by Alan Evans
Smith told Galloway, “Bring up the soldiers on the starboard side.” That was the side away from the firing that started now, one machine-gun rattling from the shore then another. Cassandra’s replied, tracer-like fireflies arcing lazily across the dark sky. “Starboard a point:” to bring the ship’s head around a fraction further towards the troopship, setting Cassandra gliding in across this sheltered water that lay still and reflective as a dark mirror.
The searchlights aft of Cassandra’s twin funnels were burning now. That sweeping the quay and square showed them now bare of guns and trucks. Smith wondered briefly at their absence — but first things first. The beams of the other two searchlights flooded over the troopship so Smith could see her name: Wilhelmina. She was a ship of around ten thousand tons with a single funnel and a long superstructure amidships. He thought she had probably been an ocean liner before the war. One of those giving “strength through joy” cruises to the Nazi Party members favoured by Hitler? But now she was less than a hundred yards away and men ran about her decks like disturbed ants as one of Cassandra’s light anti-aircraft guns fired a rapid burst over her.
He looked aft and saw the soldiers were on deck, a platoon of thirty men in the waist. They were grouped behind Chivers and the two dozen seamen armed with rifles who were his boarding-party. The soldiers would give him some extra hands to hold the ship. Smith turned back to the bridge. Kelso waited by the loudhailer, watching Smith for orders, who gave them now: “You know what to tell ‘em. There’s a party coming aboard and if there’s any resistance I’ll open fire. Lay it on hard.”
Kelso nodded and turned towards the troopship. He inflated his barrel chest, lifted the loudhailer and his voice boomed menacingly metallic: “Achtung!…”
As he went on with the rest of the warning, Harry Vincent, the navigator, straightened up from the compass and murmured, “Do they really say that?”
But there was no firing as Cassandra ground alongside the transport. Chivers and his seamen poured over the cruiser’s side to board the Wilhelmina and passed lines to hold the two ships briefly together. Then the soldiers followed more clumsily.
Smith turned and saw Ailsa Grange anchoring astern of Cassandra. Her boats were swung out and being lowered. There were figures that would be khaki-clad but were black in the night, crowding her deck. Ellis was taking a chance bringing up his men so soon after firing from the shore. Or possibly he was demonstrating his trust in Smith, who breathed more easily as he saw that trust was not misplaced. Cassandra’s machine-guns were sweeping the shore and so were her light anti-aircraft guns, hurling the little 20 mm. shells into the square and the buildings. There was no answering fire now.
But beyond the little town, scarcely a village, the hillside was prickled with the darting flames of muzzle-flashes. That was the company of Ellis’s soldiers that had been landed at the inlet and guided there by Corporal Lugg.
Smith faced forward and told Galloway, “Now bring up the marines.” Then he snapped at Kelso, “Give me that!”
Kelso handed over the loudhailer and Smith demanded, voice crackling harsh and urgent between the two ships, “What’s going on, Mr Chivers?”
Chivers appeared at the front of Wilhelmina’s bridge, lit by a searchlight’s beam, as the echoes of the loudhailer died away. He answered using a hand megaphone, squawking, “She’s ours, sir! Crew under guard and I’ve got her skipper and his officers here on the bridge. The skipper’s surrendered the ship!”
Smith called, “Very good!” Chivers raised a hand in acknowledgment and Smith passed the instrument back to Kelso then turned on Appleby. “Bring your party!” Men were afraid in action. They would be bloody fools if they were not. Smith had to do something about this young officer — and see what Appleby could do for himself.
The midshipman looked thinner and paler under the big steel helmet he wore and in the flickering light from the guns. His voice followed squeakily as Smith slid down the ladders to the deck: “Aye, aye, sir!”
Merrick and his marines were gathered in the waist, going down into Per Kosskull’s boat and one of Cassandra’s two launches. The rest of the soldiers still aboard would go in those launches. Muzzle-flashes and the darting beams of searchlights alternately dazzled the eyes or lit up the scene. Smith saw the sole launch carried by the Ailsa Grange was in the water and filling up with men. Ellis would be in it, but most of his soldiers would have to go ashore in the lifeboats from the Ailsa Grange, her seamen pulling at the oars.
