by Jack Hayes
“Maddy!” Sledge smiled.
The red caps bristled.
“Pack it in, Sledge,” Maddox said. “We’ve serious work to do.”
“So you are Captain Maddox?” the red cap repeated. “We were ordered to retrieve Sergeant McKlenna and bring him here with immediate effect. He was in the company of two ladies in a drinking establishment in Whitechapel and proved somewhat recalcitrant to the suggestion.”
“I take it that’s why your driver is sporting a black eye?” Maddox asked.
“Yes, sir,” the red cap replied. “I wish to have Sergeant McKlenna relieved from your mission so that I can press formal charges against him. We’ve another man we had to drop off at hospital en route to this location. The sergeant saw fit to punch him. Knocked him out cold with a single blow.”
Sledge grinned.
“No,” Maddox said.
“No?”
“No,” Maddox repeated. “Sergeant McKlenna is required for an immediate mission behind enemy lines. There isn’t time to find someone to replace his expertise. You’ll have to press those charges if he makes it back alive.”
The two red caps holding Sledge released their firm clasp of his arms. He waved them goodbye as he strolled across to Maddox.
“Sledge,” Maddox said.
“Yes, boss?”
“What did I just say?”
“To ‘pack it in’?” Sledge replied.
“Now blow your friends a last goodnight kiss and come with me,” Maddox said.
“Yes, sir,” Sledge saluted and clipped his heels to attention.
The stocky Australian puckered his lips and blew a kiss at the red caps as they piled back into the lorry. There was a low rumble of cursing from the leaving soldiers.
“And Sledge,” Maddox whispered. “Call me ‘Maddy’ again and I’ll break both your legs. Are we on the same page?”
“Yes, sir,” Sledge said, bowing his head. “Sorry sir.”
The bulk of the hangar was taken up by a de Havilland Flamingo. A pilot and navigator were walking slowly around the craft, checking they were happy with it for the flight up to Edinburgh. There, Maddox and his team would select the kit they required from a set of storage rooms attached to the airfield. While they pulled what they needed and took parachutes, the plane would refuel for the hazardous trip to Finland.
Maddox admired the craft. Only 14 of them had been built. That number had dwindled as the high-wing plane had lost some of its number to the enemy fire, while others had been cannibalised for spare parts.
Maddox rubbed his fingers on the outside of her skin, feeling the aluminium, cold in the night air, underneath his fingertips. It was the first all-metal aircraft built by de Havilland. In these cost-conscious times, designs had shifted to cheaper builds. It was a privilege to see one up close.
“Admiring her?” the pilot asked, stepping away from the propellers.
“She’s a beauty,” Maddox said. “You been flying her long?”
“Eighteen months,” the pilot said. “She’s a good girl. She’ll get you where you need tonight.”
Maddox’s brow furrowed. He took a few paces back and ran his eyes along the plane’s contours.
“What?” the pilot asked.
“There’re no extra fuel tanks,” Maddox remarked. “The range on a Flamingo has got to be around 1,350 miles. But our drop site is almost that far from Edinburgh. Are you planning on this being a one way trip?”
“No, no,” the pilot replied, tapping his own hand on the hull. “She’s got the range.”
Maddox ducked slightly to check the de Havilland’s underside.
“No,” he said slowly. “She really hasn’t.”
The pilot’s mouth straightened uncomfortably.
“You can’t refuel in Norway or Finland,” Maddox said. “They’re occupied…”
The pilot glanced nervously at his colleague.
“Sweden?” Maddox laughed. “We’ve managed to set up an airstrip in rural northern Sweden?”
There had been tales that the supposedly neutral Sweden, worried about the invasions of its three Scandinavian neighbours, had been slowly tipping its hand toward the Allies – but this was the first time Maddox had heard a tacit admission of it. At the most, he’d suspected the country hosted training grounds for the Norwegian resistance.
Any more than that and they risked a Nazi backlash.
