Right and Glory

by Right

  Sykes glanced at him sharply. ‘Well, we’ll soon find out,’ he said, looking back at Verbois. ‘We’ll open this door. Dawson and I will step through, and you close the door behind us. That will place us in the void. When this door is secure, we’ll open the inner door. If the casemate is full of Germans, we’ll try to close it again before they can overpower us. If we’re captured, we’ll be prisoners of war, which is our problem. But this door will still prevent the Jerries from breaking through here into the fort. And if there are no enemy troops inside the casemate, we’ll proceed as planned.

  ‘Now, we don’t want to be up on the roof for any longer than absolutely necessary, so I want to agree some signals with you before we go. If we need to get back here because there are German troops in possession of the casemate, and we get the other door shut, we’ll bang on this door in a specific sequence. We’ll bang three times, pause, then once, pause, and then twice more. Three, one, two. Got that?’

  Verbois nodded.

  ‘If you hear any other sequence of bangs, it’s the Germans trying to get in and just ignore it. We’ll push the other steel door closed, so it will look as if it’s still locked. We don’t know what we’ll find through there, but if we can, we’ll be back in the casemate in about thirty minutes, so make sure you or one of your men stays here. I don’t want any mistakes, and I particularly don’t want to find myself banging on that door with nobody on this side of it. Is all that clear, Capitaine?’

  ‘Perfectly, Major. The sequence is three, one, two, and I myself will remain here until you return.’

  Sykes nodded. ‘If we’re not back in two hours from now, that probably means we won’t be coming back at all.’

  ‘Comforting thought,’ Dawson said, as he walked across to the steel door’s central locking handle.

  ‘Ready?’ he asked, and Sykes nodded.

  Dawson swung the handle, and the well-oiled bolts slid out of their sockets with a faint metallic grinding sound. He pulled on the door and it opened smoothly towards him. Dawson stopped the movement when the gap was a couple of feet wide, and peered inside. An empty space met his eyes, exactly as he’d expected. A few feet away, an identical steel door faced him.

  Dawson and Sykes stepped forwards into the space between the doors, and waited while Capitaine Verbois closed and then locked the first door behind them.

  Sykes motioned to Dawson to get ready beside the handle, and himself stood where the door would open, the Mauser in his hands. He flicked the safety catch all the way over to the left, readying the rifle for firing, then nodded for Dawson to turn the handle and unlock the inner steel door.

  Chapter 6

  10 May 1940

  Eben Emael, Belgium

  As the steel door swung slowly open, moved by the impressive might of Dawson’s powerful shoulder muscles, Sykes levelled his Mauser at the space beyond, part of the interior of the Maastricht Two casemate.

  Lights were burning, though some of the bulbs had been smashed, presumably by the blasts of the grenades the Germans had used to clear the area, and the casemate reeked of cordite and explosives. Debris, abandoned equipment and empty shell cases were scattered across the floor and traces of smoke and dust particles hung in the air. But there was no sign of any life. Or even of any dead bodies.

  Dawson carefully pushed the steel door closed behind him and stepped across to stand beside Sykes, his weapon at the ready.

  ‘We’ll keep it quiet, and take it slow,’ Sykes whispered. He pointed to one side of the passageway they were standing in. ‘Looks like the main part of the casemate is over there. Follow me.’

  Moments later, they were standing behind the central seventy-five-millimetre cannon that had been installed in the Maastricht Two casemate, or what was left of it. That casemate was one of the two at Fort Eben Emael that were intended to fire on targets that lay to the north, towards Maastricht, hence the name. But it was abundantly clear that this particular cannon was never going to do that job again. Some huge explosive charge had obviously been placed under the barrel on the outside of the casemate and then detonated. The resulting explosion had not only bent the barrel of the weapon, it had also blown the entire gun clear of its mounting and back into the casemate itself.

  Then the German troops had followed it up with a few bursts from a flame-thrower. The concrete was heavily blackened, and an unholy aroma filled the air. A mix of oil and petrol, and what smelt disgustingly almost like roast pork – burnt human flesh.

