They Used Dark Forces

by Dennis Wheatley

  14

  ‘The Best-laid Schemes of Mice and Men …’

  When they began to discuss the operation the first thing Gregory learned was that he would have to make the flight from Brindisi in Italy. There was not much difference in the actual distance flying east from Suffolk or north from Brindisi to central Poland; but the latter route was preferable because an aircraft taking it ran less risk of encountering flak or enemy night fighters. All operations for dropping arms and supplies to Resistance groups in Poland, Czechoslovakia and Yugoslavia, as well as northern Italy which was still held by the enemy, were carried out by special squadrons under the command of Air Marshal Sir William Elliot, C.-in-C. Adriatic, whose headquarters were at Bari.

  For there to be any chance at all of this hazardous operation succeeding it would be necessary to undertake it on a night when reasonable weather over Poland could be predicted and during the period of maximum moonlight which, that month, ran from the 23rd to the 29th. So it was agreed that Gregory should leave England on the 21st. Sir Pellinore telephoned Brigadier Jacob and arranged that Gregory should be relieved of his duties in the Cabinet War Room right away, then he telephoned Erika and asked her to come down to London on the afternoon train.

  When they left General Gubbins’s office Gregory went straight down to Gloucester Road, told the faithful Rudd that he was off on his travels again, then packed a bag and took a taxi up to Carlton House Terrace. Erika joined him that evening and when he broke the news to her about his new mission she did her best to hide her distress. He endeavoured to reassure her by stressing the fact that aircraft sent on such missions nearly always returned safely; and that, apart from the flight, he would be in danger only for an hour or so while picking up the parts of the V.2, and should be back in England within ten days of setting off. So during the next three days they did their best to forget this new peril he was about to face.

  But that was far from easy, as he had to spend long periods endeavouring to secure from Malacou more precise information about the situation of the cottage and make arrangements with him for the landing.

  After several such sessions Gregory was as satisfied as he could be in the circumstances. The cottage lay about twelve miles to the north-east of a fair-sized town named Pultusk, and this, together with the conformation of the rivers, should enable him to identify the second-class road from Rózan on which the aircraft was to land, provided there was a fair degree of moonlight. But the arrangements for the pick-up had to be left distinctly vague.

  Although the road was hardly ever used at night, owing to the sabotage operations carried out by the Poles, S.D. men on motor-cycles patrolled a main road that was not far distant to the west; so to put out flares to guide the aircraft in would entail much too great a risk. Moreover, as Gregory could not specify the night on which the landing was to be made until shortly before the aircraft took off, at such short notice it would not be possible to muster a number of Polish partisans to help carry the heavy cases containing the rocket mechanism from the cottage to the ‘plane, but between them they should be able to do the job in an hour at most; and on every evening from the 23rd Malacou would keep his mind free to receive a message from Gregory that he was on his way.

  On Friday the 21st Gregory said his good-byes to Erika and Sir Pellinore. Both of them had an instinctive distrust of Malacou, so urged Gregory to exercise the greatest caution in his dealings with him and to run no unnecessary risks. To that he replied that in this affair Malacou was acting only as a medium for the Polish engineer, in whom they had every reason to have faith; and that as far as risks were concerned, if there were any signs that the aircraft might be caught while on the ground it would not land.

  He left London by train for St. Evill in Cornwall. A Flight Sergeant met him on the platform and drove him to the R.A.F. Station. There he reported to the Station Commander, who took him to the mess for drinks and a meal. An hour and a half later he was on his way. After flying far out into the Atlantic the aircraft turned south-west and, without seeing any signs of enemy activity, landed him at Gibraltar. There he spent a few hours, then went on in another aircraft across the sunny waters of the western Mediterranean to arrive at Brindisi on the Adriatic shortly before midday on the 23rd.

