Cast No Shadow: A Thrilling WW2 Adventure (Dragan Kelly Book 1)

by Peter Alderson Sharp

  When he spotted Kelly, Tom shouted angrily. “Dan! Where the hell have you been? Look!” He pointed to the west. In the distance trundling along the road was a sizable convoy of German vehicles, the reinforcements from Kirkenes.

  “Damn!” Kelly exclaimed, dropping the bicycle in the road and sprinting towards the quay. Waiting for him, to Kelly’s relief, was not a rigid raider but a power launch from the merchantman, manned by two marines, the engine already running.

  Foley leapt into the launch after Kelly. The launch sped away from the quay and out towards the north east.

  “The merchantman is already under way,” Tom shouted, above the roar of the motor. “We will need to catch it. Getting on board could be interesting.”

  They were well out to sea when the Germans arrived at the quay. A few shots were fired from land, but the launch was moving speedily, and they were just about out of range.

  Kelly looked back at Grense. The town receded with each second that passed. He felt mixed emotions; glad to be out of the area for now, but knowing it held so many memories for him, some good, and some bad. There were multiple questions that needed answers.

  His face had set into a stone mask.

  He was determined to get those answers.

  Part IV

  France

  Cauchemar

  Kelly awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright. Despite the chill, he was sweating profusely. It took him a while to emerge from a recurring nightmare in which he would find himself straddling a recumbent, terrified Sybilla Thorstaadt, emptying the contents of his Sten into the screaming woman.

  It took Kelly a few seconds more to internalise his current situation. The old barn; the scattered, empty Kronenburg bottles; the shuttered, glassless windows with light streaming through the cracks. He eased himself up from the makeshift straw palliasse, noting the absence of Élise, and shuffled towards the horse trough in the centre of the barn.

  Élise was his current amour. Strictly that wasn’t true as they used each other to release their anger, frustration and sexual tension. There was no love involved, it was entirely sexual. Élise was only nineteen, but married and devoted, within reason, to a young soldier currently believed to be in England with the free French.

  Kelly splashed the cold water over his face. His mind was fuzzy, and his head ached a little from the excess alcohol of the night before. It was becoming a problem for him now. In the beginning it had been a gentle form of relief from his depression and nightmares. Now it had become a crutch.

  He shook one of the upright bottles in the hope that there was still some liquid inside, but grumbled his disappointment on finding it empty. Kelly sat on the edge of the trough and surveyed his surroundings again. He hated this existence, loathed it. He had allowed himself to be drawn into the murky world of SOE almost against his will.

  Reluctantly he had agreed to Captain Delacroix’s request to take the selection assessment at 64 Baker Street. With his previous experience it had been ludicrously simple. It was clear that the two assessors—Colonel Gubbins, who apparently was the director of training, and a woman known simply as Vera, whose role was not clear—were both desperately keen to enrol him. Vera in particular was enthusiastic about the role he could play. They needed a person who could speak both German and French well, and he seemed to fit the bill, or at least would after training. Vera suggested a personalised training regime; no parachute training, already achieved with the SBS; no commando training, already completed with the commandos; no unarmed combat, ditto; no training on the Sykes-Fairburn dagger or the cheese wire, accomplished with the commandos and with the SBS; no map reading, ditto.

  Pretty well all that remained was advanced radio training and an intensive French language course. It could all be done and dusted within about four weeks, Vera had advised.

  Kelly had asked for time to consider and had been given leave of absence for three days. He had remained in London and attempted to find Megan, but there had been no trace of her at the flat and her replacement in the Admiralty had stated that she had left her post ‘following some difficult circumstances’ and ‘no, she didn’t know where Megan was now’.

  Kelly had then contacted Gareth Owen to see if anything was brewing in 40 or the new 41 Commando Unit. “No. Following the disaster at Dieppe they would need time to fully regroup,” had been Owen’s reply.

  Kelly had kicked his heels for a day and had then returned early to Baker Street and informed a delighted Vera of his decision to enrol with SOE.

  The excitement of the jump into occupied France had compensated for the tedium of the four weeks of language training interspersed with radio training.

  It was that dark night, his heart pounding with excitement and fear, that he had first met Élise. As he dragged in his black parachute after landing, his nerves taut, he sensed, rather than saw or heard, the approaching group. He anchored the silk with his Sykes-Fairburn and slid noiselessly about fifteen yards to the side to wait, his browning 9 mm ready.

  The small group of three had approached the fluttering parachute silk as he anticipated. Dressed in dark civilian clothing, they whispered almost inaudibly in French, clearly concerned at the discarded parachute and the absent owner. Kelly had whispered the password and the group—as one—had spun around with weapons raised. He had approached them with his hands in the air and made contact.

  It wasn’t until they were in a safe house and his new comrades had started to discard their outer clothing that he discovered that the short skinny man was in fact a woman, or more precisely, a girl.

