by Griff Hosker
"You will have to trust me on this but we would like to take them off your hands. I can assure you it is for the good of the invasion but I can't tell you why."
He nodded, "Jake said that you guys got up to some weird stuff. I have your word that this is on the up and up sir? I wouldn't want to get my chops busted over this."
"Where is your HQ?
"By the Cathedral sir."
"Then I will pop along with a letter from my commanding officer. I will show it to your colonel. How's that?"
"You seem like a square guy captain and it will save us lugging this cart there." He turned, "Dwight, let the Captain and his men have the guns, grenades and ammo." He smiled, "Just for the record sir; not that I don't trust you but what is your name?"
"Captain Tom Harsker of Number 4 Commando; 1st Special Service Brigade."
His eyes widened, "The guys who came in on D-Day?"
"That's us."
He saluted, "An honour sir." He shouldered his rifle, "Right Corporal, these Krauts have sat on their butts long enough. Let's move!"
We were already in a good mood when we made our best find. We were passing a French garage. I had not noticed anything but Corporal Fletcher had. After we passed it he said, quietly, "Sir there's a rabbit away there."
"What do you mean?"
"As we came near they pulled down the roller shutter at the front. They did it really quickly like they were trying to hide summat."
"Nothing unusual in that is there?"
"There is sir. It is two o'clock. We have seen enough of the French to know that they like a long lunch. Now opening the shutters at two, that I could understand but not closing them. Besides they only did it when we were getting close. It was us as made them do it. Trust me on this one sir."
I had faith in Corporal Fletcher's instincts. "Hay and Wilkinson, get around the rear. Make sure no one leaves. The rest of you come with me."
I went to the front and banged on the shutter. There was silence and so I repeated the action. I then shouted, in English, "Open up! This is the British Army."
I heard French voices. One of them said, "What should we do?"
"I will go and speak with them. I will get rid of them. Shift it out of the back."
I heard the sound of exertions and then another shutter closed. A few minutes later the front shutter came up half way and a small man with greasy hands and wearing overalls ducked out from under it. He smiled and then fired a barrage of French at me, "What do you want? We are law abiding citizens. I shall complain!" He smiled again. Obviously he did not know I could speak French.
I said, in perfect French, "And to whom would you complain? If you like I can find a gendarme or perhaps we should go to the mayor? Maybe the Provost Marshal?" Just then I heard shouts from the rear. The man looked at me startled. "Yes," I smiled, "I have men at the back too. Corporal Fletcher open the shutter. Shepherd cover him!"
Corporal Fletcher flung the shutter up. The Frenchman tried to run but Shepherd smacked him on the back of the head with his rifle. He did not hit him hard; just enough to make him drop to the ground and hold his head. The garage had a long bay leading to the rear where there was another shutter. Fletcher flung that one open too and I saw a Kübelwagen and three men being covered by Bill Hay and Joe Wilkinson. A fourth man lay on the ground holding his bleeding nose.
I grabbed the Frenchman and snapped at him, "So, you are a collaborator! You help the Germans!"
He dropped to his knees. He was now petrified. Collaborators could be tarred and feathered and in extreme cases hanged. "No, sir! I beg of you! We found the car. It had run out of fuel. Please! Just take it but do not tell people that we are collaborators."
"Will it run now?"
He nodded; eager to please. "Yes we had just finished trying it out when you came."
"Shepherd, drive it back. Bill go with him. Put it behind our building and hide it with tarpaulin." I leaned in to the Frenchman as my two men jumped in the vehicle, "I am going to be around here for a while. If I come back and find anything German in here...." I left the sentence hanging.
"I promise you we are loyal Frenchmen!"
"Very well. I will trust you."
We hurried back to the landing craft. We had had a result I could not have imagined when we set out. We now had a perfectly working Kübelwagen and enough guns for the whole section. We could cobble together everything else we needed.