  Two battered corpses lay close to the shattered weapon, a silent and gruesome testament to the power of the explosion that had done the work. Their skin was blackened from the effects of the flame-thrower, their hands bent into clutching claws.

  ‘Did a special kind of explosive do this damage?’ Sykes asked, gesturing towards the wrecked gun.

  Dawson shook his head. ‘No. Just a biggish lump of plastic explosive placed very close to the base of the barrel. The design of the casemate probably helped the Germans – the concrete under the barrel of the cannon would have funnelled the blast upwards, increasing its effectiveness. A twenty- or thirty-pound charge would probably have been enough to do this.’

  Sykes glanced around them. They’d neither seen nor heard any sign of any German troops since they’d stepped into the casemate.

  ‘It looks like the Jerries blew their way in here and then left again once they were sure all the Belgian defenders had retreated,’ he said. ‘Now let’s get outside and see how the land lies.’

  Although they’d been speaking quietly together, there was probably no need. From outside the casemate they could hear the repeated sounds of rifle and sub-machine-gun fire, and the yells and shouts of the attacking German troops.

  Sykes nodded his head towards the blackened hole where the seventy-five-millimetre cannon had been positioned. ‘We’ll go out that way,’ he announced. ‘With all that racket going on, they won’t hear us.’

  ‘What about the different colour of our uniforms?’ Dawson said.

  ‘That won’t be a problem. Somebody once said, at night all cats look grey. I don’t think there’s enough light out there for them to spot the difference. And if one of them does challenge us, we shoot him down. This is no time for finesse, Dawson. One more rifle shot isn’t going to be noticed. We need to move quickly, find what we’re looking for, and get back here as soon as we can.’

  ‘Where do we start looking?’

  ‘Right outside this casemate, for a start. The Germans would have carried these new weapons to their principal targets, so maybe we’ll be lucky and spot one right outside.’

  ‘And if we don’t, then what, sir?’

  ‘They flew here in gliders, so any stores and supplies they haven’t hauled out of the craft will still be inside them. Or maybe stacked up near them. That’ll be our second option. OK?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Right. You go first.’

  Dawson strode across to the opening in the concrete wall, stepping gingerly over the remains of the cannon and the two dead Belgian soldiers, then slid his Mauser through and climbed up and wriggled out through the hole.’

  For a few seconds he just vanished from sight: then his face reappeared in the opening. ‘It’s all quiet out here, sir. Well, it’s noisy, but there aren’t any Germans nearby.’

  Sykes nodded and followed the corporal out through the hole. Then he stood up and looked around.

  The roof of the fort was absolutely immense, a grassy expanse that extended in all directions, though they could actually see very little of it because of the smoke and poor visibility, though a faint lightening of the sky showed that dawn was almost upon them. From over to the east, towards the Albert Canal, came the sound of gunfire and shouted orders, so he guessed that probably Cupola Nord or Cupola Sud, or maybe both of them, were under attack. That would be good news for them, because if the Germans were concentrating on hitting them, they wouldn’t be looking out for a couple of British army soldiers running about the plac
e, searching for explosive charges.

  Lying on the ground in front of them was a length of worked wood, a pole about ten or twelve feet long, one end of it blackened and splintered. Dawson picked it up and looked carefully at the damaged end.

  ‘What is it?’ Sykes asked.

  ‘I think this is how they put the charge under the barrel of the cannon. It’s a bit risky standing right beside the muzzle, packing explosive in the gap. If the defenders realized what was happening, they could just fire the weapon, or move the barrel to dislodge the charge. I think the Jerries already had the charge attached to the end of this pole, with a ten-second fuse or something like that. They could ram the explosive right up beside the barrel with this, and not expose themselves. Then they could just pull the cord and scarper.’

  ‘Clever,’ Sykes muttered. ‘This is a really well-planned raid. Right, let’s look here first. Circle round the casemate that way. I’ll meet you on the other side.’

