Keeping the man’s head clear of the water Bastian asked, “What happened to Bolling, the radio operator?” – but got no reply as he saw his eyes close for the last time. Lowering Bayer’s head down gently he made a quick search outside the hull. Seeing no sign of Bolling he closed the forward hatch and made his way back to report to Kurtz on his findings.
Kurtz knew by their nose-down angle that the aircraft was sinking before Bastian came back and confirmed it. “And what of Bolling, Filor and our passenger?” he asked sullenly.
“All dead!” Bastian confirmed, his voice trailing off as he stared hard through the shattered remains of the starboard window. “Take a look at that, Captain,” he said pointing.
Coming towards them at high speed Kurtz saw the rakish bow of an RAF Air Sea Rescue launch, a formidable adversary as they were well-armed with machine guns plus a 20mm Oerlikon cannon and, with the forward section now partially underwater, Kurtz knew their chance of taking-off was futile, so after shutting down the engines, gave the order to abandon the aircraft.
*
Emerging from the rear of the cottage where she had concealed herself when the gunfire started, Stella cautiously opened the door just wide enough to see why the firing had stopped. Squinting through the narrow gap she could see nothing, but was able to hear what sounded like a heavy aircraft circling above; with curiosity eventually taking over from caution she opened the door fully and stepped outside, shielding her eyes. She was able to make out the distinct shape of a large grey/white aircraft with what looked like an RAF roundel on its side. Waving her arms frantically in the air and shouting at the top of her voice to be rescued she set off running towards the steps that went down to the jetty. Nearing the cliff edge a feeling of doubt suddenly crept into her mind which made her stop; if the aircraft she could see was British and it had attacked the German seaplane and maybe damaged or destroyed it, there could be the possibility that her ex-lover could still be on the island – what would she do then? ‘God! That didn’t bear thinking about,’ she told herself, but the more Stella thought about it the more convinced she became that she needed to know. Looking out to sea the surface glinted and glimmered and below she could hear the sound of the waves breaking gently against the rocks, but the sound of high speed engines tempted her to the edge of the cliff where, crouching behind a medium-sized boulder for cover, she looked down at the dramatic scene unfolding below.
*
Flight Sergeant Groves knew as skipper that destruction of the enemy was paramount, but with an injured crewman on board and damage to his aircraft he had to make a decision; whether to break off the engagement and head for home or make another run at the flying boat. After discussing it with the crew the outcome had been unanimous, even from the wounded Doyle. While they were making a wide turn to port to make their attack, Will noticed the flying boat’s bow-down angle and realised that it must be sinking and reported this to Groves, which was followed by Keith Stanbury reporting the sighting of an Air Sea Recue launch, but with his line of approach and height set, Groves decided to carry on with the attack.
From the Halifax’s damaged nose the navigator Len Oakes and front gunner Reggie Doyle watched as the distance between the two aircraft began to close.
“We’ll finish him off this time Reggie,” Len Oakes winked, patting the injured gunner’s shoulder, who responded with a weak grin.
In the rear turret Will applied pressure to the controls; not expecting any retaliatory fire from the seaplane’s front turret, he had decided his aiming point would be the fuel tanks and engines. Checking the reflector sight he stared down at the open expanse of sea behind. The waiting seemed endless, although in real time it would only be a matter of minutes before they would be over the enemy aircraft, but his concentration was interrupted by reports over the intercom that four members of the flying boat were taking to the water – this was followed by the skipper telling him ‘to hold his fire.’ Flying low over the stricken craft Will saw the four airmen treading water and waving with both hands, no doubt terrified that he might open fire. Acknowledging their plea that he wasn’t going to fire by elevating his guns he then felt the aircraft begin to climb as they approached the island, at which point he heard someone shout over the inter-com. “Who the hell’s that waving? – Christ! It’s a woman down there.”
“Maybe she lives there?” Jack Rapier commented from the confines of the wireless shack.
“I wouldn’t think so. As far as I know the island is uninhabited,” Groves replied, bringing the Halifax around to make another run across the island.
“Didn’t a U-boat have a go at it in the early months of the war?” Keith Stanbury queried.
“I heard that also!” Will answered, looking down at the seaplane that was now partially submerged with only its centre engine and twin boom tail section still visible.
“Well, whoever she is, she must need help or she wouldn’t be waving like that. Jack! Make contact with that Air Sea Rescue boat, and tell them they’ve got another passenger to pick up from the island after they’ve plucked those Jerrys out of the drink, will you? You’ve given Tiree all the details of the attack and that we’ve sustained damage to the aircraft and one of the crew is injured?”
“Yes, I've done that!”
“Good! So how’s Reggie doing Len?”
“I’ve bandaged his wounds for him the best I can and given him a shot of morphine; he seems quite comfortable at the moment but the sooner we can get him back to hospital the better,” the navigator answered, sounding a little concerned.
“Okay Len!... Jack, contact Tiree and tell them that we are returning to base and we need an ambulance standing by as soon as we land; also tell them the outcome of the attack, and about the woman on the island.”
“Okay skipper!”
