‘How do I fix the coating at high speed?!’
The sudden thump, thump of the wrench against his skull sent a sharp, lancing pain through his body. ‘Arghh! Arghh!… Do you not see it?’ Mayer covered his head with his good hand, and gritted his teeth. The wrench smashed into his knuckles, closely followed by a wave of pain. ‘Arghh! Electrostatic… you work it out!’
Steinhoff ’s voice boomed through the pain ‘Electrostatic? Very clever. How? How exactly?’
‘You’re the genius… your twisted mind… will never the find answer!’
A deep thud, pain, and the rush of vomit registered as Mayer passed out.
CHAPTER 39
Sir Hugh Sinclair, Whitehall
Sir Hugh Sinclair poured over the maps in the cabinet office briefing room and the latest reconnaissance photographs from Peenemünde with General Gort, the head of the British Army. The political situation in Eastern Europe was deteriorating rapidly, with Herr Hitler showing aspirations to annex parts of Austria and the strategically important Sudetenland on the Czechoslovakian border. Perhaps Mr Churchill had been right all along about Hitler, but nobody had listened – until now. The threat from Peenemünde was significant. The Germans could potentially target any major city in mainland Europe, perhaps even London. Regardless of any intent, the mere existence of the facility gave Hitler a political advantage.
Sinclair worried, but kept an outward air of calm efficiency. Any substantial military intervention at Peenemünde by the British would be seen as an act of war. Equally, doing nothing was not an option.
The German fleet was still anchored in the Heligoland Bight, in the north west of Germany. This was a natural harbour, and the towns along the River Elbe that fed into the massive bay had a long history of shipping and ship construction. Hamburg in particular had all the heavy steel industry and infrastructure needed for making weapons. The military significance of basing the German fleet in Heligoland was not lost to the sharp military mind of Sir Hugh Sinclair.
Not only could the German fleet move freely westward into the North Sea, but it was also only a short hop eastwards around the Schleswig Peninsula into the Baltic Sea. The fleet could quickly mount a defence of the rocket base at Peenemüde.
‘What about a bombing raid on Peenemünde?’ asked Sinclair.
‘Out of the question. Too overt, and politically it would be too risky. Britain is in no shape to go to war.’ General Gort shook his head.
‘Sometimes one has to take risks to win,’ Sinclair countered.
‘I agree, but the risk is simply too great. Besides, any bombers would have to fly direct to Peenemünde, and that would take them over the heavily defended Heligoland. The German cruisers with their big guns would chew us to pieces. There are also substantial air defences at Peenemünde.’
Sinclair threw another idea in to the mix. ‘What about a high-altitude bombing raid?’
‘No good.’ Gort rubbed his brow. ‘The planes are not up to it. They would burn more fuel than they can carry. In any event, Peenemünde is a small target area. They need to fly low to be on target.’
‘Then, what about a ground assault with regular troops?’
‘That would be political madness, and militarily we simply don’t have enough men and equipment. The only route in is by sea, and the Germans have the area well defended. We would have to defeat the German Navy first, and then battle ashore at Peenemünde. There would be heavy casualties and little chance of success.’
‘I thought that would be your answer,’ Sinclair paused, ‘I have been discussing options with the Secret Intelligence Service. Our boys from Section D are going to have a crack at the Hun.’
Gort stiffened with surprise. ‘Bloody hell old chap, are you sure?!’
Section D was a newly formed part of MI6 and its specialty was undercover operations behind enemy lines. Its sole purpose was sabotage and destruction of the enemy’s infrastructure. Or indeed, any other little job they were asked to do.
‘The operation has already been approved by Mr Churchill,’ Sinclair continued as he pulled up an aerial map of Peenemünde.
General Gort raised an eyebrow, murmuring to himself.
‘Clearly, the facility is well defended from an assault by sea or by air; but there is one weakness.’
Gort gave a cautious look. ‘Go on, I am listening.’
‘The base is at the end of a narrow strip of land that is serviced by one road. The route is not well protected. The Germans are simply not expecting an attack from within Germany.’
