Jubilee- Spies and Raiders

by Conor Bender

  “Politically.”

  “Apparently the raid’s success far outweighed the cost of human life and material. The Prime Minister was so thrilled with the raid that Mountbatten promised him another one.”

  “Wait, why? Mountbatten already gave him a successful raid.”

  Atkinson shook his head and turned the car onto Piccadilly. “Technically, he didn’t. Churchill knew Commander Jacobs was the brains behind the operation, and Mountbatten was unable to steal the credit. We had hoped that Saint-Nazaire would put a pin in this talk about raiding Dieppe.”

  ​“So Mountbatten wants a raid he can take credit for?”

  ​“Precisely.” Atkinson made another turn and brought the car onto Baker Street. “His argument for another raid is to show the Russians we intend to open a second front so they won’t sue for peace with Germany.”

  ​“I swear to Christ politicians will lose this war for us,” Cutter swore, his mind drifting back to Normandy. Claude, Talia, and Durand were capable and cautious they would do well, provided SOE continued to support them. He thought about Talia, his mind returning to the other night, and her harsh words. The memory was interrupted when Freddy brought the car to a halt next to the curb. Cutter got out of the car and looked around.

  ​Cutter spotted one of the soldiers dressed in plain clothes guarding SOE and grinned. “Hello, Charlie.”

  ​Charlie nodded to him and continued to lean against the fence outside SOE, a shoulder holster for a pistol barely visible underneath his coat. “Arch, long time no see.”

  ​“How goes the war?”

  ​“I’m not stuck in Dunkirk, so it’s tops.”

  ​“Glad to hear one of us is happy.”

  ​Cutter and Atkinson entered the front door of SOE and made their way through the typing pool to a conference room at the back of the building, where they found Hambro alone reading a report with a pot of tea steaming on the table.

  ​“Good morning, sir,” Atkinson greeted as he sat down opposite Hambro.

  ​“Morning, Freddy.” Hambro looked up at Cutter. “Hello, Arch, how are you?”

  ​“Good morning, sir. I’m well.”

  ​“Did Freddy bring you up to snuff in the car?”

  ​“I did, sir,” Atkinson answered before Cutter had a chance. Being home less than an hour, Freddy hoped to keep Cutter from causing a scene.

  ​Cutter nodded agreement and walked over to a side table along the wall, grabbed an empty teacup from an assortment that sat on the table, and walked back over to them.

  ​He sat down and poured from the kettle. He stirred, added milk, and tested it. Satisfied, he set the cup down and looked at Hambro. “Freddy mentioned the political consequences from the Saint-Nazaire raid.”

  ​Hambro scowled darkly. “Indeed, that damn fool Mountbatten is trying to move heaven and earth to ingratiate himself with the PM. He’s promised another raid.”

  ​“Anything confirmed?”

  ​“Dieppe is still the target. As requested, you will be taking over for Freddy as the control officer for operations in Brittany and Normandy.”

  ​Cutter frowned. The thought of Claude, Durand, and Talia developing intelligence on Dieppe without him left him with a hint of guilt. “What about Freddy?”

  ​Hambro poured some more tea into his cup. “Freddy will be taking over as my number two. Honestly, Arch, I expected you to be thrilled at the idea of taking over as control.”

  “Jubilant, sir,” Cutter said half-heartedly. “How many agents do we have in the field at the moment?”

  “Two, code-named Talent and Fowler. Freddy will brief you over the next few days on what is required of you as you two conduct a turnover.”

  Cutter nodded and finished his cup of tea.

  “Since most of your operations are still underway, I must remind you not to speak with anyone about them,” Hambro said as he stood up.

  “Understood.” Cutter and Atkinson mimicked Hambro and stood up as well. Hambro nodded to them and walked out of the room.

  Cutter put his hands in his pockets and looked at Atkinson. “So what now, Freddy?”

  Atkinson shrugged and sat back down. “We can wait a day or two to start turnover. Why don’t you go see your sister?”

  Cutter gave a hollow chuckle. “Both she and my father can’t stand me.”

  “Arch, you ought to see them. It’s been, what? Eight months?”

