Death Ray

by Craig Simpson

  Loki was unconvinced. ‘Huh! I can’t see Jacques and Amélie pulling that off, not even with Max’s help.’

  ‘I agree,’ Nils replied. ‘Jacques will have to co-ordinate the various disparate groups of partisans and try to get them all to pull in the same direction for once. At least they know him. I just hope they’re willing to take their orders from him. The one thing on his side is that he’ll return with the authority of Britain’s top brass. And if that’s not enough, a little blackmail can always be used.’

  ‘Blackmail?’

  ‘Yes – all the partisan groups rely heavily on RAF parachute drops for fresh supplies. As Jacques has control over the drops, the locals will realize that co-operating with him will ultimately be in their best interests too. Listen – about who’s going in and who’s not … A word of advice from a friend. I am your friend, aren’t I?’

  Although Loki’s mouth remained shut, I replied for us both, ‘Of course you are, Nils.’

  ‘Good. The way I see it is like this,’ he began, ‘I know you three rely heavily on each other, but ultimately you each have to make your own decisions. Freya has to decide by herself whether she’s willing to take on the responsibility. She knows the risks as well as you do. From what you told me of her father, Heimar, it strikes me that she takes after him. She seems pretty level-headed and courageous.’

  ‘There are few braver,’ I said. ‘Remember that awful day, Loki, when we rowed across the fjord, only to discover that her father had been shot and captured by the Germans? When we caught up with Freya and I told her what had happened, she didn’t even flinch. She just looked me in the eye and said we had a job to do and we’d better get on and do it. I was gobsmacked. I mean, I expected her to burst out crying or collapse or something. But no, she just gritted her teeth and got on with it. She said it was exactly what her father would have wanted her to do. Remember?’

  Loki lifted his head out of his hands and stared at me. ‘Of course I remember.’

  ‘War has done strange things to us,’ said Nils, ‘brought out strengths none of us knew we possessed. I mean, take Amélie, for example: who’d have thought …’

  ‘Thought what?’ said Loki.

  ‘You’ve heard their story, I take it.’

  ‘Yes. That they stole a boat and escaped to England,’ I replied. ‘That’s all Amélie told us. Jacques won’t talk about it.’

  ‘Ah! Well, there’s a little more to it. The night they left France, they’d just reached their boat when two German guards stumbled across them. The soldiers quickly realized something was going on and proceeded to arrest Jacques. If it wasn’t for Amélie they’d never have made their escape.’

  ‘Why? What did she do?’

  ‘Bashed hell out of one soldier with an oar, seized his pistol and shot the other one before he knew what was happening. The noise raised the alarm and pretty quickly other soldiers were rushing to the scene. She was all ready to stay ashore – to hold the soldiers off, to sacrifice herself to give her brother time to escape. It took all Jacques’ efforts to get her into the boat in time.’

  ‘Little Amélie!’ The shock on Loki’s face equalled my own.

  ‘Yes. Innocent, harmless little Amélie. Tiny, but with the heart of a polar bear. Don’t underestimate your fellow students. They are all extremely capable. Just like the two of you.’

  Chapter Twelve

  From Freya to Odette

  DURING THE FOLLOWING few days Mulberry House buzzed with frenetic activity. There were endless briefings, although often Loki, Nils and I were excluded. Our job was simply to fly the others in. What happened once they were on the ground didn’t concern us. The brigadier was keen to keep the spread of information strictly on a need-to-know basis. When Loki wasn’t sulking, he helped Nils and me draw up our flight plans. We spent hours poring over maps and examining aerial photographs, reading the latest reports from the French Resistance about the coastal defences and making lists of landmarks for us to look out for when flying in. On the face of it, the plan seemed reasonably straightforward. The cliffs were high along that part of the French coast, some stretches measuring almost four hundred feet, but five miles west of Rochefort they gave way to form a river estuary. We decided to be bold and fly straight up the river valley for about ten miles, land and off load our passengers, then fly straight back. We’d fly in and out low, hoping that we could maybe squeeze beneath the enemy’s radar. Our choice of landing site was based on two main criteria – a straight stretch of river and an area that seemed pretty rural and remote. Anything too close to towns or villages had to be avoided – towns and villages meant soldiers and patrols.