*
Maynard and Soames had been aboard the Catalina en-route to Lochboisdale when they had been given the message by the aircraft’s wireless operator of the attack and sinking of the German flying boat off Stracandra Island, and also that four of the aircrew from the aircraft, plus a woman from the island were on their way to Melruish aboard an RAF launch. So after a brief discussion between Maynard the pilot and the navigator they were now seated in the headquarters at RAF Melruish awaiting the arrival of HSL 152 with its four prisoners and woman passenger.
“Well, this will be a first for me,” Soames declared, trying to break the silence that had descended on the room.
“What will?” Maynard asked, drawing steadily on his pipe with a contented look on his face.
“Coming face to face with the enemy. I’ve never met any Luftwaffe aircrew before, what about you sir?”
Looking at Soames his reply wasn’t spontaneous. “Once, in the early days of the war,” he said, thinking back to the Luftwaffe pilot’s attitude as he was led away to be interrogated.
“What was he like?”
Maynard took his pipe from his mouth and grinned. “Cocky sod! Pretty damn sure of himself, but back then they thought they had the war won having rampaged through Europe practically unopposed.”
Soames nodded. “Well let’s hope these four are a little bit more amenable now that the war isn’t going in their favour.”
“Possibly! But don’t count on it, with a fanatic like Hitler leading the pack there’s a lot in Germany who still think they can win the war,” he replied, watching Soames get up and walk over to the window, his hands clasped behind his back. “What’s the matter Gideon, something bothering you?”
“Yes, there is sir! Where does this woman fit into all this? Do you think she could be an accomplice who was helping him get out of the country and at the last minute he abandoned her? We know what a ruthless sod he could be.”
Maynard scratched his head. “Maybe! But if you want my honest opinion…” His reply was interrupted by a knock on the door followed by it being opened by a war-weary looking Flight Lieutenant who informed them that “152 had just entered the bay and that the CO was wait
ing for them in his office.”
“Thank you!” Maynard answered getting up. “Looks like all could be revealed!” he said lifting his eyes in anticipation.
Chapter Thirty-Two
CROSSING PALL MALL, light rain began to fall and by the time Maynard reached his office in St James’s Street it had turned heavy. After hanging his wet raincoat on the stand behind the door he sat down and started to sort through the paperwork on his desk; with his concentration fixed firmly on what he was reading he didn’t take any notice of the approaching footsteps which stopped outside his office.
“I always know when you’re back,” a voice said casually.
Looking up Maynard saw Amy, Clifford Granville’s secretary, smiling at him in the doorway.
“How’s that?” he asked.
“You always have your office door open when you’re in,” she answered, coming in and standing in front of his desk.
“I see,” he said, leaning back in the chair and clasping his hands together. “So why am I honoured by your presence at this time in the morning?” he teased.
“Well, I believe congratulations are in order on your achievement in Scotland.”
“Thanks! But it should be that RAF crew who gets the praise, not me, Amy.”
“Yes, I know. But you mustn’t put yourself down, you played a big part in the operation also, remember that. Anyway, Mr Granville wanted to know if you were in because he wants to see you,” she said, giving him one of her cheeky smiles before leaving the room.
Sitting down opposite his old friend Maynard saw him put down his report on the desk, then take out one of his cigars and light it which soon filled the room with smoke. “Excellent outcome Henry, and I can tell you that Churchill was over the moon when he was given the news that we had got Bayer.”
“Well, it was touch and go at times, Bayer seemed to be always that one jump ahead of us; there’s no doubt about it he was a damn good agent, Clifford.”
“Yes, and one for the ladies by what I’ve read. This woman who was on the island – Stella Grant, I see in your report that she was just another of his conquests; are you 100% sure about that Henry? We don’t want any loose ends.”
“I got the local police in Oban to check out her story thoroughly. Friends at the dance she was with verified that she had deliberately gone out of her way to meet Bayer because, as she told her closest friend who she used to work with, she just fancied him, nothing more than that. And of course when Bayer found out, through pillow talk I suppose, where she worked.”
“At the shipping office,” Granville interrupted.
“Yes! I’ll bet he couldn’t believe his luck.”
“Stupid woman.”
“A lucky woman! Why he didn’t kill her before he left the island is a mystery, knowing his track record,” Maynard concluded.
“It was strange that,” Granville replied, exhaling a cloud of cigar smoke into the air. “But at least we have confirmation from the flying boat’s navigator that Bayer was dead before it sank, and Grant validated Bastian’s story by saying that she saw only the four Luftwaffe aircrew in the water – so it was a satisfactory outcome all-round, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes. I would.”
“Now about tomorrow morning Henry, we have a meeting with the P.M. at ten, so best bib and tucker, I think you are going to get a pat on the back for what you did old boy,” Granville grinned.
Maynard’s face remained neutral. “It’s not me he should be congratulating, it should be the crew of that Halifax from Tiree, they were the ones that eventually stopped Bayer, not me, as I told Amy earlier.”
Granville nodded several times while flicking the ash from his cigar into the ashtray. “Yes, I know that. I believe the pilot, Groves I think his name is, will get an award for pressing home the attack like he did, well deserved I would think, don’t you?”
