Another whose interview in private with Redlich was short and free from castigation was Leutnant Hofstein, who commanded the anti-aircraft battery. Flak was an arm of the Luftwaffe, not the Wehrmacht, and Hofstein was only too pleased to claim that his guns had shot down all six of Zirkenbach’s aeroplanes. He was glad to be ten miles away from the airfield and Zirkenbach’s sulky bumptiousness.
When Zirkenbach had returned to the airfield from the mock attack, he had telephoned to invite Hofstein to admit that the Me 109s had been too swift and evasive for his guns. Hofstein’s contradiction of this had driven Zirkenbach into an immediate temper and he had bawled his indignation so vehemently that Hofstein had held the receiver well away from his ear and grinned at his second-in-command. Hofstein was habitually provocative: an impish young man who had been an actor in private life and to whom jocularity was a normal relationship with his fellows. His pleasant personality had triumphed even among the hostile local population: he had made a conquest of a buxom grass widow who resented the fact that her husband had escaped, with his tug boat and crew, to the Shetlands and the Royal Navy.
Hofstein’s guns were 37 mm Flak 36s, which fired a 1.4lb shell with an effective ceiling of 11500 ft. He had sited four of these on the northern side of the town, near the hydro-electric power station, and the other four along the waterfront. He thought that any air raid would most probably be made at some 1500 metres, which would clear the tops of the surrounding mountains. From any greater height, he believed, accurate bombing would be impossible Olafsund was a small town and each potential target in it was surely hard to hit. He wished that his battery were equipped with quadruple 20 mm guns, which he found thrilling and dramatic, with their high rate of fire and excited chatter.
He was quite a good officer, in his way, for he played the rôle of battery commander for all it was worth, as though it were a stage or film part. His turnout was almost as smart as Major Redlich’s, his crisp word of command and his stiffness when defaulters were paraded before him were as brusque as any regular’s. In his informal moments, however, which constituted the greater part of his time, he was as cheerful and easy-going as any comedian. It was his youthful handsomeness and debonair humour that had charmed his present mistress, who was nearly twenty years his senior.
From the site of his highest gun, Hofstein enjoyed the best available view of the town and its surroundings; and had practised the crews many times in depressing the guns to their minimum elevation, to cover the two kilometres of fjord before the first bend. He was determined to shoot at something if there were a raid, and since he doubted that the R.A.F. would be paying Olafsund a visit, he proposed to back up Hauptmann Scherer’s field artillery. He had not, however, divulged this to the reclusive Scherer, who would have taken it as an impertinence.
He knew that Major Redlich had a sneaking liking for him, for Redlich often showed amusement at his jokes and gave him a fair measure of praise for the smartness of his appearance and his troops’.
One who did not feel that he stood well in Redlich’s estimation was Hauptmann Weitz, the senior infantry company commander in the half-battalion stationed at Olafsund. He had not fought in the invasion of Poland, and had been wounded in the stomach during the second day of the invasion of the Low Countries. His lack of battle experience gave him a feeling of great inferiority and made him suppose that Redlich must despise him. His patched up intestines did not function too well and rendered him permanently dyspeptic. In consequence he was both mentally and physically miserable, a condition that was reflected in his demeanour, his work and his social behaviour.
Sitting alone with Redlich, whom he admired and of whom he was jealous – given the same combat opportunities, he was convinced, he would have won as great distinction – he waited glumly to be reprimanded.
One company of infantry had been used to simulate a raiding force, while the remaining three had defended Olafsund. The defence had not been notably successful. Redlich had ignored the virtual certainty of sinking an enemy force before it could make an effective landing, and had assumed that it had somehow managed to get ashore in strength. From that postulation had sprung disaster. The commander of the raiding company was a lively young Oberleutnant Zimmer, a crony of Hofstein’s, who had asked the Navy to land his force in two places. One platoon had been taken to a small promontory on the southern side of the fjord, opposite Number Two Island. From there, it had only to climb an easy slope, about 100 ft high, and, from the ridge, simulate firing into the town. This created a diversion, to which Weitz had responded feverishly.
On the north side, meanwhile, the bulk of the force had scrambled onto some smooth rocks which lay off a narrow beach and were concealed from the harbour and most of the southern part of the seafront. This party had approached hugging the cliffs and nobody had spotted it at all. From the rocks, Zimmer had led his men, wading more than waist-deep, to the sand. Thence, clambering over more rocks and wading through more water, they had rounded the cliff which had concealed them, and erupted onto a narrow causeway and from there to the harbour wall. Oberleutnant Zimmer had suddenly appeared, with his three and a half platoons, inside the port itself.
Redlich, who had been moving all over the place in his scout car, and had lost sight of Zimmer, had correctly guessed where he would reappear.
What he wanted to know now was why Weitz had not come to the same conclusion. The only extenuating plea was that Weitz had not been as mobile as his commanding officer; but even that did not preclude rational reasoning.
“I did not think anyone would be so foolhardy as to try such a stunt, sir,” Weitz said. “Look what it cost. The men hated getting soaked to the skin in water that is degrees colder, even in September, than even the Baltic in high summer. In my view, it was extremely bad for morale. Then, on top of that, one man drowned when he slipped off a rock with a machine-gun, two men broke legs, four broke their arms and one fractured his skull, falling about on those rocks.”