  Having chosen the landing site, we radioed the coordinates to the nearest local Resistance group in a town about eight miles from Rochefort, to forewarn them in case they knew of any difficulties we weren’t aware of. The exact date and time of our arrival, however, would only be communicated to them just before we set off.

  Within twenty-four hours the Resistance replied that the location was OK and they informed us that they would signal as we approached, waving lamps with green filters if it was safe to land, red ones if not. A rowing boat would be used to take everyone ashore. They also asked whether we might be able to bring along some additional supplies. The brigadier promptly instructed Smithy to see what he could lay his hands on at such short notice. As always, Smithy didn’t disappoint.

  ‘All right, lads,’ he said, grinning at us as he unloaded his stash from the back of his truck. ‘All pukka gear, this. These Stens are brand new.’ He opened a couple of crates to reveal fifty Sten guns, plus enough ammunition to retake Paris. ‘Only the best for our chaps working for the underground. Just wish I was delivering them personally,’ he said wistfully, revealing the contents of several tightly packed canvas holdalls. I observed grenades, plastic explosive, detonators and various timers, including pressure switches and time pencils.

  ‘There’s enough there to start a small war,’ Loki observed.

  ‘No, Mr Larson, sir,’ Smithy replied. ‘There’s enough there to end a bloody big war!’ He scratched his jaw thoughtfully. ‘Now, have I forgotten anything? Oh, yes, those dead rats. Where did I put them …?’

  For Max and Freya, life at Mulberry turned into a living nightmare. They had to learn their false French identities, absorbing countless facts – from their new names, where they were born, schools they’d attended, their imaginary families and friends, to their reasons for being in Rochefort. The list was endless. And they had to learn it in enough detail that they could convince an inquisitor that they really had lived where they claimed. This struck me as a hard enough task, but two complications made it utterly mind-boggling. They had to understand the questions and reply to them in French. Harder still, their responses needed to be fluent, natural, without hesitation, just as they would be if they were true. Anything less could cost them their lives.

  Locked away in a dimly lit back room at the house, Freya and Max faced interrogation by men dressed in the uniforms of the dreaded SS. Late into the night, they emerged from their sessions looking shell-shocked, as white as sheets and so shattered they just wanted to sleep.

  One morning over breakfast Freya remarked, ‘It is all so hard.’ Peering at the tea leaves in the bottom of her cup, she went on, ‘But I think Madame Dupuis was right when she told us that, to be convincing, we should become our new identities in every way. We can’t simply pretend. We should make ourselves believe it. And to do that we must think of our real selves as being dead!’

  Mrs Saunders was busy scrubbing pans in the sink at the time but she froze when she heard Freya say this. A stony-faced Loki screeched back his chair and stormed out of the house. ‘Freya!’ I said in dismay. ‘Don’t say that. That’s awful.’

  The strain was beginning to show. She looked exhausted, her face pale and her shoulders hunched.

  ‘Listen, are you certain you want to go ahead with this?’ I asked. ‘There’s still time to back out. Remember what X
said to us when we arrived. It’s better to back out before an operation gets underway. There’d be no shame in it.’

  She reached across the table and took my hand. ‘I don’t know, Finn. I just don’t know. I’m afraid. But that’s only natural, isn’t it? And I’m worried about Loki.’

  ‘It’s tearing him apart,’ I said.

  ‘I know.’

  Our eyes locked together and I felt as if I could see right into her. I think it was at that moment I realized Loki’s feelings for Freya were matched by the way she felt about him. ‘You have to talk to him,’ I said. ‘You must.’

  She nodded faintly. ‘Yes, Finn, I must.’

  Later I noticed that Loki and Freya had wandered off together. When Walker came looking for them, furious that they’d skipped important lessons, I told him to back off, to give them a little space. He would have none of it. ‘This isn’t the time for those two to be off canoodling,’ he snapped. ‘I’ll ruddy well go and fetch them myself.’

