by Conor Bender
“Almost done.”
“Work faster unless you wanna get left behind.”
“You said move quick but take your time.”
“That was before I found out we may not have a way home.”
The commando’s eyes darted up from the charges and stared at Callum. “It’s one of those raids, eh?”
“Afraid so.”
The commando wordlessly nodded and returned to his work. His fingers moving quicker and less cautiously.
Callum stood up and looked around. The staccato of the Bren machine gun erupted from the doorway Tarbor was covering. “Panzerschreck! Get down!”
Parker watched almost in slow motion as the far wall of the winding house disintegrated inward. Two commandos went flying from the opening and landed with a resounding thud on the floor. Callum and Parker sprinted to them and checked for signs of life but found none.
“Leave them,” Callum said grimly, and took up a position in the entrance they had been covering. Gunfire started to erupt all around them as German soldiers started to realize what the target was. They started to converge on the building by the dozens, moving between adjacent structures and inching toward the entrances.
“They’re trying to cut us off!” Parker realized. He poked out from behind the doorway and fired, cutting down two Germans as they tried to move between cover.
“To hell with this,” Callum groused and looked around for the radio operator. “Shepherd!”
Shepherd sprinted over to Callum and ducked down below a half-destroyed wall as German fire snapped around them. He handed Callum the radio headpiece.
“What are you doing?”
“Seeing if our mortars can help us.” Callum snatched the headpiece and put it up to his ear. “Sir, its Callum, we need the mortars to fire on the winding house.”
Parker barely heard the conversation, but a few seconds later mortar rounds started to fall outside.
“Demo team, where are we at with those charges?”
“Done, Sergeant!” the team leader shouted. “Five minutes till detonation.”
“Everyone rally up on Tarbor, we’re moving back to the ship!” Callum shouted as he, Parker, and Shepherd sprinted over to where Tarbor was keeping their escape secured. Callum looked around. “Where’s Bagger?”
“Dead,” Teach said, gasping for air. “So are Leeds and Travis.”
“Shit.”
Parker looked around. Of the fourteen-man team, only nine remained. “We need to go, Sergeant.”
“Tarbor, Teach, you two are on point.”
Tarbor grunted, shouldered the heavy Bren, and started to move out of the building with Teach moving right behind him. They ducked behind a wall and started to fire blindly overhead.
The rest of the team quickly moved out of the wheelhouse, German gunfire snapping all around them. Callum ducked down an alleyway and motioned for the rest of the team to follow, firing his Sten intermittently as Germans started to close in on the squad.
“Move it! She’s gonna blow any second,” the demolition team leader screamed as they darted down the alley.
Parker scampered after him, running as fast as his legs would let him. As his feet pounded against the pavement, an explosion erupted behind him and nearly knocked him off balance. The force of the blast shook the ground, knocking a few of the commandos off their feet. Parker struggled to help Tarbor back to his feet and looked back the way they came. A column of dust rumbled down the alley after them, filling the air with a blinding film of smoke and dust.
“Stay quiet, lads!” Callum motioned for them to keep moving, and they carefully moved between the buildings. The German gunfire had ceased with the dustup, the smoke and debris hiding the commandos from the enemy. Parker looked around and gingerly moved after the rest of the team, doing his best to see where he was planting his feet in the darkness and smoke. As they moved, he double-checked their rear, making sure no Germans were following. The dust was so thick he couldn’t see, but he could hear voices and the sound of mechanized vehicles.
When they finally made it back to the Campbeltown, the ten-pound gun was firing again, but one of the Oerlikons was down. Its barrel was twisted at a gruesome angle and jagged holes peppered the length of it.
The team traversed the rubble and made their way back up onto the Campbeltown, occasionally returning fire as they went. As Parker clambered onto the deck he took an outstretched hand and was helped to his feet. It took him a moment to realize that it was the captain of the ship helping him.
“Alright, Lieutenant?” Lieutenant Commander Beattie asked. He had a gash across his head and dried blood covered the side of his face.
