Love is the death of me

by Dick Hardman

  The few agents who survived, searched the ruins for their colleagues and Sundown, but only found traces of human remains.

  ***

  Wearily Caplin reached across his desk and answered the phone, to silence its irritating jangle.

  He spoke in a guarded manner. “Hello, John Caplin here, who is calling?” This was just the sort of time Stern would phone, checking to make sure the department was burning the midnight oil.

  “Oh god, John! I have dreadful news. We went to arrest Sundown and as the lads pounced, the whole building exploded. The man must have accidentally triggered a UXB or one of his own booby traps, taking six of our agents with him.

  “We could only find body parts and I doubt there will be enough to fill a small coffin, certainly we will never sort out who is who. So far we have found 13 hands, so the traitor is in there somewhere.”

  Caplin turned white as a sheet as he visualised the carnage. This was one reason why he seldom left the office; it was too damned easy to get killed and he had a family to go home to. He forced his thoughts away from the heartbreak and anguish of the deceased agents’ loved ones. He knew he was not much of a man, but hopefully no one would notice.

  “If you have hands, we can use fingerprints, can’t we?”

  “No chance of that, John. They all look like charred leather gloves. Whatever the bomb was, it was huge. I cannot believe it was a booby trap, it was far too big for that. More likely a UXB which some warden missed. Rushing into the house must have triggered it; the walls blew out and the roof sailed off down the road. There was hardly any rubble to dig through in what was left of the house, just a few floorboards and joists.”

  “Thanks for letting me know, I will pass on the news and wait for your full report.”

  “You’re an insensitive bastard! Six good men dead and all you can think of is a bloody report. Sundown is dead, got it!” The deeply distressed man smashed the phone down and ran from the phone box, sobbing uncontrollably.

  John Caplin flushed up with shame, tears welled in his eyes as he tried to grapple with what was the right thing to do. After a moment, he picked up the phone and called Sir Philip to break the news. He would see how the god-almighty Stern handled the tragedy, for next time.

  And there would be a next time!

  Otto returns. 14th December 1943

  It was late evening when the transport plane touched down at Alderney airport, under cover of darkness. Otto was on board with further essential supplies for the team and the island. Pieter and a driver went up in a truck, to meet him.

  Otto had brought the team’s clothes for the journey, some real and forged £5 notes and their ID papers. Their main clothing for daily use, and the £10,000 of forged money, had been dropped by air. It was now secure in London and would be waiting for them at the safe house.

  Final grooming, document checks and the briefing of Pieter and his team, was painstakingly carried out by Otto. The man was meticulous to a fault and Pieter felt reassured they would pass as British citizens, unless they had to speak, or were officially investigated.

  Otto directed Pieter away from the team and spoke quietly in his carefully considered, clipped manner.

  “Pieter, the S-125 will be here on the night of the 17th - three days’ time. Your landing craft, for want of a better description, has been built and tested.

  “Arrangements have been made, for you to be taken to the safe house in London.

  “I will confirm the date with Sundown, in tomorrow evening’s public broadcast.” Otto being unaware of Sundown’s apparent demise.

  “He will pass this on to his team.

  “Now I will run through the details of your landing point, and what you must do when you get there…”

  Goodbye. 16th December 1943

  It was 8.00am that morning when Pieter spoke with the Oberst.

  “Herr Oberst, we are now ready to go to England and prepare to place the beacons. As you know, we plan to go by S-boat, because of the fragility of the equipment. I must update Berlin so they can get our diversion organised when we make landfall.

  “With your permission, I need to get this message sent straight away.

  “We leave here tomorrow night at about 10.00pm, the moment S-125 docks and is loaded.” He handed the Oberst a coded page.

  ”Yes of course Pieter. You have achieved your task here very quickly, and I for one will be sad to see you go.” The Oberst turned and walked smartly away, almost as though he were hiding emotion.

  ***

  Later that day, the Oberst passed Pieter a decoded reply.

