The Perils and the Prize

by Jim Crossley

  Briefing over, the crews were confined to barracks until it was time for takeoff. William couldn’t eat or drink anything and just mooned about the mess, trying to listen to the radio. A loud voice interrupted his thoughts.

  “Is there a bloke called William Portman in the mess?” William looked up. “Well there’s a call for you on the public phone box outside. It should have been disconnected with tonight’s raid on but obviously it wasn’t. Sounds like a girl, want to take it, you lucky sod?”

  Angela’s sweet voice on the phone was unmistakable.

  “Darling, never mind how I got through to you, we girls have ways, and I know not to ask you what you are doing but I have something important I must tell you now. Darling, I love you. Please don’t be angry whatever I say. Promise.”

  William was so taken aback that he could only stutter.

  “Darling, what is it?”

  “You know I spoke about your cousin Hans, well, he’s here in our house, yes, yes here but he’s wounded, we must take care of him. Oh, William, on the ship…”

  There was a click and the line went dead. At the same moment a call came through to the mess, summoning the crews for action. For a moment William was unable to remember where he was; the news was so devastating. He dialled furiously for the operator but got only a series of clicks. He yelled into the mouthpiece.

  “Angela! Angela!” No response.

  William beat on the sides of the kiosk with his fists. At that moment Jimmy came past at the run. Seeing his boss, he opened the door.

  “Hey, skip, they’ve called us to get going. You OK, skip?”

  “Yes, Jimmy, OK, just had a bit of a shock.”

  He didn’t look OK. He was still trembling with rage at what he had heard, trying to recall every word Angela had said, trying to understand what might have happened, trying to make sense of it. That odious Hun bastard. In Droxford? With Angela? As he and his faithful crewman stood there, they heard a new sound, the clanging of a bell which could only have been mounted on an RAF police car. Someone had traced an outside connection to William’s phone box.

  Whoever was talking on an outside line would be in deep trouble. So would the operator who put him through.

  “Quick, skip, we’d better run!” yelled Jimmy and he and William disappeared round a corner just as the police Morris screeched to a stop beside the phone box. William followed Jimmy in a daze, scrambled into a waiting truck and found himself stumbling up the steps of the aircraft into his seat. He had now flown the Wellington so many times that he went through the drills without thinking and soon they were trundling towards the runway. The faithful Bristol Hercules engines gave a reassuring, throaty roar and Z-Zebra moved steadily towards the end of the runway. For now he forced himself to put all thoughts of Angela out of his head and concentrate on the daunting task set before him.

  Once again the invading force formed up over the Thames and thundered off into the darkness ahead. While they were still over the North Sea, German radar had them in its deadly gaze. Over Holland, Belgium and Germany itself, fighters were armed, crews briefed and engines warmed up. The great anti-aircraft guns around industrial towns and key strategic locations were readied and the Third Reich prepared to receive its visitors.

  Chapter 13

  Hans (alias Stanislas) was sitting on his bed when Angela appeared at Netley. It hadn’t been hard for her to talk her way into the place, and she immediately saw that the patient’s recovery had continued apace. She suggested a walk, and was delighted to see that he accepted readily and seemed quite strong enough to take her arm and stroll across the lawn to the wire which guarded the sea shore. Beyond the wire was a blue sparkling Solent into which Netley Pier projected. They sat together well away from prying eyes or flapping ears.

  Hans began.

  “Angela, it’s so wonderful to see you, but I am afraid that I have bad news and we need to put together a story which will keep you, at least, out of trouble. You see, I have just heard that a Polish officer from London will be visiting the hospital next week to discuss my future and that of three genuine Poles just arrived here. I have managed to keep away from those three up to now but that can’t last and I am certain that I will be found out as soon as this fellow arrives from London, so I am going to have to give myself up and I’ve decided to do so before he arrives. Questions are going to be asked about how I swapped identities on the Minden and we’ve got to concoct a story which keeps you out of it. Then, if for some reason you do get questioned about the affair, our stories will agree.”

  “But what will happen to you, Hans?”

  “I don’t know. Possibly if I come clean now I’ll just be transferred to a POW camp, but if the Poles get me, well, I don’t know what will happen…”

  “Hans, that’s terrible. You could be treated as a spy or anything. You could be shot! Even if you go to a camp, those horrible men who wanted to kill you on the ship will try to get you again. No! I won’t let it happen! We must think of a plan. We must do it now.”

  Her eyes blazed and her face showed a fierce, animal determination like a mother defending a small child. If Hans had not been in love with her on Minden, he certainly was now. He felt her strength and somehow knew he himself could never match it, but he couldn’t let her become endangered by his own predicament.

  “Angela, it’s no use, and anyway, I can look after myself in a POW camp. There will be other decent Germans there who will help. Anyway, you can’t involve yourself; the work you do is too valuable for that. The important thing is to make up a sensible story. Now, I’ve been thinking…”

  “Well, stop your thinking, you stupid man. We’re going to get you out of here before that Polish officer gets anywhere near you. Shut up! Don’t dare argue with me! I know the people and the system here and we’ll have you safe in no time. Now get yourself ready, and I’ll be here again on Thursday at four o’clock. No, don’t speak to me, just do as I say and keep away from those other three Poles.”

