Jubilee- Spies and Raiders

by Conor Bender

  “Roger. Following after you,” Faraday called and pushed forward on the stick. He watched as Faust and O’Brien bore down on the harbor, tracer fire coughing from their guns.

  An explosion erupted from one of the ships. Faraday blinked, letting his eyes adjust to the bright light. That was unexpected. They hadn’t expected their guns to do anything more than make the sailors duck and hide.

  “You must’ve hit a fuel line or powder magazine!”

  “Reese Flight, orient on that explosion, engage targets around it.” The explosion illuminated the harbor, casting an orange glow on the remaining ships. Six of them were stacked neatly in a row, moored near the mouth of the Rance river. Faraday lined up on the ships so that he would fly over all of them and maximize the effectiveness of his guns. He lined up the pipper with the first ship in the row and depressed the trigger for three seconds. Tracer fire stitched up the side of the first ship. Faraday pulled back gently on the stick and the pipper jumped up to the next ship in the line. He depressed the trigger again and watched a spurt of rounds impact. He repeated the motion twice more and gained altitude. He checked both wings and made sure that Argyle and Chambers were still with him, and then surveyed the damage they caused. Two of the ships were smoking heavily. Faraday suspected that they would need to be put into dry dock for repairs.

  “Reese Flight, form up and return to base. Nice job.” Faraday started to gain altitude, quietly hoping they had caused enough damage to help the raid.

  ***

  Cutter grunted. He hated ambushes. Especially when he was the diversion. He looked up and down the road one last time to make sure Durand, Talia, and the seven other Resistance members were hidden.

  Cutter checked his watch. The weekly supply convoy was late and he was growing impatient. Nothing ever truly went according to plan, he knew this all too well, but that understanding didn’t help his nerves. To make matters worse, he hated waiting in the dark. It was pitch black out save for the limited illumination from the moon. As difficult as it would be for the convoy to see them, it was just as difficult for Cutter to see if someone was ambushing the ambushers. When he heard the crunch of footsteps behind him it nearly scared him out of his skin.

  “Sorry,” Durand whispered as he dropped into a crouch next to Cutter.

  “Jesus Christ, Durand, I almost killed you.”

  “Everyone is in place,” Durand said. “You think the other raids will be successful?”

  “I hope so. I’m more concerned about ours at the moment.”

  “The convoy is late.”

  “It’ll be here.” Cutter did his best to sound confident. He shifted his weight and looked up from the ditch. It ran parallel to the dirt road and gave him a good field of vision both ways. He looked over to where Talia lay hidden. Her female figure silhouetted against the moonlight made her easy to identify.

  Durand followed his gaze and chuckled, “How are things with you and Talia?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Olivier, the tension between you and her is so apparent even a blind man can see it.”

  “It’s difficult to explain.”

  “You slept with her and didn’t mean to.”

  Cutter turned and snapped his eyes on Durand’s shadowy figure. “Who told you?”

  “It’s obvious. Like I said, the tension is obvious.” Durand flashed a grin, but his tone was serious. “You’re trying to take back what you did by keeping her at arm’s length.”

  Cutter said nothing but toyed absently with the pin of his grenade.

  “May I offer some advice?” Durand didn’t waiting for Cutter to respond. “Don’t push her away, we all don’t know how much time we have. Her life is hard enough with her family killed and her country invaded. Is it so hard to love her?”

  Cutter said nothing, surprised by Durand’s candid observations. Maybe he wasn’t the big thick brute Cutter had characterized him as. He wondered if Durand was speaking from experience. But he missed Cutter’s motivations. It wasn’t about love, it was about survival. That was the problem with members of the Resistance, they were all willing to die for France. Cutter had passed that stage in his career and wanted to survive the war desperately. The last thing he wanted was for his emotions to get him or someone else killed. Victor’s death had been enough.

  “Like I said, it was just some advice.”

  Cutter shivered slightly as the damp ground soaked his wool sweater. “You sure you’ll be able to shoot the driver?”