  A Group Captain took charge of him and it soon emerged that, like Gregory, as a young man his host had been a subaltern at the end of the First World War; so over drinks in the mess they began swapping reminiscences and got on famously. Later, when they discussed the forthcoming operation, the Group Captain told him that the worst headache to be faced was that it was still high summer. Aircraft dropping supplies for Resistance groups in Yugoslavia, or even Czechoslovakia, could leave after dark and return before dawn; but a trip to central Poland meant a five-hour flight each way and, allowing an hour for the pick-up, that meant that the aircraft could not leave Brindisi much after seven o’clock; so it would still be light enough for it to be spotted by German fighters when it passed over the northern Adriatic.

  A Dakota with additional fuel tanks had been laid on for the job, and at a conference next day it was decided to guard against possible interception by sending a Liberator to escort it on the first part of its journey. At the conference Gregory met the crew of the Dakota that was to fly him in. The Captain of the aircraft was Wing Commander Frencombe of No. 267 Squadron, the pilot Flight Lieutenant Culliford, the navigator Flight Lieutenant Williams, the W/T operator Flight Sergeant Appleby, and a Polish Flying Officer, K. Szaajer, from the Polish Flight had been seconded to act as interpreter if necessary.

  Everything had been made ready to carry out the operation that night but the Met. report was unfavourable, so with keyed-up nerves they waited to see if the next day would bring an improvement. It did, so on the evening of the 25th they made their final preparations. Soon after seven o’clock they went out on to the airfield. A last check-up was made on the Dakota KG.447 then, clad in windproof clothing and wrapped in rugs to keep them as warm as possible during their long cold journey, at 19.37 hours they took off.

  While over the Adriatic they were spotted by German patrol-boats that carried anti-aircraft guns, but were flying sufficiently high to escape the flak that was loosed off at them. By half past eight they were over Yugoslavia and a little before ten o’clock when they were approaching Budapest, darkness having fallen, their escorting Liberator turned back and left them. With a steady hum the Dakota soughed on over Hungary and Czechoslovakia.

  For a good part of the flight Gregory slept, then half an hour after midnight Flight Lieutenant Williams roused him to tell him that they were approaching their destination. The aircraft was steadily coming down from the great height at which it had been flying, so he took off his oxygen mask and went forward into the cockpit.

  To check the features of the country far below with the map was anything but easy, as there were patches of drifting cloud that now and then obscured the moon for up to two minutes at a time, and when the moonlight did glint on water the whole of the area to the north-east of Warsaw was so intersected by the rivers Liwiec, Bug and Narew, with their many tributaries, that Gregory began to fear that he would not be able to identify the two forks between which lay Malacou’s cottage.

  For some fifteen minutes he and Williams peered down, sweeping the landscape with powerful night glasses, then the Flight Lieutenant said, ‘We’ve overshot it. We must have by now,’ and told the pilot to turn back.

  The aircraft heeled over as Culliford brought her round. Just as he straightened out a pair of searchlights suddenly came into action away to the west and in wide arcs began to sweep the sky. As the Captain of the aircraft muttered a curse another pair opened up to the south, then a third pair almost immediately below them. It was evident that the German listening posts had picked up the sound of their engines.

  The pilot banked the aircraft, then put her into a steep dive. As Gregory righted himself from a lurch Williams shouted to reassure him. ‘Our trips over Poland are so infrequent that th
ere’s a good chance they’ll take us for one of theirs that has got off course. Unless they catch us in a beam and identify us as an enemy they won’t shoot.’

  Culliford had brought the aircraft down to five hundred feet, so it was now well below the angle at which the searchlights were sweeping. Two minutes later Gregory heard Malacou’s voice as clearly as though he had been in the ‘plane, calling, ‘Here! Here! Come down! Come down!’

  Staring earthward he suddenly recognised the bend in the big river near which the cottage lay, then the road to Rózan some way to the north of it. Putting one hand quickly on the pilot’s shoulder, he pointed downward with the other. Culliford nodded, turned the aircraft in a wide sweep and shut off his engine. Slowly she sank, then, bumping only slightly, taxied to a halt on the long straight road that ran through the marshes.

