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

by Peter Alderson Sharp

  They arrived at the Church in the early hours of the morning. As they approached, Kelly stopped and, grasping Élise, he pulled her to him, holding her tight. He was full of admiration for this brave young girl who had endured so much in their long journey and who had never once complained. She was a special person who epitomised the courage and determination of France in these dark days.

  Kelly realised that he had fallen in love with Élise, but every time he felt the need to open up to her, a vision of Sybilla would swim through his mind, gradually fading to be replaced by the image of a brave young French soldier, training with the commandos to enable him to play his part in the liberation of his beloved France, and allow him to return to his beautiful young wife.

  Kelly cursed the fates that had made him love two women but would never allow him to give his heart fully to either.

  Coloured light streamed through the stained-glass windows and crept through the partly open door of the vestry. Andre and Claude were already up, but Élise was still sleeping soundly. Kelly shook her gently and she awoke with a start, blinking at the others, her lips formed into a pout.

  “Come on,” said Kelly, slipping his jacket on. “The meeting is due in about ten minutes.” Élise’s response was to lie down again and turn on her side. “Come on sleepy!” said Kelly, prodding her gently with his toe.

  “Bully!” Élise reluctantly dragged herself out of her bedding.

  There was clatter as the church door was opened and the four froze, footsteps across the stone flags, the gap in the door becoming wider as it was pushed open, a head …

  “Good morning gentlemen, I hope you slept well?” It was the local priest. Then to Élise, “And you, my child. I’m sorry I couldn’t offer you separate accommodation.”

  Breathing a sigh of relief, Élise looked quizzically towards Kelly and shrugged, an impish grin on her face.

  He and Élise had met the priest the previous evening as he had shepherded them into the Church, then into the vestry and into the presence of Claude and Andre who had arrived the previous day. A less likely looking French priest would be hard to imagine.

  Of mixed French-German parentage, Wolfgang Rahn had been born in Germany, joined the French Foreign Legion at eighteen and, after serving his time, had settled in Alsace and worked the land before receiving his ‘call from God’. Wolf stood six foot two with broad shoulders, a shock of grey, rapidly whitening hair, hands that looked and felt like vices and a fierce scar, gained in a bar in Algiers, which travelled the length of the left side of his craggy face. Perhaps the most remarkable thing about him was his quiet, almost feminine melodic voice.

  Another remarkable thing about Wolf Rahn was that he was the leader of the local resistance movement.

  “The others are starting to arrive now,” he sang. Kelly smiled inwardly; with that voice in the Legion, you would have to be tough, or get tough quickly, he thought.

  Aloud he said, “Where are we meeting, Padre?”

  “Why here in the Church. I will give the sermon and you will be my congregation!”

  They moved into the church where people were beginning to enter and arrange themselves on the front pews. The small group from La Petite Pierre joined them and took their seats.

  “Friends! Comrades!” intoned the vicar from the pulpit. “I have been asked to chair our meeting today and let me start with a most important announcement. The invasion is ON! Liberation is at hand!” It should have sounded dramatic, but coming as it did from Priest Rahn, something was lost. Nevertheless, there was a stir among those assembled.

  “The invasion will take place along a front between Gravelines and Bray Dunes,” he was explaining.

  Dunkirk! Of course, thought Kelly, it made sense. Retreat from Dunkirk then back in via Dunkirk. It was symmetrical, balanced. Retribution!

  Wolfgang had moved on to the need for harassing tactics. The main threat to the Allies, he explained, were the large rockets being made in St Omer. It was said that they were capable of wiping out a whole company of soldiers, possibly even a battalion.

  The audible gasp from the audience confirmed that Kelly wasn’t the only person who had no idea rockets were being produced in St Omer. Kelly had heard vague stories about ‘Doodle Bugs’ being fired at London and causing massive damage. If these same rockets were capable of being fired at an invasion force, the consequences would be devastating.

