The Command

by Christopher Nicole

He went back to the flat to make sure Jennie was all right. She had been joined by Standing, and both were very anxious.

  ‘I’ve got to get up to the border and see what’s going on,’ Murdoch said. ‘Paul, will you take Frau von Reger to the airport, and tell Flying Officer Grant to deliver her to Croydon and then return here. Jennie, you’ll drive them.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ She held his arm. ‘Murdoch...no risks.’

  ‘We’re all at risk, right now. You take care.’ He ignored Standing’s presence, kissed her and left again. The bombing did not appear to have been very severe, but reports coming in from the south indicated that the Germans had already driven deep into Dutch territory, and were advancing due west, exactly as Margriet had predicted.

  General Weenink agreed that this seemed to indicate that Margriet’s information had been correct, if a day out, but he was continuing with his set plan, giving orders to flood the country further north, and maintaining garrisons there to resist any attack. When Murdoch pointed out that there weren’t going to be any attacks up there and that it would be better to concentrate all his men in the south, Weenink said, ‘There are paratroopers everywhere, General Mackinder. We must defend our people.’

  The good news was that the British and French were moving forward very rapidly to assist in the defence, and the French General Giraud’s Seventh Army was expected to be at the border in twenty-four hours.

  Murdoch doubted they were going to be in time, as he took a train east towards the front with a Dutch liaison officer. The line had been blasted in several places, and they wound up riding borrowed horses, and taking shelter every few minutes as German planes swooped from the sky with chattering machine guns. In several places paratroopers had indeed landed to disrupt communications, and the Dutch were falling back everywhere, confounded by these novel tactics.

  They were also obeying orders and opening the dykes in every direction, allowing brown water to sweep across the flat countryside, which did not make communications any easier. Murdoch went down to the border where the Belgians were equally bemused by events, staring to the east and the south, listening to the roar of the guns, and gazing apprehensively at the sky. But there were no Germans to be seen; their main thrust into Belgium was far to the south.

  ‘If you were to move your people into Belgium,’ Murdoch suggested to the Dutch Major-General in command of the division guarding the frontier, ‘and then swing up the line of the Meuse back into Holland, you might take them in the flank.’

  ‘How can I take my men into Belgium?’ the officer asked. ‘We are not at war with Belgium.’

  ‘You’re fighting on the same side, surely.’

  ‘I cannot cross the frontier without express orders,’ he said stubbornly.

  Murdoch gave up and decided to return to The Hague, wondering where the British were, and Ian and Fergus and their tanks. Had they been in the vicinity the counterstroke might have been possible. But returning to The Hague was easier decided than accomplished. All communications were by now disrupted, all railway lines out of action. He and his Dutch Captain got back as far as Breda, and were there forced to spend another night, while planes roared overhead and they could hear the crump of bombs. Next morning, Sunday, Murdoch was enormously relieved to see French troops entering the town. General Giraud had made a most remarkable advance.

  ‘Ah, we are fighting the Boches, Sir Murdoch,’ Giraud said. ‘I am advancing to Tilburg, and we will check them there. You are welcome to accompany me, sir.’

  Murdoch was tempted, but he did not think the French were going to get to Tilburg; he could hear the sound of heavy firing to the north to suggest that the Germans had already advanced too far. In any event, he had been out of touch with his own people for too long. ‘I’ll come back next week,’ he said, ‘and see if you’re still here.’

  ‘We will be here,’ Giraud said. ‘My men are veterans. How can those Boches be veterans? Have you heard the news from England?’

  ‘What news?’

  ‘Mr Chamberlain has been forced to resign.’

  ‘That was bound to happen. Who is Prime Minister?’

  Giraud grinned. ‘Why...Mr Churchill.’

  ‘Churchill?’ Murdoch shouted. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Oh, yes. It is in all the newspapers. They are saying that now Britain will really fight.’

  ‘You bet.’