Perhaps the success of the D-Day landings had given them the window they needed?
“Like I said,” the pilot replied. “We’ll have no problems getting you where you need to go.”
Maddox nodded understandingly and headed further into the hangar.
Close to the side wall, a large table had been laid out. Around it, the six other men selected for the mission clustered. They were swapping small talk as they got to know one another. He could hear them asking in turn if anyone had details on their mission.
No one had.
Upon seeing Maddox enter, they broke apart.
“Captain Maddox?” A lithe lieutenant asked. “Charles Walker. A pleasure. I’ve heard many good things about your previous missions.”
Maddox shook his hand.
“The feeling’s mutual,” Maddox replied.
He went on to grip the palms of the two other new members of his team: Conley and Shield. He then pulled a map of Petsamo from the dossier under his arm and laid it out across the table.
The chart refused to lie flat along its creases, a sign it had been folded for a long time without being examined. The paper crinkled as he tried to straighten the artificial ridges and troughs. In one corner there was a coffee stain. Underneath the brown ring was a date: 1907.
“This is the region we’re going to,” Maddox said. “I’m sorry all of you have been brought here without warning. Events this afternoon have moved swiftly and, while this mission is a top priority for the SOE, it was felt we had to move now before a narrow window of opportunity closed.”
“North Finland?” Patterson asked. “Seriously?”
“I agree,” Fallon said. “That’s an unusual choice of place for us to be sent, particularly with no time to train for the conditions.”
“I’m aware of that,” Maddox replied. “I know you’ll all have concerns – believe me when I say, I have them too.”
Maddox walked around the table and leaned across to point and run his finger along a set of contour lines that indicated a sharp bluff.
“Our target is somewhere along this ridge,” Maddox said. “It’s a mine operated by the Nazis and used to take valuable minerals back to the Fatherland to aid in producing a deadly weapon.”
“No precision on the target?” Lieutenant Walker asked. “We don’t know its exact location.
Maddox tapped the date mark in the corner of the chart, next to the coffee ring.
“You can see this map is likely out of date,” Maddox said. “It’s the best we have, from 1907. The mine was started more recently than that. And since the mission is top priority we have to go in and assess the situation before acting.”
Patterson and Marlowe exhaled hard. Sledge frowned.
“I take it,” Walker continued, “we have no knowledge on enemy strength, forces or positions?”
“Correct,” Maddox said. “We’re being sent in blind to an unknown region.”
“With jungle specialists,” Fallon noted. “That’s an interesting decision. Why not send…”
“We’ve been given the orders,” Maddox cut him off. “They come from Brigadier Carter specifically. I spoke with my uncle and Carter’s boss General Peters. Both said the same thing: this is his football. He gets to field the team he wants. If anyone wishes to be removed from the mission, now is the time to speak up. I won’t hold it against you.”
“If we have no knowledge on the Germans,” Sledge said, “do we have anything on the Finns? Or our supposed allies, the Russians?”
“That’s an easy set of questions to answer,” Maddox said. “No and no.”
Fallon laughed nervously.
A murmur of discord between the men.
Sergeant Shield, a man Maddox had never worked with before, said nothing, he simply looked from face to face taking in the conversation like a sponge. There was a slight air of worry to his features – unlike the other men, not one of anger or frustration but more of concern this could be his last operation.
“We’ve been shot in the foot twice by our bosses,” Maddox said. “So, now we’re all out of feet. That leaves only one option: we do this right. Five of us have worked together before. We’ve been through tough scrapes. This is no different. We get in. We get out. Everyone makes it through in one piece.”
“So, what’s the plan?” Patterson asked.
“We’ve thirty minutes to discuss ideas,” Maddox said. “Then we break for twenty and hop on the plane. We’ll be parachuting in – you’re all rated, so that’s non-negotiable.”
“Good,” Sledge said. “Gliders over that part of the world are death traps.”
Maddox tapped the map at a clearing in the trees, just south of the ridge.