Lieutenant Ross and my two foragers looked dejected when we met them. "Sorry sir. We have one beaten up Kübelwagen and spares but it will take at least three days to get her running."
I nodded. "Come with me." I led them to the back of the building. Shepherd and Bill were there. I nodded and, like a pair of magicians, they whipped off the tarpaulin. "How about a fully working, recently serviced one then! We are in business!"
Our success buoyed everyone. Lieutenant Ross stopped being the schoolboy who was out of his depth. He threw himself into the work with the rest of my section. As my engineers worked on the vehicle next day and Polly had the men stripping and cleaning the weapons, I sent him to find as many aerial photographs of Trun as he could get. I went to the recently captured airfield. I borrowed a bicycle from the harbourmaster. I found an airfield that had been badly bombed by the RAF. There were more pot holes and bomb craters than runway. I decided to play the dad card. I found the officer who was in charge of the airfield pending the arrival of the squadron which would operate out of it.
Squadron Leader Betts was a harassed looking officer. He was in his shirt sleeves and puffing on a cigarette when I found him.
"Sir, could I have a word?"
He turned round and snapped, "Yes? What do you want?" when I approached him.
I smiled. That was often the best way. "I just wondered when the field would be operational?" I thought he was going to explode. I held out my hand. "The name is Harsker, Captain Harsker of the Commandos."
I saw him ready to tear me a new throat and then he stopped. "You aren't related to the ace from the Great War are you?"
I nodded, "He is my father." He obviously didn't know that the field he was repairing would be used by Dad.
He shook his head, "Sorry for my reaction but things are a little fraught here at the moment." He waved his hand. "We have at least six days work here. Why do you ask if the field is ready?"
"I need a favour. Have you a little spotter here?" This was disingenuous of me for I had already seen the Lysander on the far side of the runaway, The Lysander had a very short take off and landing. It was perfect; even on a field as damaged as this.
"Yes we have one over there. We use it to run errands back to Blighty. It is my little taxi. My job is to help engineers set up new airfields. Why?"
"I wondered if I could borrow it."
"I am far too busy to fly you anywhere. Sorry and all that."
"I can fly it. Dad taught me. I have a pilot's licence."
He laughed. "I have never met your dad but from what I have heard you sound exactly like him. What do you need it for?"
I felt I could trust this officer. Sometimes you had to take a chance. "Look sir. Me and my section are going behind enemy lines soon. We have the aerial photographs but I want to have a look see myself." He nodded, "Winston Churchill himself is backing this sir."
He hesitated then said, "Oh what the hell. It's only a glorified taxi anyway. The Typhoons arrive next week. Just bring her back eh? She's a nice little beastie!"
"Is she gassed up, sir?"
"You are keen aren't you? Yes she's ready."
"Thanks sir. I owe you a favour for this."
"Make it a whisky when the mess is open and we are quits!"
Chapter 5
It was a nice little bus to fly. It had an incredibly short take off and I easily avoided the craters and pot holes. As I headed north east I kept low. The reconnaissance photographs had shown the land from a higher altitude than I wanted. I needed to see it closer up and this was the best way. The problem would b
e the Germans. I would be an inviting target for any who had a rifle. I had forgotten to ask if the two machine guns in the wheel fairings were armed. I would have to rely on my skills as a pilot but with a fifty feet wingspan I was a big target. It was the same wingspan as the Gunbus Dad had flown in the Great War.
I kept high when I left the airfield. The front line was not far away. I crossed the main road and the aeroplane was peppered by German bullets. I was far enough away for most of them to miss but the Squadron Leader would have a few holes in his 'nice little beastie'! I turned east and followed the D13 road. It would be the road we would follow. I had crossed the front line and there was less gunfire. The road was bordered by hedges. I saw German vehicles on the road. There were not many. Dad had told me that the RAF Typhoons were causing mayhem to any vehicles which risked the road in daylight. They would be as great a danger to us as the Germans.
