just can’t arrest that many officers.’
‘Sir?’
Hunter smiled. ‘The men wouldn’t like it.’
Duffy managed a grin. Hunter went on, ‘It’s just the SS flexing their muscles.’
Knox cut in, ‘But what about just this compound, sir? There must only be about twenty officers in here. Twenty-five at the most. I reckon Duffy’s right. We really are in the shite, sir. Aren’t we?’
Hunter looked at him. ‘We’re not dead yet, Sarn’t.’
He looked back at Duffy. ‘Anything in the signals hut?’
‘Couldn’t get into it, sir. Wasn’t where it was marked on the bloody plan. And then when we did find it a bloody SS colonel was using it. Sir, what are SS doing here? We weren’t told about that, were we?’
‘No, Duffy, we weren’t.’
Why, thought Hunter, was he not surprised either about the plan or the SS colonel? Much of their intelligence had proved wonky. He carried on, ‘No matter. We’ve found what we came for. Where’s Russell?’
‘Don’t know, sir. He just vanished.’
‘Damn. Right. Everyone head for the gap in the wire. Right. Go.’
No sooner had he uttered the words than they were gone. Hunter followed them, carrying on straight towards their entry point, trying all the time to stick to the shadows and hug the walls of the huts.
*
They had been walking for a while now and at last Hunter could see the tiny gap in the wire where they had entered the camp. Finck had turned on the emergency searchlights and the base was now lit up as bright as midday. Incredibly though, while the rest of the compound was bathed in light, the area of ground to the south, behind the accommodation blocks, had remained almost pitch-black. It was the devil’s own luck. Thank God he was on their side.
Hunter motioned quietly to Knox. ‘Look, there. That’s where we came in. And it’s as black as pitch.’
Knox peered into the night. ‘That’s a stroke of luck, sir.’
‘I’ll say. We’ve not had much luck tonight.’
‘We found the intel, sir. I’d call that a bit of luck.’
‘You’re right, Sarn’t. Of course.’
As usual Knox looked on the positive side. Even at times like these the couthy Glaswegian was an optimist.
They began to walk closer to the gap in the wire. But, not wanting to give the game away, Hunter whispered, ‘No. Not all together. Best to peel off, get away from it and then go out one by one. I’ll lead the way.’
He used his fingers to signal the timings. ‘Five, ten, fifteen. Right.’
The men nodded and all began to walk in different directions, more quickly now, as if they were themselves intent on catching the saboteurs. Hunter looked at his watch. It was 2135 hours. Five minutes beyond the agreed time for Wilson’s force to go in. He could only presume that Wilson had arrived at his laying-up place and, seeing the mayhem in the camp, had decided to call it off. It would, Hunter knew, have been his own reaction. A small group of commandos had no chance at all against a camp that was on full alert. What a bloody cock-up. Woods had been right. They should have left Phelps at the church. He should have known himself that the man was wobbly the minute he had spotted him with the shakes on the boat. It was all his own fault. At least they had come away with the documents and now they had to get them back to GHQ.
Hunter began to retrace his steps, walking a little more slowly until he found a chance to slip into the shadow behind one of the blocks closest to the perimeter wire. He looked at his watch again and watched the hand move closer, then at precisely 2140 he moved to the gap and pulling it open, managed to squeeze through.
Hunter dropped to the ground and lay flat for a few moments, before crawling slowly through the grass and up the incline, making sure all the time that he was as much as possible in cover. He managed at length to find a rock and curled himself up behind it and waited for the others.
From the blackness behind him he heard a sudden noise and turned, gun at the ready. There was another rustling and then a voice spoke in a whisper, ‘Hello, sir.’
Grigori peered at him through the night, his line of cracked teeth a gleaming line of white.
‘Grigori. I could have killed you.’
‘No, sir. But you are late. Very late. I was here before. I saw the Germans running. Something’s wrong?’
‘Yes, something’s wrong. Very wrong.’
‘And the other British soldiers? Captain Wilson’s men? They are not coming? No bombs?’
‘No, Grigori. I’m sorry, no bombs. Not tonight. We’ve had… a few problems.’
The two men peered through the darkness towards the base and after a few more minutes Hunter saw a shape in the shadows pass through the gap.
They waited and a few moments later, Knox was at his side.
‘Sir.’ He spotted Grigori and smiled. ‘Good to see you again.’
They watched again and after a short time another shape appeared at the wire. Two shapes and then one again. It was hard to make out what was happening. Before they knew it though, Martin was crawling towards them.
Hunter looked at him, narrowing his eyes. ‘Hold on, where are the others. Where’s Duffy? Martin, I thought Phelps was with you?’
‘He was, sir. Isn’t he with you? I took him right up to the wire and pushed him through the gap. Then I went off back inside, like you said and then I came back and up here. The bloody fool must have gone back in there just after I did.’