  The rest of the ‘sermon’ consisted of logistical arrangements. Andre and team were to merge with a team from St Omer. Their task would be to cause maximum disruption to stores and supplies heading for the rocket making complex.

  The four met with the much larger team from St Omer after the main meeting and discussed locations, safe houses, accommodation, and strategies. They would enter St Omer that night via the canals and marshes.

  Kelly found time to talk briefly with Rahn about the rockets.

  “I don’t have too much detail, Dragan,” explained Wolf. “I could take you to the exact location of the bunker where the rockets are made, but I have no idea what happens inside there.”

  “Can’t we just attack the bunker?” asked Kelly.

  “Impossible!” said the priest. “It would take a brigade-sized force to overcome the defences. There is possibly no better guarded place in France.”

  “What about bombing?” Kelly persisted.

  “The allies are aware of the location of the bunker,” confirmed Rahn, “but they have never bombed it. Apart from the fact that the bunker is said to be bomb proof, I imagine they will be wary of causing massive French casualties at this stage of the war.”

  As night fell, Kelly and his new team made their way towards the canals. There was a long night ahead of them, a large part of which would be spent wading waist deep in marshes around the outskirts of St Omer. For the first time in months Kelly felt buoyed. This was important, this was something worth risking his life for.

  The first two raids were fairly inconsequential affairs; raids on barges carrying stores into St Omer. On both occasions they were able to send the bargee and, in one case his family, scattering into the fenlands unharmed, before they scuttled the barges.

  On the third raid the group was too big, consisting as usual of Kelly, Élise, Andre and Claude but joined by Father Wolf and four of the St Omer group. They moved into position, an ambush on a minor road into town. Their target, a pair of vehicles carrying what was believed to be fuel for the rockets.

  Kelly had been uneasy all day. He wasn’t happy with the size of the group, particularly as the St Omer group included two men he had never previously met. To add to the problems, some of the attached group seemed like novices. They had not yet mastered the ability to ‘ghost’ through the lanes making no noise. The consequence was that although to an outside observer they moved in relative silence, to Kelly it seemed as if he was walking alongside a herd of elephants.

  As they settled into their ambush positions, Kelly had Andre on his right and Wolf on his left. Earlier he had expressed his concern at the size of the group to Wolfgang Rahn, but the priest had assured him of the need for this bigger group. The trucks would each have an armed guard. They couldn’t be too careful; they might be glad of the extra firepower.

  The group took too long to settle, but finally there was silence. Kelly looked along the line. He could see Andre on his right and Wolf on his left but everyone else was invisible. It was a good position and they were well hidden. Then … a rustling from the right and whispering. More rustling. A man to the right of Andre rose and began walking to their rear. Kelly signalled to Andre who leaned towards him.

  “Forgot his ammunition, going back for it!” whispered Andre.

  Kelly stared incredulously at Andre for a second then spun around to Rahn. Rahn’s face showed his total disbelief. Simultaneously he and Kelly sprang to their feet, each bellowing a series of commands.

  “Get out!” … “It’s a trap!” … “Disperse!” … “Rendezvous three!”

  Further com
mands were cut off by the crash and rattle of machine guns. Rounds sang as they flew by. Screams rose above the gunfire. Kelly sprinted to his rear, ducking and swerving, frequently changing direction until the sound of gunfire was remote enough for him to catch his breath and take stock of his situation. It was a tactic the group had practised several times before. If ‘hit’ they were to disperse and each individually make their way to a predetermined rendezvous, but this was the first time they had had to use it. ‘Rendezvous 3’ meant different things to each of the small subgroups, so that if captured they would be unable to identify the locations of the other subgroups. Kelly’s subgroup consisted of Rahn and Élise.

  A knot had formed in Kelly’s stomach; partly in fear for his own life, but also because of desperate worry for the fate of Élise and the others. Had they made it? What of the screams? With a feeling of intense loneliness and despair, Kelly started his circuitous route to the rendezvous.