When Smith reached the waist Appleby was at his heels and trailed by the two men Smith had asked for earlier. The signal yeoman had provided Sammy Williams, tubby, wide-eyed at the prospect of this landing under fire but a good signalman. The runner was Dobson. Jackman had detached him for this party because Dobson could run errands and Jackman intended to keep all his trained and experienced men. He had looked Dobson in the eye, seen the apprehension there and told him, “Just keep your head down, son, and do as you’re told.”
Dobson had replied with false bravado, “I’ll be all right.” And swallowed his nervousness.
Jackman could not answer that but cursed himself for the decision forced on him; he could not send anyone else.
Now Smith sent them down into Kosskull’s boat, followed them and found Buckley waiting at the helm. At Smith’s order the big leading hand eased the boat away from Cassandra’s side and turned it towards the shore. Smith, looking up and back, caught a glimpse of Galloway on the bridge and knew the Executive Officer was mentally shaking his head over Smith venturing ashore on this escapade. When Smith had briefed his officers Galloway had said, “You’re going in with the landing party, sir?” Ostensibly a question but in fact a criticism. He had gone on, “Surely Major Ellis — “
But Smith had cut him off there, with the sparse explanation, “No. I am in command.” And he would be there at the front, where he could see for himself if — when — things went wrong. Amphibious operations were complex. If Ellis had been experienced in carrying them out it would have been different. Or might have been. Smith grinned, being honest with himself, admitting he would probably have been in this boat anyway.
Appleby saw that grin and stared in disbelief. All of them in the long line of boats now heading towards the shore were crouching, automatically but uselessly, as the covering fire from Cassandra whined and howled overhead. And now there was firing again from the shore, the defenders there braving the steel flail that scourged the buildings in which they sheltered. Appleby heard a shriek of pain from forward in the boat, then saw another man collapse, to hang over the side of the launch some thirty yards to port. Hands reached out from the launch to drag him inboard. All this Appleby saw in the flickering, shifting light from the guns and the searchlights’ beams. He felt Dobson shudder, pressed close against him in the sternsheets of the boat. Or was that the vibration from the engine?
Smith watched the boats and the shore. The launches from Cassandra and that from the Ailsa Grange were keeping in line with his boat but the pulling boats from the transport were falling further and further astern. He could have had them towed by the launches but that would have slowed the whole landing. Instead he was gambling that the initial landing by Merrick’s marines and the hundred-odd soldiers in the three launches would distract the attention of the defenders from the slower boats. He would soon find out if he was wrong, prayed that he was right.
The stone wall of the quayside, glistening bottle-green with weed, was close now. The top of it stood six feet above the water of the little harbour but two flights of steps led up and Buckley was steering for one of them. To Smith’s left lay the square. Ellis had to deal with that. But it was bare now, stripped of the vehicles that had crowded it earlier in the day. On the right was the forest that clothed most of the side of the fjord but here, close to the village, an area had been cleared. The narrow road coming along the side of the fjord ran out of the forest, through the clearing and into the town. There was only the small, squat hut in the cleari
ng at the side of the snow-covered road. There was no sentry now and no firing from the hut. Had he run into the forest for cover?
Buckley laid the boat neatly at the foot of the steps and Merrick’s launch bumped alongside. Smith sprang out onto the steps, skidded on weed then recovered and ran up them two at a time. He was aware of Merrick at the head of his marines just a running pace behind him. There was only firing from the houses in the square now, the barrage from Cassandra having ceased as the landing party charged ashore. Voices came only faintly through the scattered, echoing reports.
Appleby had frozen like stone under that flailing bombardment but now he was squeezed from his seat by the pressure of bodies, seamen and marines, forcing themselves out of the boat. Buckley’s hand thrust into his back did the rest and he was out on the steps, taking Dobson with him.
Smith ran out onto the quay. He did not halt there in that empty expanse devoid of cover but held on towards the road. In a few strides he was passed by Merrick, long-legged and young enough to be Smith’s son. The marines, rifles held across their chests at the high port, raced after him. They fanned out as they came to the road, crossing it, then the clearing, and finding cover in the fringes of the forest.