Hunter shook his head. ‘I don’t bloody well believe it. What the devil was he thinking? Christ almighty.’
‘What shall we do, sir?’
‘Well we can’t just leave the poor bugger in there. The man’s lost his nerve. Either they’ll kill him or they’ll torture him and if he cracks, we’ve all had it.’ He thought for a moment. ‘There’s only one thing we can do. I’ll have to go back and get him out. And Duffy’s gone AWOL too. And where the hell’s Russell?’
Hunter had faith in Russell to somehow find his way out. He was naturally resourceful. And he was wearing an ‘other ranks’ uniform. Duffy, on the other hand, was a very different sort altogether. Not nearly as wily or street-wise as the ex-burglar and with a tendency to hesitate that might, thought Hunter, just cost him his life. Plus he had the added disadvantage of wearing an officer’s uniform.
Hunter turned to Martin. ‘Harry, you’ve still got it, haven’t you? The document?’
Martin tapped his breast pocket. ‘Yes, sir. Safe and sound. And I’ve got the camera, with the snaps.’
‘Good. Right, well you’d better scarper. The pair of you. And Grigori. Get back to Captain Woods at the church as quick as you can and tell him what’s happened. And make sure you tell him that the bloody SS has turned up. And that as far as we know, Captain Wilson’s decided to hold off his raid.’
Knox protested, ‘Sir, don’t you think it would be better if we were to stay here with you? One of us at least, sir?’
‘No Knox, I don’t. The important thing is to get that intelligence back safely.’ He paused, hoping that they would understand. ‘Right. I meant it. Get going and don’t look back. Anyway, I’ll be better on my own. And make bloody sure that Captain Woods knows not to wait for me beyond the agreed time. It’s absolutely vital that we get that document back to Cairo.’
Reluctantly, led by Grigori, they turned away and Hunter watched briefly as the three men crawled uphill through the long grass before they broke into a crouching trot and disappeared over the first ridge. Then he turned back towards the camp. Somewhere down there were three more of his men and he meant to get them out.
As far as he could see, not much had changed in the last fifteen minutes. Which, he thought, could only be a good thing. The place was still in mayhem. He spotted a group of five Wehrmacht officers being held at gunpoint and realised that the SS were thoroughly enjoying attempting to fulfil their commander’s order of rounding up every suspect Wehrmacht and Afrika Korps officer in the place. It suddenly occurred to him that he should have asked one of the two men he had just sent off to swap tunics with him. But then of course that would have put one of them in greater danger and in any case he doubted whether either of their tunics would have fitted him.
Moving slowly and hardly making a sound, Hunter slid back down the hillside to the gap in the wire and, hardly believing what he was doing, held it aside and pushed himself back into the compound, into the very jaws of danger.
Once inside, he straightened up, staying in the shadows, and moved behind the closest building. He felt horribly conspicuous and wondered if there was anything he might do to disguise the officer’s uniform. He had seen a few of the guards in greatcoats and it occurred to him that if he could find one that would solve his most pressing problem. He stayed for a few minutes in the shadows, watching until a man in a greatcoat approached his hiding place, which he realised was adjacent to a latrine block. Hunter waited until the man went inside and then readied himself. Gently, he placed his Schmeisser on the ground in the space between two huts and then moved slowly and silently to the back of the latrine hut. He walked up the two steps and closed the door behind him, before drawing his fighting knife from its scabbard on his belt. The man was nowhere to be seen, but one of the latrine stalls was clearly occupied and its door shut.
Hunter stood inside the other stall and waited. After a couple of minutes the sound of an overhead flush came from the neighbouring stall and the door began to open. The man emerged and, as he did so, reached to pick up his greatcoat from the top of the door. Hunter moved quickly. In the briefest of moments he was behind the German and plunged his blade into his neck at the base of his skull, where the head joined the neck. It cut the brain stem. Death was instantaneous and the man slumped almost silently to the floor of the cubicle. Hunter reached over the body for the coat, before moving fast to the door, quickly donning the coat and making his exit.
Outside he closed the door and stood there calmly for a little less than a minute, before stepping down on to the gravel and walking away. Already he felt less conspicuous. He took out his feldmutz and placed it on his head. It was of the same design as an ‘other ranks’ cap and, with it worn in combination with his newly acquired greatcoat, he knew that he would blend in more effectively.
Now all that he had to do was to find Phelps, Duffy and Russell. He walked from the latrine block towards the accommodation huts, in the hope that his men might have again taken refuge in the dead space between them, but wherever he looked he saw no one. Where the devil were they? It was impossible for three men to simply disappear. In particular, he was concerned about Sid Phelps, who in his occasionally catatonic state might be capable of anything. He decided to make circuits of the camp in ever-decreasing circles, thinking that this might somehow bring him into contact with one of them and was just starting in on the second of these loops when he heard from directly to his rear, a sudden, abrupt shout, in German: ‘Halte.’
