At Jean-Paul’s whispered instruction the two men moved rapidly, running forward with a speed which took the guard by surprise. He was only opening his mouth to call out when he was struck. Charles, being the younger of the two saboteurs, had reached the German first and frantically clasped one hand across his mouth to prevent him calling for help. The other arm was clamped firmly around his neck. As the German guard struggled to throw off his attacker and detach his rifle strap from his shoulder, Jean-Paul reached him. The guard’s eyes widened in fear as he saw the gleam of Jean-Paul’s knife. For a moment the French farmer found himself held by the pleading eyes. He had never taken a man’s life before, and he felt unsure. His hand began to shake and he licked his lips. The guard began to struggle in Charles' grip.
“Hurry, Jean-Paul! I am not sure I can hold him!"
Jean-Paul hesitated no longer. With a grunt of exertion he thrust the knife into the German’s abdomen and forced it upwards. The German stared at him, eyes wide, as his attempts to scream in agony were lost beneath Charles' forceful hand. Trying not to think, Jean-Paul pushed again, forcing the point of the knife up into the chest cavity where it sliced through the lung and ruptured the heart. The German’s eyes slowly lost their spark of life, and his body hung limp in his attacker’s arms.
Jean-Paul pulled the knife free, feeling sick as he felt the resistance of the body which seemed reluctant to part with the shining metal which had caused its death. The knife grated against bone as Jean-Paul tugged harder. At last it was free. Unable to stop himself, he looked at the lifeless face of the German. The image of the dead staring eyes, and the blood which frothed from its mouth and seeped through Charles' fingers, would haunt him for the rest of his life. Taking a deep breath to calm his shaking, he wiped the knife on the German’s uniform and slipped it back into the sheath at his belt.
"We must hide him. Quickly."
Charles nodded, as stunned by the death as Jean-Paul, and unable to speak as he helped to drag the body behind a pile of oil drums. Wiping his bloody hands on the dead man’s uniform, he looked across at Jean-Paul. There was blood on the front of his clothes, and his hands shook slightly.
"Where did the knife come from?"
Jean-Paul’s face was grim.
"It’s the knife I take with me when I go rabbit hunting. I use it for skinning." He shuddered. "I never dreamt I would ever use it on a man."
The younger man laid a hand on Jean-Paul’s shoulder.
"It was necessary."
Jean-Paul nodded. "I know, but I’ve never killed a man before. Still," he forced the picture of the Germans agonised face from his mind as he spoke, "there will be time for me to come to terms with that later. Right now we have work to do." With that he led Charles away from the hidden body, on towards the next warehouse they had to sabotage.
They continued to work methodically back towards the fence and their exit from the docks. Jean-Paul forced his mind to stay on the job in hand and away from the German guard. Charles also found it difficult to concentrate. He was still as determined as ever to drive the Germans from his country, and he knew that that would involve the deaths of some of the enemy, but he always imagined those deaths to be at a distance. He had never dreamt he would actually hold a man still while another knifed him to death. The night’s events had brought home to him just how dangerous it was to be working with Albert, and he realised now that the young Englishman had been right to ask him to curtail his individual activities. The dead German could just as easily been himself, if he had been caught reconnoitring the docks. So the two Frenchmen worked steadily along the row of warehouses, and were soon climbing over the fence out of the docks, making their swift, silent way back to Claude’s garage.
Tony made his way down the dockside, a humourless smile on his face. It was so much like his training at Arisaig, but this time it was for real. Any guards he saw would not be other members of his course in German uniforms, but the real thing. As he ran, crouched low to stay in the deeper shadows cast by the buildings, he felt the adrenalin flowing through his system, an intense excitement and expectation which pushed his fears to the back of his mind and left his head clear to deal with whatever lay ahead of him.