‘What are you suggesting? That we simply walk up to the front door and knock?’
‘Yes.’ Sinclair stood up and lit his pipe, puffing absently on the mellow tobacco. ‘The enemy is arrogant. That is their weakness. They will not be expecting such a daring attempt.’
Gort had to admit – Sinclair had a point.
‘We will use a small team with lots of high explosives. You can see from the photographs that there are four main areas to attack. The main living quarters housing the scientists and the guards, a cluster of buildings that, for now, we think are workshops. There is also the main experimental station. The latter is surrounded by concrete bunkers and is partially buried in the ground. We would need to get a man inside to do any significant damage.’
Sinclair seemed to have it all worked out.
‘What’s the escape plan? How do we extract the assault team?’ asked Gort.
Sinclair looked grimly at his colleague. ‘There is no escape plan. This is a one-way ticket for some very brave men.’
General Gort fell silent, and furrowed his brow.
‘General, I know… I know… but understand this; disrupting the German rocket programme is pivotal. It is essential to morale in the British Isles that no rocket ever makes it onto our soil. It is also critical from both a political and military point of view. The simple fact is that the Germans have rockets and we do not.’
‘And if the men are captured?’
‘Nothing will identify them as British. They know the score.’
‘Very well, then I agree… I just hope Mr Churchill has made the right call. This could turn into a pretty old mess fairly easily.’ General Gort collected his hat from the coat stand in the corner of the room. ‘Good luck. Obviously, we can provide anything you might need… just let me know.’ Gort gave a rare smile.
Sinclair nodded as Gort left the room, then waited. Alone at the large oak table, Sinclair dialled an internal number.
‘It’s on… ’
He hung up the receiver and re-lit his pipe.
Emily Sinclair snuggled under Nash’s arm, listening to the steady rhythmic beat of his heart. Her full warm breasts pressed against his rib cage. A sweet perspiration moistened her cleavage as Nash gently stroked her golden brown hair. He kissed her on the forehead and sighed.
Emily smiled, gazing up into his eyes. ‘I love the sound of your heartbeat… so strong… reassuring.’
Nash smiled back, running his fingertips over her left breast; the nipple instantly hardened. ‘I love everything about you too… ’ Nash leant over, and kissed her tenderly on the lips. She responded, pulling him in closer, feeling the undulations of the firm muscles covering his ribs.
The taste of perfume and moist lipstick filled Nash’s palate. He ran his fingers around her waist finding the small of her back. The softness of her skin tantalised his senses; with his heartbeat rising, he kissed her deeply. Her breathing increased, chest heaving; her tongue darted in and out of his mouth between gasps.
‘Oh Danny! I wish this could last forever… ’
Nash eased her back into the pillow, breaking the embrace; he smiled. ‘I wish it could too… but I have to go to work soon.’ He brushed his index finger across her fringe, tracing it lightly over her eyebrows and down to the tip of her nose. He whispered. ‘Such a perfect, perfect face. You’re beautiful… you’re funny… you make me smile… you’re everything a man could ask for.’
He kissed he
r deeply on the lips and sank back onto the bed, relaxing his whole being. He exhaled gently. All the tension had gone; she somehow made him complete. But would it last?
A pigeon landed on the skylight window of the attic room. It purred gently, pecking absently at the glass.
Nash grinned. ‘Pigeon pie… have you ever eaten pigeon pie?’
‘Oh Danny stop it!’ Emily giggled. ‘The poor thing!’
‘Sorry, force of habit… survival rations and all that… ’
‘Yuk! Is there nothing you haven’t eaten?’ Emily stared up at the window, watching the bird patter across the glass.
The pigeon suddenly evacuated a white-green splurge onto the window.
They burst out laughing, then gazed into each other’s eyes.
She drew her leg over Nash’s. The warmth of her damp groin pressed against his thigh. Her hips pulsated involuntarily; rubbing herself against his calf muscle, her breathing became shallow and erratic. She opened her mouth, searching for his, pushing herself harder against his leg.