“With that agreed,” Maddox said, “let’s start by identifying the obvious places the Germans would set up camp. Then we’ll discuss how to approach and destroy them at each location, unseen.”
***
The thirty minutes moved far too quickly.
Maddox called a halt to the conversation to give them time to ruminate on everything discussed. The men needed time to focus their minds on the journey ahead. They’d recommence discussions once back on the plane.
As they broke away from the table, they separated into smaller groups of twos and threes. Sledge, Walker and Fallon moved to the hangar entrance to have a cigarette. Shield and Marlowe visited the lavatory. Conley kept walking slowly around the table, examining the chart from different angles.
A young man on his first big mission.
Maddox poured himself a mug of tea and selected a biscuit from the refreshments available. He knew what Conley was thinking. Although it seemed a lifetime ago, in reality it had been just shy of five years since he’d been in the same position.
The young sergeant was filled with a bubbling cauldron of emotions: anxiety, excitement, a desire to come up with smart contributions to the discussion of tactics.
Fear.
Maddox sipped his drink.
Yes, he remembered that first time before going into the field.
“What do you think?” Patterson asked, selecting a sandwich and pouring himself a mug of tea.
“It’s weak,” Maddox replied. “They’ve been reusing the leaves again. Go light on the milk.”
Patterson smiled faintly.
“I meant the mission,” he replied, “not the status of the beverages.”
“What do you think I think?” Maddox snapped.
Patterson took a bite of the sandwich and chewed slowly. After a few seconds, he swallowed.
“We’ve been set an impossible task,” Patterson said. “With no time to prepare and one we’re not trained for.”
“And yet,” Maddox said, “Carter knows full well we have a nasty habit of surviving.”
Maddox took another sip of his tea and grimaced.
His eyes glanced across Sledge, Walker, Shield and Conley.
“Which leads to the next obvious question,” Patterson said. “With four men specially selected by Carter…”
“Which one of them is his plant on the team?” Maddox hissed. “Which one has orders to make sure we foul this up?”
“You really think one of them is a spy?” Patterson asked.
Maddox finished his tea in a last gulp and swallowed.
“Yes,” he said. “I absolutely do.”
CHAPTER 8
The air was cold and dank at the bottom of the mine shaft.
Major Nieder trod uneasily. His body was slightly hunched even though the ceiling braces were well above his head. It was an effect, he assumed, of both the chill and the oppressive gloom.
An unnatural mist clung to the dim electric bulbs that dangled limply from the ceiling like so many hanged criminals. The only sounds were the distant echo of the generator as it trundled away up near the mine’s entrance and the metallic ‘chinks’ of pick axes as the captured Russian soldiers dug ever deeper into the earth.
Nieder stopped next to his sergeant. The passageway beyond split off in three directions; one leading to each of the main faces where the slaves were working.
“Any progress, Kalb?” Nieder asked.
“Not yet,” Sergeant Kalb replied. “The Russians are slow today. I think they’re failing from lack of nutrition. You might want to raise their rations this evening.”
“You think we have food to spare for dogs?”
Kalb kept his submachine gun trained on the entrances and shrugged.
“I guess that depends,” he replied.
“On what?”
“How quickly you want to find the diamonds.”
Nieder’s fist involuntarily clenched. The leather of his gloves creaked as it tightened about his fingers. Kalb heard the noise but his gaze remained fixed on the tunnels.
Any other member of his squad – even Beck – and Nieder might easily have rapped the man in the face.
Nieder’s fingers relaxed.
There was a rumble from along one of the shafts.
“You’ll want to stand to the side,” Kalb said. “They’re bringing a trolley of rubble up to the surface.”
Nieder took a step across the track. The eerie lights above picked out the browns and orange of the rust encrusted on the rails as he moved to the edge of the passage. The groaning protest of the mine cart grew louder.
Two emaciated Russians, their faces blackened with dirt everywhere except the whites of the eyes, struggled. Behind them one of Nieder’s privates walked slowly.