  “Yes, just make sure you throw your grenade accurately.”

  Cutter looked around the road. The faint sound of car engines could be heard in the distance. Cutter checked his Sten submachine gun one last time. “It’s time.”

  He inched down a little in the ditch and pulled a grenade from the bandolier slung over his shoulder. He guessed the rest of the team was doing the same. He hoped none of them had nodded off while waiting.

  He looked up over the ditch and spotted the hazy glow of vehicle lights as they drove through the light fog that had crept in. They were half a kilometer away, Cutter guessed. As they moved closer, Cutter pulled the pin from the grenade, keeping the spoon in place, waiting for them to get in range.

  As they got closer, Cutter tensed, waiting for Durand to fire the first shot. He steadied his breathing and kept a firm grip on the grenade. He clenched his teeth. The convoy was close. Durand needed to take his shot now.

  Crack!

  The sound of Durand’s rifle split the air and tires screeched as the lead truck in the convoy swerved. Cutter flicked the spoon of the grenade and lobbed it over the ditch, bouncing it in front of the second truck.

  He ducked back down, and listened as his team’s grenades all detonated. He wasted no time and pulled another one from his bandolier.

  He quickly pulled the pin and stuck his head up above the ditch and spotted a truck stopped in front of him. German soldiers were scrambling to open the tent flap in the back.

  Cutter watched, waiting until the flap was open and threw the grenade. The grenade arced through the tent flap and bounced off the opposite tent wall into the bed of the truck.

  Cutter heard a few Germans scream to get out of the truck, but it was too late. A small flash and a loud explosion detonated inside the truck and a German soldier went careening out of the back onto the road.

  He struggled to get up, but Cutter didn’t give him the opportunity. Cutter grabbed his Sten and brought it to his shoulder and fired a quick burst. The rounds stitched down the German’s back and he collapsed.

  Not stopping to admire his work, he scanned the truck, waiting to see if anyone else would get out. He motioned to two members of his team to sweep the convoy.

  They clambered out of the ditch and systematically checked each vehicle as they had practiced early in the day.

  A few Germans struggled out of their vehicles, but were quickly killed by either Cutter or Durand’s team. As Cutter’s two teammates swept the trucks, they deftly set explosives on each vehicle and activated the acid fuses.

  Cutter looked around and spotted Talia striding toward a wounded German. Without a word she fluidly raised her Sten to the German’s head and depressed the trigger. Cutter winced at the gunshot, and watched as Talia silently continued on past the now-dead German to take up a position guarding the demolition team. Christ, she has more bollocks than half the men in her circuit.

  Once the charges were set, they checked one more time that there weren’t any German survivors and quickly departed.

  “This will get their attention,” Cutter muttered to Durand as they ran to a car that was waiting for them.

  ***

  Parker checked his watch; it was a little past one o’clock. The Campbeltown had crept into the Loire estuary roughly an hour ago, and was now making its way closer to the coast.

  Parker struggled in vain to make out the shoreline. It was pitch black, a result of the Nazis implementing blackout procedures. He walked across the deck, his Thompso
n submachine gun hanging from his shoulder and banging lightly against his hip. He spotted Carver and walked over to him.

  Carver looked up and nodded in greeting. “Nervous?”

  “Little bit. Your men look pretty calm.” Parker nodded to the entire forward deck, which was covered with commandos.

  “Oh, they’re scared shitless. They just hide it well.”

  Parker gave Carver a dark look, a combination of annoyance and wishing he hadn’t heard that.

  Carver smiled, his white teeth reflecting in the moonlight. “Sorry mate, how’s your team?”

  “I’m just along for the ride, as Sergeant Callum explained to me.”

  “Callum is a good soldier, one of my best. If he says to do something, do it.”

  Parker nodded but said nothing.

  “I know it’s awkward for an officer to be led by a Sergeant but—”

  “Sir, I get it,” Parker interrupted. “Your guys are seasoned veterans who have been working together for a long time. I showed up literally yesterday and I’m not a commando, I‘m tracking.”

