‘A bloody shambles,’ Lieutenant Long mutters as he joins us with the rest of the platoon at the shingle ridge. ‘What an absolute disaster.’
‘No argument from me, Sir,’ I reply.
He turns on me, fuming with anger, and I don’t blame him. He looks out to the water and I see what has caught his eyes. One of the landing craft has beached on rocks far from the sand, its soldiers still trapped on-board. That is not the most alarming sight. Another landing craft nearby has completely capsized, its men struggling to swim under the weight of their equipment. Those that reach the sands have lost helmets, weapons, and packs.
‘F Company on me,’ Captain Grayburn calls from the shingle.
The machine guns and explosions have stopped; it’s live ammunition but kept a safe distance from us. It is just enough to give combat conditions. Soaked from the rain and sea water, we gather around the captain. No one speaks.
‘Well, that won’t do, lads,’ Captain Grayburn says. ‘That won’t do at all. If it’d been Jerry on this shingle, we would never have got off the beach.’
‘Permission to speak, Sir?’ a private of third platoon asks.
‘Go ahead,’ the captain replies.
‘Are we expecting waves and weather as grim as this, Sir?’ the private asks. ‘We heard another regiment who were training here lost a bunch of men when their landing craft capsized.’
‘That’s true,’ the captain admits. ‘Four men lost their lives yesterday and a few the day before. I’m guessing you’d all rather blue skies with the sun shining over your head, but that isn’t the truth. We don’t know where the invasion will happen nor when, but I can guarantee you, good weather, bad weather, we will drive the Germans all the way back to Berlin.’
The men cheer at that.
‘You’re not ready yet. That’s why we keep training,’ Captain Grayburn explains. ‘All across Britain, men and machines are being readied for when the time comes. You, F Company of the Suffolk Regiment’s First Battalion, will be ready. For now, get yourselves into the tents and get a hot drink into you. We board the landing craft again in an hour.’
25
CORPORAL ANDREW COOPER—Horndean, Hampshire, England. 15TH May 1944
We stand at attention in our ranks; all six companies of the First Battalion. Lieutenant Long stands before our platoon, as Captain Grayburn stands before the whole company. Not a man moves or speaks as our battalion commander, Lieutenant Colonel Goodwin, escorts our guest in his inspection.
‘They look a fine bunch,’ the Supreme Commander in Chief of the Allied Forces General Dwight Eisenhower says. ‘Eager and ready to go I bet.’
‘The regiment fought in France in 1940 and have been raring for a chance to pay back the Germans,’ Goodwin says.
‘And you’ll get your chance,’ General Eisenhower announces to the battalion. ‘You’ll all get your chance. Soon we’ll embark on the greatest undertaking of our lives to drive the Nazi tyranny and oppression from Europe. I have complete confidence that when the time comes, you will all do your duty.’
‘We’re ready, Sir!’ Captain Grayburn calls out.
‘I don’t doubt it,’ the American general says before gesturing to Captain Grayburn’s missing arm. ‘Seems you’ve seen some action already.’
‘Jerry took it from me just before the evacuation from Dunkirk,’ the captain says. ‘I’m looking forward to returning the favour. It’s four years since we were thrown back across the channel. We’re going back to France for payback.’
‘And I’m sure you will have it,’ Eisenhower says with a grin. ‘Tell me, Captain, who is your best shot?’
‘Private Thomas Myhill of Second Platoon, Sir,’ Grayburn replies instantly.
At the captain’s command, Myhill takes a step out of the ranks and presents his rifle for the general’s inspection.
‘Quite the sniper’s weapon you have there, lad,’ Eisenhower says as he looks down the rifle’s scope. ‘How did you become such a good shot?’
‘My father was a poacher, Sir,’ Myhill replies nervously. ‘Taught me to shoot from the age of six.’
‘With that rifle, he can hit a target from over a thousand yards away,’ Grayburn boasts proudly. ‘I’ve seen him do it time and time again.’
‘I’m glad you’re on our side, lad,’ Eisenhower says, patting Myhill on the shoulder. ‘I’m glad you all are. Good luck in the coming weeks and God speed.’