  Élise had only been eighteen at that time yet she had already been married to her childhood sweetheart for over a year. They had married only two weeks before he and a few friends made a daring attempt to cross the channel to reach England, determined to become free French commandos. Élise was, of course, convinced that he had made it, but there had been no real confirmation, only one encoded radio message that had confirmed to ‘loving wife’ that her ‘devoted husband’ and his friends had made it and were preparing to free France. The message could have applied to any one of dozens of ‘loving wives’ all over France.

  He had formed an immediate bond with Élise, as they seemed kindred spirits. Both were praying for the miracle that would unite them with the person they loved. In the meantime, their mutual physical attraction was given full reign in the form of a sexual relationship. It was known within the group that they were sleeping together, but no one paid the slightest heed. They were engaged in an extremely dangerous business. Only today was important, tomorrow might not exist.

  He had parachuted into the Alsace region of France, particularly hazardous as that region was not considered so much occupied as annexed. It was thought that the bulk of the population was completely happy with this arrangement, as a consequence they could place no trust in the general population and kept a very low profile.

  It was perhaps the extreme caution, born of this lack of trust, with which they conducted their operations that had kept them safe. It was now nearly a year since Kelly had joined them, ostensibly as a training officer. Initially this had been his main role but latterly he had simply become one of the group, the plan for him to circulate among other units having been shelved for security reasons. Every month they would hear of one or more cells being infiltrated or disbanded.

  The situation had become worse of late, thanks to the insertion of double agents working in small groups. One pair working the North of France had been particularly effective in creating severe concern among the resistance.

  “Dan!” He was startled from his reverie by someone calling his name.

  Élise was framed in the door of the barn. She was slight, only about five foot four, but had a full figure which she loved to flaunt by wearing tight shirts and figure-hugging slacks when not on operations. Her face was flawless, marble white with a small up-turned nose. She wore her brown, almost auburn hair short, enabling her to pass as a young boy from time to time. She reminded
Kelly of a kitten.

  “We have to go; this location may be compromised.” They always spoke together in French.

  “Who says it’s compromised?” asked Kelly.

  “Message from the Maquis,” answered Élise, the Maquis being the resistance network. More often than not their information was poor, but it wasn’t sensible to take chances, especially now that the Gestapo had recruited the Milice, a structured secret police force comprised entirely of French citizens, to do their dirty work for them.

  “What about tonight?” Kelly asked.

  “Still on,” said Élise. Kelly shrugged and looked resigned. Élise approached and circled her arms around him, pulling herself close to him so that even through his heavy shirt, he could feel her nipples pressing into him. She nestled her head in his chest, her green eyes looking deeply into his own. She had joked the first time that they had made love, that two people with the same colour eyes were destined to be together.

  “Don’t you agree with what we do?” A pleading note in her voice.

  “You know I do!” he lied. “I’m a little grumpy this morning. Take no notice.” In reality he failed to see the point of a small group of Frenchmen and women going out at night and blowing up part of a railway line, then another group of Frenchmen going out in the morning and repairing it, whilst the bulk of the German army in France remained completely unaware that anything untoward had happened.

  He understood the philosophy of providing a continuing nuisance effect and of showing the French people that there was resistance to the occupation, but sometimes it was difficult to see the point of some of the operations.

  Kelly held her close a while longer, before they left the barn to join the others outside. He was to travel with Andre, a rather taciturn individual, one of the older members of the unit. Kelly liked Andre; he was a calm man who spoke quietly when he spoke at all. It helped Kelly avoid unnecessary conversation and small talk. Like many Alsatians, Andre also spoke German well.

  They travelled from the village of Drulingen towards the caves of La Petite Pierre, chatting to passers-by as they met them. They were stopped at one point by a pair of Germans, their papers examined. ‘Yes, they were farm labourers making their way to the farms around Bouxwiller to find work, nothing much doing around Drulingen’. They spoke in German to the two soldiers, laughing and joking with them, leaving them with a wave that was returned. Kelly always found that speaking to the Germans in their own language seemed somehow to play to their egos. The annexed citizens seemed to fully accept and support their German masters and the Germans thrived on this. It probably wasn’t as strong as that, but there was definitely something; the atmosphere seemed to change as soon as you spoke in the German tongue.

  They reached their destination before nightfall. Many of the caves were occupied by various families and had been for centuries, but there was a cave system that was always unoccupied mainly because of its unsuitability for habitation, except, thought Kelly wryly, by the resistance.

  After dark they were again on the road. After collecting weapons and explosives from a ‘safe’ farm they made their way to a section of the railway line between Strasbourg and Sarrequemines. Kelly set the charges whilst the others took up all round defence. After retiring a few hundred feet, Kelly fired the charges. There was a roar as the explosives fired and they were showered with gravel and shards of wood from the sleepers.

  As the smoke settled, they heard shouting and saw flashlights some distance off, and perhaps a mile down the line, shots were being fired. The Germans had laid a trap, but in the wrong place! Quickly they made their way back towards the caves as noiselessly as they could, the tension palpable. Only when they were in the relative safety of the caves did they relieve that tension by slapping and embracing each other, shaking hands and trying to contain their involuntary laughter generated by the release from fear.

