‘Perfect. Just check your watch. Mine says ten forty-three.’
‘Ten forty-five.’
‘That’s close enough. Right, we can see four sentries from where we are now, so we’ll name them from the left and call them Able, Baker, Charlie and Dog – straight out of the phonetic alphabet. Write those names at the top of the page. Every time one of them does anything, make a note of it, with the time. We’ll soon find out their routine. When we know that, hopefully we’ll find a way to get past them, preferably without killing one of them.’
‘Any ideas?’
‘I’ve got a kind of a germ of one, but it all depends on what we see today – and on the moon,’ Dawson added.
‘The moon? What the hell’s the moon got to do with it?’
‘I’ll tell you later. Right. I’m going get my head down. You’ve got the binoculars, paper and pencil, so just keep watch and record everything that happens. Give me a shake in a few hours and I’ll take over. A mug of tea would be nice when I wake up.’
‘Dream on, mate,’ Watson said. ‘I can offer you a swig of water and that’s it. Anyway, just shut up and try to grab some sleep. It’s going to be a bloody long day and a longer night tonight, is my guess.’
* * *
By the time he woke Dawson, Watson had jotted down several notes on his piece of paper and, as the afternoon gradually slipped into evening, Dawson added several more. When he woke his companion just after nine, the paper was covered in scribbles.
‘How are we doing?’ Watson asked, sitting up and stretching.
‘About the same as usual – pretty average.’ Dawson handed him a water canteen.
‘You got a plan yet?’
‘I might have,’ Dawson admitted. ‘I thought we might use German efficiency against the German sentries.’
Watson rubbed his eyes. ‘You’ll need to explain that to me. And slowly and carefully, because I’m still half asleep.’
Dawson grinned and glanced down at the piece of paper in his hand. ‘I saw the same routine you did,’ he started. ‘Those sentries stay in more or less the same spot all the time. They occasionally walk up and down, but for most of their watch they just stand there, keeping an eye on the forest. They do four hours, then they’re relieved by another soldier. The new men arrive in the back of a truck that drives along the road from south to north, picking up the soldiers at the end of their watch at the same time. Then the vehicle drives back down the road, heading south, so I assume that the main German camp or whatever they’ve got is somewhere down there.’
Watson nodded. ‘I figured the same. And it looks as if each Jerry finishing his watch briefs the new man on what’s been happening – which probably consists of the German equivalent of “fuck all”.’
Dawson looked at the paper again. ‘Right. The watch change-over that you saw was at twelve noon. I watched the same thing at four this afternoon, and again at eight this evening.’
‘So the next ones will be at midnight and four in the morning, I suppose?’
‘Exactly. As well as the sentries, there’s a two- or three-man roving patrol, armed with machine-pistols. They walk along the road about half-way through each watch and have a chat to each of the sentries. Like the truck, they come from somewhere down to the south, walk north, and then come back down the road about half an hour later. I think they’re the key.’
Watson looked interested. ‘How?’
‘If we try and cross from here to the river, especially carrying one of those bloody logs, one of the sentries will be certain to spot us, because we’ll have to go within about fifty yards of where he’ll be standing. But if we can take out one of them, we should be able to get across, because then the closest soldiers will be a hundred yards away.
‘I mentioned the moon. If it was going to be a bright night, this wouldn’t work, because we’d be seen even at that distance. But it’s not. We’ve got pretty much full cloud cover, which means the visibility will be poor once night falls. And that’s what we need.’
‘So we hit one of the sentries? Is that what you mean?’
‘Yes, but we’ll have to do it quietly, and that means getting right up close to him,’ Dawson said.
‘But he’ll see us coming, surely?’
Dawson nodded. ‘Of course. The trick will be getting close without arousing his suspicion. And there is a way we can do that, I hope. It’ll be too dark to see much more than the outline of a figure tonight, so we make sure that our outlines are what he’ll be expecting to see. We’ve still got the coal-scuttle helmets, which are pretty distinctive, and in the dark he won’t be able to tell the colour of our uniforms. We’ll also be carrying German weapons – the Schmeissers – so I’m hoping that the sentry will see us heading towards him and just assume we’re the roving patrol.’
‘Suppose the real patrol comes along?’
‘That, I hope, is the clever bit. We wait until after the patrol has been up the line and gone back down to the south. We give them a few minutes to get clear, then we walk up to the sentry. With any luck, he’ll think the members of the patrol have forgotten something, and he won’t realize who we are until we’re right beside him.’
‘And then we kill him?’ Watson asked flatly.
‘No, not unless we have to. I know the Germans are the enemy, and in a fire-fight I’ll try and kill them because I know that if I don’t they’ll try to kill me. Face-to-face, where we have a choice, it’s different. I’d far rather just knock him out. But if we have to kill him then, yes, that’s what I’ll do.’
‘And then what?’
‘Then we drag the timbers over to the river, tie them together, strip off and put all our gear on the raft and paddle it across to the other side. When we get into Luxembourg, at least the Jerries won’t still be chasing us, so we can relax a bit, then just cross the border back into France.’