General Eisenhower boards a Jeep with his escort and is driven away from the battalion, likely to further inspections in his preparations for the coming invasion. As soon as we are dismissed by Captain Grayburn, I check my watch. Panic seizes me the moment I see the time and I dash across the assembly area and out towards the town.
‘You’d better hurry,’ Lathbury calls, running behind me.
‘You still got the rings?’ I ask.
‘Of course I have,’ he replies. ‘Wouldn’t be much of a best man if I’d lost them, now, would I!’
As we near the town’s church, I see a car already outside. I’m late and Maggie will never let me forget it. Opening the oak doors of the old building I see her, like an angel in white, standing by the altar. I run up the aisle, passing her parents and sister and my own mother already seated in the pews. The vicar stands with my wife-to-be but I completely ignore him. My eyes are fixed only on Maggie.
‘It’s supposed to be the bride who’s late,’ she tells me as I reach her side.
‘You know I never do anything straightforward,’ I reply, flattening my jacket and checking the buttons.
‘I always did like a man in uniform,’ my bride says.
I lift the veil to reveal her face and am stunned as always by her incredible beauty. I kiss her, unable to resist.
‘You know you’re supposed to wait until the end to do that,’ she says.
‘I don’t care,’ I reply, kissing her again.
‘If it isn’t too much trouble, may we begin?’ the vicar asks.
I take Maggie’s hands in mine.
‘Are all gathered?’ the vicar asks.
Looking back, I see Lathbury taking his seat behind me with rings ready. Maggie’s family and my mother are watching, as well as some of the nurses from Maggie’s hospital. Behind them, Captain Grayburn and Lieutenant Long, along with every member of my section pile in through the church doors. They all look to me, still in full uniform and each with broad grins.
‘Yes,’ I tell the vicar. ‘Our families are all here.’
26
ADAM—The safehouse cabin on the bank of the river Havel, south of Berlin, Germany
We wait for Matt by the river. Emma is sitting on the bonnet with her back against the cracked windscreen. Across the bay of the river is the House of the Wannsee Conference; the site where the Nazi party once plotted the massacre of the Jewish population in Europe. It’s now a memorial museum.
‘Matt should have been here by now,’ I say, throwing Emma a bottle of water and downing one myself. I’ve already cleaned the cuts and grazes I suffered escaping Berlin, but much of me still hurts. I’ve taken a few painkillers but they’re taking their time to kick in.
‘You worry about him too much,’ Emma replies absentmindedly as she sketches in her notebook. She’s drawing the river and the memorial museum beyond.
‘He’s my brother,’ I reply. ‘And, as you know, he has a habit of getting himself kidnapped.’
I look out to the water and feel the old fear creeping in my stomach. Any closer and I know the dizziness will take hold so I keep well away from the edge.
‘Can you believe that woman was Dave’s wife?’ I ask, still shocked.
‘Crazy, huh,’ Emma replies, putting down her sketchbook. ‘He never talked about her.’
‘He mentioned a wife and daughter once,’ I say, ‘but he never said his wife was an absolute psycho.’
‘I hope he’s okay. I hate to think what they are doing to him.’
‘I’m sure he’ll be fine,’ I try to reassure
her, but I have my own doubts.
‘I hope so. He’s more than just a member of the team. I owe him so much.’
‘Go on,’ I urge her.
‘Charles took me in when my parents died,’ Emma explains. ‘He was there for me, but he didn’t want me to be part of this world. He refused to train me, not wanting to risk the last of his family.’
‘So Dave trained you?’
‘I kept breaking into the museum,’ she says, smiling. ‘He saw my potential and took it upon himself to coach me. He pushed me as far as he could and convinced Charles to let me join the team. My uncle decided to keep both of us, forming Echo Team with your brother and Abbey. Dave trained us to protect one another no matter what we face – but when he needed us, we couldn’t save him.’
‘When Matt gets here, we’ll decide what our next move is,’ I say. ‘We’ll get Dave back. I promise.’
Emma’s body armour rests next to her on the car bonnet. She has done more work on the tiger to one side of the chest. To the other, she’s started the outlines of what looks like flames. It seems an odd choice considering her fear of fire.
