Operation XD

by James Barrington as Max Adams

  ‘So we wait.’

  ‘Exactly. We wait. As far as the overall situation is concerned, the commander believes that the Dutch resistance against the German advance is somewhat sporadic, and we all know that Adolf’s forces outnumber and outgun anything the Allies can muster to try and stop them. So we can probably expect the first enemy soldiers to reach Amsterdam tomorrow, or perhaps even later today. Clearly Commander Slater-Jones has no precise information on the German force dispositions.

  ‘The other thing he said is that we need to watch our backs. There appears to be some local sympathy or even friendliness towards the Germans, and the commander suggested that if a unit of Jerry soldiers did appear in the city, they’d be more likely to be welcomed by some of the Dutch here than face any kind of serious resistance. He also said there’d been some reports of sniper activity in the city, but he didn’t know the nationality of the gunmen, so it could be aggrieved Dutchmen trying to pick off Allied soldiers or even civilians for some reason, or possibly a few German snipers who’ve managed to sneak into Amsterdam already and set up firing positions.

  ‘So from now on, we man those sangars for real. That means one soldier in each of them, round the clock. We’ll also start mounting mobile patrols around the oil depot, checking for any breaches in the boundary fence. Everybody here must keep their eyes and ears open for any suspicious movement, and we all have to carry our weapons at all times. We’re not supposed to engage the enemy – that’s not what we’re here for – but if we’re shot at, we’ll fire back, obviously.’

  The sudden wailing of the sirens announced another air raid, somewhere to the south of the oil depot. It looked to Dawson as if Michaels was right about the German bombers being ordered to avoid the tank farms. The other thing they all noticed was that there was remarkably little response to the raid from the anti-aircraft gun batteries that they knew were dotted around the city.

  ‘Maybe the bombers are out of range of the guns,’ one soldier suggested.

  ‘Yeah. Or maybe all the bloody Dutch gunners have run away and hidden somewhere,’ somebody else suggested. ‘Everybody else in this place seems to be legging it.’

  Even before the all-clear had sounded, a clerk from one of the offices at the oil depot walked quickly across to the British soldiers, most of whom were watching the sky for any sign of the German aircraft.

  ‘Captain Michaels?’ he asked.

  Michaels raised his hand in acknowledgement.

  ‘That’s me.’

  ‘There’s a telephone call for you, sir. In the office.’

  * * *

  Michaels was back in about ten minutes, and walked straight over to where Rochester and Barber were standing.

  ‘It was the bloody commandant again,’ he snapped, stopping beside them.

  ‘What did he want this time?’ Rochester queried.

  ‘He called me to order us to return to the naval barracks, and to undo whatever preparatory work we had done at the three locations.’

  ‘That’s a bugger. And it was a direct order?’

  ‘Yes, but I’m not doing it. I told him – again – that it was essential we remained on site here and at the other two depots to ensure we could carry out the demolitions as soon as the order was given.’

  ‘A bit risky, though, disobeying a direct order from somebody of his rank,’ Rochester remarked.

  ‘I know, but I still think I was right to do so. And, whatever happens, he’s from a different service, a different military organization, and a different country, in fact, and my direct superior here is Commander Slater-Jones, and he’s made his views very clear to me already.’

  ‘I don’t know why we don’t just blow the bloody lot up right now,’ Dawson said. He was standing near the small group of officers and could hear what they were saying. ‘We all know the Jerries are heading this way, and that there’s nothing anyone can do to stop them. Sooner or later we’ll have to pull the trigger, so why not get it over with? At least that way we could leg it for the coast and find a ship to get us home again before the Boche arrive. Sir.’

  ‘That, Dawson,’ Michaels replied, ‘is a very fair point. The trouble is that the Dutch are playing politics when they should really be looking at the bigger picture. Without an order from The Hague, if we blow up this lot it’ll be considered an act of sabotage, and the Dutch government would probably try and sue the British government for damages. And that would be a pretty hefty bill, let me tell you.’

