by Suninfo
camp since it will be a damn sight more difficult to get away once you’re inside—always remember to lie up during the day and move only at night because darkness can be a friend and for obvious reasons it’s a lot safer if they start shooting.
He chewed on the pencil and then added:
Take someone with you but don’t forget that while two’s company three’s a crowd—avoid villages and isolated farms if you can, because dogs have a habit of barking at strangers, and beware of children for their eyes miss nothing—a bicycle is the most popular form of transport in Europe today so steal one when you get the chance and stick to the side roads—don’t ride a freight train unless you know for certain where it is going and watch out for security checks at railroad stations.
The notes were a little on the bald side but he figured that, with padding, he had enough there for a forty-five-minute lecture, provided they were interested enough to ask questions afterwards.
Cowper would try to make him look small if he drew too much on personal experience to illustrate the points he wished to make, but that was a risk Ottaway was prepared to take.
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It was laughable to think that one abortive mission in France could turn him into an expert on escape and evasion, but that was the way the Service worked. German was his strong suit but since his French was reasonably good, OSS had picked him for the St Etienne team. Hole up in the Massif Central, they said, and when the Anvil landings begin in the south of France, bring the Maquis out to hit the Germans as they withdraw up the Rhône valley.
The idea was sound, but unfortunately the SS were waiting for them on the DZ and they’d started shooting the moment the Maquis reception party had moved out into the open to meet them.
The fire fight had been brief, confused and very one-sided, and everyone with the exception of Ottaway, had been scooped up.
Luck had played a part, but it was a dark night and in going to ground and staying there, the SS had failed to notice him as they’d closed in on the rest of the party. He’d spent six weeks on the run before an FFI unit put him in touch with the 29th US Division at St Lo, and apart from the last five days when the French Resistance had taken him under their wing, he’d had to go it alone.
Ottaway pushed the completed notes to one side and stood up. He didn’t relish the idea of lecturing to this particular audience and he was glad that Ashby would not be there to hear him. He consoled himself with the thought that if it got at all sticky, he would cut the period short and send them back to the gym for another session on unarmed combat under Sergeant Stack. It suddenly occurred to him that with Ashby away in London and only Cowper, Gerhardt and Quilter for company, there was reason enough not to spend yet another night in camp and he wondered if he could talk the attractive Corporal Bradley into a date. He left the office and set off at a brisk rate in the direction of the post room.
Anne Bradley was twenty-two years old. Born in Salisbury, where her father was the senior partner in a firm of solicitors, she had led a happy but uneventful life until 30th May, 1942. On that night her brother, a pilot in Bomber Command, had been shot down in the first 1000 bomber raid on Cologne. Barely six months later, her fiancé was reported missing believed killed over Hamburg, and this news following so closely on the other, had had a shattering effect. Close to a nervous breakdown, she had absented herself without leave from the officer cadet training unit and had gone to London where, some two days later, she had been arrested on Waterloo Station by the military police as she tried to board a train for Salisbury.
Subsequently, an unsympathetic company commander had told her that, as she obviously lacked moral fibre, she would be 68
returned to duty in her former rank of corporal. A succession of dreary postings followed, until in May 1944 she arrived at Trawsfynydd.
From the moment he had asked her to direct him to Force 272, Ann Bradley had been aware of Ottaway’s interest in her. He was, she thought, quite unlike her idea of a typical American, for although he was self-assured, he did not seem to be brash or pushing. In her own mind she had been quite sure that he would find an excuse to seek her out again, and was therefore not at all surprised when he strode into her office.
Ottaway cleared his throat and said, ‘Good morning, I wonder if you can help me?’
She smiled. ‘I’ll try to.’
‘Can I mail a letter to the States from here? I have no idea where the nearest FPO is.’
‘Have you got it with you?’
‘What?’
‘The letter. I’m going into town to collect another batch of stamps and postal orders—I’ll post it for you when I call in at the post office.’
‘I couldn’t put you to all that trouble.’
‘I won’t be going out of my way.’
Ottaway smiled sheepishly. ‘I guess I haven’t written it yet,’
he said.
‘Oh, I see—well, just pop it in when it’s ready.’
‘I was wondering …’
‘Yes?’
‘What do you do for entertainment in these parts?’
‘There’s a good hotel in Portmadoc but usually we go to the Wheatsheaf down the road.’
‘Would you care to have a drink with me tonight?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t, I’m on duty.’
‘That’s too bad.’
‘But there’s an all ranks dance in the gym.’
‘Oh?’
She flushed and hastily brushed a strand of chestnut hair out of her eyes. ‘I don’t want you to get the wrong idea—all the girls for miles around turn up at the dances.’
‘And do you?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Like tonight?’
‘I thought I might drop in later.’
‘When?’
‘I’m on duty until last defaulters’ call.’ She saw his puzzled expression and said, ‘Anyone who is confined to barracks has to 69
report to the guardroom on the hour every hour until 2100 hours.
I have to be here to check them off.’
‘And after 2100 hours?’
‘I’ll go to the dance.’
Ottaway smiled broadly. ‘You know, Miss Bradley, I think we’re making progress.’
‘Of a kind,’ she said.
From her room upstairs in the attic, Koch saw Christabel Gerhardt leave the house and set off in the direction of the Schillerplatz to meet her children from school. It was a regular event on each afternoon at this hour and predictably she always looked back at the house as if to reassure herself that it would still be there when she returned. Knowing just when she would turn her head, Koch quickly withdrew from the window, for in her own mind she was quite certain that the Gerhardt woman was in fact trying to catch her out, and she took great pleasure in outwitting her. It was, of course, part of the cat and mouse game and there were a lot of cats after this particular mouse because Wollweber had seen to it that every policeman on beat duty would keep an eye on Christabel Gerhardt and report her movements.