‘It’s looking good,’ I say, nodding towards it. ‘Why the flames?’
‘They’re what I fear,’ she says with annoyance. ‘If I carry that fear with me, I own it.’
I look at my mobile and check again for any messages or missed calls from Matt but there aren’t any. I hate waiting!
Emma has stopped sketching and now holds a yellow book in her hands; there are two others resting in her lap.
‘Mind if I take a seat?’ I ask, climbing up onto the car bonnet.
‘Why ask if you’re going to do it anyway?’ she replies.
‘Manners.’ I chuckle. ‘What you reading?’
‘We picked them up after meeting the war veteran,’ Emma explains. ‘Dave and I went to the Suffolk Regimental Museum to see if they could give us any more information on the ID tags we found. They gave me these. They’re about the regiment’s actions during the Second World War. It’s incredible to read about everything these guys faced. I’m reading about a battle they fought in an area of France called Chateau de la Londe. It was named the bloodiest square mile of the war.’
‘What’s that?’ I ask, spotting a black and white photo pinned to the book’s cover.
‘That is a photo of 2nd Platoon, F Company, 1st Battalion of the Suffolk Regiment,’ she says, handing me the photograph. ‘The Suffolk Regimental Museum curator, Gwyn Thomas, gave the books and this photo to me. The veteran we met, Thomas Myhill, is the second guy from the left. I told the curator I’d give it to Myhill as a thank you for helping us.’
The photo is of nine men in British army uniform with all their gear and weapons. They’re waving at the camera, grinning broadly and laughing. On the back of the photo it reads Ready to ship out, 4th June 1944.
‘Two days before D-Day,’ I remark. ‘You reckon our guy from the U-boat is one of them?’
‘Maybe,’ she replies.
As I hand the photo back to Emma, our hands touch and my eyes meet hers. Left one green. Right one blue. I’m mesmerised, just like the day I first met her. She’d beaten the crap out of me in the secret lower levels of the British Museum, but that didn’t matter. Those eyes still have that hold on me. There’s a moment before she pulls away.
‘Stop it,’ she says softly, blushing.
‘Stop what?’ I reply, not looking away.
‘You know what.’ There’s a brief smile on her lips, but the moment is broken when we hear the sounds of a vehicle approaching.
‘Saved by the bell,’ Emma teases.
A pick-up truck lurches towards us with steam hissing from the engine and Matt emerges from the driver’s seat.
‘What’s up, bro?’ I call.
‘Not much,’ he replies.
‘Your face says otherwise,’ I say, noticing his cuts and bruises. ‘You look like you’ve seen better days. Who gave you the black-eye?’
‘Curator Lehmann’s security guards,’ Matt says. ‘They didn’t take kindly to me wanting to leave. You should’ve seen the other guys. They were giants, Adam. Absolutely massive.’
‘Sure they were,’ I tease.
‘I thought German cars were supposed to be reliable,’ Matt says, changing the subject and kicking the door to the pick-up truck shut.
‘You two okay?’ he asks.
‘A few bumps and bruises, but we’re fine,’ Emma replies.
‘So, infiltrating Museum Island’s vaults didn’t exactly go to plan,’ Matt says.
‘You could say that,’ I reply.
‘Dave’s darling wife sure put an end to our plans,’ Emma says.
‘Yeah, I can’t believe it,’ Matt says. ‘Dave will have some explaining to do when we get him back.’
‘So, what do we do now?’ I ask.
‘Well, we can’t leave Dave in the hands of that mad-woman,’ he replies, before draining the last of his water. ‘And that’s not to mention Jack Bishop and Leon Bransby. What the hell are those two thugs doing here with Follia anyway?’
‘Well, it seems they’re following us,’ I say. ‘Follia was at the U-boat and again in Berlin. Odds are they’re seeking the same thing we are.’
‘The Nazi gold trains,’ Matt agrees. ‘You think they got a look at the map in the vaults?’
‘Can’t say for sure,’ Emma says, but we can’t let them get to the prize before us.’
‘If they saw the map then they could be heading for the gold trains and taking Dave with them.’
‘If not, is there any way we can find him?’ Emma asks.