The hut by the track was wooden but substantial, built of tarred timbers like railway sleepers, half a foot thick. Smith shoved at the door and entered as it swung open. He saw tools, axes and two-handed saws, stacked against one wall — used for clearing the timber outside? And he made out a table and a chair under the single window that looked out onto the road and the forest, then that grey square of the window was shattered by a bullet and he crouched below the table. Figures banged in through the swinging door one after the other: Appleby, Dobson, Sammy Williams clutching his signal lamp — and Buckley.
Smith glared at him. He had told Buckley to stay in the boat, given him a direct order but here he was. Buckley met the glare with a blank stare. Smith took a breath then let it out, promised himself he would deal with this later and instead snapped at Williams, “Send … “ Orders to Galloway on board Cassandra to bring down fire higher in the forest. There were muzzle flashes up there and they would be from some of the German garrison. They had been taken by surprise and thrown out of the town by his two-pronged assault but they were still disciplined, still a threat. One of them had smashed the window. They had to be silenced and driven out of their positions.
He and Williams crawled past the others and out of the hut, round to the side away from the forest. Buckley followed them. Williams could use his lamp there and the signal blinked out. Smith bawled across to Merrick, “Sandy will be shooting-up the hill above you in a minute! Keep your men down till he finishes!” Then he looked past the clearing to the square and saw Ellis’s soldiers crossing it at the double. There was no sign of firing from any of the buildings around the square now. The shelling had started fires in two of the buildings. They looked to be wooden and the flames were leaping high. He saw Ellis in the red light from the fire, pistol in one hand, the other arm outstretched and pointing as he shouted orders.
Appleby had watched Buckley leave the womb-like safety of the hut to follow Smith. Now there were only the two of them left in the deeper darkness in there and he felt rather than saw Dobson watching him. Appleby crawled out of the hut and with a shuddering breath stood up beside Smith. He found Dobson was behind him.
Smith turned and found them huddled close against him like … But the comparison would not be brought to mind. He warned, “Don’t crowd together. You make too big a target.” He glanced at Buckley, hunkered down behind a tree ten yards away and watching Smith, who nodded reluctant approval and muttered, “You bloody well ought to know.” Then more mildly he told the other two, “Next time, spread out a bit but keep an eye on me for my orders.”
The fire came in from Cassandra then and they all crouched. The shells shrieked overhead, showering them with broken branches and twigs from the overhanging trees before hammering into the forest. But now Appleby and Dobson, eyes on Smith, did not shake. When the guns fell silent again they heard Merrick’s whistle and he and his marines climbed higher into the forested slopes. There was no more firing from up there.
Smith led his little party back into Bergsund and in the fire-lit square he met Ellis, who reported, “All secure. I’ve made contact with my company coming in from behind the town; in the form of your Corporal Lugg, in fact. Jerry has been squeezed out and he’s now. up in the forest.” Ellis showed his teeth, white in a dirty face, a relieved grin. “He’s probably wondering what the hell hit him. And it looks like you were right; he was only here in something like company strength.” He waved his hand to encompass the empty square, “The vehicles and guns have gone, too.”
Woodman, the interpreter, had appeared and now said, “I think I might be able to shed a little light there, sir.” He had two men with him, one in his mid-twenties and in a khaki uniform, the other stout and twice his age, wearing a long overcoat and a fur hat. Woodman indicated the latter, “This is the mayor, for want of a better word. Anyway, he seems to be a local spokesman. He says the Germans are commanded by an Oberst Klaus Grundmann. He thinks there are about two thousand of them. They spent most of today unloading trucks, guns and supplies. Then later in the afternoon most of them set off to march inland. Just a couple of hours ago Grundmann loaded the rest into trucks and led them inland himself. He left one company to hold this place.”
Smith looked at his watch and saw it was half an hour to midnight. And only one company left to hold Bergsund meant that the German commander — Grundmann — had not expected an assault by the British and was ignorant of Cassandra’s presence.
