by Conor Bender
Getting on the C-47 and flying out of Normandy had been difficult. Cutter had wanted nothing more than to prove Talia wrong and show that he wasn’t a feckless English spy. The more he ambled around Oxford the more he realized he should have opened up to her. He had tried to talk to a few girls at the pubs around the university but each one had gone sour. There weren’t many women Cutter could meet that had similar life experiences. As Olivier, Cutter felt more like himself with Talia than he did back here in Oxford with his family.
***
Talia stared out into the darkness and silently wondered what Claude would say if he knew what she was doing. To hell with him. She fumed. It was because of his indecision that she was forced to this course. If no one else was going to save them, then she would.
Since Olivier’s departure, her status in the Resistance had reverted back to messenger girl, a task beneath her. After working with Olivier she had shown a capacity for sabotage, assassination, and ambushes. She handled a Sten well, and she understood the tactics of conducting an ambush better than most other Resistance members. But still she was a messenger. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel of the truck and weighed her options. It wasn’t too late to turn back. She could return Durand’s truck and be home before anyone was the wiser. No. She needed to do this, if not for the Resistance, then for herself.
Claude and Durand couldn’t see past the fact that she was a woman, and she hated them for it. But most of all she hated Olivier. He had given her hope. Before he had arrived she had been resigned to her place in the Resistance, but with him he had shown her how to do more for her country. She loathed him for sleeping with her that night and despised him for the cold treatment he gave her after, but she couldn’t deny he was a skilled provocateur. She clambered out of the truck and looked around. It was midnight, and other than the sounds of frogs and crickets in the night it was quiet.
Talia wondered if Olivier would approve of her decision. The surprise arrival of the SS had forced her into action. They had come without warning, replacing the complacent troops in Amsel’s patrols and had taken over the search and hunt for the Resistance. In the last week, the SS had seized four weapons caches around Dieppe. Durand and Claude called the seizures lucky, but Talia disagreed. In less than a week, more than half of the Resistance’s supplies had been seized and destroyed. Talia suspected the Gestapo’s capture and interrogation of members of the Dieppe cells had borne fruit. She begged Claude to move the remaining equipment, but he refused saying it was too risky. So now here she was, in the dead of night doing what Claude should have.
She eyed the decrepit farmhouse warily. It could be a trap. Talia reached for her pistol and reassured herself. It doesn’t matter, I have to try. She cautiously approached the house, straining her eyes and ears for any sign of danger. As she approached the front door, an owl hooted in warning from the caved-in roof and went flying as she opened the door. He wouldn’t be here if this was an ambush. She walked into the house and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. The room was bare, save for a few rafters that had collapsed and now stood leaning against the ragged hole in the ceiling. The moon glistened through the hole, providing just enough light for Talia to see. She quickly walked to the far side of the room and found what she was looking for. A small finger hole was barely visible in one of the floorboards. She quickly pulled it up and started to pull out the contents of the secret compartment. The ammo cans were heavy, as were the burlap sacks that contained a number of rifles and machine guns. She struggled under the weight but managed to move the entire cache to the truck in three trips. As soon as the last sack was loaded, Talia hopped behind the wheel of the truck and started the engine. She had two more caches she needed to get to before the end of the night and needed to move quickly.
CHAPTER 11
STRANGE BEDFELLOWS
Captain Malcolm Parker shifted his weight awkwardly, feeling somewhat similar to how he felt when he had first arrived in Falmouth for the Saint-Nazaire raid.
“Feeling alright, sir?” Parker’s company first sergeant, Craig Adams, asked.
“Just uncomfortable with the lack of direction we were given before coming here.”
Adams grunted, “I’m of the same mind, command gave us dog shit for information for what we’re doing here.”
“Agreed.”
Adams looked around in distaste. “So this is Newhaven?” He eyed the muddy campgrounds that were now their home. “Was it like this the last time you were with the commandos?”
“Last time we stayed in an inn.”
“Well, I think I’ll poke around and see if there’s some similar accommodations we can get. One thing I learned during the Great War was never use what the Army gives you if you can get something better.”
“You’re going to get along great with the commandos, I suspect.”
Adams clapped his hands together in finality. “Right, well I’ll have the boys start nosing around and see what they can find for the company.”
“Make sure we aren’t near any of the Canadians. I don’t want our boys being mistaken for the hired help and put on a working party like that major tried to do this morning.”
Adams smiled mischievously, his Southern drawl more pronounced than usual as he spoke, “Oh don’t worry, sir. I’ll make sure we aren’t with the general population.”
Parker smiled and scanned the campgrounds a final time. “We need to find the No. 4 commando CO, Lieutenant Colonel Fraser. I suspect he’s around here somewhere.” As he scanned the camp his eyes widened in surprise at the person he saw striding toward them.
“I don’t believe it; you’re supposed to be dead!”
“News of my death has been greatly exaggerated,” Captain Carver said with a chuckle. He extended his hand to Parker but quickly was enveloped in a huge bear hug by Parker’s much larger frame.