  Kelly lay for about two hours, observing the farmhouse from the cover of a dense hedge about two hundred yards from the buildings. He was unsure of what to do. For all he knew there could be a detachment of SS waiting for him inside. He needed some kind of sign, some kind of reassurance.

  A light had come on just before dawn and had been extinguished just as the first rays of light crept through the elms that bordered the farm. There was a rattle and a man emerged from a side door, his garments announcing him as the farmer. Walking slowly as he pulled on a jacket against the morning chill, he made his way towards one of the outbuildings and entered.

  There was a cry! Cut off.

  Kelly tensed and waited. Seconds later the man emerged with another walking alongside him. They hurried towards the main building. The second man was unmistakable.

  Rahn!

  Kelly was about to rise and make his way towards the farmhouse when there was a rustle in the bushes only a few yards to his right. He froze, his grip tightening on his Thomson machine gun. A figure was emerging from the bushes. Élise!

  His heart leapt as he eased himself forward and whispered her name, she spun raising her 9 mm, but visibly relaxed when she recognised him emerging from the undergrowth. She rushed to him and flung her free arm around his neck, sobbing and shaking as she did so. She was a wreck. The lines in her contorted face were emphasised by the black camouflage soot, now smudged by the tracks of her tears. Her clothes were wet and muddy and there was blood oozing through the torn black sweater. She seemed on the verge of passing out.

  Kelly lifted her, slinging her around his shoulders in a fireman’s lift, and ran to the farmhouse, their progress watched by a concerned Rahn who opened the door for them and ushered them inside.

  Kelly laid Élise on a sofa before turning to the priest and embracing him briefly. Then he returned to Élise, barely conscious. As he raised her arm to remove the sweater she called out in pain, causing him to pull back. The farmer’s wife came to the aid of the injured girl, shooing the men into the kitchen and with instructions to her husband to make coffee, she set about administering to the girl.

  “I wish I had listened to you,” said Rahn, massaging his face wearily. “You were right about the size of the group.” Kelly raised his eyebrows. “At least one of them was a traitor. I hope he was the only one.”

  “Which means,” said Kelly, “that they may have some idea of the location.”

  “Not from the one who left the party early,” said Rahn. “I caught up with him on the way out. He won’t be telling any secrets!” He tapped his machine gun as he spoke.

  Their conversation was interrupted by a cry from the other room. Kelly rose, but Rahn stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Leave it to the woman,” he said. “These are good people. I know them.”

  They speculated about the fate of their comrades. Rahn’s voice was full of compassion as he told how he had seen Andre fall, but he was unable to throw light on the others. “Claude was next to Élise, perhaps she will know if he made it?” said Kelly, his voice at once eager and optimistic, but his inner worry betrayed by the slight faltering. Before Rahn could answer, the farmer’s wife came in, wiping blood from her hands with an old cloth.

  “The woman will be fine. Sorry about the noise. I had to clean the wound and get some iodine in it to stop any festering. We only have iodine for the animals. I’m afraid it’s very strong and will have hurt the poor girl, but I had to use it.”

  “Thank you, Mother,” said the priest. “You have been so kind. How badly is she injured?”

  “A muscle in her back has been ripped by the bullet. It is not serious but will be extremely painful.”

  It was several hours before Élise was able to talk to them; between tears and sobs she told how Claude had stayed behind as rear guard to protect their escape, calling to her to go. He could not have survived.

  “I suspect I have been totally compromised,” said the priest disconsolately, the sadness clear in his voice. “I cannot now return to my parish, therefore, if you will permit, I will join with you and Élise.”

  Both Élise and Kelly enthusiastically agreed. At this moment they needed all the allies they could find and there was no doubt that in a tight spot, Wolfgang Rahn was a good man to have on your side.

  Invasion

  Élise walked softly into the room and slumped down against the wall, her eyes black rimmed with exhaustion. Rahn, who had been dozing in the corner, lowered his pistol. He had snapped to full alert at the first soft footfall. Kelly, who had been cleaning his 9 mm, continued to assemble it, but raised his head and smiled at Élise. It was a smile of sympathy. Bravely, the woman smiled back. She was clearly all in.