‘Our equipment and uniforms are rigged with trackers in case this kind of thing happened,’ Matt explains. ‘Abbey tried to bring up his signal but it wasn’t active.’
‘They killed the trackers?’ Emma asks. ‘How did they know they were there?’
‘They are more informed than I’d like,’ Matt says. ‘It also leaves us with the problem of not knowing where to even start looking for Dave.’
‘We could speak with the authorities,’ I suggest. ‘Maybe they’ve been spotted on traffic cameras or something.’
Mat laughs. ‘Oh, I think we’ve thoroughly burnt our bridges with the German authorities.’
Abbey comes in via our comms. ‘You need to go to Hamburg.’
‘Hamburg?’ I ask.
‘It’s a four-hour drive north-west of you,’ Abbey says. ‘Well, to be more precise, you need to go about thirty-eight miles farther north-west of the city to a stretch of coastline.’
‘Why?’ Matt asks.
‘I cross-referenced the map from the train in the vaults with all the known German military bases, harbours, docks, and construction yards. Almost all the locations on that map were either never built, completely destroyed by Allied bombers during the war, or were utterly over-run by the Allied forces.’
‘You said almost all,’ Emma replies with a grin.
‘One point on the map is not on any official records of German bases during the Second World War,’ Abbey explains. ‘Yet, all train lines led to one point on the map, suggesting a hub for their secret transportations. Topography shows a small mountain range marked strictly off-limits by the German government. It was marked on the map with the name Riese.’
‘Giant,’ I say.
‘That’s the word Thomas Myhill, the Suffolk Regiment veteran used,’ Emma says. ‘He was terrified of it.’
‘It was the project name for the hidden railway lines,’ Matt says, recalling what Professor Lainson told us.
‘And the name for this central hub,’ Abbey adds. ‘If the missing Nazi gold trains existed, which after seeing one in Museum Island’s vaults adds credence to the legend, they’d be there, at the Riese base.’
‘With access to the coast to launch a U-boat,’ I add.
‘We can’t just leave Dave whilst we go hunting down Nazi gold,’ Matt says. ‘We can’t leave one of our team behind.’
‘I don’t want to e
ither,’ I say. ‘We don’t know where Dave is but my best guess is, we find the trains, we find Dave.’
'Abbey, we’re not getting to Hamburg in these pile-of-junk cars. You got any other mode of transport in mind?’
‘I figured you’d ask that,’ she says. ‘There’s a few cargo train routes in the vicinity. They’ll take you most of the way and keep you off radar.’
‘Okay,’ Matt says, ‘but, Abbey, I want you to keep on the lookout for any signs of Dave in Berlin.’
‘I’m already scanning the police and government frequencies for him,’ Abbey replies. ‘If our boy shows up, we’ll find him.’
‘Thanks,’ Matt says. ‘Notify Charles if you can, too. I know he’s busy with the United Nations, but he should be told about Dave.’
‘I’ll also notify Professor Lainson,’ Abbey says. ‘I’m sure the descendant of the Monuments Men will love to know how you’re getting on.’
‘If she’ll take your call,’ Matt warns before looking to Emma and me. ‘Get ready to move out. We’ve got a train to catch.’
27
CORPORAL ANDREW COOPER— Portsmouth, England. 3RD June 1944
3rd June 1944
My Dearest Mrs Maggie Cooper,
This may be my last letter for a while. We’ve been loaded onto the ships and are just waiting for the go ahead to set out. It’s an incredible sight throughout the harbour, Maggie. I have never seen so many tanks, trucks, Jeeps and other vehicles. There are more soldiers here than I knew the British army had, and the harbour has more ships than I can count. This is really it, after all this time waiting. Once we set out, I’m not sure I’ll get much chance to write, but I will try though.
The lads are nervous and I can’t blame them. This will be the first time they have faced the enemy and I don’t envy them that. I take no shame in admitting I’m afraid. In all honesty, I’m terrified, but I can’t let the lads know that. The regiment is almost unrecognisable from what it was back in 1940. We’re better trained, better equipped, and have better leaders at the top. I’m not just saying this to reassure you but to reassure myself too.
War of the Damned (Relic Hunters) Page 14