Nash responded, and drew her closer.
She eased herself onto him, drawing in a deep breath as a wave of pleasure pulsated through her body. Her fingernails dug into his chest, stretching the stitches on the knife wound in his shoulder.
‘Ouch!’ Nash gave a playful smile.
She writhed on his waist with increasing force, breathing more deeply than before. ‘Sorry, sorry, I forgot about the wound… Danny… I… Danny!’ She pulsed wetness onto his groin. Nash responded with increasingly deep thrusts.
Emily gave a spasm and smiled, working harder, beads of sweat formed on her neck. Nash ran his hands firmly on her breasts.
‘It’s okay. Don’t worry. Let yourself go.’ He thrust deeper, squeezing her nipples, feeling the tension rise in her body.
Emily writhed with pleasure, gripping Nash’s manhood with her pelvic muscles. A flush of heat and wetness issued from her groin.
She gasped and fell forward, whispering in his ear. ‘Danny, I love you, I love you!’ She flicked her tongue on his earlobe as another spasm of delight wracked her body.
Nash felt her firmness, and warmth; unable to hold back, he thrust deeper, arching his back and almost lifting her off the bed.
Surprised by his own passion, a wave of muscle tension pulsed through his body. They came together and collapsed into each other’s arms back on the bed. Her wet breasts heaved against his chest; he ran his hand gently through her hair, taking deep breaths of her perfume.
‘Emily, I can’t stand to be without you. Stay with me forever.’
She gasped. ‘I will… I will… ’ She kissed gently onto his pectorals, slowly catching her breath. She worked up to the knife wound and placed a tender kiss over his stitches.
‘Does it hurt?’
‘No, not any more,’ Nash lied.
She buried her face against his chest, drawing a finger over the scars on his body.
She whispered as she caressed his skin. ‘So many cuts and bruises. You poor man. I will look after you… just come home safely.’
‘I’ll always be here for you Emily… always… ’ Nash kissed her forehead. She snuggled deeper into his chest.
‘Will you Danny?… ’ She ran her index finger absently over his scar. ‘I so worry, when you’re away. It’s so dangerous. I fear that one day you will not come back.’
‘I know… I know… but would you change who I am?’
She kissed his chest. ‘No, I wouldn’t change a thing.’
‘I only know soldiering. What else would I do?’
‘You’ve been in the field a long time. Perhaps it’s time to think about a less active role. You could take a desk job, be in charge, or a training job at the barracks?’
Nash chuckled. ‘Me, driving a desk?! Now, that’s something I’d like to see!’
‘Okay, not a desk then, but what about training? Daddy needs good men like you to instruct the next generation. There are younger men out there now… ’
‘Maybe one day, but not just yet.’
‘Why not just yet? It would be ideal.’
‘There’s something I need to do.’
‘Another job for Daddy?’
Nash tried to conceal his concern, but his voice wavered. ‘Yes, another job.’
‘Danny, what are you doing? It’s a dangerous mission, really dangerous – isn’t it?’
‘Yes it is, but what else would you have me do?’
‘Stay here with me.’
‘I wish I could,’ his arms tensed into a hug, ‘… but I am a serving soldier, and orders are orders.’
‘Let me speak to Daddy, maybe he can send someone else?’
‘No!’
‘Why not?’
Nash shrugged. ‘If it’s not me, it would be somebody else anyway.’
‘Danny, please, then let it be somebody else!’
Nash kissed her on the forehead and stared into her beautiful blue-green eyes. ‘You know that’s not possible. I have to go… whatever the danger.’
‘Oh Danny, promise me you will consider the training job. Promise me… ’
‘Okay, when I get back… we can talk about it… ’
‘Just come back in one piece, alive and well.’ A tear rolled down her cheek.
Nash kissed away the tears and drew her closer to his chest. ‘Emily, I love you. No matter what, I promise, I will return. Then we can be together… forever.’
Nash fell silent. It was a promise he couldn’t keep – and he knew it.