It sounded easy the way Dawson said it, but neither man had the slightest doubt that what they were going to attempt wasn’t ‘easy’ in any sense of the word. But there didn’t seem to be much in the way of alternatives.
‘So when do we do it?’ Watson asked.
‘The next watch change will be at midnight. The roving patrol should be along some time after one in the morning, and should be walking back to the German camp about three-quarters of an hour later. Let’s start moving the logs out of the forest and part-way to the river a little while before midnight, because the sentries will be less alert at the end of their watch. Then we find ourselves some cover out there’ – he gestured towards the open ground between the edge of the forest and the road – ‘and wait until just after the roving patrol’s walked past, heading south. Then we stand up, cross over to the road and walk down it towards the sentry, as if we owned the bloody place. If you can muster the odd word or two of German when we get closer, that would be even better. That will make the sentry assume we’re just a couple of German soldiers. By the time he realizes we’re not, we’ll be too close. It’ll be too late.’
* * *
‘Time to go,’ Dawson murmured, just after eleven twenty by his watch. ‘Leave the weapons here – we can’t afford to make any noise.’
The two men took off their various belts and straps and placed all their equipment on the ground. Then they walked over to where they’d left the two baulks of timber, picked up the first one and hoisted it onto their shoulders.
It was a dark night, the moon only fitfully visible as a dimly seen and ghostly shape through the thick veil of cloud that covered the sky.
They reached the edge of the forest and stopped for a few moments, using their ears more than their eyes, but could detect no sounds that might indicate trouble. Then they stepped forward, walking slowly and carefully over the uneven ground, balancing the heavy timber between them.
‘This is far enough,’ Dawson whispered.
They stopped and lowered the wood to the ground, and looked all around them. They were, Dawson thought, probably only about eighty yards from th
e road and the nearest sentry, quite close enough for the moment. Then they turned and walked back to the safety of the wood.
‘Bloody hard work, that,’ Watson muttered, as they stepped back between the trees.
‘Yeah. We’ll take a five-minute break, then do the other one.’
By eleven forty, both lengths of timber were positioned ready for the final part of their journey to the river.
Dawson had decided their best option was to move out of the forest before the watch change-over. Both men had stood watches before, many times. They knew that towards the end of a very boring few hours, the attention of the sentry would be focused on the arrival of his relief, not on what he was supposed to be doing. So it made sense for them to get into their final position before the new, more alert, soldier arrived to take over.
They’d left their British helmets, and the Mausers and their ammunition in the forest – rifles would be no use to them now – and had just taken the remaining stick grenades and Schmeisser machine-pistols with them. They found a suitable hollow in the ground about sixty yards from the road and ducked down into it. It didn’t offer much cover, but it would do. They were invisible from the road, in that light, unless any of the sentries or occasional vehicles they saw passing had powerful torches, and so far they’d seen no evidence of that. The sentries had small hand torches, but that was all.
They had a long wait ahead of them. First the watch change-over would take place, within the next half-hour. Then they’d have at least an hour before the roving patrol passed them going north, and another forty minutes or so before it returned. Only then, when the patrol was out of sight, would they be able to move.
Chapter 39
16 September 1939
It was ten minutes after midnight before they saw what they’d been expecting.
‘Slow-moving truck, left ten o’clock,’ Dawson whispered.
‘Got it.’
The two men watched in silence as the vehicle approached. In the light from its partially blacked-out headlamps they could see two of the other sentries waiting patiently to be relieved.
‘It’s stopped where sentry Able was positioned.’
As Dawson made this observation, the truck started moving again.
‘Now Baker.’
Again the lorry braked to a stop. Dawson and Watson couldn’t see anyone climb out of the vehicle or get into it, because the back of the truck was in darkness, but they had no doubt about what was happening on the road in front of them.
‘And that’s Charlie,’ Watson murmured.
‘And Dog,’ Dawson added, a couple of minutes later, as they watched the vehicle drive out of sight towards the north.
Twenty minutes later, what they assumed was the same lorry drove back, heading south along the road. The sentries, briefly illuminated by its headlights, acknowledged the vehicle’s passage with raised hands or nods.
‘That should be it for another hour or so,’ Dawson whispered.
* * *
Ninety minutes later, they heard, rather than saw, two men walking down the road, though the cigarette one of them was smoking indicated their position reasonably clearly. The patrol stopped by each of the sentries and talked briefly with them – Dawson and Watson could just about hear the faint sounds of their conversation – and then the soldiers walked on.
‘Another half hour or so, they should be on the way back. Then we can move,’ Dawson said.
* * *
It was actually closer to an hour before they saw the two-man patrol walking back down the road beside the river, and this time both of them were smoking.
‘Sloppy, that,’ Watson muttered. ‘On a clear night you can see a cigarette being smoked a quarter of a mile away. It’s a dead giveaway.’
‘Yeah,’ Dawson replied. ‘But they’re not that bothered. They’re well inside Germany, surrounded by other Germans. But it’s good news for us.’