I knew there were anti aircraft guns ringing Trun. However I had to risk getting as low as I could. I turned north so that I could sweep over where the dump was supposed to be. I took the Germans by surprise. They heard my engine, the Bristol Mercury was not a quiet one, but they looked for me higher in the sky. When I zipped over at a hundred and eighty miles an hour just a hundred feet in the air I was gone before they could cock their rifles. I saw the nasty looking guns which were in sandbagged emplacements and then I was over their defences. I found the road which passed the dump and saw what Private Beaumont meant. The storms of a week or so ago had dumped a great deal of rain and the muddy churned up ground on both sides of the road by the sandbags and barrier were a clear sign. I had found the entrance. I could not see the pumping station but the two parked Kübelwagens, machine guns and barrier were enough. If we could get close then we would find them. I knew where the front door was. Of the fuel dump all I could see was camouflage netting. At this low altitude it was obvious.
I turned south as bullets smacked my tail. I headed for Guêprei. It was a narrow road but, flying at a hundred feet above the ground I saw that something big used it for there were broken branches clearly visible on the overhanging trees. The river at Guêprei was not wide but there was a steep bank. If the bridge was destroyed then tanks would not be able to use it. The eighty eights around it would need to be taken out before we could blow the bridges. There were two of them and that meant at least twenty men; ten per gun. I was too low for them to hit. Their fuses would be set for aircraft at a higher altitude. Turning east I headed back for Caen and passed the second bridge. It was slightly wider but I could see it would not represent a problem. That too had two anti aircraft guns. Our biggest problem would be getting there.
As I flew back to the field I saw that if the bridges were destroyed it would force the entire German army to use the road leading to Argentan in the south and that was where the Americans were. The British and the Canadians would be the rock and the Americans the hard place. I saw the semblance of a strategy. Now that we had Caen and with the Americans surging from the south there was a chance that we could catch Jerry napping.
I climbed to avoid the gunfire at the frontline. I was helped by a squadron of tank busting Typhoons heading in the opposite direction. I began descending as they roared overhead. As I made my approach I couldn't help remembering the early, dark days of the war when I had dodged the Stuka dive bombers as the Loyal Lancashires had retreated. Then we had feared air superiority. Now we had it and I knew exactly how the Germans felt.
The landing was as short as the take off and I taxied it back to where I had found it. Squadron Leader Betts, pipe in mouth, strolled over and put his fingers in the holes of the tail. He shook his head, "My poor little beastie! What has this mad man done to you?"
"Sorry sir."
He smiled, "I got on to my superiors after you left. You didn't tell me that your father was coming over to take charge."
"Sorry sir. I wasn't told to tell anyone."
"Quite right too. I was also told to help you in any way I could." He tapped his pipe out on his heel. "I was told that Winnie himself approved this. You watch out for yourself eh?" He pointed to my battledress. "You are modest. You have the V.C. and M.C. and don't wear the fruit salad. Don't be a hero eh?"
"The battle dress is just for missions sir. I am proud to wear my ribbons but this is neither the time nor the place. Everyone here is a hero."
"Well I won't keep you. I put your bicycle in the office. There are black marketeers who would take the pennies from a corpse!"
By the time I reached the river it was late afternoon and there was no sign of any of my men. Bill Leslie came on deck and pointed. "They are round the back of your building, sir. They managed to get what you wanted. They are slaving away right now! Do you fancy a brew?"
"If there is one handy. I managed to miss lunch."
"I'll get you a corned dog buttie too. Skipper got some French mustard. It isn't as hot as English but it livens up the corned dog!"
I enjoyed chatting to Bill. We had watched this war together. From different services and different backgrounds we found it easy to talk to each other. Fate kept throwing us together. I thought it was a good thing as we seemed to bring each other luck. We had both seen men die but we had survived.
The Dijon mustard on the sandwich helped and the sweet tea washed it down beautifully. "Well I had better get back to work. Thanks for the tea, Chief."