When he approached the quay, the dark bulk of moored ships rose up before him. As he ran closer, they became more distinct in the grey of the night, the black silhouettes of three ships. Tony smiled. Crouching down in the shadow afforded by a deserted truck, he rummaged in his rucksack and extracted two limpet mines. They were heavy and bulky, and he had room for only six, so he could afford to use only two on each ship. Carefully setting the timers, he ran the few remaining yards to the dock and peered over the side. A gap of four feet separated the ship from the quay. Floats were hung in these gaps to prevent the ships rubbing against the wall. With a gleeful smile he slipped over the side, holding tightly to the rope of one of the floats. As he lowered himself carefully, his feet touched the oily surface of the water and he leant over, pushing his head and shoulders beneath the surface and pressing the first mine against the hull. There was a dull thud as the six magnets surrounding the pre-shaped charge took hold, and Tony raised himself carefully from the water so as not to create any unnecessary noise. Moving carefully from float to float, he worked his way to the bow of the ship, and planted the second limpet mine in the same manner. Tony raised his head above the edge of the quay, and surveyed the area of the docks immediately surrounding him. About one hundred yards to his left, a guard stepped from the shadows and gazed searchingly along the docks. Seeing nothing, he turned and made his way back the way he had come. Tony smiled. He had not expected security to be so lax at such an important installation. The Germans obviously felt safe from attack by land. Their only fears were of British air raids, and these had proven ineffectual. Tony’s smile widened, imagining the consternation and recriminations which the actions of his group would cause. Someone, somewhere, would suffer for the lax security at the docks. With a smile still on his lips he moved on to the next ship.
Working along the quayside, he had the four remaining limpet mines in place fifteen minutes later and, after careful reconnaissance, climbed back onto the dock. Over to his right he could see a transport pool. He moved off in that direction, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind him and praying that the guards would not notice them for another hour. By that time it would be too late.
The transport pool was beyond his wildest expectations. A dozen lorries stood in orderly rows. Behind them was parked a fuel tanker and, on the eastern side, a fire engine. Marvelling at how his hands automatically knew what to do, Tony planted a clam on each truck. The explosive charges, the size of a small box of chocolates, fitted neatly onto the cylinder block. When they were detonated they would render the vehicles inoperative and Tony hoped they would be destroyed by the fire he planned to start in the petrol tanker. He set a clam under the fuel tank of the vehicle, this would explode causing the petrol to leak out and form a pool beneath it. In the area where the fuel was likely to pool, Tony placed an incendiary device, which would ignite the petrol and blow the tanker apart. Keeping low, he moved to his next target, the fire engine.
The large engine stood ready for use, its water tank full. As Tony planted the explosives, he reflected that just one fire engine would be able to do very little to quench the fires he hoped would be raging within the next few hours, assuming that the fire engine was fit for use. As he placed a clam on the cylinder block and axles of the machine he, determined that in no way would it be ready for use that night.
Tony got his first close contact with a guard just as he was about to leave the fenced-off area housing the transport pool. A lone guard was making his slow way down the fence, intent it seemed on everything but the job in hand. Tony climbed into the back of the nearest truck. He watched as the guard passed the gates and moved on for a few yards, before stopping and kneeling to look intently at the ground in front of him. He then stood and glanced towards the docks before turning and following something inside th
e fence.
Tony cursed silently under his breath. The guard had obviously spotted his wet footprints and was aware that someone was moving around within the fence. The Englishman realised that he must silence him quickly, or the whole operation could be in jeopardy. He watched, poised ready for action, as the guard made a slow study of the row of trucks. As he moved closer, Tony took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds to calm the rapid beating of his heart. Soon the guard was within feet of his hiding place, and moving closer. As he drew level with the truck, Tony reached out in a lightning quick movement, clamping one hand over the guard’s mouth and pulling him closer to the truck with the other. The hours of intense training in Scotland paid off. Almost without thinking, Tony twisted the head violently to the left and heard the sharp crack as the guard’s neck was broken. With some effort, Tony dragged the body into the truck. Taking a moment to calm his ragged breathing and still his shaking hands, he climbed out once more and moved off silently in the direction of the railway siding which serviced the docks.