  “Lord almighty, you are such a mother hen. Why don’t you go and see them if you’re so concerned?”

  “Your brother-in-law was shot down.”

  “Peter? When?”

  “About a week ago.”

  Cutter drummed his fingers on the table absently. “Where?”

  “A few miles south of Caen.”

  “Caen is an hour’s drive from Quiberville. Why the fuck wasn’t I told sooner! I might’ve been able to get him!”

  Freddy’s mustache drooped down in a frown, but he kept his tone level. “We didn’t find out until a few days after. By the time we found out it was too late. Besides, you jolly well know that even if we did know we wouldn’t have told you.”

  “Oh, and why’s that?”

  “Because you’re too emotional. Arch, if you’re going to work as a control officer you need to remain dispassionate when it comes to decision-making. Had I told you about your brother-in-law, you would have gone galavanting off to save him, mission be damned.”

  Cutter chuckled darkly. “That’s funny, Freddy, because I swear I was told the exact opposite the other day.”

  “Rough go with your contacts?”

  “Just one of them.”

  “Woman?”

  “How’d you know?”

  Freddy chuckled. “You’ve never hit a rough patch in dealing with the Resistance, and we both know you couldn’t entice a tart even if you were wearing a coat made out of fivers.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “Arch, go see your sister and father. It’ll do you some good. We can talk later.”

  Cutter grunted absently and gave Freddy an annoyed look. “Fine, I’ll go see them, but I can already tell you it’s going to be a bloody mess.”

  “Come back Thursday and we’ll start discussing your new job.”

  ***

  Hambro left the SOE headquarters grumbling. As soon as he had finished talking with Cutter, his secretary had chased him down telling him Lord Mountbatten wanted to speak with him immediately. Hambro threw on his raincoat and strode out to his car in a slowly building rage.

  “Where to, sir?” his driver, Sergeant Monmoth, asked.

  “The War Office, please,” Hambro groused, doing his best to not direct his anger at his driver, but failing.

  Monmoth nodded and put the car in gear and took off.

  Hambro leaned back in his seat and started to review a dossier he had with him. It wasn’t a long drive from SOE to the War Office and Hambro barely finished reading a page before they arrived.

  He closed the dossier and clambered out of the car. “Stay close,” Hambro instructed before he strode into the War Office. He made his way to the Combined Operations offices wing and found Mountbatten’s secretary waiting for him.

  “Right this way, sir.”

  “Charles!” Mountbatten smiled from behind his desk. “Please, grab a seat. I’m finishing a reconnaissance report from Leigh-Mallory.

  “Perhaps you can tell him to start sending me those reports,” Hambro rumbled as he sat down.

  ​“You don’t get these?” Mountbatten’s eyebrow’s shot up in feigned surprise.

  ​“No, after repeatedly requesting them.” Hambro surveyed the office as he waited for Mountbatten to finish reading. After a few moments, Mountbatten set the report down and looked at Hambro. “So what do you know about Dieppe?”

  ​“It’s a hotbed for the Abwehr and Gestapo, and the headquarters to a German infantry division.”

  ​“And you have an agent in the region?”

&nbs
p; ​Hambro shook his head. “Not at this time. He was pulled out the other day. We now have strong enough contacts with the Resistance cell there that they are capable of providing us with reports.”

  ​Mountbatten nodded and pulled a cigarette out of a gold case on his desk and lit it. “I’ll be candid with you. With Dieppe being the target for this raid, we need everyone to put their best foot forward.” He took a puff from his cigarette and blew out. “I need reliable information before we can do anything, and if at all possible have partisan assistance.”

  ​“The Resistance is already providing us with reliable intelligence and will be able to provide support as required.” He looked Mountbatten in the eye. “Dickie, must we target Dieppe? This all feels rushed and disjointed. We have less than two months to plan and train for this raid and we still haven’t identified all the players to participate.”

  ​“Nonsense,” Mountbatten said dismissively with a wave of his hand, cigarette smoke whisking around his head with the motion. “The success of the Saint-Nazaire raid proved we are ready to attempt an amphibious raid on a grander scale.”