  I was surprised at my reaction. Even though Walker was much bigger and stronger than me, I grabbed the collar of his tunic, yanked him forward so that our faces were inches apart, and hissed through clenched teeth, ‘Leave them alone! Please … ! Sir!’

  Taken aback, Walker got the message. Composing himself, he replied, ‘Just make sure they’re back by lunch time, Finn.’

  I think Freya’s willingness to play her part in Operation Death Ray lay in the balance that morning. It would not have taken much to sway her either way. And had it simply been left to Loki, I think she would have decided that whatever work we agreed to do, the three of us would either do it together or not at all. But later that morning things changed for ever for Freya. For all of us, in fact.

  It began when Nils arrived back from RAF Tangmere with bad news. I saw him step gingerly out of his car and I was immediately filled with a sense of dread. It was the look on his face.

  ‘Finn, where are the others?’ he called out.

  I ran across to him and explained.

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘What’s the matter? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

  He grabbed my shoulder tightly. ‘I’ve got some terrible news,’ he said softly.

  ‘What?’ Instantly my head filled with pictures of our families back home; of Mother and Anna being marched out to face a firing squad. Hell, I could even hear the shots ringing in my ears! ‘What?’

  ‘It’s Freya’s father,’ he said. ‘My brother finally managed to get a message out of Norway via a courier. He said he tried his best for him. But Heimar never recovered from the gunshot wounds he received when he was taken prisoner.’

  ‘Poor Freya,’ I said. ‘I guess we’d better go and find her.’

  Nils hesitated.

  ‘Is there something else?’ I asked. ‘About our families?’

  ‘No. It’s nothing like that. It’s just … Listen, Finn, if I tell you something that I’m not supposed to, will you keep it to yourself. Do you promise? Only I’ll be in big trouble if anyone finds out I’ve repeated it. But I feel I need to share it with someone. Someone I can trust.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Well, at a place called Bletchley we have people who intercept and decode all sorts of different radio transmissions and other intelligence reports. My brother’s message was decoded there before being forwarded on to me at Tangmere. When I went to collect it from my squadron leader’s office, I took the opportunity to glance through all the other latest intelligence reports.’

  ‘And …?’

  ‘There was a really strange one. It was the record of a conversation between a Luftwaffe pilot flying off the French coast and his HQ. One of our people at Bletchley had scribbled a footnote saying that the source of transmission on the ground had been narrowed by triangulation to within a few miles of Rochefort. The puzzling bit is that in the conversation there was a reference to Freya Meldung.’

  ‘Freya what?’

  ‘Meldung is German for detection or announcement, Finn.’

  ‘Freya detection? Freya announcement? Does that mean what I think it does?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. It wouldn’t make any sense, Finn. No one over there could possibly know anything about Freya or the rest of you. In truth, nobody in intelligence has a clue what it means. It’s a real puzzle. Intelligence is stumped. They assume it’s a codename for something. But what?’

  He saw the worried look on my face. ‘I’m sure it’s just a coincidence, Finn. There are hundreds of code-words being used by both sides in this war.’

  ‘God, I hope you’re right!’ Then I was struck by a thought. Why was he telling me this if it wasn’t relevant? If it was simply a coincidence, then why trouble me with it? ‘Are you sure there’s nothing more to it, Nils? Remember, we’re friends and you can trust me.’

  He put his hand on my shoulder again. ‘I know I can trust you, Finn. I’m telling you all I know. Honestly! It’s just … well … I’m not always sure we get to hear about everything. Know what I mean? If it was important, maybe X or people in the SIS would want to keep it from us. Save us worrying about it. Anyway, all I’m really saying to you is make a mental note of it. Just in case something relevant crops up. OK?’

  ‘Yes. Of course.’

  * * *

  A dark shadow was cast over Mulberry House that spring afternoon. Understandably Freya wanted a while to herself, although at tea time Amélie went off in search of her. When they returned, Freya had made her decision and called Loki and me to one side.