  Murdoch was more anxious than ever to get back to The Hague. With Churchill in charge surely he would be offered a fighting command. But travelling proved just as difficult today as yesterday, as Germans swooped overhead, apparently unchallenged by any Allied force, bombing and strafing. Most of the civilians he encountered seemed dazed by the whole thing, unable to grasp that their country, which had not been subjected to war for a hundred years, was being destroyed. Murdoch begged, borrowed, and even stole transport wherever possible, but it was midnight before he regained The Hague and stumbled up the stairs to his flat, his uniform torn and dusty, and extremely hungry.

  ‘Murdoch!’ Jennie threw herself into his arms. ‘Thank God you’re back. I’ve been so worried.’

  He looked past her at Margriet. ‘What the hell...you should be in England.’

  She shrugged.

  ‘The plane was hit in the bombing,’ Jennie explained. ‘It’s a write-off.’

  ‘Grant?’

  ‘He’s all right. He and Mr Standing went off to find another plane. They haven’t come back.’

  ‘Damnation. Any calls?’

  ‘Yes. Lee called. I told her you were all right, but we were cut off before we could say much else. Then the War Office called. They wanted you to get in touch as soon as you returned.’

  He looked at his watch. ‘I’ll try them now. Jennie, I am starving.’

  ‘Food coming up.’ She hustled into the kitchen.

  ‘How is it going?’ Margriet asked.

  ‘I would say not very well.’ He told the exchange what he wanted, gave his high-priority rating, waited.

  ‘You mean you are not going to stop them?’

  ‘Oh, we will, I suppose. The question is where.’

  ‘I am sorry, sir,’ the operator said. ‘There is a breakdown in the line. It will be repaired as soon as possible.’

  ‘How soon will that be?’ Murdoch asked.

  ‘I cannot say, sir. There is a war on.’

  Murdoch replaced the phone, toyed with the idea of getting his staff up and using the radio equipment in the office, decided against it; he was too tired and everyone who mattered in England would probably be sleeping as well. ‘I might as well get some sleep.’

  ‘What is going to happen to me, Murdoch?’

  ‘We’ll get you out, Margriet. Just don’t worry.’

  Jennie had hot soup and bacon and eggs on the table. Nothing had ever tasted so good.

  She sat beside him. ‘There’s not a lot left, and the shops are just about empty. Yesterday everyone just rushed out and bought everything in sight, despite broadcasts not to hoard.’

  ‘I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. I have an idea we may be pulled out of here tomorrow. You’ve heard about Churchill?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said.

  ‘He’ll be in touch,’ Murdoch promised her.

  *

  Sleep was difficult with the recurring air raids, but these seemed in the distance and The Hague was not again attacked. Jennie and Murdoch made love, because they were both tensed up. For Murdoch this was a unique situation, a war going on and himself quite without a command or even orders. He was at the office at dawn, working with sleepy telegraphers, trying to get through to London, chafing at the delays, walking up and down. It was late afternoon when he finally spoke with Ironside.

  ‘God, it’s catastrophic,’ the CIGS said. ‘They’re at the Meuse.’

  ‘At it? They’re across it,’ Murdoch told him.

  ‘I meant the Meuse in France,’ Ironside said. ‘They have established bridgeheads on the west bank. They’re virtually in Sedan, God
dammit.’

  ‘Sedan,’ Murdoch couldn’t credit that. ‘You mean they’ve crossed half Belgium and fought their way through the Ardennes in two days? Has nobody tried to stop them?’

  ‘It just doesn’t seem possible. You have no idea of the chaos down there, Murdoch. The Germans are using armour the way we used to use cavalry, huge squadrons of the damned stuff being hurled against infantry positions.’

  ‘But the French have more tanks than the Germans.’

  ‘Oh, they do. But not concentrated. And not being handled with any determination either. And then behind the lines the planes are bombing and strafing continuously, causing major disruption.’

  ‘We’ve had some of that. Where the hell are the RAF and the French Air Force?’

  ‘Being shot to ribbons. Do you know, yesterday an entire squadron of Blenheims, thirty aircraft, Murdoch, was just wiped out? We sent eight Battles to disrupt German infantry advancing through Luxembourg, and seven of them were shot down. If this keeps up we won’t have an air force in a couple of weeks.’

  ‘Well, at least Giraud and his Seventh Army are in Breda. They should stop the advance here.’

  ‘They won’t, you know. Giraud is retreating on Antwerp.’