  “You have no idea how few people understand that.” He extended his hand. “Good luck with Team Five. Hit your targets, then get the hell out of the town.”

  “I wi—”

  Parker was cut off by the muted thud of an explosion and the whistling sound as artillery rounds started to land around the ship. “Get down!” Carver shouted, shoving him behind one of the steel plates. One of the commandos ran to the ten-pound gun and started to prep it to return fire. “Stay that gun!” Carver shouted, pointing at the commando. “No one fire.”

  After a few seconds the bombardment ceased. Parker stood up from behind the steel plating and looked around in confusion. “What the hell just happened?”

  “We obtained a German code a few months ago, the Captain must have radioed in saying they were firing on friendly forces.” Carver walked up to the prow of the boat and found a spot next to the other commandos. “Won’t take long before they realize we’re not German.”

  As the salvo ended, the Campbeltown shuddered and the sound of her engines started to emanate from belowdecks as she started to pick up speed.

  “All hands be to quarters, brace for collision!” a sailor called from the bridge.

  “This is insane!” a commando shouted as the Campbeltown churned through the waves.

  A pair of searchlights on the coast started to sweep the bay and locked onto the ship. The lights flashed a series of signals to the Campbeltown, trying to get her to slow down.

  After two failed attempts, the German defenses resumed firing on the ship. Machine gun rounds pinged off the steel plating and the ship’s hull, as the German shore defenses started to concentrate fire on the British ship. Sergeant Callum moved past Carver and Parker and started to shout at his fellow commandos, “Take cover! Save your ammunition! Let the Navy return fire!”

  Bullets whizzed past Parker’s head and cracked against the hull of the ship leaving him half deaf from the noise. He looked around and spotted a commando clambering up the ladder into the ten-pound gun’s firing control. In seconds the gun started to return fire at a steady rate. Between that and the British destroyers in the convoy opening fire, Parker was hard pressed to hear anyone next to him unless they were shouting in his ear.

  Parker kept his head down and did his best to keep his whole body behind the steel planking. A round ricocheted off the deck and hit a commando next to Parker in the chest, leaving a hole the size of a plump cherry where it exited his back. He crumpled backward from the force of the round and landed on Parker. He was a heavy bastard, Parker noticed, and moved quickly to get out from under him, abandoning all observance of handling a dead man’s body respectfully. It was the first time Parker had ever seen a man killed; the shock of his death was subdued by Parker’s frantic drive to avoid getting shot himself. As they got closer to shore the intensity of fire started to increase. Small caliber rounds from rifles started to crack over Parker’s head and crash against the bulkhead.

  “Brace for impact!” commandos shouted up and down the deck. Parker grabbed a hold of a rope line that had been strung around the entire deck, and held on for dear life. He waited for what seemed like an eternity and then . . . BANG. Parker was airborne as the Campbeltown bounced into the air and landed with a crash at a lopsided angle. Parker tried to land on his feet, but his knees buckled and he cracked them on the deck. He swore loudly and struggled to his feet and looked around.

  “Stay down!”

  The prow of the ship was raised up out of the water at a twenty-degree angle and was canted slightly to the left making it difficult to maintain balance on the slick deck.

  Two commandos shimmied up to the prow of the ship and set up two Bren machine guns and started to lay down interlocking fires.

  Parker looked around the deck in a daze. His heart pumped a mile a minute and he was unsure what to do. He struggled to think. The fear flowing from the back of his neck down to his fingertips and toes was paralyzing. Gunfire drowned out all other noises, and the flash of flares and spotlights filling the interior of the dry dock was blinding. It all acted like a mental barrier, an overload of the senses. He struggled to move, and took up a position near the two commandos manning the Brens. He checked his Thompson and made sure a round was chambered and started to fire blindly. He finished a magazine and started to reload, when a rough hand grabbed him from behind and shoved him toward the shorter end of the lopsided boat. It was Sergeant Callum. “Everyone over the sides!” He didn’t wait for an answer but kept moving around the deck, grabbing commandos and shoving and kicking them toward where a handful of commandos were scrambling through the debris trying to get out of the dry dock.