“The enemy would be prepared to take just that sort of risk, Weitz. And the lesson I have learned from Zimmer’s ingenuity is that we must position a defence post at the foot of the cliff. And, while we are about it, at the foot of the cliff on the opposite side, too.”
Chapter Four
Taggart, with his section commanders, Dempster, the self-denigrating and misleadingly frivolous small-part film actor, and Gowland, the sturdy Yorkshireman, studied an aerial photograph of Olafsund, trying to visualise the view to seaward from the shore.
He traced his finger along a large-scale map of the fjord and town, and compared it with the photograph. “Standing here, roughly in the centre of the seafront, between the fish oil and meal factory and the harbour, facing more or less due west, one hasn’t much of a view, I’d say. The shape of the eastern end of the fjord is pretty symmetrical, isn’t it. There’s this semi-circular waterfront, which would be a bay if it were on a straight coastline, with the harbour partly enclosed by the shore and partly by these two walls. Then, on each side, the cliffs turning away at right angles just about level with the two islands. The east-facing cliffs, which we’re going to climb, must be well hidden, anyway, but the islands mask them even more. Then, on both shores, another right angle bend and the two shores of the fjord run in a kind of Z shape to the open sea. But Island One, here, halfway down, seems to have a good field of view and fire. I’d say that one would need to be at the top of this slope up which the town is built, to get a full view. The wide flat bit on the east of the town, where the hill levels off before it steepens and becomes the west side of the mountain, would be a good place. Look at the gun sites there, near the power station. Even so, those cliffs we’re going to climb look well hidden from view.”
Gowland said “It’s Island One I don’t like the look of. We’ll have a long way to go when we transfer to the L.C.As. If it’s on a night when there’s no moon, Jerry may not be able to see us, but we’ll have a hard job finding the beach and he’ll hear us anyway and light up the place
; catch us with our pants down. All it needs is one searchlight.”
“Which we’d put out at once with one burst of Bren.” Taggart was dismissive.
“I presume Jerry’s not short of flares,” Dempster suggested.
“Right,” Taggart agreed. “So, as I said, it’s a nasty spot. I don’t believe there’s a hope of killing the gun crews without making a noise. The distance and the height of the hills on the sides of the fjord, plus the bend between the island and the town, will baffle sound a lot: but chances are someone will hear something. Doesn’t matter, though, because they won’t expect us to climb the cliffs and they’ll be alert for a landing along the shore.”
“Those cliffs give me the willies.” Dempster raised his eyebrows as he always did when he made this sort of statement. It was an invitation to someone to contradict and reassure him.
“Why?” Blunt Gosland asked blunt questions.
“I can’t believe Jerry can be such a clot that he hasn’t planted mines at the top, just in case. I’d hate to have to sweat all the way up, scared stiff of falling off, only to have my foot blown off by a Teller mine at the end of it.”
“You’ll be lucky if it’s a Teller mine.” Gosland’s round red face split into a grin. “What about the new kind, that’s thrown balls-high by a spring? One false step, George, and you’d be talking falsetto the rest of your life.”
Dempster gave a stagey shudder.
“We have no means of knowing whether there are any minefields around the town.” Taggart resumed his scrutiny of the map and photograph. “There might be mines in the fjord, too. I hope the Intelligence people can get some reliable information from the Norwegian Underground or Resistance or whatever they call themselves.”
“At this moment I’d settle for the London Underground.” Dempster looked woeful; another practised facial contortion. “It’s so long since I’ve had any leave and a bit of crumpet…” He sighed.
“Hard luck, George.” There was no sympathy in Taggart’s voice. He looked amused momentarily. Crumpet seemed to be the pivot of George Dempster’s lifestyle. “Perhaps we’ll all get some leave after this show. Meanwhile, let’s try to figure out how we can fox Jerry. I know the Colonel and a lot of other people are working on the same thing, but we have a vested interest in trying to keep one jump ahead for ourselves.”
Gowland shot Taggart a look of suspicion that would have done credit to Dempster. “Meaning what, Rodney?”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Taggart’s studied casualness was a reflection of their commanding officer’s and of Hugh Abberly’s, and the general style they had stamped on 100 Commando. “B Troop are leading the main assault up the north cliff and into the town.”
Dempster began to laugh. “You blighter, Rodney. Oh, that bloody cliff.”
Gowland looked thoughtful. “Now you’ve got me worried about bloody mines, too. I was certain the Colonel would want us for the landing on Island One. I mean, we’re t’ best troop, and if the first part of the operation is mucked up, the whole thing will be a cock-up.”
“What makes you think the landing on Island One is going to precede everything else, Bill?” Taggart’s faintly mocking hint of a grin was well known to the others and they both groaned.
“Come on,” Gowland said, “Let’s be having it.”
“The Colonel’s plan is for A and B Troops to move in ahead of the rest. A Troop will go straight to the southern end of the town, near the cliff, and create a diversion by putting a party onto Island Two while another party makes a mock attack along the shore. While that’s going on, we’ll climb the north cliff and put in a real attack on the power station and take possession of the eastern shelf, from where we can dominate the town.