Claude looked at his watch. Twelve thirty-four. He was tight lipped as he peered carefully out of the warehouse. The two German soldiers were still there. He could not hear what they were talking about but by the low laughter which occasionally reached his ears, he knew that it was not work. The sky was still cloudy, keeping the night shadows dark on the land. He was just wondering what his chances of survival would be if he tried to sneak up on the two men through the black shadows, when he heard a voice calling out in German. The two guards looked over their shoulders, then stood to attention as an officer approached. Raising his voice angrily, he berated the two sentries who looked sheepish and saluted smartly, before hurrying off to continue with their patrols. After watching them move away, the officer shook his head in exasperation, then he walked briskly back the way he had come.
"What's happening?" Madeleine whispered. Claude turned to her, a broad grin on his face.
"That was an officer; the two guards got a good telling off for standing around talking instead of doing their job." He chuckled softly. "They will certainly be in a lot of trouble when this lot goes up!"
Madeleine rose swiftly to her feet. "Come on then, Claude. We’ve got time to plant a few more charges before we leave."
The saboteurs moved rapidly about their work once more. After planting charges in one more warehouse, they came across three fuel pumps used to fuel the trucks that worked the docks. Smiling at their good fortune, Madeleine placed charges of plastic explosives on each of the pumps, while Claude dropped thermite bombs into the underground tanks storing the fuel. After replacing the covers over the storage tanks, Claude looked at his watch.
"It’s time we were getting out of here, Madeleine."
With a brief nod his companion followed him back to the fence. They ignored any targets they had been unable to sabotage because of the delay caused by the German guards. In moments they were out of the docks and making their way back to Claude’s garage.
Tony positioned himself in the cover provided by the darkened walls of the locked customs office, and surveyed the railway siding. As far as he could see, there was little rolling stock in the yard, one engine and half a dozen trucks was all that he could make out, but it was better than nothing. He slid down the embankment, and moved along the lines to the mammoth bulk of the waiting train. He worked swiftly, placing a charge of plastic explosive on the engine boiler, and a clam on the axle of each pair of wheels supporting the empty trucks. Tony marvelled at his own calmness, he could almost imagine himself back in England practising on obsolete rolling stock. But this was no practice. The stock he was sabotaging served a deadly purpose, supplying the ships and submarines which quartered the Atlantic, seeking out Allied prey to destroy. ‘Well,’ thought Tony as he moved along the tracks, setting small clams at intervals along the lines ‘now the prey has entered the wolf’s den, and will be doing some destroying of its own.’
Soon he had done all he could in the time available. He exited the docks as the hands of his watch pointed to twelve fifty. The streets were dark and empty as he made his way back to Claude’s garage His almost empty haversack flapped against his shoulders as he ran, and his footsteps sounded loud in his ears. Once he saw a German patrol moving down the street towards him, but he easily slipped into a side street and detoured around them before they had a chance to see him. It was one fourteen when he slipped inside Claude’s garage, to find the remainder of the team waiting for him. Breathlessly he sat down on an oil drum, and gave them all a quizzical look.
"Well? How did it go?"
Madeleine shrugged. "It went well enough. I didn’t realise how tense I was in there until I got back here. Now I’m shaking all over. But we managed to plant almost all of our explosives."
Claude nodded. "Yes, we were held up for a time so we had to leave without putting charges in every building on our patch."
Tony nodded. "Good. I'm glad you didn't try to stay to finish them all. It would have been too dangerous. If what we have planted goes according to plan, the whole dock should be ablaze in a couple of hours, and the fires will spread to any warehouses we've missed. Particularly," he smiled as he spoke, "as I’ve managed to disable the only fire engine I could find." He turned to look at Jean-Paul and Charles. "What about you two? Is that blood on your clothes, Jean-Paul?"
Jean-Paul nodded. "We had to kill a guard who saw us." He closed his eyes as he spoke, as though he could still see the eyes pleading for mercy. "I used a knife so no one would hear."
"Are you all right, old friend?" Tony had risen to his feet and placed a hand on Jean-Paul’s shoulder. Jean-Paul opened his eyes and nodded.