  With that she got up and marched determinedly out of the hospital. Hans simply didn’t know what to think. Why was this girl seemingly determined to save him? What could she do anyway? The whole thing was unbelievable, ridiculous. But then he knew that he loved her. She had saved him once and seemed to be prepared to do so again. Did that mean that she loved him too? Could he dare to hope that, cripple as he was, this girl really cared for him? If so then there was still something to live for, and perhaps he would be able to help her too when Germany eventually won the war. If there was the very least chance of this, he must at least try to survive. He would see what sort of scheme she devised.

  As it turned out, escape from the hospital was absurdly easy. Angela had a friend who drove one of the ambulances which were constantly toing and froing between Netley and the docks. The sentries seldom checked them; after all, the hospital was for wounded British and allied casualties only, so Hans was smuggled out without difficulty. Angela borrowed some petrol from a farmer near Droxford and took the family Rover to Southampton, recovered an astonished Hans from the ambulance by the roadside, and drove him safely home to Exton Grange. It was not until two days later that the hospital discovered that it had lost a patient. The police were ordered to keep a lookout for a wounded, one-armed Pole but naturally nothing was found and the case remained open, but dormant, on their files. Probably, they thought, the stupid fellow had managed to fall off the pier at Netley into the sea. He was well known to be subject to fits of depression.

  Reception at Exton proved to be the difficult bit. Angela had fought shy of telling Sir Felix anything about the affair, but her mother knew and had no option but to agree to put Angela’s friend up, at least for a time. He was accommodated in a spare bedroom and allowed to walk about in the walled garden, where no one could see him. The master of the house would have to decide what to do with him when he returned from London on Saturday. Lady Pointer could not help being charmed by her guest’s impeccable manners, and his pallid, tortured face and woun
ded body could only arouse sympathy, but she was aware that the situation was fraught with danger. Aiding an escaped enemy was a severe crime, and anyway, how could she know that he was not still a dangerous enemy spy? Angela was due back on her ship soon. What would happen then? Even if he did stay, how would she feed him, with no ration card? Hans must be got rid of. That was clear and Sir Felix was the one who would have to sort it out. More perplexing still was the question of Angela’s feelings for this man. Of course, her mother knew about the holiday near Bawdsey before the war, and obviously the two had been close at that time, but now surely William was her daughter’s sweetheart? Why, then, was she risking a long prison sentence and implicating her parents in her crime, for the sake of this wounded German officer?

  Sir Felix duly returned and went straight to his study, fortified by a glass of claret. He had been an officer in the Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve in the First World War, navigating fast destroyers in the North Sea and the Western Approaches. He thus knew something about war but he had never encountered a situation anything like this. First he summoned his daughter to see him. She recounted the whole story of her rescue of Hans, her father listening in silence. He asked only one question.

  “Angela, tell me honestly, are you in love with this man?”

  “Oh, Daddy, how could you ask that? You have met William and surely you saw what I felt about him. No, I don’t feel anything for Hans, except that he is in danger and in my care. If we sent him back it would be just like murdering a friend.”

  Hans was then ushered into the room. Twenty years in the law courts had taught Sir Felix a thing or two about interviewing people. He was immediately impressed by the bearing and stature of the young man before him. Even wearing an old pair of Rory’s pyjamas and a dressing gown, he looked impressive and his handshake, even with his left hand, was firm and solid. He started by trying to thank his host, but Sir Felix cut him short.

  “Young man, I will ask the questions and you will answer. Understood? Good. Then tell me from the beginning how you had your accident, and what happened on the hospital ship.”

  Hans’ story exactly confirmed what Angela had told him.

  “And why were your colleagues trying to kill you? Had you betrayed them or did they just not like you?”

  Hans saw that this man would get at the whole truth eventually. He might as well come up with the whole story now. He explained about Ester and his quarrel with the SS Officer.

  “You see, sir,” he concluded, “I simply couldn’t go on fighting for a regime where men like that can do such things. I am sure the Fuhrer knows nothing of this or he would stop it, but I just couldn’t go on. I think I must have been going mad. I resolved to kill myself and strike a blow for Germany at the same time, but I failed. Your lovely daughter saved me, and here I am.”

  “And what do you think should happen to you now?”

  “Sir, I have been considering this for days and there is only one way. I must go into town and give myself up to the military police. I will pretend to have become delirious in hospital and somehow wandered out. I will be sent to a POW camp for Luftwaffe officers and I am sure I will find friends there and be able to explain myself. Whatever happens, I cannot put your family in danger. When this war is over and Germany and England are friends again, I hope to meet you all and thank you. I promise I will say nothing to your police about how Angela helped me.”

  “Very well, please go to your room now, I have to consider.”

  The Pointer family held a conference.