“Get back you bloody giant! I can’t breathe!”
“They told me you were killed.” Parker let him go and looked him over, noticing a large scar running up the side of his neck to his chin.
“Makes sense,” Carver reasoned. “We got cut off from Newman when he was making his last stand. We tried to help them make a break for the coast, but I ended up losing more than half my troop in the process. Me and three others were able to escape north, and with a little luck linked up with some Maquis fighters who were wondering what we were doing. They moved me around for a few weeks before being able to get me back here.”
“How’d you get this?” Parker pointed at the scar.
“Took a chunk of shrapnel to the neck. Damn miracle it didn’t kill me. Lost a lot of blood, but no arteries or veins were severed, miraculously. I lost consciousness after meeting up with the Resistance and was out for a few days. I woke up in a Resistance safe house.”
“Well, I’m glad we have you back. Do you know why we’re here?”
A wicked smile spread across Carver’s face. “Command wants us to do another raid.”
“Surely you can’t be serious.”
“Afraid so, old boy. The last raid was so successful they wanted another.”
“So that’s why my company is here?”
Carver nodded, noticing his captain’s bars for the first time. “Congratulations on the promotion.”
“Thanks. Happened when I returned from that goat rope of a raid. Where are we raiding this time?”
“Not sure. I’ve spent the last month training a new troop. They sent me to No. 4 Commando when I got back, but I managed to bring Tarbor and Callum with me.”
“They’re here?”
“I pulled a few strings.”
“Just like old times,” Parker chuckled. He looked over at Adams and noticed the confusion on his face. “First Sergeant, this is Captain Carver of the British Commandos. He was part of the raiding force that hit Saint-Nazaire.”
“Pleasure to meet
you, sir.”
“Likewise.” Carver shook his hand and looked Adams up and down. His eyes locked on his utility belt. “That’s a handy relic from the last war.”
Adams looked down and gripped the handle of the trench knife on his belt. It was a wicked-looking knife, with a spiked guard that covered the handle that could serve as a set of brass knuckles. A spike jutted out menacingly from the bottom of the hilt, giving the knife all the more capabilities in a close-quarters fight.
“Came in handy in the Argonne Forest.”
Carver nodded. “My father served in the Great War as well. He was at Somme.”
“Jesus, I’m twice the age of both of you. I’m getting too old for this shit.”
Carver laughed and motioned toward a nearby inn. “We better get this geezer indoors before the weather affects his arthritis.” In typical English fashion, the weather had taken a turn for the worse in a matter of minutes. Storm clouds were rolling in and the faint smell of rain was in the air.
“Call me a geezer again, I dare you.”
“So what do you know?” Parker asked as they walked into the tavern and sat down in a booth.
Carver shrugged as Adams walked up to the bar to get a round. “I know the boss was in a meeting a few weeks ago where Lieutenant Colonel Churchill, the head of the SOE, and Montgomery himself all argued for this raid to be canceled.”
Adams returned to the booth and handed each of them a pint.
“What can you tell us about Lieutenant Colonel Fraser?”
“Well, he’s formally known as Lord Lovat, and he’s bloody brilliant. He has extensive experience leading raids; commanded a few in Norway. He hates the military politics and has done a good job of shielding No. 4 Commandos from it. We’ll do well with him. He’s doing his best to make sure we succeed even if this raid fails.”
Adams nodded. “So why are we going through with this raid if General Montgomery doesn’t even want to do it?”
“Apparently Lord Mountbatten, the head of Combined Operations and the commandos’ boss, planned this raid without telling anyone until after he gave it to the Prime Minister. The Prime Minister loved the idea so much that he told your President and the Canadian Prime Minister about it and they immediately agreed to participate before anyone in the military was told about it.”
“Jesus,” Adams whistled. “So we’re doing this raid just because the politicians like the idea.”
“More or less.”
“So it’s a big raid?” Parker toyed with his pint glass as he spoke.
“What makes you think that?”
Parker looked up and extended his arms out. “Look around. The amount of tents, trucks, and people in Newhaven indicate this is going to be bigger than Saint-Nazaire.”
“It’s going to be huge. I’ve seen tanks rolling into Newhaven and the RAF is constantly sending people down here for planning meetings.”
Adams exchanged a look with Parker. “Are we sure it isn’t the invasion?”
Parker shook his head. “The U.S. Army wouldn’t send just fifty rangers if we were invading the continent. They’d have sent everyone.”
Carver shrugged and took a sip from his pint. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. We’re in the thick of it now.”
***
“Have a good holiday, sir?” Cutter’s newly appointed secretary asked.
“It was marvelous, Holly.” Cutter walked over to the coat rack and hung his jacket, insincerity dripping from his voice.
Holly nodded in understanding, missing his sarcasm. “It’s important to see family during these hard times.”
Cutter didn’t say anything to correct his meaning. “Any messages?” He wasn’t entirely sure what else to do with his secretary, since it was his first day on the job and Freddy had only given him an office prior to his departure to see his sister and father.
