by Peter Haden
Jan had to admit that he didn’t.
‘All right, just the basics then,’ came the reply. ‘It’s a fairly new high-winged monoplane with a powerful nine hundred and five horse power Bristol Perseus engine. It’s a two-seater, so you will be in the rear observer’s seat with a rather large kit bag between your legs. Best of all, the Lysander has a very short take-off and landing run – it can be off the ground and climb to fifty feet in an incredible three hundred yards. The landing length is even shorter. This one has all the weaponry removed,’ he went on, ‘and a drop tank between the wheels. It just about has the range to take you there and back from the southern tip of Sweden to a field that is being prepared on your farm.’
He paused, then went on: ‘We don’t intend to file a flight plan. The pilot will fly in under the German radar, drop you off, then return to Sweden. If the fuel situation looks marginal on the way back, he will divert to Bornholm where the Danes are building a new airfield – the refuelling facilities are already in place. Obviously, you’ll be met once you land and after that it will be up to you.’
Jan couldn’t help a wry grin.
‘Something amusing you?’ asked Mrs Jackman.
‘All that terrifying parachute training,’ Jan replied. ‘And now it looks as if I won’t be needing it!’
‘Don’t count on it,’ came her reply. ‘We probably won’t leave you in Poland for the duration. The longer you stay, the higher the risk. One of your tasks will be for you to train up a local successor, so it might yet come in handy.’
‘OK, let’s wrap this up for now,’ said Ives. ‘Jan, take a day to become word perfect on your German cover. All your Polish clothes and additional documents will be given to you in Dublin. Weapons, radio and a final briefing you will receive in Sweden. You travel the day after tomorrow. You will need about two days to reach our embassy there, then probably another day waiting to rendezvous with the SS Stockholm Star. It’s just over fourteen hundred nautical miles to Stockholm. She might look a bit of an old freighter, but she has been re-engined and can cruise at fifteen knots, so the voyage will take about four days. You should be back in Poland in just over a week from now.’
Colonel Ives and Mrs Jackman both shook his hand. ‘We are not going to wish you good luck,’ she told him. ‘It’s a superstition that we have. But we do admire you. Take care of yourself.’
With that the visitors left the office.
Afterwards, looking back, laughing, they agreed it was the pigs’ fault. Mucking out the sty was never one of Tadzio’s favourite jobs – but it had to be done.
He must have got too close to the sow, whose newly born offspring, just suckled, were sheltering under a board behind her so that she could not lie on them. Whilst his back was turned the sow rose and pushed him, hard, with her shoulder. Tadzio was knocked to his feet and slithered on his side and back across the sty, towards the entrance. Now covered in slurry, he was disgusted at the state he was in. Hastily finishing off, he stripped in front of the pump in the farmyard. His heavily soiled clothes he threw into a barrel that collected rainwater from the barn roof – they used the contents for the vegetable garden anyway, so the addition would do no harm. But despite washing himself vigorously all over he still did not feel thoroughly clean. Which was when Hedda, who had walked to the village to barter their eggs, butter and cheese, turned the corner into the farmyard.
Seeing Tadzio in his birthday suit she placed a hand over her mouth and nose – not her eyes, he noticed – and asked with a barely concealed grin what on earth had happened.
‘Maciora mnie przewróciła – the sow pushed me over,’ he said crossly. ‘Clothes are in the water barrel, and I’m going to need a hot bath.’
To his surprise, she burst out laughing. ‘Ależ z ciebie rolnik, some farmer you are,’ she said eventually when her giggles subsided. But seeing that he was still furious, if only with himself, she offered to fetch him a towel. Also, if he sat in the kitchen, she would heat some water. ‘Don’t worry about your clothes,’ she added, turning towards the back door. ‘When you have sorted yourself out I’ll boil them up for you – they won’t smell once I have finished with them.’
Somewhat mollified by the offer of help, Tadzio followed her indoors and restored his modesty with the large bath towel that she hung up in front of her, averting her eyes till he was settled on a bench behind the table. The huge tin tub she took off an outside wall and settled on the floor in front of the range. Half an hour later it was two thirds full of hot water taken from their largest pot heated several times over the fire. Hedda left him to it.