“The garrison on Island One will think it has been bypassed; so, when C Troop goes ashore there, Jerry will not be expecting it. When we attack, D and E Troops and the Heavy Weapons Troop will move in: along the seafront and onto Island Two.”
“What about A Troop?” Gowland asked.
“They’ll pull out after they’ve finished putting up a diversion, and move in to cover the withdrawal, with the H.W. Troop.”
“So nobody gets to climb a cliff except us?” Dempster sounded offended.
“That’s right: we’re the lucky ones.”
“And first, we have to creep past Island One and avoid being seen or heard by the gun crew on Island Two.”
“If we don’t, the whole attack could fail.”
“The Colonel has checked with Intelligence that all the Jerries on those islands are deaf and blind, has he?”
“They won’t be able to see us, because we’ll be going ashore before the moon comes up.”
“And the L.C.As are going to be silenced, are they, so they won’t hear us either?”
“So far as possible, yes.”
“I don’t believe it. You wait and see: either we’ll be put into those bloody plywood and canvas dories and told to row there; with muffled oars: or shoved into blasted canoes.”
“I like the ‘muffled oars’ bit, George: straight out of Treasure Island.”
Dempster looked abashed. “Well, I don’t believe those L.C.A. engines can be quietened enough. I mean, two engines making seven knots are not exactly unobtrusive.”
“That’s why we’ll be using one engine only.” Taggart said it cheerfully, with a wry look at Dempster.
Gowland chuckled. “Hard luck, George: there’s an answer to every objection you can think of.”
“So far, I haven’t heard one to my theory about the clifftops being mined.”
“You can go first and find out for us,” Taggart said.
“I’m never sure when you’re joking, Rodney.”
Taggart gave Dempster an innocent look. “I mean it, old boy: you were bright enough to think of it; it’s your privilege to put it to the test.”
Dempster affected to ignore this. “Anyway, we’ll get a heroes’ welcome from the locals: and Norwegian crumpet is very generous, I’ve always heard; like the Swedish girls and the Danes.”
“We won’t be there long enough for any free-loving Norwegian popsies to reward you, I’m afraid.”
“Don’t count on it: I make Speedy Gonzalez look like a snail.”
“To get back to business: we’re going to start training in the boats tomorrow. The Colonel and Hugh have found a stretch of water along the coast that is pretty much like the fjord in shape, and another where there are two islands placed more or less like the two that lie immediately off Olafsund. We won’t be able to practise launching the assault boats from the ship until the week before we sail. She’s a converted North Sea ferry and she can carry sixteen L.C.As slung from davits. It should be quite a comfortable trip.”
*
Lance-Corporal Udall, Taggart’s batman, with Corporal Fysshe-Smith and Duff, now promoted to sergeant major, all of whom had served in Taggart’s company of their Territorial regiment before he had transferred to the Commandos, and who had all volunteered to follow him because of the confidence they had in his leadership, watched the wooden 41ft landing craft, assault approach, with the soldier’s usual scepticism. They had not been put ashore by one of these yet. Their experience was limited to two-man canoes.
“Clumsy-looking, ain’t they,” Udall said.
“I’ll put up with a bit of clumsiness, for the sake of that armour plating on the sides.” Corporal Fysshe-Smith pointed.
Sergeant Major Duff watched as the crew of four brought the first boat onto the beach and lowered the bow ramp. “They look good and dry: it won’t be like it was in the canoes.”
Fysshe-Smith’s horse face looked approving. “Less strenuous, too. We’ll just sit there like bus passengers.”
“I don’t see no seats.” Udall sounded disappointed.
“If you want to sit,” Duff told him, “you get your bum down on the deck.”
“What, with more than thirty geezers on board, Sar’ Major? Don’t look like there’s enough room for everyone t
o sit in one of them.”
“It’ll be a short ride: we can stand.”
“Cor! Standing room only; and no smoking. What a bus ride.”
A wave, bigger than the others that had been lapping the beach, lifted the two craft and rocked them so that their bows rose and slanted from side to side simultaneously. The boats slammed back onto the sea and water was thrown over their sides.
Fysshe-Smith looked pained. “Not as dry as they look.”
“They’ll be steady enough when they’re loaded,” Duff said. “Won’t get chucked about.”
“They’ll be lower in the water, an’ all. Spray’ll be coming over the side in bucketsful.” Udall sucked his teeth in scorn. “Sit down in one o’ them, get yer arse wet and the next thing yer know yer’ve got the piles.”
“Then you’ll have to stand, Bert,” Duff said. “All ready to dash ashore.”
“Dash is right, when you have to keep up with Captain Taggart.” Udall sounded glum and admiring at the same time.
Fysshe-Smith had his eyes on the boats. A Troop was practising going aboard. Two men fell into the water as the boats jinked away from them on a roller. “I’m beginning to revise my view of those things… God!” A man who had jumped too eagerly aboard lost his footing as the bows reared, and slid the whole length of the deck on his back. He was not quick about getting to his feet again.
Midnight Raid Page 3