“Mr. Atkinson called; asked if you could come speak with him once you got in.”
Cutter nodded, and without a word slipped back out into the hallway and headed toward Freddy’s office.
“What is it, Freddy?”
Freddy looked up from a pile of documents in annoyance. “Can you for once just let my secretary do her job and let you in?”
“Sorry, old boy.”
“I doubt you are, but I’m glad you came. How was your holiday? Did you see your sister and father?”
“Yes, it was as expected.”
Freddy nodded sympathetically, understanding his meaning. Cutter was similar to a number of agents SOE recruited. An unstable childhood and certain personality traits often laid the foundation for a successful spy. Freddy wasn’t sure why, but suspected it was easier for those types of people to form attachments in the field and sever them quickly and immediately when it was time to depart or put the mission before a contact. He had seen many reports about spies being killed because they refused to leave or finish the mission at the risk of their contacts. It was loyalty and it was indeed admirable, but SOE wasn’t in it for the moral high ground, Atkinson thought darkly. They were here to defeat the Nazis, winning the war was the War Office’s problem.
“Hambro went and saw Mountbatten while you were gone.” With a wave of his hand he motioned Cutter to a chair and handed him a folder.
“Oh? What did that fool want with Charlie?” Cutter sat down and opened the folder. As he started to peruse it his eyes widened after reading the first sentence. “Initial reports based on aerial reconnaissance show that a raid on Dieppe, France, is highly feasible and capable of providing the RAF with a concentrated focal point to engage the German Luftwaffe within range of No. 11 Group’s Airfields . . .” He stopped reading aloud and looked at Atkinson. “What is this horseshit?”
“Latest brilliant idea from the head shed up the road.”
“Good, let’s send them instead of the commandos.” Cutter looked up in thought for a moment. “I suppose I better radio Claude and start having them put a concentrated effort on Dieppe.”
Atkinson nodded absently but held his tongue.
Cutter shook his head in disbelief. “God, I still can’t believe they’re going to go forward with it.”
“It was the reason we sent you to Normandy.”
“I know that, but we barely were able to investigate Dieppe. The Gestapo and Abwehr killed or captured every Resistance cell we sent in.”
“I know. Hambro assumed with Montgomery’s help they would be able to kill the raid before it reached Churchill for approval, but Mountbatten outmaneuvered them.”
“Freddy, we don’t know anything about Dieppe. Quiberville, Le Havre, Christ even Cherbourg would be better targets at this time.”
“It’s out of SOE’s hands.”
“Does the PM know that Combined Operations is planning in a bubble?”
Freddy absently shuffled a sheaf of papers. “One might say that is par for the course in the War Office.”
“Christ. Claude will not be happy about this.”
Freddy leaned forward in his chair and put his hands together in front of him, much like a doctor would when preparing to deliver some rather terrible news. “I’m sorry, Arch. Hambro did his best to try and dissuade him from the raid, but Mountbatten has already sold this idea to the PM and Churchill is onboard with it.”
Cutter’s eyes narrowed as the realization dawned on him. “You don’t want me to radio Claude, do you?”
“Hambro wants you back on the continent as soon as possible.”
Cutter stared absently at the map behind Freddy’s desk for a long moment. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it, taking a moment to control his temper. A flurry of emotions swirled through his head as he struggled with the news. You damn fool. Cutter mused. Did you really think they would keep you out of the field for the rest of the war? The realization dawned on him slowly but the revelation didn’t surprise him.
He had beaten the odds, survived the life expectancy curve. The things he knew he couldn’t just teach, so why would they pull him from fieldwork? His eyes drifted over the map and locked on Dieppe. “Why the hell did you even bother pulling me out?”
“We weren’t expecting to have to send you back.”
Cutter nodded but stayed silent.
“We will make contact with Claude and coordinate your insertion. Go ahead and begin planning to stay a while. While you’re there, we’ll begin setting up more frequent drops with the Lysander squadron so you’ll be receiving continuous support to arm the Resistance.”
Cutter nodded in resignation. The thought of going back didn’t bother him as much as the idea of facing Talia again.
“Arch, for what it’s worth, I’m truly sorry.”
“Doesn’t matter now, old boy.” Cutter gave a rueful smile. “You and I both know, an office job wasn’t ever going to be a permanent position for me.”
Freddy smiled thinly. “Not with all the good you do in the field.”
***
“You had no right!” Durand roared, slamming his fists down on the table.
“You were going to let them make off with all of our weapons unchallenged,” Talia countered.
“We would have gotten more from the English.”
“And wasted three months of work to build up those caches.”
“That wasn’t your decision to make! I’m in charge of our stockpiles, not you!”
Talia eyed Durand coolly, unfazed by his rage.
“Olivier is no longer here, which means you no longer have a say in our decision-making. You may have had his ear since you had his balls, but that is not the case now.”
“Olivier listened to me because of my good ideas, not because of what is between my legs.”