  The house they were in was the end building of a row of six attached cottages. Fire had ravaged the row some months previously and it had been left derelict, condemned but not yet demolished. The room was completely devoid of any furniture and the three were reduced to sitting and sleeping on the floor. The first rays of the sun were beginning to appear through the gaps in the roof tiles making the black charred beams gleam.

  It was a dangerous hideaway, but the best they could find in the little town of Berques. The place was alive with Germans coming and going, but they seemed fully pre-occupied with the forthcoming invasion.

  The small group had fled St Omer, believing they had been compromised and had been torn between heading south to Bethune and probably relative safety, or moving further north, more dangerous under present conditions, but where they would be more likely to make contact with an active resistance group. They had travelled the thirty kilometres to Berques in two days, travelling at night and hiding up by day.

  During that time, they had eaten only once, having thrown themselves on the mercy of a lone traveller they had surprised and nearly frightened to death. Once recovered from his shock, he guided them to his home near Wormhout where they had eaten their fill of the meagre fare on offer, making up for the lack of variety with ample bread dipped in some kind of consommé. It had been a risky venture, but they were starving and driven to it.

  They had arrived three nights before and taken it in turns to move out at night to try to make contact with the underground, but it was a dangerous business. Most of the locals were falling over themselves to distance themselves from the Germans and would provide as much help as they could including food, water and wine, however a word in the wrong ear spelled disaster for at least one of them. They had agreed that a person acting alone was the best way to scavenge for information and provisions. Furthermore, they had sworn that if the night patrol had not arrived back by dawn they would crash out of their current location and find new accommodation.

  It had thus been a great relief to Kelly to see Élise enter just as dawn was starting to break.

  “Any luck?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she nodded, “I’ve made contact.”

  The other two simultaneously sat bolt upright, questions spilling from each of them. Élise smiled and held up her hand.

  “It wasn’t easy. They didn’t
trust me. They have already had one bad experience with a woman who tried to infiltrate the group who turned out to be a double agent.” She winced slightly as she wriggled to try to find a comfortable position. She was still suffering with her back, but they had only dared to remain in the farmhouse outside St Omer for a further day before setting out for Berques.

  She had endured agonies during the journey, often been reduced to pitiful tears. Kelly and Rahn had taken turns to try to support her. During daylight, the two had kept watch and allowed Élise to sleep. She was now much improved but still subject to back spasm occasionally.

  Rahn impatiently signalled her to continue. She gave him a mock scowl and recounted her tale. “They will meet with us tonight and, if they believe us, they will find us a safe house.”

  “And if they don’t believe us?” asked Kelly, leaving the question hanging in the air. Élise shot him a sideways glance that explained much more than words could.

  “Right!” said Kelly. “Fine. That should focus the mind. Wolf, for Christ’s sake don’t slip into German, will you?”

  Rahn chuckled quietly, ignoring the blasphemy. “Perhaps I’d better assume a false name as well.”

  “I’ve explained your backgrounds to them,” offered Élise, sounding serious. “I’ve told them to expect a mad Irish-Serbian and an even madder French-German priest.” They all laughed, shushing each other to quiet as they did so.

  Kelly and Rahn kept watch for the rest of the day and allowed Élise to sleep. As twilight began to draw near, they sat talking, impatient for the time for the rendezvous with the resistance. Then with some reservations they collected their weapons together and readied themselves to slip quietly into the night. Before they left, Rahn beckoned them to him.

  “Spare me a second,” he whispered. “This is for me, please indulge me.” And he sank onto his knees, placed his hands together and quietly prayed, his words barely audible in the gloom. The other two followed suit, Élise crossing herself. Kelly, an atheist since his teens, simply used the calming words of the priest to help him ready himself for the coming inquisition which could result in all of their deaths.