In truth Tadzio had cleaned himself up pretty effectively in the yard, but even so he soaped thoroughly – neck, face and hair included – till he was absolutely satisfied with the result. Lying back in the still warm, now soapy water, he began to relax. Hedda knocked then opened the wooden door from the corridor and walked into the kitchen. She dipped one hand into the suds and sniffed carefully, first above his head and then at her hand. ‘Może być, you’ll do,’ she said. ‘You don’t smell at all! Neither does the water.’
The towel he had thrown over a bench by the table. It wasn’t within reach. He thought of asking Hedda to pass it to him, then became aware of a rustle of clothing behind him. Out of the corner of his eye he watched as her skirt, a blouse, and finally her undergarments settled on the floor. ‘Budge up,’ she told him, her hand on his back pushing him forward. Naked, she stepped into the water behind him and, still pushing with her body, sank down into the water. Her legs lifted and moved forward, over his thighs. Her arms encircled his waist. Hedda stroked his back with the sudsy water, then his chest. Finally, her hands slipped beneath the surface and she caressed him again. Tadzio thought he was about to burst.
Just when he could bear it no longer she tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Moja kolej, my turn,’ she announced abruptly. ‘You can get out and wash my back.’
Tadzio managed to find the soap and step out of the bath without exposing his erection, which remained whilst he soaped first her back and then, as she lay back, her breasts. They were not huge – she was lithe and fit and carried no excess weight – but they were firm and excited him even further. Finally, she stood and faced him. Each took full view of the other. Stepping out of the bath she picked up the towel and wrapped it round both of them as they pressed together, front to front. ‘Zabierz mnie do łóżka,’ she said simply. ‘Take me to bed. Pospiesz się! Now – don’t wait – quickly, quickly!’ Tadzio took her hand and they almost ran into his room.
Afterwards, she rolled him onto his back and lay on her side facing him. Elbow on the mattress, Hedda used her raised left hand to support her head whilst she studied him. Neither of them spoke for quite some time.
‘I decided,’ she said eventually, softly into the silence, ‘that our chances of surviving this war are at best fifty-fifty. As you now know, I was a virgin. But I was not going to die without experiencing what we did a few minutes ago. And,’ she told him, ‘I shall want to do it again in the morning.
‘You know what your next job is, don’t you?’ she queried as she stood by the bed watching the sunrise, a sheet draped around her, not from modesty but because it was a little chilly.
‘Co takiego? What’s that?’ asked Tadzio, still drowsy but wondering what was coming.
‘Jan can have my room, if he wants it,’ she said evenly, as if it were all planned out. ‘And you can make this into a double bed.’
Adel Nilsson met him at the top of the ladder half-way up the ship’s side. As they shook hands Jan took in a rather rotund, jovial man – grey hair, grey beard and medium height with a face weathered and tanned from a life at sea. ‘Best you use my cabin,’ he said having beckoned for Jan to follow. ‘The crew have been told that now Britain is at war we are picking up a pilot for the passage through UK waters. I think I can trust all of them, but in your profession “think” is not good enough. I
shall use the day cabin behind the bridge. My steward will bring you meals – I know I can trust Bernd, he’s been with me for nearly thirty years.’
The cabin was well stocked with books and Bernd appeared at the appropriate times with a tray, but even so, it was a boring four days. Jan was grateful for Adel’s company from time to time, particularly in the evenings when they shared a bottle of good wine. Otherwise he spent most of his time listening to the BBC, mainly with the aim of polishing his English.
The night before they were due to dock, Adel asked him to stay in his cabin until someone came to collect him. Most of the crew, it seemed, were to have shore leave. The following day, his meals arrived as before. Early that evening there was another knock on the door. His visitor was about thirty years of age, definitely on the short side but slim and wiry. ‘Dinks Lucas,’ he introduced himself. ‘Most people use the first name – you can see where it comes from. I’m officially a second secretary in the trade section of our diplomatic mission.’