“Objective destroyed, sir.” Parker crouched down behind the steel plate next to Beattie and looked around. Sailors had taken up various positions around the ship and were doing their best to repel German soldiers trying to take her. He couldn’t help but notice that a pathway wet with blood had appeared leading to the aft of the ship.
“All wounded have been moved to the back of the ship for evacuation,” Beattie answered, following his gaze. “I have two gunboats ready to depart, but I’m waiting for as many commandos as I can get.”
“How many are missing?”
“Too many to count. Captain Carver has yet to return, and no one has heard from Lieutenant Colonel Newman.” Beattie grabbed a Lee-Enfield rifle and loaded it. Another explosion emanated in the direction of the docks. They both looked in the direction of the blast.
“That must have been Carver detonating one of the entrances into the basin.”
Callum looked on in horror and shook his head. “Oh Christ, Jerry is all over that side of the dock.”
Beattie looked around and coolly assessed the situation. “My ship is low on ammunition and personnel. If we don’t see anyone in five minutes we are departing.”
Callum turned and glared at the Lieutenant Commander. “What about the rest of our commandos?”
“I’m receiving reports that Old Mol is still under our control. We’ll make a run past it on our way out and if anyone is there we will pick them up.”
Callum hesitated and looked at Parker. Parker nodded. He barely knew Callum, but by the looks of it he was searching Parker’s eyes for a decision. “We’ll hold the ship, sir. Get your crews to the gunboats.”
“Good man. My lads need to set the charges below to scuttle the ship. I need five minutes, then run like hell to the boats.”
“Will do, sir.” Parker looked at Callum, expecting a reaction for taking over command.
Callum gave a slight nod and started to bark orders. “Teach! Get up on the Oerlikon, Tarbor cover the left flank with your Bren!”
The remainder of team’s Five and Four scrambled and took up positions where Lieutenant Commander Beattie’s sailors had been seconds before, and continued to suppress the enemy. Parker ran over to the ten-pound gun and started to spin both the directional and elevation wheels on the back of it and lined up a shot on a caved-in building. He pulled on the firing chord and fired. The shell ripped through one of the walls of the building and exploded, collapsing whatever was left into a heap of rubble.
“Smith is hit!” Parker heard someone shout, but focused on lining up his next shot. He rotated the directional wheel clockwise and it spun slowly to the right. Three German soldiers were manhandling an anti-armor gun over the rubble, trying to get a clear shot on the Campbeltown. Parker adjusted the elevation and pulled on the firing chord again. Another shell rocketed away and impacted right in front of the gun, spraying the three Germans with shrapnel and disabling the anti-armor gun.
“Fuses are set, sir! Get back to the gunboats!” Sergeant Callum shouted as he helped Tarbor, who was limping with a piece of shrapnel in his shin.
Parker ducked away from the gun and checked the deck to make sure no one alive was being left behind. Satisfied, he ran after Callum and helped him. “Jesus Tarbor, you’re a heavy bastard.”
“Well, I’m real sorry about that, si
r,” Tarbor said through his gritted teeth, barely understandable with his thick Scottish accent.
Parker and Callum carried him to the boat. The sloping deck making it difficult for them to keep their footing. As soon as they were in the gunboats, they were away. Parker set Tarbor down and walked to the wheelhouse with Callum. The boats were less than two hundred meters away from the ship as a muted explosion reverberated from the inner workings of the Campbeltown as her scuttling charges were detonated. All that was left were the big charges that would detonate later in the day.
Parker walked over to the helmsman and pointed toward Old Mol, the derelict lighthouse acting as beacon in the chaos. “We need to get to Old Mol and see if we can rescue anyone.”
The helmsman nodded in agreement, started to turn his boat, and motioned for the other boat to follow suit.
The two gunboats turned toward the Loire estuary and the old lighthouse that jutted out from the harbor. As they started to get close, the water around the boats started to erupt into giant geysers as German mortar teams tried to score a hit on the boats.
The helmsman pulled hard on the wheel and turned the boat.