  Kelly joined in, but he was worried. As soon as the group settled, he raised the question of the failed ambush. How did the Germans know that they would raid tonight? Who could be informing? Was it, dare he say it, one of the group?

  Andre pointed out that the whole of the group, all five of them, himself, Dan and Claude and the two girls Marie and Élise had been on the raid. If there had been an informant, that person would also have been killed if the ambush had been set in the right place. Therefore, it seemed likely that this was just a chance ambush patrol. The others agreed. Kelly admitted that it made sense, but he was still uneasy.

  As he lay down to sleep, Élise arranged her bedding close to his and lay on her side looking at him, her normally flawless brow creased in concern. She knew he was unhappy. Kelly lay for some time running things over in his mind. These caves were a bad idea. The Germans knew of their existence because of the permanent residents in some of them. It would make sense, therefore, to do a search of the abandoned and uninhabited cave systems. It was such an obvious hideaway.

  At length he glanced towards Élise. It was difficult to see her in the gloom, but he guessed she was asleep. He threw off the bedding and as quietly as he could, crawled out of the cave and into the open air. The sky was cloudless and there was a slight cold breeze blowing. Kelly leaned against the rock face and breathed in the cold air. A brush against his hand caused him to start and turn. Élise. She thrust her arms around him as she had done that morning and pulled herself close to him. Kelly knew that, despite everything, he was in some ways a lucky man to have the care and consideration of this delightful girl. He kissed her tenderly, and then under the stars on a rock ledge in La Petite Pierre they made love.

  Rockets

  Three days after Kelly finally persuaded the group to vacate the caves because of the security risk they represented, the caves were raided and searched. Kelly couldn’t help feeling slightly smug as he listened to the report from the Maquis, read by Andre.

  Halfway through the report, Andre stopped and looked up from the scribbled notes directly at Kelly. “You counselled us well, Dan, and probably saved our lives.” Before Kelly could be self-deprecating, Andre went on with the report, stumbling over words as he struggled with the scribble. “They want us to move to St Omer to join with two other small cells. The big push is coming, and we are to disrupt defensive preparation as much as possible.”

  It did now seem likely that an invasion of the French mainland was imminent. The war was going badly for the Germans on the Eastern Front. It was logical that the Allies would pick this time to launch their offensive.

  The bad news from the eastern front, along with the threat of an invasion, had produced a marked effect in the Alsace region. The Germans were now having problems recruiting for the Milice, or indeed keeping those members who were currently enlisted. Fewer citizens were automatically using German as their first language and were reverting to speaking French. It was a moment of renaissance for the resistance as more and more people strove to distance themselves from the Reich.

  Andre continued, “We are to meet with one of the other groups at a church in the village of Wisques. We will be given new papers and assistance to get into St Omer. I believe it is quite difficult.”

  As the group quietly discussed the latest information, Andre screwed up the paper, took out a match, lit it and burned the note. Marie was the first to speak openly. “I’m not going!” She looked dejected and exhausted. “I’m sorry Andre, I can’t do any more. I’m tired, I’m unhappy and yes, I admit, I’m frightened. We have been lucky so far, but we can’t go on being lucky forever.” She paused as tears welled in her eyes. “I’m sorry everyone.”

  Everyone murmured in sympathy, but it was Andre who moved to her and placed an arm around her shoulders. “It’s fine Marie, you’ve done enough.” There was a bond, an affinity between the two, certainly not lovers, but close even so, almost a father and daughter relationship.

  Andre turned his gaze on the others. “Claude?”

  Claude, the youngest member of the group nodded. “Of course,” he said.

&nbs
p; Élise shot a glance at Kelly who imperceptibly nodded. “I will go,” she said.

  “I’m with you,” confirmed Kelly.

  Two days later they took their leave of Marie; she was inconsolable and wanted to change her mind, but Andre wouldn’t hear of it. He recognised the symptoms of an approaching nervous breakdown and couldn’t risk the safety of the rest of the group. Instead, he assured her that she needed a well-earned rest and begged her to remain and look after things until they all returned.

  Everyone shed a tear except Claude who, as always, remained aloof. Andre in particular was upset. He must have been sorely tempted to give in and allow Marie to come, but he remained strong for the sake of the group.

  Andre and Claude teamed up together. They would pass as father and son, whilst Kelly and Élise would take a different route as man and wife.

  Kelly and Élise’s route took them across the Vosges mountains back to Drulingen where they were picked up in an ageing Citroen and driven to St Avold, dangerously close to the German border, then on via a myriad of back roads to Metz.

  Each day new identity papers placing them in a village on their route, each day a new mode of transport, cars, old trucks, trailers pulled by tractors. The logistics of the move seemed astonishing to Kelly, and the fact that the Maquis were organising this all over France under the noses of the Germans, was incredible.

  From Metz they travelled northwest via Charleville-Mezieres and St Quentin to Arras. From Arras the route journeyed along byways and lanes into the town of Isberques and from there, the last ten miles were made on foot at night into Wisques.