‘And unofficially?’ queried Jan.
‘I’m a squadron leader in the Royal Air Force. My job is to fly you home.’
Adel, Jan and Dinks walked down the companionway to the dock, where Dinks unlocked a Volvo PV 52 de luxe saloon with diplomatic plates. ‘Great motor,’ he remarked as they climbed aboard. Dinks was behind the wheel, Adel in the front passenger seat and Jan in the back. ‘She has a massive three point seven-litre engine and a three speed manual with overdrive,’ Jan was told. ‘She’s fast but heavy, which is all I need.’
At the gate to the dock Adel wound down his window and chatted to the security guard. Jan couldn’t understand a word but the conversation ended in a laugh and a wave and the gates were opened. ‘They know Adel and I are friends,’ Dinks told him over his shoulder. ‘When the Star is in port I come here quite often and Adel and I go out for a meal. They know Adel, they know the car and they know me. Adel told them that you were one of his crew. There was absolutely no reason for them to be suspicious.’
They enjoyed supper in a restaurant not far from the docks, then Jan was left nursing a brandy whilst Dinks took Adel back to his ship. ‘I’m a bachelor,’ he told Jan on his return, ‘so you can stay in the spare room in my apartment. Feel free to go out in the daytime, but bear in mind that you don’t speak Swedish and technically you are an illegal immigrant. I can get the embassy to swing it if ever there’s a problem, but if you keep a low profile you’ll find that the locals are a pretty friendly bunch.’
‘Where did you learn to speak Swedish?’ Jan asked.
‘In this country,’ Dinks replied with a laugh. ‘Pater was a diplomat. When he spent three years here just after the beginning of the last war he had the good sense not to pack me off to school in England. I was educated in Sweden for the duration – the only problem was day one, when I didn’t know how to ask where the lavatory was. But by the end of the war, I was fluent.’
The next day was fine and sunny and Jan thoroughly enjoyed being a tourist in the Swedish capital. But when Dinks returned in the evening he told Jan that they would be leaving the flat at first light. ‘Pretty full moon and good Met,’ he commented, ‘so reception has been arranged and we are set to take off early on the day after tomorrow.’
Jan enjoyed an interesting if uneventful car journey. Their destination was a hangar on an isolated estate on the south coast of Sweden, only a kilometre or so from the Baltic. Dinks unlocked a side door and switched on the overhead lights. Inside stood a gun-metal grey aeroplane with Swedish markings. ‘Great machines, these Lysanders,’ enthused Dinks. ‘They can get knocked down by the German fighters, but for our purpose she’s ideal. We’ll take off well before dawn. For tonight, there are a couple of camp beds at the back of the hangar and I have a hamper of food and drinks in the Volvo. Managed to get you some vodka, old chap, just in case you need to settle a gippy tummy!’
Early next morning, and a bit stiff from the cold, Jan climbed the ladder on the port side of the aircraft and settled into the rear observer’s seat. He was comfortable until Dinks stuffed an almighty canvas kit bag containing his clothes and a lot else besides between his knees. The pilot opened the hangar doors and climbed aboard.
The engine noise was deafening inside the hangar but the squadron leader obviously knew his way round the field. The lights in the wheel nacelles helped to guide them over the grass till they were in one corner. In good moonlight, Dinks turned the aircraft into wind and let the engine warm up for a few more minutes, then held her on the brakes whilst he plied on more power. Jan felt a strong push in the back and they were bouncing across the grass, but in seemingly no time, the Lysander took to the air and Dinks climbed gently away on instruments.
‘We’ll cross at about a thousand feet,’ Dinks’ voice came over his headset.
‘Nearer their radar, provided I can see the surface, we’ll drop to about five hundred. Then we fly low over the land, circle the field, and if everything looks all right I’ll set her down. You chuck the bag over the side and scuttle out as fast you can. Then run for the side of the field. Don’t forget to take the bag with you. I’d rather not spend more than a minute or so on the ground.’