  “At first I was inclined to do what he says,” said Sir Felix. “But think of this. No one is going to believe the story about a delirium, and Angela is sure to be implicated in his escape. Also, what about this sudden assumption of Polish nationality? Technically, at least, that makes him a spy and we have aided him. We all know what happens to spies and their helpers, and like it or not, he’s stayed concealed in this house so we are all implicated. There’s no getting away from it.”

  “Rubbish!” retorted his wife. “How do you know he’s not actually a spy anyway? We can explain to the police how Angela got involved. We need him out of this house at once. It’s what he wants and what we want. You’re supposed to be a lawyer; you can explain it all. Let’s do it now.”

  “Mummy,” replied Angela, close to tears. “How can you say that? Hans is a guest in our house, in distress. By all the rules of civilisation we must help and protect him. I saw those horrible men. No doubt they will kill him in the camp, that is, if our people don’t shoot him as a spy first. You know him now. He is a nice, civilised young man. How can you talk like that?”

  “Civilised be damned! He’s a Nazi airman. He’s probably bombed our country and he’ll drag us all down too. Get him out of my house! Now!”

  “Never!” shouted Angela. “I won’t let you!”

  Very occasionally Sir Felix had to assert his authority in the family. This was one of those occasions.

  “Wait,” he said, “I have a germ of an idea. If we do what either of you suggest, we put both that young man and ourselves, all of us, in danger. I’m away back to London on Monday and I may need to call in some favours. Maybe there’s a way out of this which will see us all safe. Angela, you must be off on Monday as if nothing had happened. Darling, keep that young man out of sight and feed him for another week. I’ll see if I can bag another pheasant this afternoon. I promise it won’t be more than a week. Now I have to fix some meetings. See you both at dinner.”

  Ten days after this family conference, two civilian policemen arrived and escorted Hans to a POW transit camp near Southampton. At the same time lorry loads of German prisoners arrived from various camps in the south of England; most of them were naval personnel, rescued U-boat officers and a few were soldiers picked up in the western desert. Many, like Hans, had been wounded and were struggling with artificial legs and missing arms or hands. Two days later they were herded onto a liner which, as they guessed correctly, was Canada bound.

  Chapter 14

  As Z-Zebra steadied herself on course, William had time to think more about his situation. This was a long-range flight, almost seven hundred miles each way, and over four hundred of those over enemy-held territory. He had to go through with it, there was no way out, but he dreaded what he might find when he reached home even more than the horrors awaiting him over Germany. Angela and that bloody Hun! It couldn’t be, he couldn’t let it happen, he must think of something quickly. “Enemy coast ahead, skip!” called Oliver in the nose. “Looks hot too.” It did indeed. The searchlights were feeling for their prey in the darkness and already heavy shells were bursting ahead. William managed to get a hold of himself and spoke calmly to the crew. “Right, I’m going to start weaving. Now all keep a good lookout, there’ll be fighters about, and we need to be careful not to ram one of our own machines.” Zebra banked gently and seemed to slide like an eel between the hideous columns of light, groping blindly for them. Undamaged, they thundered on southward, eyes skinned for any trace of avenging fighters.

  Luckily for them the Luftwaffe had been fooled that night into thinking that the attack would be directed elsewhere and defences concentrated way to the west of their route. Once through the coastal flak, the bombers had a surprisingly undisturbed two hours flying southwards towards their target. William had by now managed to force the thought of Angela out of his mind; he forgot everything except the one daunting task of getting to the target. He remembered how on his last bombing raid he had been comforted by the sight of Whiskers solidly ensconced in his seat, acting and speaking calmly just as if it had been a routine training flight. Forcing himself to act and sound like an intelligent robot, he constantly checked on every aspect of the flight, their course, fuel consumption, speed, height, the alertness of his crew, the weather ahead. Oliver was the first to see the brilliant green flares marking where the Mosquitoes had dropped their target markers. That must be Ulm, blacked out and sleeping in the darkness.

  A little way northw
est of them in the darkness, Hauptmann Heinz-Erick Stillmann was part of a team evaluating a new airborne interception technique. Just as the British had used the Blenheim as a “heavy fighter” the Luftwaffe adapted some of its bombers to a night-fighting role. However, unlike the poor Blenheims which the RAF had used in this role, the JU88 which the Major was flying was well suited to the task. Capable of over three hundred miles per hour in level flight and with five hours endurance, it had a crew of three and carried very heavy offensive armament consisting of three machine guns and one heavy twenty millimetre-cannon. The plan was to loiter close to the city being attacked, keeping a lookout for any bomber illuminated by a ground-based searchlight, then to attack it while it was still over the target. The obvious danger was being hit by “friendly” flak, so good communication with the ground was essential. The best targets were expected to be the last bombers to arrive, by which time the AA guns could be ordered to cease fire while the fighters moved in and attacked the raiders. That night Stillmann’s force of three JU88s had initially been directed to Mannheim, which they had circled for an hour, waiting for a bomber stream which never arrived; only at the last minute were they informed that Ulm, forty minutes flying to the southeast, was under heavy attack. The three machines sped south eastwards towards the action.