  Gregory, Williams and Szaajer scrambled out and looked quickly about them. A cloud had just obscured the moon again, but next moment they spotted a torch being flashed at intervals some quarter of a mile away. While the three of them ran towards it the others remained in the aircraft so that if need be it could make a quick getaway.

  As they approached, the flashes from the torch ceased and they all drew their pistols in case they were walking into a trap. But Gregory went forward confidently, because for several hours past, except during his sleep in the aircraft, he had been concentrating on letting Malacou know that the pick-up was to be that night, and the occultist’s clear call to him, only five minutes earlier, confirmed that his telepathic communication had been received.

  The moon suddenly came out again and two figures emerged from a patch of tall reeds at the roadside. Malacou stepped forward and cried joyfully, ‘Mr. Sallust, I knew that I could not be mistaken, and that you were on your way. It is a great relief that you have got here safely.’ He then introduced his companion as the Polish engineer Mr. Kocjan.

  When Gregory had introduced the others Kocjan, also speaking German, pointed at the searchlight beams and said quickly, ‘Now that they have lost the sound of your engines they will know that the ’plane must have come down, and may suspect that it is British. It might have landed several miles from here, so there is no cause for panic. But, all the same, we must not lose a moment. Come; follow me.’

  Turning, he led them at a loping run along a winding path fringed by tall fields of reeds and occasional patches of water. Ten minutes later they reached the cottage.

  The windows were blacked-out, but an oil lamp was burning in the living room and Gregory saw that two men dressed in rough farm clothes were silently waiting there. As they came to their feet, Kocjan said:

  ‘These are two of my brave fellows. There are many packages to carry to the ’plane so I wish I could have collected more men, but this was the best I could do at such short notice.’

  Malacou, still breathing heavily from having had to run, stepped over to the stove and said, ‘I thought that after your long flight you would be half frozen; so I have here some soup for you.’ Pouring the steaming liquid into three bowls, he handed them to Gregory, Williams and Szaajer.

  ‘It’s very welcome,’ Gregory smiled, and Szaajer broke off a conversation he had started with the two farm workers to bow his thanks. But Kocjan said abruptly, ‘Drink quickly, please. We shall need every hand.’ Then he signed to his helpers and they followed him out of the room.

  While Gregory sipped at the scalding soup, Malacou confirmed in words the misfortunes that had befallen him during the past six months, giving a brief version of the thoughts he had conveyed by telepathy. As soon as they had finished he led them outside and round to a woodshed at the back of the cottage. It was lit by another oil lamp and Gregory saw that the two farm workers had already left with a first load. But Kocjan was there and the hunchback Tarik, who was helping him load a packing case on to a low, two-wheeled truck. Beyond them lay a pile of at least a score of roughly made crates and bundles. As Gregory’s glance fell on them, he exclaimed uneasily in German:

  ‘Good God, what a mass of stuff! If all that pile contains metal parts they must weigh a ton.’

  ‘No, nothing like it,’ grunted the Pole. ‘It is the awkward shape of many pieces that makes them appear so bulky, and several of the cases contain documents we succeeded in stealing in a raid we made on a German headquarters. They may prove valuable, although not in the class of the rocket. We managed to prise off the tail, so have the whole works and have reason to be proud of our achievement.’

  ‘You certainly have,’ Gregory agreed. ‘I’m only wondering if the aircraft can take it all. She’s fitted with additional fuel tanks, of course; but she needs every gallon for her fourteen-hundred-mile flight here and back.’ Then he turned to Williams and asked him in English what he thought.

  The Flight Lieutenant shrugged. ‘We have room enough for it, but there’s more of it than I expected. If he is right about the pieces not weighing a great deal we’ll make it.’

  ‘Come now! You waste time talking,’ cut in the Pole angrily. ‘Do you not realise that those S.D. swine are now out hunting for us? Every moment counts. Grab anything you can lift, all of you, and hurry with it to the aircraft.’