  ‘So we have to just carry on waiting,’ Barber said.

  ‘Yes. If you want my opinion, the people at The Hague will wait until the Germans are actually walking through the streets of Amsterdam before they make a decision, so we’ll probably end up firing the charges when we decide it’s the right time, orders or no orders. And Dawson’s right – we’d have a much better chance of getting back to Dover if we could head for the coast right now instead of waiting around here with the Nazis getting closer all the time.’

  The same clerk appeared from the oil depot administration building and walked briskly over to Michaels again.

  ‘Another call?’ the captain asked, somewhat wearily.

  ‘Yes, sir. A Commander Slater-Jones.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Maybe the commandant’s lodged a complaint against you?’ Rochester suggested.

  ‘Thank you for that encouraging thought, Gordon,’ Michaels replied, somewhat icily. ‘You’d better hope that you’re wrong, because if I’m relieved of my command, it means you’ll have to take over.’

  Then he turned and followed the clerk back into the building.

  They all waited, with varying degrees of apprehension, but when Michaels walked out again, about fifteen minutes later, he had a smile on his face.

  ‘What happened?’ Rochester asked.

  ‘Worried that you might have to take over the reins, Gordon?’

  ‘Slightly, yes,’ Rochester agreed.

  ‘Well, you can relax for the moment. That was the commander, as the clerk said, and it was about the Dutch commandant, but he hadn’t been complaining about me. In fact, he won’t be complaining about anything or anybody any more.’

  ‘Why?’ Barber asked. ‘He’s been doing it a hell of a lot so far.’

  ‘He won’t be complaining or doing anything else because he’s been shot.’

  ‘Shot?’ Rochester and Barber said almost simultaneously.

  ‘What happened?’ Rochester asked.

  ‘The commander doesn’t really know at the moment, because the situation is still really confused. We don’t even know if he’s alive or dead, but he’s certainly out of the picture. It might have been a sniper, or maybe one of his own officers decided he’d had enough of him – Slater-Jones told me he’d heard two entirely different reports – but it doesn’t really matter. I’ve talked to the Dutch navy barracks, and his second in command will be taking over his duties. He was too busy to talk to me this afternoon, which is perhaps understandable in the circumstances. So, really, nothing has changed, but at least I’m not facing a court martial over disobeying a direct order.’

  * * *

  Lunch, eaten in the early afternoon, was a bit like breakfast – disappointing – but at least some hot food was available. Once the men had finished eating, including the two on watch in the sangars, Michaels gathered them together for a short briefing. He’d also asked Captain Rochester to attend as his deputy.

  ‘I want those of you not on sentry duty to continue with the patrols of the oil depot. You’ll be looking out for any signs of a breach in the boundary fence, any unusual activity on the roads out to the west, and any vessels loitering on the canal to the east. But you should also make sure that you know exactly where our targets are so that we can plant the explosive charges as soon as the order is given. Captain Rochester will be in charge here until I get back. If you have any questions, ask him. I’ll be inspecting this site as well, but first I’m going to visit the other two depots to make sure everything is ready the
re as well. Dawson, you’re with me. The rest of you, carry on.’

  The roads and canals in that largely rural part of Amsterdam were noticeably quiet when Michaels and Dawson made their way towards the closer of the other two tank farms. It was almost as if those residents who had decided to leave had already gone, and those who’d come to a different decision – to stay and try and survive the inevitable German occupation – had retreated inside their properties and had metaphorically, and perhaps even literally, battened down the hatches. The crowds they had seen the previous day in the city were nowhere in evidence near the tank farms, and the almost total absence of movement anywhere around them was somewhat unnerving.

  The other obvious omission, in comparison with the previous day, was that although they could hear the sound of distant artillery and occasionally saw a handful of fighter aircraft zipping through the skies above Amsterdam, there was neither the sight nor the sound of German bombers above the city. That struck both Michaels and Dawson as being particularly ominous, and probably meant that the German land forces were getting very close to Amsterdam.