“What the hell are you doing?” Callum shouted and whipped around. “Turn us back toward Old Mol.”
“Stand down, Sergeant,” a Navy Lieutenant said sternly. “We’ll be blown out of the water if we bring these boats to a stop.” He looked at the helmsman who was awaiting orders. “Continue your course out to sea.”
Callum opened his mouth to say something but Parker grabbed him by the shoulder. “He’s right.”
Callum shot Parker a pained look. He slumped against the railing and slowly nodded in agreement. “I hate these bloody raids.”
Parker nodded silently and looked out at Saint-Nazaire as they sailed by. As he looked around, he noticed that Lieutenant Commander Beattie wasn’t aboard either of the gunboats. “Where’s the captain?”
“He stayed with the ship.” The lieutenant’s bloodshot eyes found Parker’s. “He was moving up to man the Oerlikon as we were getting in the boats.”
Parker’s stomach tightened and he whirled around and reached for the helmsman. “We need to go back.”
Sergeant Callum grabbed Parker by the shoulder, it was his turn to be the voice of reason. “It’s done, sir, there’s nothing we can do.”
Parker turned and looked at Callum; the bitterness in his voice and the pain in his eyes said it all. Parker nodded slowly and leaned against the rails of the gunboat. He watched as thick black smoke burned into the sky all around the docks. From what Parker could see of the dry dock, it would be years before it would be fully functional. He spotted a number of gunboats burning up in the shallows, guaranteeing no chance of escape for any other commandos left ashore. He cursed softly.
“Oh Christ, some of our lads are stranded on the beach!”
Parker turned and watched in horror as two commandos sprinted down the empty beach toward the surf. A handful of Germans chased after them, taking poorly aimed shots every few steps as they attempted to capture them. The lead commando stripped off his bandoliers as he ran, and threw his rifle aside as he crashed through the waves. Parker watched as rounds clipped the slower of the pair in the shoulder and he staggered and fell from the impact. Feet from the surf, he turned and defiantly fired a handful of rounds, slowing the Germans just a bit before their own shots found their mark. The commando collapsed backward as three well-placed rounds drilled his chest. The other commando didn’t look back but continued to swim, struggling to get out to sea.
“We can rescue him!” Teach cried, “Come on, man, you can do it!”
Splashes of water started to emanate around the commando as the Germans started to fire at him. Parker watched with bated breath as the commando continued to swim. A little further and he would be out of range of the German rifles. Parker watched, confident the commando was going to make it but let out a groan as a round found its mark and the water around the commando started to turn red.
“Bastards!”
“Fucking Nazis!”
Parker said nothing but turned around and leaned against the railing of the boat. He prayed silently that Carver and the other commandos were able to escape, but he wouldn’t know for sure until they returned to England.
***
Smoke hung thickly in the air above the conference room of the War Office. The stale stench of coffee, cigar smoke, and cigarettes lingered in the air, creating a stuffy environment that Hambro couldn’t help but feel mirrored the occupants of the room. Mountbatten, Leigh-Mallory, and a handful of other staff members mingled about the room and Hambro couldn’t help but smirk at their overestimation of their own self-worth. The only people Hambro thought actually were required for this meeting were Commanders Ryder and Jacobs, and Lieutenant Colonel Churchill, the new commander of No. 2 Commando.
Lieutenant Colonel Churchill’s face was contorted into a visage of violent rage. No relation to the Prime Minister, he had taken command following the raid since Lieutenant Colonel Newman had been captured.
Hambro suspected that a number of Churchill’s friends were among the dead or captured at Saint-Nazaire. His gaze floated away from Churchill and he looked around and noticed General Montgomery as he walked in.
Montgomery quietly skirted to the side, attempting in vain to be inconspicuous, and made straight for Hambro and sat down next to him.
“Fancy seeing you here.”
Hambro shot him a weak smile. “General, how goes the war?”
“I’d hardly know. They still have me running that damned southern defense.”
“I thought you were taking over in Africa?”
“That’s been delayed a few months.”
Hambro nodded sympathetically. “I’m sorry to hear that. What are you doing here?”