“Yes, Albert. I’m all right now. We knew that people would die in this attack. But we didn’t think we would have to do it at close quarters. Charles and I were shaken up by it, but we are all right now.”
Tony turned to Charles, his eyebrows raised quizzically, and the young Frenchman nodded.
"Yes, we’re fine. I suppose it just brought it home to me that this is not a game, and next time it could be me with a knife in me."
"Do you want to get out of all of this?"
Jean-Paul and Charles shook their heads in unison.
"No way." Charles spoke for them both. "This is what I joined you to do."
"Good." Tony looked at his watch. He had been in the garage for six minutes. "Right, we had better be going. We have forty minutes until the bombs go off, which should give you all time to get home, Jean-Paul and I will be out of the city by then. Make sure you hide any explosives you have left, and keep your heads down. We will meet again in the usual place next Friday at nine p.m. Understood?"
Charles and Madeleine nodded before slipping away.
"Good luck, Albert." Claude held out his hand to Tony. "I’ll lock the doors when you have gone, and put my pack back in the oil drum."
Tony nodded. "Take care. The search will be fiercest here, near the docks." With that he and Jean-Paul turned and left the garage. They moved through the blackout and were out of the city and on the road to the de Thierry estate when Tony laid a hand on Jean-Paul’s arm and pointed at his watch.
"It's almost two o'clock."
They turned back towards the city and were just in time to hear the first explosions from the docks. Seconds later more explosions began to ring out, and the sky above the western part of the city began to take on an orange glow. The two men laughed out loud before turning and running towards the safety of Jean-Paul’s cottage.
The docks were in turmoil. On all sides warehouses were in flames, broken vehicles were strewn everywhere, men ran around aimlessly as they sought to make sense out of all of the confusion. A staff car with the red, black and white flag of the SS on its bonnet screeched to a halt outside the gates, and a man in the uniform of an SS Major stepped out. He was tall, blonde and blue eyed, Hitler’s ideal of an Aryan man, and the imposing uniform fitted his aristocratic frame like a glove. His features were angular, and his brow
s knitted together in anger as he surveyed the destruction all around him. A sergeant got out of the car and stood beside him.
"Dante must have imagined something like this when he wrote his description of hell’s inferno Karl.”
The sergeant nodded but said nothing. They had thought themselves so safe from enemy attack, yet here was one of their most important Atlantic ports, blazing furiously like a funeral pyre.
”Come, Karl.”
The tall major led his subordinate through the gates, into the chaos reining inside the fence. The air was thick with roiling clouds of black, choking smoke; the smell of burning fuel filled his nostrils; over to his right the wall of a warehouse slowly collapsed outwards and the figures of men, silhouetted against the brilliant glare of the roaring fire, ran from its falling. The officer stalked with long angry strides down to the dock, where the sight of three ships listing badly at their moorings aroused a cold fury in him.
"Who is in charge here, Karl? I want to see him. Now!"
A soldier was running past, and Sergeant Dresner grabbed him by the arm.
“Fetch your commanding officer! Now!”
“Yes, sir!”
The soldier ran off into the fiery hell of the docks, while Dresner turned back to look at the major. He was standing with his back to the crippled ships, feet apart and hands clasped behind his back, watching the running, shouting figures. Slowly, some sort of order was coming out of the chaos. Teams were salvaging what they could from warehouses which were already alight, and carrying their burdens to the quay where no fires burned yet. Pitifully small piles of food and clothing were being assembled, while the infinitely more valuable machine parts and fuel were consumed by the flames. Some warehouses had not yet caught fire, and there were groups of sailors trying valiantly to stop the flames spreading to them, while others fought the fires which raged all around. Pumps had been set up on the quayside to pump sea water onto the voracious flames, and chains of men passed buckets of water to the more inaccessible parts of the docks. To the major’s trained eye, it was obvious that the fires made the destruction look worse than it really was, but he knew that, in the cold light of day, the damage would be considerable, and someone would have to pay.
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