The slaves were sickly thin, the rags of their clothes flapped as they pushed.
One coughed from deep in his chest.
The dank in these tunnels penetrated deep into the lungs.
“Stop!” Nieder commanded as they reached him.
He leered over the wall of the cart and examined the contents.
Outside, six more Russians would run the spoils through a sluice, pulling out anything that might potentially fit Beck’s requirements as prospective gems in the rough. The potential diamonds were then thrown on a grease belt to separate those most likely to contain true gems.
Nieder poked at the rubble with a single digit. To him it just looked like a trolley full of muddy pebbles.
“I am unhappy with your progress,” Nieder said.
Heads bowed, backs arched in submission; the Russians said nothing.
“At present you are producing three carts of worthless junk a day,” Nieder continued. “Tomorrow, I want that pace doubled. There will be six. Do you understand?”
Nieder lifted his gloved hand from the mine trolley and rubbed the dirt on the closest Russian’s loose clothing. The other Russian once more burst into a deep fit of coughing.
His face reddened as he sought to supress the barking noise before he was finished.
Nieder was silent a few seconds and frowned.
“I think you are right, Kalb,” he said.
He pulled out his Luger and shot both Russians through the head.
Kalb sighed deeply.
“Now we only have sixteen labourers left,” the sergeant said wearily. “The going will be even slower.”
Nieder holstered his Luger.
“Perhaps,” he said, striding away. “But there will be more rations to go round them. You may raise the portions for the others accordingly.”
CHAPTER 9
In the corner of the airfield in Edinburgh, Maddox and his men pawed through the equipment racks.
The de Havilland was refuelling. They had an hour to select everything they needed from the stores available. The list of items required had be drawn up on the flight. Marlowe and Patterson
were selecting tents. Every man had already tried on the appropriate winter gear and skis. Each had pulled a standard Sten Mark II-S and spare ammunition.
Now, it was time to select the niceties. Maddox was examining the coils of rope, strung like meat in a butcher’s window.
Next to him, Sledge appeared with what seemed at first examination to be a harpoon gun.
“Put it back,” Maddox said without turning. “We’re not going fishing.”
“It’s not for that,” Sledge replied, giddy as a schoolboy. “Get a load of this…”
A few clicks followed, then Sledge pulled the trigger. There was a rapid shush, like a firework being released. The harpoon end rocketed away, expanding as it flew to form a small grapnel. Behind it, a long cord unwound.
The hook thudded as it embedded in a wooden rack, thirty feet away.
“Jesus!” came a shout from down the building.
Fallon popped his head out from between the rows of shelves.
“For Christ’s sake, Sledge,” he shouted. “You almost took my head off.”
“Sorry,” Sledge replied, yanking on the line to pull it taut.
There was the sound of grating from the rack the grapnel had secured itself to as with each mighty heave of his arms, the burly Australian shifted the shelving on the ground.
“I really think we should take it,” he said to Maddox. “It’s got to make rappelling down that cliff near the most likely German positions easier.”
Maddox said nothing.
He twanged the unwound rope like a guitar string.
He raised an eyebrow.
“Can we?” Sledge said.
“If you want to take the toy,” Maddox said, “you can carry it. Now go and grab something practical, like cooking equipment.”
“There’s no need for that,” Lieutenant Walker said, walking out from another aisle and delicately ducking under Sledge’s length of rope. “I’ve already had Conley box it and take it out to the plane.”
“Excellent,” Maddox replied. “Then I think we’re almost done.”
“There’s a lot of equipment,” Walker said. “It’s going to be heavy trundling it across the snow.”
“I know,” Maddox nodded. “But we’ll pack it all into our bags on the trip to Finland. Once we’re in the air we won’t have an opportunity to change our minds and grab something we forgot. Better to take more than we need and later choose to leave it on the Flamingo or bury it in the forest as a combat reserve than have a regret once we’re on the ground.”