  ‘I’ve thought long and hard,’ she said. ‘It would be easy to back out now. The brigadier said he’d understand, that it was terrible timing, and that now might not be an ideal moment for me to go into the field. But …’ She paused and took our hands in hers. ‘Please understand. I asked myself a question. What would Father want me to do?’

  ‘Heimar would have wanted you to be safe,’ Loki interrupted.

  ‘Of course – under normal circumstances. But he also believed that some things were truly worth fighting for. Your father was the same, Finn. That’s why he flew to England at the outbreak of war to join the RAF. And yours too, Loki; that’s why he joined the local Resistance. And we’re just like them. All three of us. That’s how we got here, to Mulberry House, training as agents in the middle of nowhere. All over Europe there are men and women facing impossible choices, having to put their own feelings to one side. There are battles to be fought. Like X said on our first night here, this war is good versus evil, and it requires all sorts of different sacrifices, big and small. It’s simply my turn now. I’ve decided. I will go to France.’

  Loki bit his lip and nodded. I reached out and gave her a hug.

  Forty-eight hours later it was our last evening together at Mulberry. The brigadier wanted to give the team a good send-off and instructed Mrs Saunders to provide us all with a slap-up dinner. X would be attending. She had to pull out all the stops. Just the thought that our housekeeper might be tempted to experiment put the fear of God into us. Luckily, knowing how we’d grown sick of eating anything that came out of a tin, Smithy came up trumps. That morning he wandered into the kitchen carrying an entire deer carcass across his shoulders, head and all. ‘All right, lads,’ he said to Max and me as we ate our toast. ‘Look what leaped out in front of my truck last night. Never saw it. Still, waste not want not. That’s what my mum always used to say.’

  We didn’t question his story, although it failed to explain the bullet hole located plum between the poor beast’s eyes.

  That evening we assembled in the dining room at eight o’clock. The room had been cleared of our small desks and chairs, and a single large trestle table erected, neatly covered with white linen and sparkling silver cutlery. X duly arrived. Then, having called us to attention, the brigadier spoke: ‘Dear friends, we all know what faces you in the following days and weeks and, having got to know you a little, I have no doubt you will all serve Special Operations well. Before we eat, however, you will notice
that two of you are absent. Sadly, Freya and Max couldn’t make it tonight.’

  There was a murmur of consternation around the room, but the brigadier raised a hand and added, ‘However, I would like to introduce you to two new colleagues, Luc and Odette Ravoir.’

  The door opened and in walked Max and Freya. Or rather, it wasn’t them. Freya’s lovely blonde hair had been cut short and they both wore clothes we’d not seen before; in fact everything about them seemed different. Freya wore a simple pale-blue blouse and stylishly pleated tailored skirt beneath a smart coat. Max wore a fairly worn jacket with leather patches on his sleeves and a cap on his head that somehow completely altered the way he looked.

  ‘Bonsoir, mes amis,’ Madame Dupuis chirped. There followed a lengthy conversation between the three of them in French. I struggled to keep up and realized that maybe the brigadier and Walker had made a wise decision when evaluating my proficiency. Loki just stood next to me open-mouthed. The sight was astonishing. If they really had been strangers, I would have been convinced they were French. When Loki finally managed to speak, all he could say was, ‘Utrolig!’

  It was indeed an incredible spectacle. When the conversation with Madame Dupuis ended, X said, ‘Splendid! Simply splendid.’ Jacques rose from his chair, and with his cigarette dangling from his lips he applauded energetically. ‘Bravo!’

  We sat down and ate a truly sumptuous meal of venison pie served with lashings of rich gravy. It was the second revelation of the night – Mrs Saunders could cook after all! X gave a rambling speech, and we were glad when he finished; then we raised our glasses to toast the success of Operation Death Ray. Although there was much light-hearted chatter about the room, Loki said very little, and I noticed that while his eyes seemed glued to Freya – or should I say Odette – she managed to avoid his stare. It was as if he wasn’t even in the same room. I felt for him. She was playing her game well.