"No problem sir." As he took the mug he said, "Did you hear about Lieutenant Jorgenson and the lads from the 'Lucky Lady'?"
"No. I have not seen them since Italy and Sicily."
"Skipper said he heard they were either captured or killed off the Yugoslavian coast. They went out and never came back. The fly boys saw the wreckage of their ship. Skipper knew him and that's how he found out. Thought you ought to know."
"Thanks Bill. They were tough lads. They might have survived."
"Aye sir. Best to look on the bright side eh but it makes you think. Here we are in France. If the papers are right and we can get to Germany soon then the war will be over. It would be daft to get killed now wouldn't it?"
I pointed to the half demolished buildings all around us, "If the Germans fight this hard for a piece of France imagine what they would do in Germany! No Bill, the war isn't going to end any day soon and we have to keep on doing what we have been. The moment we think we are going to survive..."
"Is the moment you find a bullet with your name on it. You are right, sir."
As I approached the area behind the building I heard the sound of banging and clanging. I saw that they had rigged the camouflage netting and some tarpaulin over the back yard and beneath it the whole section were busy putting together our second Kübelwagen . Freddie Emerson was as black as the ace of spades and his hands were covered in grease and oil. He had a cigarette stuck in the corner of his mouth and he looked as though Christmas and his birthday had come at once.
"We found everything we needed, sir! We found one with a decent body and there was a spare engine. We even have spare tyres."
"Good. Well done lads. Now will it run?"
Private Beaumont looked offended, "Sir, do you doubt us? By the time we are finished we could win the Le Mans twenty four hour race!"
"Good. Where is Lieutenant Ross?"
Polly said, "In the office sir."
The office was just two packing cases with a piece of wood on top and an old armchair we had salvaged from a bombed out house. The radio was next to it and the walls were festooned with maps. He jumped up to attention when I entered. "I have told you before John we don't bother with formality here. You did well with the scavengers."
He smiled, "That Fletcher is something else, sir. He seems to have a nose for this sort of thing. They were more than happy to let us lift whatever we wanted. The Army even loaned us a lorry to tow the Kübelwagen back. Lance Sergeant Hay said we could fit the MG 42 to one of them."
I nodded, "That would be fine. It takes the same ammo as the other guns. I am not going to bother taking the MG 40 we
found. Different calibre."
"Did you manage to recce sir?"
"Yes I took a Lysander up and scouted out the dump. I think I know where the entrance is but it is guarded. Do we have the same timetable?"
"It might be delayed, sir but not by much. We are still talking about the beginning of next week. We have only just secured the crossing of the Orne. The Germans are just on the other side of the river. I think they are still trying to land the tanks which will make the attack."
"That gives us four days then. Remember, John, that once we start we can't stop. If the attack is delayed after we leave you can't get in touch with us."
"But Fletcher has the radio."
"And we won't use that until the dump is blown. We don't want British signals to be picked up behind the German lines. Major Foster knows that." I could see he looked worried. This was not like the war games he had played when training. This was real life. "We have done this before. If we blow the dump up early it has the same effect. I have seen the bridges. When they are destroyed we will be in the driving seat. I can see now why this mission is so important."
When I told the men the new timetable they worked even harder. We worked after dark. While those with mechanical skills put together the repaired Kübelwagen I sat with Wilkinson, Hewitt and Fletcher. We went through the papers we had gathered and the uniforms. As Joe Wilkinson and I would be doing all the talking he would wear the sergeant's uniform and I would wear the officer's. I had already decided to hedge our bets by making two teams. We had Private Beaumont in my vehicle and Shepherd, the other explosives expert, with Wilkinson in the second. If one team was out of action then the other could complete the operation.
We had four complete sets of papers. I would take two for my team and Wilkinson could have the other two. Billy Hay would be with Wilkinson and so we fitted the machine gun to his vehicle. We only had four Colts with silencers. We would need those. The one weapon we had in abundance were grenades, both English and German. We had plenty of parachute cord and we had the ability to make booby traps.