  A couple of minutes later, they were standing at the back of the casemate, neither having found any sign of the special explosive charges anywhere near the structure.

  ‘The gliders approached from the south,’ Sykes said, ‘so they must have landed somewhere near the northern end of the fort. So we’ll head that way. Keep your eyes open. I’ll take point and left.’

  In a hostile environment – and there was no doubt that description would apply to the roof of Fort Eben Emael at that moment – two soldiers would never walk side by side. Invariably, one would advance in front of the other, the leading man checking ahead and to one side, while the man behind covered their rear and the opposite side of their line of advance. As they started walking forward, Sykes moved slightly ahead, scanning the ground ahead and to their left, while Dawson followed a few paces behind, checking to the right and behind them.

  For perhaps fifty yards, neither man saw anything to cause immediate concern. The sound of heavy firing and explosions still came from their right-hand side, over to the east, where the Nord and Sud cupolas were located, but there was no enemy activity directly in front of them.

  Then Sykes froze, immediately raised his right arm to warn Dawson he was stopping, and sank to a crouch on the ground.

  Dawson ducked down and moved closer to the major.

  ‘Right, about two o’clock,’ Sykes whispered, pointing ahead. ‘I heard voices. German voices.’

  ‘Cupola One Twenty is over that way,’ Dawson whispered. ‘Maybe the Jerries are taking out that one next.’

  Sykes glanced at his watch. ‘It’s six forty-five now, so full light soon. Need to get a move on. We’ll head over to the west, out-flank them and find these bloody gliders.’

  He stood up again, then immediately ducked down, swinging the muzzle of his Mauser rifle over to the east.

  Dawson moved a few paces backwards, and did exactly the same. There was no mistaking what they’d heard from over to their right – a shouted order, followed by the sound of running feet. Both men feared the same thing. Had they been spotted by some soldier? Was a squad of troops heading straight for them?

  But no German troops appeared, and in seconds a brief silence fell.

  Then a colossal explosion ripped across the roof of the fort, an echoing blast that seemed to suck the very air out of their lungs and, despite the fact that the explosion must have been dozens of yards away, clouds of dust and debris boiled around them.

  ‘Fuck me,’ Dawson muttered. ‘That was a big bastard. You OK, sir?’

  ‘Yes,’ Sykes replied. ‘We can assume Cupola One Twenty is now permanently out of action, even if the Belgians managed to get the ammunition elevators working again. Come on. Let’s move while the Jerries are busy inspecting their handiwork.’

  In a crouch, the two men angled their path slightly over to the west, away from the site of the explosion.

  A couple of minutes later they saw a bulky, oblong object over to their left, the north-facing concrete front pierced by three holes, the rear covered with a grassy mound.

  ‘I know exactly where we are now,’ Sykes whispered. ‘Maastricht One. According to Verbois, the Jerries have already knocked it out. We’ll angle a bit more over to the east, to keep well clear of it.’

  Less than four minutes later Sykes stopped again and peered into the gloom ahead of them.

  ‘The tail-plane of a glider’s right in front of us,’ he said quietly. ‘We’ll split up and approach it from opposite sides, OK?’

  Dawson nodded and moved away to his right, checking that the safety catch on his Mauser was off, just in case the Germans had left a guard – or even the pilot – with the glider.

  As he got closer to the silent aircraft, Dawson was able to appreciate just how big it was. He was unfamiliar with aircraft – he’d never flown in one, or even stood beside one before – but the craft he was looking at seemed huge. It was at least forty feet long, with a wingspan nearly double that length. He marvelled that it could stay in the air without an engine.

  It didn’t seem to have an undercarriage, but there was a large skid that extended backwards from the nose and ran underneath the fuselage, and a deflated parachute was attached to the rear of the aircraft, presumably to slow it down more quickly on the limited roof area of the fort. There was a canopy in front of the wing, covering the cockpit where the pilot would have sat, but it was open and the cockpit itself clearly empty. Looking further towards the rear of the glider, Dawson could see a wide-open door on the right-hand side of the fuselage, and what looked like rows of empty fabric seats inside the craft. But what he didn’t see was any sign of the troops who would have been inside the craft when it landed.