  Parker looked around, as though being shaken out of a trance. He looked up at the Campbeltown’s bridge as he made his way toward the edge of the ship. The Oerlikon guns below the bridge were spewing fire as they raked the interior of the dry dock. The bridge itself was a wreckage of shattered glass.

  Parker wondered if the captain or anyone else on the bridge was still alive but didn’t have time to think about it. He planted his hand firmly on the edge of the ship’s bulkhead and threw a leg over. The drop was a little more than he anticipated but he had little choice but to fall. He landed on his feet, then quickly rolled like he learned in jump school to spread load the impact and lower the risk of spraining his ankles. He stood up and looked around.

  The outer wall of the dry dock had collapsed in and had provided the commandos with sufficient cover to rally and push out to their objectives. But water was slowly filling the dock from where the outer wall had been destroyed.

  Parker spotted Carver tucked behind a piece of rubble, waving commandos forward and checking their gear. He sloshed through the calf-high water and ducked behind the nearest piece of rubble.

  As he strained to hear what Carver was saying, he noticed the ten-pound gun had stopped firing, but the Oerlikons were still coughing.

  “Teams Four and Five, push forward and start clearing a path for the demo teams!”

  Parker moved up next to Sergeant Callum, who nodded to him and motioned for them to move out.

  The seven-man team moved away from the rubble and bounded toward the nearest building and took cover. They waited for the demolition team to catch up.

  “Alright, you lot, quick and clean. No mistakes.” Sergeant Callum cast a fierce glare at the team and, without another word, ducked around the street corner and took off down the road.

  Here we go. Parker took off after him along with the rest of the team. None of them bothered to slow down to orient on their target. Callum had instructed each man to memorize the street maps of Saint-Nazaire the day prior. As they moved, they quickly figured out where they were and, save for a few small deliberations on the quickest route, were moving quickly up the streets.

  Sporadic gunfire filled the air, but as they ran it grew more distant. Their target was the outer winding house for the outer dock gate
. Compared to the other targets, it was insignificant and closer to the Campbeltown.

  The commando team moved quickly, turning corners and maintaining a weathered eye for any German soldiers. Parker gulped air and ran as quick as he could to keep up with Sergeant Callum. The middle-aged sergeant was unusually spry for his age, staying steps ahead of the decades younger commandos and ranger under his command. As he rounded a corner he came to a halt and raised a fist. “The target is up ahead,” he rasped, trying not to shout. “Demo team, set your charges quickly and smoothly, take your time, but don’t dawdle.” He looked over at one of the commandos, a burly Scotsman wielding a Bren machine gun. “Tarbor, cover our six.”

  Tarbor nodded and moved to the rear. “Lieutenant, stay in the middle.” Callum pointed at two commandos. “Bagger, Teach, take point and move through the winding house.”

  The team moved to the entrance of the building and moved in. The winding house was a large structure that housed the controls for closing and opening the dry dock as well as flooding it. Parker scanned the scaffolding that bisected the second floor of the building, expecting a few snipers to be watching them, but the building was deserted.

  Both Bagger and Teach swept through the building and started to move down the walls. The demolition team broke off from the assault team and got to work. They started to lay charges while the assault team secured the entrances. Parker walked over to Callum, who was standing next to the radio operator.

  “Everything alright?”

  Callum shook his head, his face grave. “The Germans are counterattacking, and by the sound of it a lot of our gunboats have been sunk. I’m worried we won’t be able to get out of here.”

  “Do we still have the Campbeltown?”

  “For now, yes. I don’t know how much longer.”

  Parker nodded in understanding. It didn’t take a tactician to realize that if they didn’t move fast they would be left behind. “We need to get back to her, it’s our best chance of pulling back.”

  Callum agreed. He walked over to one of the commandos working with the charges and asked, “How much longer?”