CHAPTER 40
Special Operation D
Nash thumbed the mud off his watch – six a.m. – that made the eighth patrol along the perimeter fence in the last hour. Peenemünde was well guarded. The cover from the undergrowth was a bit sparse, but so far so good. The clump of ferns was doing its job. Anyhow, it would soon be time to go, another half an hour at the most until it all kicked off.
Sinclair had been very clear; discuss the mission with no one and report directly to him, and him alone. So be it. This one was so secret that the normal chain of command was completely bypassed. Only Sinclair and the First Lord of the Admiralty knew the true purpose of the mission. This was something beyond top drawer, ultra-top secret.
He had to admit, the odds for success were fairly modest. He would need a bit of luck on this one. The only saving grace was the hired help. Sinclair had done a good job of cooking up a diversion – an assault on Peenemünde by a larger force of men; this time on the books at Whitehall with the general objective of causing mayhem and destruction. The assault team would certainly do that with demolition experts from Section D of British Intelligence and some South African Special Forces. What was it Sinclair had said? Nash smiled at the thought: a diversion of sufficient magnitude, to enable him to slip into the base undetected.
That was all fine and dandy, but the assault team were completely unaware of his presence. The prospect of being killed by friendly fire wasn’t uplifting; but then they must not know, could not know, the true purpose of the mission, or even of his presence. It was better that way. There was a good chance that some of the men would be injured, perhaps captured alive. There would be nothing they could give away under torture, apart from the obvious: being ordered to blow the place up.
Still, the orders were a bit cryptic: the destruction of any carbon-based device and anything that looked out of place in the workshop building. What did that mean? What did the device look like? How big was it? There wasn’t much to go on. Apparently, Churchill’s orders to SIS had used the phrase imperative to humanity. It was at least clear that any, and all, such devices should be utterly destroyed, along with the scientists who built them – the very knowledge of its existence wiped from the face of the earth.
The thought sent a chill down his spine. Nash buttoned up his overcoat some more to keep out the morning air. The bulky civilian clothes weren’t ideal for the job, but were completely necessary. Staying incognito in similar attire to the captive Polish and Jewi
sh labourers at the base was all part of the plan. Blend in with the natives.
He looked at his watch again, and pushed back the ferns to get a better view of the perimeter fence. All quiet, for now. The clock was ticking, the German troops would be up and about soon. Why the hell hadn’t the fireworks started?
Rudy Temple marched smartly towards the main gate at Peenemünde. The clicking of heels resonated on the road, breaking through the quiet of the early morning air. The German uniform grated on his skin; he ignored it – the ruse had to work – they couldn’t get into the camp by force alone. But would the sentries fall for it? The oldest trick in the book: pretending to be something you’re not.
The men looked convincing enough in their German uniforms, not too neat and tidy, but that worn look of a soldier busy with the day job. This time, escorting a delivery of new workers for the camp. The ‘workers’ were the boys from Section D, and they’d outdone themselves this time, playing the role beautifully with their stinking, ragged civilian clothes. He only hoped the sentries wouldn’t notice the somewhat baggy nature of their rags; each man carried a shedload of concealed weapons and explosives. Temple tried not to grin. These likeable British guys didn’t do anything in half measures. Just in case, there was also an insurance plan. The workers pulled a couple of handcarts stacked up with shovels, picks, and other tools. Hidden underneath the tools were a couple of heavy machine guns and enough explosive to start a major firefight – after all, that’s what they were here for.
Temple focused on the main gate.
Only fifty yards to go.
The gate looked flimsy enough, just a wooden frame with some simple wire mesh. The sentry post to the left and the machine gun nest to the right were exactly as expected from the aerial photographs. Two sentries shared a smoke in front of the gates. The machine gunners looked bored in the nest, having probably been there all night. For once, the intelligence had been right. The entrance to the camp had only modest defences; but getting in would require all the brass neck and balls his men could muster. If the game was up before they got through the gate they would all be dead: machine gunned on the open ground.
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