  “Tomorrow night it is then Pieter. The S-125 will come in and refuel, and then take you on to your rendezvous. You had better go and prepare your team. There will be no moon, I suspect this was factored into your plan; also heavy cloud is predicted tomorrow. That will be a great advantage. God knows you will need all the help and good luck you can get, on this mission.”

  “Yes sir, you are right. Working alone is risky enough, but a small group stands out and increases the chance of failure, many times over.

  “When I started this project, I gave little thought to this part of the mission. I never believed we would overcome all the technical problems, but we did. Now we face the final challenge.”

  “The mission almost ended before it began, with the problems I had in trying to find appropriate members for the team. Had it not been for Helga’s suggestion, we would have had to bring people in. That would have alerted the British and made infiltration more difficult.”

  “Ah! So it was her idea, was it? I got the impression that Herman had worked his magic. A crafty old fox, that one. He led me to believe it was his idea!

  “I have noticed that you and Helga keep a good distance, but I can tell you are friends. I know she will miss having you around.” There was a glint of knowing in his eye, as he faced Pieter.

  Pieter did not flinch or break eye contact. He appeared indifferent, cold and detached, although he had expected a remark of this sort, before now.

  “I should see her and let her know I am going. It would be very rude to leave without saying goodbye!”

  The Oberst smiled, and nodded in agreement.

  ***

  Helga had not visited Pieter’s bed for several nights and he wondered why? It was simple maths to figure out one good reason and he hoped that was it!

  Pieter made his way to her office. A small stone walled room painted white, with wax polished, pine floor boards. She had a table as a desk and sat on a wooden chair, made bearable with a plump red velvet cushion. A similar bare wood chair was placed in the corner of the room, next to four filing cabinets. As he expected, everything was clean and neatly arranged, with the light from the small window to her left, spilling over her work area on the desk. It was also one of the warmer rooms in the fort, because the only external wall was a vertical strip, the width of the window. Her back faced the wall of the kitchen, heated by the cooking range on the other side, her only source of heat.

  He knocked at the open office door and waited for her to look up. She eagerly beckoned him in.

  “Good morning Helga, I missed you last night, and I had something important to tell you.”

  He could see she was not herself. Her face was pale and drawn, and she seemed irritable.

  “I wanted to see you, but you know how things are, every so often… Give me a couple of days and we will be as good as new!”

  “That is what I came to tell you, I have to go away tomorrow.” She looked stunned. He saw her eyes overflow with tears that ran down her flushed cheeks. Sitting at her desk, she buried her face in her hands and sobbed her heart out.

  “I am so sorry, I have upset you! I had no idea you were feeling so vulnerable.” He rushed over, knelt beside her and pulled her to him for comfort. She stopped sobbing, and looked at him with tear-filled eyes. She realised his eyes too were watering; he was holding back his emotions, but only just!

  “We have made a mess of this, have
n’t we, Pieter? All I wanted was some fun. I knew you would not be on Alderney for very long and I hadn’t intended to form any attachment. You are the wrong sort to fall in love with, I knew that all along. But I never realised how much you meant to me, until now, when you knocked on my door.

  “I am so sorry for my emotions, it is worse at this time of the month, but I do love you. I fell for you the moment I first saw you in that freezing bathroom, you know, when you burst in and turned the light on. I mean, what a stupid thing to do. I was so cross, but then you vanished before I could say anything. I couldn’t sleep all night, after that. I just lay there thinking about you, and I should have realised then you were going to hurt me. I should have ignored you. Dedrick knows about us, I am sure he does, but he is such a kind man. I think he will be glad to see you go.”

  “I had no idea you felt that way about me Helga, had I known, I would have stopped sooner. I cannot bear the thought that I have hurt you. I knew I had feelings for you, the very first time I saw you; feelings I had never experienced before, with anyone. I just cannot explain it, but I have lain in my bed, wishing I could walk away from this war and lead a normal life, to have a family together, and spend the rest of my life with you.