  ‘Already? In the name of God, why?’

  ‘His troops are being strafed so heavily they can’t fight.’

  ‘What are you saying is that we are heading for a major catastrophe.’

  ‘Confidentially, yes, unless the Germans run out of steam. Murdoch, we want you out of there. Again, confidentially. the Dutch command is making “we are beaten” noises, and I wouldn’t like to say how long they’ll hold out. Have yourself flown across to London immediately.’

  ‘Bill, I don’t have a plane. It got blown up.’

  ‘Oh, hell. All right, I’ll send you another. It’ll be with you...I’ll let you know. Have your staff ready to leave at a moment’s notice.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Murdoch said.

  He tried to call Lee but couldn’t get through. That didn’t matter, he’d be in England either tomorrow or the day after.

  ‘How many can a Lysander take?’ he asked Grant when the two young officers returned from their fruitless search for an aircraft.

  ‘Depends on the amount of gear, sir. But at least six.’

  ‘So, no gear at all,’ Murdoch decided. ‘But there are a dozen of us, all told.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about me, sir,’ Grant said. ‘I’ll find my own way out.’

  Murdoch chewed his lip. He didn’t like leaving anyone behind. ‘You’ll stay put,’ he said. ‘The moment we land, I’ll turn that plane around and send her back for the rest of you. Understood?’

  ‘You are going to take me in the first load, Murdoch,’ Margriet begged. ‘If I am captured I will be shot.’

  ‘I’ll take you, Margriet,’ he promised.

  ‘I can wait for the second load,’ Jennie volunteered. ‘You are coming with me,’ he said, and grinned at her. ‘Orders from Lee.’

  *

  He felt exhilarated, for the first time since the German attack had begun, even when one of Ironside’s aides called back to say no plane would be available until Wednesday morning, but one would be there at seven a.m. He had at last been given definite orders, and he had no doubt at all that there was an important job waiting for him in England. Certainly he was accomplishing absolutely nothing here.

  He went along to see his friend Weenink and say goodbye.

  ‘I did not expect you to stay,’ the Dutchman said sadly. ‘Here, all is lost.’

  ‘Surely not,’ Murdoch protested. ‘They caught us on the hop, that’s all. Their advance will slacken any day now, as lines of communication lengthen, and we will have the opportunity for a counter-attack.’

  He was preaching conventional military thinking, but he did not believe it. There was something irresistible about this German advance, and the little experience he had of the effect of strafing on defending troops — during the German onslaught of March 1918 — told him that they were entering a new dimension of warfare. Indeed news was just coming in that in the Sedan theatre the French Ninth Army had been ‘destroyed’ by the combination of tanks and aircraft, and that the Germans were across the river and moving on.

  Weenink knew that too. But he had other things on his mind. ‘This is not war as you or I know it, General Mackinder,’ he said. ‘It is war between peoples, not armies. We have just been informed from Berlin that unless our troops surrender they will “liquidate our cities”, starting with Rotterdam. That is the word they used, liquidate.’

  ‘Good God. That is unheard of.’

  ‘So was Nazism, until a few years ago.’

  ‘And are you going to accept such blackmail?’

  ‘The matter is being discussed now.’ Weenink held out his hand. ‘I do not think I will see you again, General. But it has been a pleasure to know you and work with you.’

  Murdoch shook hands, and returned to the office to oversee the destruction of all files and equipment that could not be taken. But why was he so shocked? Hadn’t he used the threat of air power against the Mahsuds? Somehow that was different. Why? Only because the Germans were supposed to be civilized, men who would not torture or murder their captives. But he could no longer be sure of that either.

  *

  No one slept that night. They ate the last of the food in the flat, some sausages and baked beans, drank the last of the coffee. Murdoch had assembled his entire staff, ten strong, including Jennie, Standing and himself, to brief them about what was going to happen, and they drank a toast to each other.

  ‘We are going to win, Sir Murdoch?’, asked Sergeant Withie.

  ‘No question about that,’ he told her. ‘If not this battle, then the war.’