  ‘This is the calm before the storm,’ Michaels remarked as they walked along yet another almost empty road. ‘That’s not a very original expression, but it’s certainly true right here, and right now.’

  The good news, such as it was, was that the detached troops at the two other tank farms were fully prepped and alert, and although the gun cotton charges had not been placed on the valves, pipes or stopcocks – that would have been far too much of a giveaway to the Dutch officials and workmen who were still maintaining the sites – the charges were fully prepared and could be positioned and fired in a matter of a few minutes.

  Once Dawson had checked that everything was ready as far as the demolition was concerned, and that the KFRE soldiers knew exactly which tanks to destroy first, Michaels briefed the men on the latest developments, and told them to remain on high alert because it was now clear to everyone that the German advance was probably within striking distance of the city.

  ‘You’ll all have noticed that the bombing’s stopped,’ he said, just before he and Dawson left the Shell depot, ‘and that almost certainly means that the Jerry ground troops are so close to Amsterdam that the Luftwaffe bombing raids here have been suspended for fear of hitting their own men. Let’s face it, there are plenty of other targets they can attack in Holland and Belgium as they head for the coast. So unless I receive a direct order to start the operation from The Hague – and on present form that seems fairly unlikely – we may just have to fire the charges on our own initiative when it’s clear that the Germans are just around the corner. So keep alert, all of you, and on my authority you can start the demolition either when you see or hear that we’ve started firing the charges at one or both of the other two tank farms, or the moment you see anyone who looks like a German soldier.’

  They were walking out of the gate of the Shell oil depot when one of the soldiers came running up to them.

  ‘Somebody from the British consulate called a couple minutes ago, sir,’ he said. ‘The consul would like to see you as soon as possible. In person, sir.

  Michaels muttered something inaudible, then looked around as if seeking inspiration. The problem was obvious. They were about 3 miles from the centre of the city and had no transport of their own, the launches having left the area once the British troops had been delivered, and the Dutch army truck that carried some of their stores from IJmuiden the day they’d arrived had been driven away almost as soon as it had been unloaded.

  ‘Wait here, Dawson,’ Michaels instructed. ‘I’ll see if the management here have got any transport available. Otherwise we’ll just have to walk it.’

  To the captain’s surprise, a small van from the Shell tank farm was leaving imminently for an address in the city, and there was room in the vehicle for both of them. The driver couldn’t take them all the way to the consulate, because of his schedule, but he would be able to drop them off less than half a mile from their destination, which was close enough.

  * * *

  If anything, there were even fewer people than they’d seen on the previous day wandering the streets that evening as the two men made their way on foot towards the consulate, and for some reason that made Dawson feel somewhat uneasy.

  ‘Are you spooked about something?’ Michaels asked.

  Dawson had just stopped, somewhat abruptly, at one of the many narrow crossroads marking the junctions between the pathways and pavements and the dark still waters of the canals in the Grachtengordel area of the city, where they’d been dropped off.

  The corporal shook his head and smiled somewhat ruefully at the captain.

  ‘I know it’s just a bloody cliché, sir,’ he said, ‘but it’s this afternoon and evening and everything here and everywhere we’ve been. It all just seems to be too quiet. And I get the feeling we’re being watched.’

  ‘We probably are,’ Michaels agreed. ‘In fact, it would be a bit unusual if we weren’t. The whole city’s on edge because the entire population knows that the German war machine is rolling across the country, heading this way, and here we are, a bunch of armed men wearing the uniform of a foreign power. A friendly foreign power, granted, but we’re still a group of soldiers from another country. The locals are almost certain to notice us.’

  ‘I think it’s more than that, sir. I’ve just got a kind of prickling feeling on the back of my neck, as if there’s an enemy soldier somewhere near who’s got me in his sights.’

  Michaels glanced behind Dawson, and then all around them, but saw nothing that aroused his suspicions.

  ‘You’re probably just on edge because of where we are and what we’re trying to do. And you’ve seen a lot of combat over the last few weeks, haven’t you?’