  “I love being a spy, living on the edge, with no ties or commitments. ‘Love them and leave them’ was fine with me, until I met you. You’re right Helga, we really have made a mess of things.

  “Dedrick cannot know about us, for certain, but he does suspect. That is normal paranoia for a man of his age. Things will go back to normal as soon as I am gone, so don’t worry about that.”

  “I am not worried about it! I just cannot face another man, now I have found you. So that will be another broken heart. He loves me, you know. He will be forced to send me away, if he cannot have me.”

  “Dry your tears Helga, we will get through it, we have to - there is no other choice.” She sniffed and pulled out a neatly folded white handkerchief. She dried her eyes, and then daintily blew her nose.

  He rose from his position beside her and walked stiffly away, closing the door behind him.

  “Damn this war. Damn! Damn! Damn!” he uttered viciously, under his breath.

  The cook’s assistant gave Pieter a strange look, as they passed outside her door, but he paid no heed to the runt.

  Regrets. 17th December 1943

  The morning of the final day on the island had arrived and the tension was thick enough to slice. The team was edgy, as they rushed to check and pack their equipment. They also felt regret, as there were times when they had taken short cuts with study, and did not take their practice with spoken English and British customs seriously enough. Now they could only hope it would not result in their death.

  The morning swims had increased their resistance to the cold. Just as well, the frogman gear would do little to keep them warm. Everyone was dreading the long swim, in the black, icy water. The secret practice runs at night were bad enough, but there had been a boat with them, if they got into trouble.

  Training had been exciting and they had enjoyed many privileges, but now all that was being left behind. They were leaving the relative safety of this beautiful, peaceful island for great danger, to rub shoulders with their mortal enemy.

  Everyone noticed Pieter was not himself; even allowing for the current tension, something was nagging at him. He was no longer cool and calm, he had lost focus and it was sapping his team’s resolve.

  For the first time in his life, Pieter Klein was close to breaking, even secretly hoping something would occur to halt the mission. He was scared, not of the mission going wrong, he would rise and overcome that challenge, or that he might be captured and killed. He was scared that fate would come between him and Helga, preventing him ever seeing her again.

  Sensing the unrest within the team, he made a supreme effort to focus on the mission. He told himself, more than that, he convinced himself, that only by successfully completing the mission would he ever see Helga again. From that moment on, he was back to his old self.

  ***

  Dedrick was genuinely sad to see Pieter preparing to leave, but since he came, Helga had changed. Now she was no different to a prostitute, going through the pretence of affection. In his limited experience of women, she appeared to be focused on something, but it did not appear to be a relationship with Pieter.

  Then there was the Alderney spy. Whoever it was, the traitor was still at large. The Oberst had spoken to trusted officers about trying to apprehend the culprit. They had suggested the spy would be forced to come out of hiding, the moment Pieter Klein and his team were known to be leaving the island. The spy would have to inform the British. Trusted soldiers from the ranks were hiding out all over the island, hoping to spot suspicious activity.

  The signals team were monitoring as many wavebands as they could, in an attempt to locate any unauthorised radio transmission. They worked tirelessly adjusting tuning dials, listening intently to squeals, whistles and the hiss of static, for the tuneless beep of Morse code that should not be there.

  All this was done covertly, and everything else continued as normal on the island.

  Herman already knew of the departure date, he had found Helga sobbing in her office. He appeared to be very annoyed that Pieter had upset her, or that is what he had deduced. The cook and his runt of an assistant agreed with him, it was shameful.

  S-125 causes concern.

  It was now 11.00pm, and dead quiet down at the harbour. The weather was surprisingly mild for this time of year. A cloudy sky was expected, so with no moon or starlight and the whole island in darkness, the pitch black was almost palpable.

  Pieter wished to retain his night vision by leaving his torch off. He edged carefully towards the sound of lapping water, to better hear the S-125 approaching. It was already one hour overdue. Yet another reason for his guts to knot even tighter with fear and anxiety, but outwardly he appeared calm.