“I have an idea for incorporating commandos into my forces when I go to Africa; I was hoping to speak with Lieutenant Colonel Churchill about it.” He gave Hambro a conspiratorial grin. “And perhaps SOE as well.”
“I’ll have to see what resources we have in North Africa first.” As he spoke people started to take their seats around the large table in the middle of the room.
“Looks like this show is about to go on.”
Lord Mountbatten walked to the front of the table, backdropped by a large map of the world that took up the entire wall. “Loves a damn spectacle,” Montgomery muttered under his breath.
“Gentlemen, as you no doubt know, the raid on Saint-Nazaire was an outstanding success and the dry docks have been disabled. We’ve—”
“Admiral, what do you mean an outstanding success?” Lieutenant Colonel Churchill seethed. He was struggling to hold his temper, but it was evident by the look on everyone’s faces that they were just as surprised at the raid being called a success.
“No. 2 Commandos was nearly destroyed,” Churchill continued. “Over two hundred British servicemen captured and over a hundred fifty dead. That’s half the raiding force.”
Mountbatten eyed Churchill coolly. “Lieutenant Colonel Churchill, I can understand your anger, but those men sold their lives and their freedom dearly. It was necessary to deliver a crushing blow to the German Navy.”
Churchill opened his mouth to fire a retort but was cut off by Montgomery. “I think what Lieutenant Colonel Churchill is trying to say is that if we continue to conduct raids with high casualty rates, then no one is going to want to participate in these suicide missions.”
Mountbatten eyed Montgomery with a look of veiled annoyance. “My dear fellow, the cost was necessary. I assure you, the next raid won’t be as risky.” With a languid wave of his hand he turned and opened his mouth, prepared to press on.
Lieutenant Colonel Churchill looked around at the rest of the audience in confusion, wondering if he was the only one surprised by the announcement. “Next raid?”
Mountbatten stopped what he was doing and turned and directed his a
ttention at Churchill, the way a headmaster would respond to an unruly child. His smile was strained but his tone was level. “Yes. As I was saying, we intercepted radio traffic saying that the Führer is most displeased with our success. After talking with the Prime Minister, he is very keen to continue with an even larger raid.”
The news had the desired effect, if not for the reason Mountbatten had hoped. Hambro looked over at Commander Ryder who was sitting next to Churchill; Jacobs; and Lord Lovat, No. 4 Commandos’ commanding officer and a good friend of Lieutenant Colonel Newman. They were all dead quiet.
Hambro knew very little about Commander Jacobs, but based on the look on his face, he was less than thrilled about the idea of another raid.
“I believe with the success of the Saint-Nazaire raid we shouldn’t rest on our laurels, if you will.” Mountbatten continued, “With the success of the Saint-Nazaire raid we have paved the way for the execution of Operation Rutter.”
Lord Lovat raised a hand but didn’t wait to be called on. “What is Operation Rutter?”
“A large scale raid on the town of Dieppe.” Leigh-Mallory stood up and walked up next to Mountbatten. “The RAF has been looking for a way to get into a large-scale engagement with the Luftwaffe in an attempt to cripple their forces. Based on Saint-Nazaire, if we conduct a large-scale raid on the town of Dieppe, the Luftwaffe will scramble to interdict and provide air support to the beleaguered town.”
Lord Lovat nodded his head slowly but said nothing. The look on his face was a combination of bemusement and skepticism.
Leigh-Mallory turned and pointed to the large map that ran along the wall behind Mountbatten. “By conducting a large-scale amphibious raid along the Dieppe coastline, the Luftwaffe will be forced to commit to providing air support for the defending force and our fighters will be well within range to engage.”
“So we’re conducting a raid so the RAF can score a few more points than Jerry?” Churchill asked hotly.
Leigh-Mallory shot Churchill a testy look, not keen on having his brainchild attacked for its merit. “No, the raid alone has significant strategic value. By doing this we are showing our Russian allies that we intend to take the pressure off them soon and make Germany fight on two fronts.”