He asked, “Did this holding company have a wireless set?”
Woodman asked the mayor, who shook his head, but the tall young man in khaki spoke rapidly. Woodman listened and said, “He’s sure they didn’t have a set here.”
Smith nodded. So Grundmann had relied on the telephone for his company holding Bergsund to keep in touch with him. That might be good news, because Corporal Lugg had cut the telephone lines, but the news of Cassandra’s arrival could be carried to Grundmann in other ways.
His gaze shifted to the young soldier with the mayor and he asked, “Who is this?”
Woodman answered, “This is Lieutenant Pettersen, Norwegian Army. The Jerries had him locked up as a prisoner of war. I asked him where his unit was but he clammed up. Just says he came up from Oslo. He got here from Heimen by boat last night and Jerry grabbed him as he stepped ashore. But he wants to speak to you — the officer in command — sir.”
The tall young man in khaki saluted. From Oslo? Smith nodded, “And I want to talk to him. Tell him I came here to embark a special cargo consigned by His Norwegian Majesty’s government — eleven tons of it. Ask him if he knows anything about it.”
Woodman put the question and translated the answer, sentence by sentence, the leaping light from the burning buildings casting shadowed hollows in the haggard face of the young Norwegian soldier as he poured out his story. “Well, sir, he says he and ten men of his platoon were detailed to escort this cargo up to Bergsund…”
Smith listened. They had boarded a train in Oslo before dawn on the 8th, nearly seventy-two hours ago. It was bound for the north and consisted of only one locked wagon holding the cargo and a coach to carry the ten soldiers and their two officers, Pettersen and a Major Edvard Vigeland, who had command. When they arrived at the railway terminus at Mosjöen the cargo was transferred to four trucks and continued north by road, heading for a secret hideaway. But when Vigeland reported to Oslo by telephone on the afternoon of the 9th he learned of the invasion and was told his orders were changed. He was to take the cargo to Bergsund instead, where it would be embarked on a British warship. Bergsund was chosen, presumably, because it was little more than a village and thought unlikely to be the objective of an invading force.
Just the same, when they arrived at Heimen after dark Vigeland decided not to go on to Bergsund. T
he road was bad for vehicles and once there he would have no room to manoeuvre. Instead he kept the four trucks and their cargo at Heimen under guard and ready to move north or south if need be. He sent Pettersen down to Bergsund by boat with orders to report to him by telephone as soon as the British ship arrived to embark the cargo. But when Pettersen stepped onto the quay at Bergsund he found he was looking down the barrel of a German rifle.
He was taken to the commander of the German force, Oberst Klaus Grundmann, who talked to him with sympathy but questioned him shrewdly. As time went on the sympathy was discarded and the questioning became harder. Pettersen gathered that Grundmann had taken Bergsund only a few hours before, one party of his soldiers coming in overland and cutting the telephone line before his ships entered the fjord.
Smith broke in sharply here, “Did he say ships? More than one?”
Woodman put the question and translated the answer: “He says there was a warship besides the Wilhelmina. He saw them both lying out in the fjord.”
Smith wondered if that had been Brandenburg? If she had been here his landing would have been impossible. And cutting the telephone line? Smith grinned to himself. Tit for tat. Corporal Lugg had done that on Smith’s order before Cassandra entered the fjord. “Go on.”
Pettersen had tried refusing to answer Grundmann’s questions, standing on the Geneva Convention and giving only his name and rank. But Grundmann jammed a pistol against his head and asked why a Norwegian officer had come to Bergsund. Pettersen was not sure whether he was bluffing and told him he had orders to report any German landing. Grundmann had then sat him down at the telephone and told him to report to Vigeland that all was well at Bergsund. But he was to say that the owner of the boat that brought him had gone down with an attack of dysentery so he would not be returning to Heimen until the man had recovered. Grundmann had listened in. Pettersen had talked with a noose around his throat ready to be snapped tight if he tried to convey a warning. Major Vigeland had ticked him off for not reporting sooner and asked if a Royal Navy ship had arrived. Pettersen said it had not.