  The prolonged jangling ring of a field telephone sounded ethereal in the velvet blackness. Pieter switched on his shielded beam torch and picked his way carefully, in its feeble yellow light, towards the sound of the guard, speaking on the phone.

  “The breakwater lookout is asking for you, sir,” explained the guard as he watched the approaching light pool on the ground.

  Pieter took the handset.

  “Pieter Klein here, what have you got to tell me?”

  “Sir, there is a thick bank of fog coming in very quickly, it is probably the reason S-125 is so late. I thought you would want to know.”

  “Thank you,” was Pieter’s polite reply.

  “The damn fog is the plague of this island, even in the summer. One moment you can see France, the next you can’t see across the street. It rolls over the island like thick bonfire smoke.” The lookout thought this useless information would be of help, he sensed the mounting anxiety, because things were not happening as they should.

  Pieter Klein was tense with all the uncertainty. The boat was late, and time was critical. He did not want to disembark near England, too close to sunrise, they would be seen as they emerged from the sea. The darkness and fog made navigation into Alderney especially hazardous. The powerful currents and sharp rocks demanded slow and careful progress. Leaving would be equally treacherous and high speed running out at sea, to make up for lost time, would be their only option.

  The lookout spoke again, this time with fervour.

  “Sir, I hear the boat now. I will alert all stations.” He hung up.

  Pieter made his way back to his team. They were huddled together in a small stone room at the fort with their basic kit and pocket money, with four large packs of waterproofed beacons and munitions.

  “S-125 is just coming in now. Let us pray there is no air raid here tonight. Hopefully the fog will work for us.” A murmur of agreement passed between them, as the tension eased.

  ***

  As the bow came slowly into view, the massive 114 foot long hull of the S38b class emerged from the
mist and looked as if it would never reach the end. The three diesel engines, each capable of 2200 horse power, murmured and burbled like purring tigers as they ticked over. When they fell silent, the gentle lapping of water could be heard, and urgent voices barking orders and confirmation, muffled by the thick mist.

  The mixed feelings of relief and dread descended on Pieter. Relief the boat was safe, and dread that he was another step closer to whatever fate awaited him. Complete the mission, and get back to Helga, that is what I must do.

  The invention.

  Forcing his mind to focus back onto the mission, Pieter was keen to see what the German engineers at Saint Nazaire had come up with, based on his detailed sketch of the small craft. In the dim light, he ran his sharp eyes along the sleek hull of S-125 and, about amidships, he saw what looked like two torpedoes, on a sturdy frame. They lay across the boat, high above the deck. Because of the size, it looked most ungainly, but hopefully it would not destabilise the S-125, or reduce its speed by much.

  As the S-boat kissed the dock, Pieter leapt aboard and greeted the captain, Anton Schmitt, a jovial looking man of about 45, tall and heavily built. His relaxed manner helped Pieter to feel a little more positive.

  “I am so pleased to see you Captain. I was anxious that you had hit a rock or been intercepted.”

  “This is a tricky harbour, and the fog didn’t help us,” Schmitt confirmed.

  “Did that contraption cause you any problems?” Pieter pointed to the framework above them.

  “It increases roll significantly at slow speed, but when we start planing, it makes no difference. There is quite a bit of drag though and reduces our top speed by 5 knots, much more with a strong headwind.

  “Have a look at your machine while I organise the proceedings.”

  The captain moved away to direct loading and refuelling operations.

  Pieter clambered up between the long torpedo-shaped floats onto the small deck area, and lay on his stomach at the controls. In the torchlight he could see there was a push ’stop’ and ‘start’ button, and a lever for speed. The other push/pull lever was the steering control. The steering was connected to a gyro that was either on or off. Point the craft in a particular direction and switch on the gyro, and it would stay on that heading. However, there was no compensation for sideways drift from wind or current.