“Yes, it is. I was told one of the crew was very badly hurt during the attack. Have you any news on how he is doing?” Maynard asked.
Granville shuffled uneasily in his chair at being put on the spot. “No! I haven’t, but I’ll see what I can find out, and let you know.”
“Thanks!”
“You mustn’t take it to heart Henry, people get hurt and killed in war, it’s inevitable; what you have to remember is through the combined efforts of all the people involved, it has brought about the end of a very brutal killer, who if he had got back to Germany could have undermined all our work that had been done on the development of jet propulsion. And don’t forget the capture of Griselda Zweig which put an end to her escapades at Filton; that was a big feather in the department’s cap.”
“So where is Griselda these days?” Maynard asked, taking out his pipe.
Granville gave him a smug look. “I can’t say where she is, all I will say is that she is doing good work for counter-intelligence.”
Throwing the near burnt ember of the match into the ashtray Maynard sat back in the chair and drew steadily on his pipe. “Good, I’m glad she is being useful to the organisation.”
“She knew she only had two choices Henry, work with us, or the long drop, the choice was hers.”
“It would have been a waste if she had chosen the latter; she certainly is an attractive looking woman.”
Granville smiled broadly. “That sounds like you had a bit of a soft spot for the woman Henry?”
“No, no, I was just making a statement from what I observed when I interviewed her,” Maynard replied impulsively, getting up to leave, a little embarrassed. “Right, if we’ve finished here? I’d better get back to the office and get on with some work.”
Leaning forward Clifford Granville stubbed out his cigar butt. “Yes, I think so,” he said, full of admiration for his friend as he watched him cross the room, open the door and quietly leave.
Chapter Thirty-Three
IT HAD BEEN THE SQUEALING of brakes and clanking of wheels as they crossed the points that woke her. Looking through the grime covered window Griselda saw the slope of the platform as the train entered Manchester’s busy Mayfield relief station and come to halt. From the compartment she sat and watched the mad exodus of passengers as they alighted from the carriages, all eager to be on their way to whatever life held in store for them. Lighting a cigarette she drew deeply to calm the uneasy feeling she suddenly felt; what did life hold in store for her now? She knew what she wanted, but would it still be on offer? There was only one way to find out. Getting up she left the compartment, walked along the corridor to the door and stepped down onto the platform and with her German pride encouraging her she made her way to the high-level footbridge smiling seductively at the young ticket collector, who obviously found her attractive by the way he was looking at her as he allowed her through.
Feeling she needed time to think, she ignored the taxis touting for business and set off walking, eventually reaching the tram stop in Stretford Road. The tram when it arrived was surprisingly full for mid-afternoon but she did manage to get a seat, given up by a middle-aged gentleman, who insisted, when she first declined his offer. With thoughts swimming around in her head Griselda looked through the window as each stop brought her closer to her destination; could she go through with it when she was standing outside the hotel? Would she have the courage to walk up the path and ring the doorbell, and what if Matthew had now re-married and he came to the door with his wife, or, if still single, he just out and out rejected her – what would she do then? So many ifs! God, she needed a cigarette, but she couldn’t even do that; being on the lower deck it wasn’t allowed.
With the congestion within the tram having eased by the time it reached Warwick Road and having the added advantage of a seat by the window, Griselda saw the end of the Victorian house in the distance, and to her relief as the tram rolled on and come noisily to a halt, the hotel sign was still there.
Getting off the tram she made her way carefully over the uneven cobbles to the pavement and stood a few moments to smoke a cigarette. She had waited
a long time for this moment; all those months in captivity working for British counter-intelligence she had thought of nothing else during her off-duty periods but of Matthew, but now reality was only a stone’s throw away. Finishing the cigarette she dropped it on the ground and stubbed it out with the sole of her shoe, then pushing back her blonde hair onto her shoulders she set off to walk the short distance to see what destiny held, or didn’t hold for her. Opening the gate and closing it quietly behind her she walked up the pathway, noticing as she went the ‘No Vacancy’ sign in the widow and also that a fresh coat of paint had been applied to the ornate door. Pressing the bell she stood back and waited.
A young girl, who Griselda estimated was in her late teens, opened the door and before she could speak was told:
“I’m sorry, we are fully booked if you are looking for a room; you might find something further along Warwick Road – there are several more guest houses along there,” the girl said, about to shut the door.
“No, I’m not looking for a room,” Griselda replied quickly, “I’d like to see Mr Raines, if that’s possible?”
“Oh! Have you come about the vacancy for a waitress?”
“Yes! I have,” Griselda lied.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you were looking for a room. Please come in and I’ll get Mr Raines for you, he’s in the cellar at the moment changing over a barrel. If you would like to go into the lounge you can wait there,” the girl said beckoning towards the room.
Sitting down on the settee Griselda took in the all too familiar surroundings of the lounge bar where their relationship had begun; fond memories of his tenderness during their lovemaking, and the hurt she must have caused him when she told him she was leaving after he had begged her to stay. Her reminiscing was temporarily put on hold by the door partially opening and the young girl’s head appearing.
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