  He approached the glider cautiously, crossed to the open door and glanced inside, looking in both directions, but the craft was empty. Dawson walked around the nose and saw Major Sykes checking the interior through an open door on the opposite side.

  ‘Empty,’ Sykes confirmed, as Dawson stepped up beside him.

  ‘And no sign of any equipment,’ Dawson said.

  ‘No. Right, we’ll move on to the next one.’

  After taking a good look all round them, the two men started walking again, still heading north, towards the narrow apex of Fort Eben Emael.

  The sky had now taken on the rosy tints of early dawn, and the visibility was improving quickly, which was both a blessing and a curse. They could see further, but it would also be easier for one of the German soldiers to spot them, to recognize the different style and colour of their British army uniforms and raise the alarm. Or maybe just shoot them.

  The shape of another glider appeared in front of them, the nose section tangled in one of the barbed-wire fences that criss-crossed the roof of the fort. As with the first one, the canopy was open, and they could see the black oblong of the open door in the side of the fuselage as well.

  ‘Same routine,’ Sykes murmured. ‘You go right, I’ll go left.’

  Dawson circled slightly, then approached the glider from the side. Again, there was no sign of life in or near the aircraft, and he reached it without incident. He looked inside the fuselage.

  All the seats were empty, but close to the front of the fuselage, directly under the wing, was a large dark-grey object resting on the floor. It looked like the upper half of a globe, but with a rod or something projecting vertically from the top, and a circumferential joint about a third of the way up from the flat base. Dawson had never seen anything like it before, but he knew instinctively this was the weapon that had done such colossal damage to the fort’s gun emplacements.

  At that moment, Major Sykes stuck his head through the open door on the opposite side of the glider’s fuselage and immediately saw what Dawson was looking at. He pointed at the dome-shaped object.

  ‘Is that one of the charges they used?’ he asked.

  Dawson nodded. ‘I think so. It looks like it’s a two-piece device, probably with the explosive charge in the top section. It’s even got carrying handles.’

  He reached down, grab
bed a heavy leather handle riveted to the side of the upper section of the globe, and lifted it.

  ‘Bugger me, that’s heavy,’ he said.

  While he was still bending forward, struggling to lift the object, Dawson heard a sound from behind him, and then a guttural voice shouted out something in German – an order or a question – he didn’t know which. But he knew they were in trouble.

  ‘Oh, shit,’ Dawson muttered as he stood up, still facing into the glider’s fuselage, his hands already reaching for the Mauser rifle slung over his right shoulder.

  Chapter 7

  10 May 1940

  Eben Emael, Belgium

  As Dawson straightened up, he glanced inside the fuselage again, towards the open doorway on the opposite side of the glider. But Major Sykes had vanished.

  He heard another shout in German from behind him. The soldier, whoever he was, was clearly getting impatient. Dawson knew he would have to turn and face him. When that happened, there was a good chance the man would simply shoot him out of hand, because in the growing daylight, Dawson’s uniform and nationality would be obvious. If the soldier was competent – and everything he’d seen so far suggested that these Germans were very competent – he would already be covering Dawson with his own rifle or machine-pistol, so he knew his chances of bringing his own Mauser to bear were slim in the extreme.

  But he had to take the chance.

  Dawson started turning slowly to his left, which would hopefully hide what he was going to try and do from the German soldier. As he turned, he lifted the butt of the Mauser with his right hand, sliding the weapon’s sling off his shoulder, bringing the butt up towards his face. When he reckoned he’d moved the rifle far enough, to a vertical, but muzzle-down, position, he grasped the fore-end of the weapon with his left hand and slid his finger into the trigger guard, his thumb checking the position of the rifle’s safety catch.

  There was another shout from behind him, and then Dawson completed the move he planned from the moment he’d heard the German’s challenge. The move that would make the difference between his life and death in the early dawn.