  ​Hambro took his glasses off, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and started to clean them, an action he often did when he was annoyed. “Most people, especially the commandos and sailors who participated in that raid, wouldn’t consider the Saint-Nazaire raid a glowing success. Of the six hundred eleven servicemen who took part in the raid one hundred sixty-nine were killed and two hundred fifteen are now POWs,” Hambro recited the numbers from memory and continued to clean his glasses, deliberately not making eye contact with Mountbatten as he did so. “If we continue to conduct raids like this, commanders will begin refusing any order to conduct a raid due to the suicidal tendency of them. I fear that as we continue to conduct raids with such high body counts the reputation and credibility of Combined Operations as well as SOE will be strained.” Hambro inspected his glasses a final time and rested them back on his nose. His pale eyes locked with Mountbatten’s. “Perhaps we should wait, or find a better target to raid.”

  ​Mountbatten’s face stiffened and curled into a scowl. Not accustomed to opposition, the usual charm and grace seen by many evaporated as his facade cracked. “Hambro, I don’t need a damn lecture on the basics of military tactics. This raid is happening. If you have a bloody problem with it I suggest you bring it up with the PM, who has already voiced his approval.” Mountbatten’s face had turned pink and a vein was throbbing near his temple. He took a moment to regain his composure and sat back in his chair. “Both you and Monty have been attempting to derail this raid from the start and I am damn well sick of it. I will not be questioned by some banker turned amateur spy. Have I made myself clear?”

  ​Hambro smirked but kept his temper in check, not taking the bait.

  ​Mountbatten shook his head slowly. When he spoke, his voice was low and deadly, “We will attack Dieppe head-on and we will hold it for Leigh-Mallory to engage the Luftwaffe when they come to interdict our forces. You will begin to gather intelligence and will provide a report in one month’s time. Am I clear?”

  ​Hambro slowly stood up from his chair, buttoned his suit coat, and nodded slowly. “I’ll see what I can do.” Then he turned and starting heading toward the door.

  ​“Charles.”

  ​Hambro stopped at the door and slowly turned.

  ​“I want a man on the ground gathering this intelligence, not some drunk Resistance fighter.”

  ​Hambro gritted his teeth but nodded. Without another word he turned and walked casually out of the office, making sure to look unfazed to Mountbatten. He silently trudged through the War Office as he weighed his options. He knew he would have to send Cutter back to Normandy and cursed himself for having to do it. He found his way to the car pool outside and strode to his car.

  ​“Headquarters,” he said curtly to Monmoth, and without another word clambered into the car and rode in silence.

  ***

  Sharon Bailey sat, legs crossed, in a lounge chair and watched as her son, Liam, played with his Uncle Arthur. Cutter gently kicked him a soccer ball and moved closer so Liam could kick it back.

  “What has Father been working on lately?” Cutter asked as he swung his leg out to stop the ball before it could roll down into the creek.

  “No idea, to tell you the truth. The military sent a few naval officers down a few months ago and asked him and a few other professors to help on a special project.”

  Cutter nodded silently. He suspected his father was helping to break Nazi codes. He took a step back and kicked the ball high into the air. Liam giggled in delight and took off after it.

  “Arch, do be careful with him. I don’t want him falling down.”

  “Relax, Sharon he’s still a wee lad. If he falls he doesn’t have far to go to hit the ground.” Cutter walked over to the lawn chair next to her and sat down. “I heard about what happened to Peter. I’m sorry.”

  “We heard he bailed out in time and received word that he’s in a POW camp somewhere in Germany. I just hope he’s alright,” Sharon said bitterly. Her eyes started to water and she quickly turned away.

  Cutter leaned over and put a comforting hand on his sister’s shoulder. “Peter will be fine. I know he will be.”

  “I just hope he comes home soon.”

  Liam waved at the two of them and backed up to kick the ball with all his might. With a running start he punted the ball into the air.

  “Nice kick, Liam!” Cutter exulted. He quickly jumped up and picked the boy up around the waist and put him over his shoulder and spun him around.

  “Easy there, Arthur,” Simon Cutter called as he walked over to the other lounge chair and sat down opposite his daughter.