He glanced at the illuminated dial of his watch. ‘We’ll give them ten minutes,’ he said. ‘That should be long enough for them to get well clear of the area, but not so long that the sentry will be too suspicious when he sees two men coming towards him.’
* * *
‘Right,’ Dawson said. ‘Time to go.’
The two men stood up, slung their Schmeissers and settled the German helmets on their heads.
‘You want a fag, for realism?’ Watson asked, fishing a packet out of one of his battledress pockets.
‘Yeah, but we don’t light up until we feel the tarmac under our feet, OK?’
Dawson led the way, walking slowly across the open ground, and aiming to intercept the road midway between the two sentry positions that they’d named Baker and Charlie. They’d already decided that their target would be Charlie.
In a couple of minutes, Dawson saw the hard surface of the road directly in front of him, and turned right, towards Charlie, Watson following right behind him. After they’d walked a few yards, they paused, and Watson lit two cigarettes. Dawson closed both eyes tight as he did so, to preserve his night-vision, then took one of them from him.
Ahead, they could hear the sentry moving. Obviously the sight of the match had alerted him to their presence, but at the same time the fact that somebody was on the road and felt able to light a cigarette should reassure him that they were a couple of German soldiers rather than hostile troops.
They strode on towards the sentry, making no attempt to walk quietly.
Suddenly Dawson saw a dim shape ahead, perhaps ten yards in front of them.
Watson muttered a couple of German words – he only knew a handful – and Dawson grunted in reply, attempting to sound natural.
The sentry switched on his torch as they approached him, shining the beam towards them. He obviously saw the Schmeissers slung across their chests, and the German helmets, and gave no sign of having noticed the different colour and type of uniforms they were wearing.
And then they were right beside him.
Dawson knew they had to act fast and decisively, because within a matter of seconds the sentry would realize they weren’t Germans. He walked straight up to the man and without a moment’s hesitation smashed his fist straight into the sentry’s stomach. The German soldier had no time to react. He doubled up, retching painfully, and Dawson followed up his first blow with a rabbit punch to the back of the man’s neck. The German collapsed senseless to the ground.
Watson bent down and picked up the sentry’s Mauser, pulled out the bolt and sent it spinning away into the darkness, rendering the weapon useless. ‘Nicely done, Eddie,’ he whispered, undoing the man’s belt and starting to lash his arms together behind his back. ‘You sure you don’t want to kill him?’
‘No,’ Dawson said firmly. ‘He’s out of it now. By the time he comes round, we’ll be in Luxembourg.’
‘I bloody well hope so, after all this.’
Less than a minute later, Dawson and Watson were crossing back over the road, heading for the spot where they’d hidden the two lengths of wood. They’d left their weapons and other equipment near the unconscious and incapacitated sentry and moved as quickly and soundlessly as they could.
‘Over here,’ Watson said, as he spotted the timber.
‘You reckon we can take both of them at the same time?’ Dawson asked, looking at the pale grey shapes lying on the grass in front of them. ‘That’d reduce the time we’re exposed out here.’
‘Let’s give it a try.’
They moved one of the logs so that it was about two feet away from the other one and lying parallel to it, and then stepped between them. Together, they bent down and wrapped one hand around each of the logs.
‘On three,’ Dawson muttered. ‘One, two, three.’
They straightened their backs, grunting with the effort, and lifted both logs up to waist level. They were heavy – they already knew that, having carried them all the way from the woodpile deep in the forest – but Dawson thought they’d be able to manage, as long as neither of them stumbled
or tripped over anything.
‘You OK, Dave?’
‘Just about,’ Watson replied. ‘Ready?’
‘Yeah. We’ll do it on three again. One, two, three.’
The two men took a step forward simultaneously, and began walking slowly back towards the river. Fortunately, the ground they had to cross was fairly level – if it had been full of tussocks and dips they would certainly have had to make two journeys.
They’d covered maybe fifty yards before Dawson felt the strain on his arms becoming intolerable.
‘Gotta take a break, Dave,’ he muttered, and began slowing his steps.
‘Me too. OK, start lowering now.’
The logs thudded softly onto the grass as the two men bent down and released their grip on them.
Dawson rubbed his hands together. His arms, he noticed, were quivering with the strain, but he was pleased. They’d already carried the timber about a quarter of the distance they needed to cover.
‘We’ll just take a couple of minutes, Dave,’ he murmured, ‘then we’ll do it again.’
The second time, they managed to lug them a little further, perhaps seventy yards, before they stopped again.
‘Nearly there,’ Dawson said. ‘Once more lift and that should be it.’
In fact, they only managed to get the logs just to the river side of the road before they had to lower them to the ground again, but then the water was only about twenty yards away, so they were able to carry them to the riverbank one at a time. That took them less than three minutes.
‘You get the stuff, Eddie. I’ll start tying these together.’
‘Right,’ Dawson replied and walked back up the bank towards the road.
Three minutes later he was back, carrying their two Schmeissers, webbing belts and all their other gear in his arms.
Watson had already tied a belt around one end of the logs. ‘Give me another couple of belts, Eddie,’ he said. ‘That should be all we’ll need.’
To Do or Die Page 24