  But it was difficult to believe even that, at the minute. The final list he made up was himself and Standing, Jennie and Margriet, Sergeant Withie and Sergeant Upjohn, the chief telegrapher, for the first load. He felt like a heel to be taking the first plane himself, but he was under definite orders, and the others were the most important, after him. ‘But the plane will be back for you,’ he promised the rest. ‘Flying Officer Grant will be in command.’ He shook hands all round, and then they left for the airport at first light. There were craters on the runway and some fires burning, while the control tower had been knocked out, but it was still operational, and some of the few Dutch planes left were using it. The British party waited in the shelter of a half-destroyed hangar, watched enviously by the soldiers on guard duty, and at seven ack emma promptly the Lysander dropped out of the sky.

  ‘Flying Officer Nolan, Sir Murdoch.’ The young man saluted. ‘This your group?’ He looked them over. ‘It’ll be a bit of a squash, but we’ll manage.’ He arranged them according to weight: Jennie was in the very rear, Sergeant Withie and Sergeant Upjohn immediately in front of her, Standing and Margriet in front of them, and Murdoch in the co-pilot’s seat. Grant, who had driven them to the airport, saluted, and Nolan, who had not actually stopped his engine at all, taxied down the runway.

  ‘I have never flown,’ Margriet announced.

  ‘Neither have I,’ said Sergeant Withie as the plane bounced over the ground. ‘Wheee!’

  They were in the air, climbing sharply, and then banking steeply. ‘Oh, God!’ she said. ‘I’m going to be sick.’

  Sergeant Upjohn gave her a paper bag.

  At no more than six hundred feet the Lysander turned out over the grey waters of the North Sea, taking the shortest route to England.

  ‘How long?’ Murdoch asked.

  ‘Couple of hours, sir. Piece of cake, really. So long as we don’t run into Jerry.’

  ‘Hm,’ Murdoch said, and pointed away to the right, where, high above them, he could see six aircraft. ‘Like those?’

  Nolan craned his neck. ‘Oh, shit,’ he said. ‘I do beg your pardon, sir.’

  ‘Granted,’ Murdoch said. ‘They’ve seen us.’

  The planes were peeling o
ff and starting to descend.

  ‘Can we really stand losing another aircraft?’ Murdoch asked, wondering what it would feel like to fall six hundred feet — none of them had parachutes.

  ‘Not this one,’ Nolan agreed. ‘I think I had better turn back, sir, and wait for them to go away.’

  ‘You’re the boss,’ Murdoch agreed.

  ‘They are going to kill us,’ Margriet said.

  ‘Not if we can help it,’ Murdoch promised her.

  The Lysander banked steeply and descended until it was only a hundred feet above the waves. The coastline of Holland came in sight a moment later, but Murdoch didn’t recognize it; there was nothing but sea and beach and sand.

  ‘A shade south, I think,’ Nolan said. ‘That must be one of the islands.’ He banked again, and as he did so there was a sudden whoosh and a ripping sound. Murdoch saw the shadow of the Messerschmitt whipping past them in the same instant as he heard a choking gasp from behind him.

  ‘Oh, Christ,’ he said. ‘Nolan...’

  There was another whoosh, and some more ripping. Murdoch gazed at blood drifting away from Nolan’s tunic, seeming to take ages before it settled, partly on him. Behind him now there were screams and moans, but he was concerned with the plane, which was plunging nose down towards the sea. He grabbed the co-pilot’s wheel and pulled it back, and the aircraft responded, hanging there for a few seconds before going straight down rather gently, not more than twenty feet, into the water.

  It caused an enormous splash, and seemed to settle for a moment, then remained stable.

  ‘Everybody out,’ Murdoch shouted, opening the upper window and climbing out himself; there was no other exit, and he was terribly aware that Jennie was at the very back. And that he had no idea of how long the machine would float.

  A hand came up, and he grasped Margriet and pulled her out. ‘God!’ she screamed, ‘God! They’re all dead.’

  Her mink coat was covered in blood, but he didn’t believe she was hit herself. Or what she had said.

  ‘Come on,’ he yelled. ‘Come on.’ The plane was starting to sink.

  Standing crawled out, and pulled Sergeant Withie behind him. But Sergeant Withie was also covered in blood, and she was breathing it out in little frothy bubbles.