  “Daddy, everything alright? That was a long phone call.”

  “Nothing to worry about darling,” the elder Cutter soothed. “Peter Hilton, you remember him from when you two were children? He called asking me to help him with something.”

  “What?”

  “He didn’t say,” Simon said guardedly. Cutter suspected he was lying but didn’t say anything. Quickly changing the subject, Simon looked up at his son in curiosity. “Arthur, I must say that I was surprised when you called to say you were coming up for a few days. It’s been months since we heard from you. What is it that you said you are doing?”

  Cutter set Liam down and wiped the grass off his trousers. “I’m working in the War Office.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Antiquity protection.”

  “The bloody hell is that?”

  “I’m working with the War Office to help identify targets the RAF can bomb that are not of historical significance.”

  “You’re telling them what they can and can’t bomb?” A hint of annoyance pervaded his sister’s voice.

  “Indeed.”

  “Nice and safe, away from any danger.”

  “Sharon, be civil,” their father said, though not entirely earnestly.

  “I’ve had to go on a few bombing missions. Nearly been shot down once or twice,” Cutter lied.

  “Really? Good God, man.”

  “I took part in one of the Berlin bombings. Actually ended up manning one of the guns on my Lancaster when the gunner got hit.”

  Both Simon and Sharon looked at Cutter but said nothing. Liam motioned to Cutter, asking to be picked up again. Cutter forced a smile and picked him up. “Ooof, he’s getting big.”

  Sharon’s demeanor changed when she watched her son giggle and laugh as Cutter spun him around again. “He’ll be as big as his father, no doubt. Have you met anyone in London?”

  Cutter hesitated, the memory of Talia’s last words clouding his mind. “Uh, yeah, I did actually.”

  “Oh? Tell us about her!”

  Cutter shrugged thinking about their night together and how he had left things. “Not much to tell.”

  “What does she do?” Sharon probed.

  “She’s a musician. Plays the violin.”


  “How did you meet?”

  “Met during a bombing raid, bumped into each other down in one of the shelters.”

  “Is it serious?” Cutter’s father asked.

  Cutter’s mind immediately snapped to the memory of her pointing a pistol at his chest. He suspected if he ever saw her again it would be in a similar situation.

  “It’s complicated.”

  Sharon could tell he didn’t want to talk about it and stopped asking questions. Cutter was relieved when their father changed the subject to the Prime Minister’s recent speech.

  Bored with the conversation, Liam scampered off chasing after the ball after kicking it too far down the hill toward the creek.

  “Arch, please make sure he doesn’t fall in!”

  Cutter nodded, anxious to get away. He ran after his nephew, feeling somewhat guilty about how limited his relationship was with his family, unable to hold a normal conversation with them without feeling like he was on the defensive. Why hadn’t he come back to see them sooner? Almost every time he had come back to England after a mission he had refused to. It wasn’t their distaste in the fact that he hadn’t picked up a rifle to defend the island that bothered him. In truth, he loved playing this little ruse with them. The fact that they never bothered to ask more in-depth questions other than the shallow “What have you been up to?” or “Where are you living?” annoyed him. Sharon asking him about his love life was actually the first time she had ever taken a genuine interest in Cutter’s life, and maybe that was why he didn’t want to talk about it. He wasn’t used to sharing his life with his family.

  Father had always been obsessed with his work, and when Cutter’s mother died, so too did the only parental figure Cutter had acknowledged in the household. With her death, Sharon had turned to Peter; and Cutter, like his father, had turned to his studies. Maybe that was why he was so absent on the emotional plane.

  Cutter watched absently as Liam struggled to pull the ball out of the creek. The water was only a few inches deep but enough to soak his trousers.

  “Let me help you, Liam.”

  “Thanks, Uncle Arthur!”

  Cutter smiled and balanced on a pair of semi-submerged stones and scooped the ball up and handed it to Liam. “Run back up to your mum. I’ll be right behind you.” He jumped back onto the grass just as Liam took off back up the hill. Cutter watched with a smile as the boy’s short legs propelled him as fast as he could up the hill. Would my family like Talia? Cutter couldn’t help but wonder.