  The crate was now on the trolley and, at a stumbling run, he set off with it. The other four picked up loads and followed him. As Gregory staggered along with a big box balanced on his shoulder, he saw that the searchlight beams no longer raked the sky. That fact confirmed the Polish leader’s statement that the enemy knew the ’plane must have landed and now had their patrols out searching for it on the ground.

  Ten minutes later they reached the aircraft. Culliford had taxied it up as near as he could get to the path between the reeds, then turned it round ready to take off. The farm workers had already stowed their first loads in her and were about to return for others. Altogether they made a party of eight, but they all had to make two more trips before they had cleared the woodshed. By then, as the result of Gregory’s exertions, his bad leg was beginning to pain him; and the aircraft had been on the ground for an hour and ten minutes.

  By the time the last package had been stowed clouds had piled up so that the sky was three-quarters overcast, and Wing Commander Frencombe was a little worried that his pilot might not be able to keep to the road during the run-up for the take-off. He then suggested that the two farm hands should be given torches and asked to take up positions on either side of the road some way ahead of the aircraft. Szaajer translated the request and the two men agreed. They then said good-bye to their leader and the Polish Flying Officer went off with them in the direction of Rózan to show them exactly where they should stand.

  Seeing that it would be some minutes before Szaajer returned, Gregory walked a little way along a path among the reeds to relieve himself from a pain in the stomach that he had been feeling during the past half-hour. Kocjan meanwhile climbed into the aircraft and Williams followed him. A minute later Gregory caught the sound of voices raised in an altercation. Then Frencombe shouted to him:

  ‘Sallust, where are you! Your friend wants us to take him and his servant back with us. That wasn’t in the understanding, was it?’

  ‘No,’ Gregory shouted back. ‘Certainly not. I’ll be with you in a minute.’ Hastily he pulled up his trousers and ran towards the ‘plane. On emerging from the reeds he saw that Malacou was half in and half out of the hatch, and clinging to it, while Tarik stood just below him.

  Suddenly there came a shout from Szaajer, who by then was three hundred yards up the road. ‘Take off! Take off! Die Sicherheitspolizei are coming.’

  Under the wing of the aircraft Gregory glimpsed distant headlights approaching swiftly from the direction of Rózan and caught the roar of motor-cycle engines. In a mixture of German and French Malacou was pleading desperately with Frencombe, who was barring his way into the aircraft.

  ‘Please! Please! You must take us! You must! This country is accursed. You cannot deny me the chance to leave it.’

  ‘I can’t,’ Frencombe shouted at him.
‘It was agreed that we should pick up Mr. Kocjan, because he’s found out all about the rocket’s mechanism. But no-one else. We’ve all the weight we can carry as it is. Let go, damn’ you, so that Sallust can come aboard.’

  The duty of the Captain of the aircraft was to save it at any cost from falling into the hands of the enemy. Its engine was already ticking over and next moment he snapped an order to his pilot. The engines burst into a roar and the Dakota began to quiver. Thrusting Tarik aside Gregory seized Malacou by the legs and dragged him from the hatch. They fell together in a heap.

  As Gregory staggered to his feet, Frencombe cried, ‘Come on! Come on! Quick!’, then leant from the hatch and stretched out a hand to help him up. But Tarik, seeing his master attacked, gave an angry grunt, charged Gregory and grappled with him. It was no time for half-measures and, knowing the Turk’s strength, Gregory kneed him hard in the groin. With another grunt, Tarik released his hold and doubled up.

  By then the aircraft had begun to move. Swinging round, Gregory ran beside it. His bad leg began to give him gyp, but he was only a few feet behind the still-open hatch and Frencombe was yelling encouragement to him. As the Dakota bumped along the road its pace increased, but Gregory put on a desperate spurt and succeeded in clutching the lower rim of the hatch. For one wild minute he was dragged along while Frencombe knelt down to grasp his wrist. But just as their hands met the aircraft lifted. The force of the slipstream against which Gregory had been battling proved too great. His aching fingers lost their precarious hold. He fell to the road and rolled over and over into the reeds.