Dinks executed a wide, low circuit. Jan could see his old home. It was just half-light, the ground barely visible in the pre-dawn. There were three small fires – no smoke, so someone had the sense to use dry wood. A strip of cloth had been attached to a small pole, giving Dinks the wind direction and its strength.
‘We have to come in over that hedge,’ he told Jan, ‘so it’ll be a fairly steep descent and a bit sideways, but don’t worry, I’ve done this a few times already.’
From a thousand feet, control column well forward, Dinks pulled opposite stick and rudder into a side-slip and port-side on the Lysander fluttered towards the ground. At the last minute he straightened out, brought back the stick to flare gently and the wheels kissed the grass. It was a perfect landing. He gunned the engine to speed progress back to the hedge behind them, then again to kick on full rudder for the one-eighty turn from which he would take off.
Jan pulled off and stowed his headset, threw his kit bag out, scrambled onto the port side ladder and remembered to re-clip his now empty harness. He was immediately surrounded by hands helping him to the ground. One of them picked up his kit bag. Dinks’ head turned back to check the canopy and rear seat and he gave Jan, who by now was outside the wingtip, a thumbs up. Seconds later the engine roared and the Lysander was airborne. Dinks waggled his wings as he climbed away.
They ran to the edge of the field where it met a small wood. Just into the trees were Tadzio and beside him a young woman carrying a machine pistol. The brothers rushed to embrace. It was an emotional moment. ‘Dzięki Bogu jesteś bezpieczny, thank God you are safe,’ Tadzio told him, his face softened from damp eyes. Jan found that he, too, was welling up. ‘To jest Hedda, this is Hedda,’ Tadzio said simply, indicating the young woman beside him. After a few seconds, there was a cough from a small group behind him and one man stepped forward.
‘Józek Kowalski,’ the man introduced himself, offering his hand, which Jan took. ‘I lead the local partisan group. We prepared and secured the landing strip for you. I have an outer cordon in place, so we know we are safe for the moment, but I want to be away from here and into the forest as soon as possible. I suggest that you go home with your brother for now and, before long, we will meet again. Just in case the Germans heard the ’plane, which I doubt, we’ll wait a few days so that they will have given up sending out patrols. Go now,’ he went on, ‘my men will remove all evidence from the field then we’ll be away.’
‘Jak się z wami skontaktować, how do I reach you?’ asked Jan. It felt wonderful to be speaking his own language again.
‘Przez Hedda,’ Kowalski replied. ‘Through Hedda. She knows what to do.’
‘Sooner rather than later,’ Jan requested politely. ‘But we’ll move out now as you s
uggest.’
Shouldering his kit bag, Jan set off with Tadzio and Hedda to his old home.
It was fully daylight by the time they were seated round the kitchen table. Jan could see that the once badly damaged house had been repaired, but questions could wait until later.
‘Co jest w torbie, what’s in the bag?’ asked Hedda bluntly.
‘Clothes – all Polish, a radio and code books and a few weapons and some ammunition,’ Jan told her.
‘Take out what you need,’ she instructed, ‘but anything compromising I’ll wrap in something waterproof and hide with our radio and weapons. Whilst I’m doing that, you boys can be alone to talk.’
Tadzio told Jan all that had happened since they last met. Jan gave an account of his journey with Renate and his passage to England and subsequent training. ‘You can base yourself here,’ Tadzio told him, ‘or Hedda says that if necessary you can join the partisans in the woods. But conditions there aren’t good and it takes her all day to make the round trip, even on horseback.’
‘Living here might be safest,’ Jan offered, ‘but how do we explain my presence – if we get asked by the Germans, I mean?’
‘I suggest we stick as close to the truth as possible. Tell them that you were working in Germany, but that you left as soon as possible after the invasion. If they talk to this Herr Raschdorf, everything will check out – he’s not going to incriminate himself by telling anyone that you took his half-Jewish daughter to safety. And if the Germans ask where you were last time they called, we simply say you were out working in the fields.’