  Dawson nodded.

  ‘More than enough, sir,’ he agreed. ‘And quite a few times I had that same sense of being watched. Usually just before the bullets started flying in my direction.’

  ‘Well, as far as I can see this street is nearly deserted. I can only see a handful of locals walking about, and there are a few lighted windows in the houses alongside the canal, so it all looks normal. And there’s nobody behind us, so I think we’re probably safe enough. Let’s go.’

  Dawson nodded, but before he stepped forward he removed the magazine from the Schmeisser MP40 sub-machine gun he was carrying to check that the weapon was loaded. The MP40, known commonly and entirely erroneously by the Allies as the Schmeisser, after the German weapon designer Hugo Schmeisser, had no fire selector. It only operated in a fully automatic mode, but with a relatively low rate of fire of about 500 rounds a minute. That permitted short bursts or even single shots to be fired from the weapon if it was in skilled hands.

  Schmeisser had been responsible for the design of the MP18, the first mass-produced sub-machine gun in the world, but had never been involved with any aspect of the design or manufacture of the MP40. And while the MP40 looked remarkably similar to its linear ancestors, the MP36 and MP38, it bore no resemblance whatsoever to the MP18, which resembled a short-barrelled rifle with a large metal snail – the circular magazine – rather awkwardly attached to the left-hand side of the weapon. So precisely why the ‘Schmeisser’ tag was adopted for the MP40 is still unknown.

  Dawson slid the magazine back into place, checked that it was properly seated, and then set off along the cobbled street a couple of paces behind Captain Michaels, holding the sub-machine gun in both hands with the muzzle pointing down at the ground, ready for immediate use should the need arise.

  But they neither saw nor heard any hint of danger in that street or the next one that they walked down. People were wandering about: singly or as couples or in small groups. They saw a larger number of pedestrians in the street they then walked down, assembled outside one of the larger houses, but none of them even acknowledged the presence of the two British soldiers, just moved to one side to let them pass.

  ‘A bit different to that bunch of C
loggies we saw at the station,’ Dawson remarked, looking back at the last of the Dutchmen as he and Michaels turned the corner at the end of the road and walked towards the next bridge.

  ‘That was just euphoria because they saw us as allies against the Germans, as reinforcements for their own troops. But I think word got around the area quite quickly that there were only about twenty of us, and that obviously meant that we had to have been sent here for some other purpose. And most of them aren’t going to be very happy when they find out what it is.’

  Michaels also looked behind them at the corner, and then glanced around himself urgently.

  ‘Always trust your instincts, Dawson,’ he said, scanning the houses on both sides of the canal for any sign of danger. ‘One of those locals raised his hand above his head just as we reached the end of the street. It looked to me like a signal to somebody, and that could mean we’re in trouble, so keep your eyes peeled.’

  ‘Should we go back?’ Dawson asked, slowing down slightly and looking back along the path. ‘Find the bloke and ask him what he was doing?’

  ‘No,’ Michaels decided. ‘I might have been wrong, and it could be entirely innocent. He could just have been greeting a friend, perhaps. Plus, neither of us speak the language so even if I could identify him we probably wouldn’t get anywhere. We’ll carry on.’

  The street was typical of Amsterdam. A fairly narrow canal ran down the centre, and was bordered by cobbled pathways behind which rose tall houses, some only apparently wide enough to accommodate a single room on each floor. Still visible in the twilight of early evening, near the top of each building a substantial beam projected a few feet, a large and obviously very strong steel hook embedded in the outboard end.

  Most of these canal houses, as the Dutch called them, had started life as merchants’ properties, and the beam – it was called a hijsbalk in Dutch, meaning a lifting beam or cantilever – and pulley system was originally used to lift goods into the property from canal barges or the footpaths. Now almost all the houses were residential, but the beams were still used to lift furniture in and out through the windows, because manoeuvring objects of any size through the narrow doorways and up the internal staircases, which were also narrow and intended for people rather than things, would have been completely impossible.