A blind unswerving faith in the leadership of the New Order helped to make Ursula Koch the perfect police spy. She remembered all too clearly the last days of the Weimar Republic when there were eight million unemployed and she had known what it was like to go hungry before the Führer had come to power. No one had opposed him when things were going well, but now that there had been a few setbacks, the defeatists and traitors were busy at work. Perhaps not surprisingly, she had no time for Generals like Gerhardt who had so conveniently forgotten their oath of allegiance, and in his absence, she thought it only right that reprisals should be taken against his family. Satisfied that for the next twenty minutes at least she could work without fear of interruption, Ursula Koch descended the attic starrs and entered the master bedroom on the floor below.
It was easy to see that the clothes hanging up in the fitted wardrobe were of a far better quality than she could ever hope to afford, but Koch wasn’t interested in the makers’ labels. Piling everything on to the bed, sh
e then tore down the hems and ripped out the linings of coats, dresses and skirts. For good measure, Koch selected three pairs of court shoes, and using the bedroom door as a crude vice, wrenched off the heels.
With this bogus evidence of a police search, the harassment of Christabel Gerhardt had begun.
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Truscott stared at the large-scale map which Ashby had placed before him on the desk. From Wem in Shropshire a line had been projected north-eastwards across the width of England to Withernsea in the East Riding of Yorkshire. Parallel to this was another line which, running south of Chester, Manchester, Leeds and York, finished at Scarborough on the coast.
Truscott said, ‘Would I be right in assuming that your exercise will be confined to the area within the tram lines?’
Ashby shook his head. ‘Within reason the escapers can roam anywhere, but they will only have a sketch of the area I’ve enclosed on the map.’
Truscott looked up with a perplexed expression on his face. ‘It might be as well if you went over the details with me before we go cap in hand to the Director General of Military Training.’
It was not a very subtle approach and Ashby sensed that Truscott, intending to do most of the talking when they saw the General, wanted to be quite sure that he had all the facts at his fingertips.
Placing a finger on the map, he said, ‘I’ve chosen to start the exercise off from this point because there is a German POW
camp near Wem, and as you will see later, this will give it an authentic flavour. It will end when either our people rendezvous at the safe house outside Market Weighton or when they are all recaptured. I’d like to see the exercise beginning on Friday the 29th of September and it should be over by Tuesday the 3rd of October at the latest.’
‘May I ask why Market Weighton and not the coast between Withernsea and Scarborough?’
‘My father-in-law has a farm just outside Market Weighton, which in view of its isolation, would make an ideal RV and exercise control point—it’s as simple as that.’ He waited to see if Truscott had any further questions before continuing. ‘Now, I propose to put our people into standard POW clothing when we turn them loose—you know the sort of thing I mean—battledress with coloured circular patches sewn all over it—and they won’t have more than five bob in cash on their person, and no food apart from a bar of chocolate.’
‘You intend to make life difficult for them.’
‘I do. They will get a head start of two hours and then I want the commandant of the POW camp to raise the alarm.’
‘And then what?’
‘I expect the police, Home Guard and every RAF and army unit to be alerted from north of the Thames to the Scottish border.’
‘That’s rather a tall order.’
‘We can’t make do with less.’
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Truscott picked up a pencil and tapped the desk. ‘How is the team shaping up?’ he said tentatively.
‘I’m not too sure about Cowper, Scholl and Haase.’
‘You know I’ve had no success with SOE over the extra men you wanted?’
‘Oh?’
‘They’ve no more to spare.’
‘I can see I’m going to be in trouble if I lose anyone else,’
Ashby said drily.
‘I understood you were planning to use a team of eight?’
‘Yes, I don’t have much leeway.’
‘You’ve still got Ottaway up your sleeve.’
‘I thought he was merely attached to me as an observer and to help out with our preliminary training?’
‘If he is, it’s news to me.’
Ashby shrugged his shoulders. ‘He seems quite certain of his status.’
‘Talking of status, what do you make of Gerhardt? Do you trust him completely?’
‘The short answer is no. Oh, I think he will be loyal enough unless we run into serious trouble and then he’ll be looking after number one.’
‘I’m glad you’re aware of the risks.’
‘I’m sorry, I’m not sure I follow you.’
Truscott opened a drawer in his desk and produced the series of snapshots depicting the execution of a group of partisans in Russia. ‘Dryland uncovered these,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid that there is conclusive evidence to show that Gerhardt’s division was involved in the atrocity.’
Ashby examined the photographs carefully. ‘When were they taken?’ he said.
‘Some time in 1941.’
‘Gerhardt was only a battalion commander then.’
‘Quite.’
‘What’s Dryland’s motive?’
‘I beg your pardon,’ Truscott said coldly.
‘Why is he so interested?’
‘You forget that he helped to screen Gerhardt when he first arrived in this country. He wants to be quite certain that we are not making a mistake.’
‘Perhaps he ought to make quite certain of his facts before he starts making allegations. He should have taken a closer look at the NCOs in charge of the execution detail and then maybe he would have noticed the crossed Z emblem.’
‘That has some significance?’
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‘It shows they belong to the 4th SS Police Division.’
‘Well, that’s quite a relief.’
‘May I keep the photographs?’ Ashby smiled. ‘You see, I wouldn’t say that Gerhardt was entirely in the clear and I’d like to hear his explanation some time.’
‘Take them by all means.’ Truscott frowned. ‘We seem to have strayed a long way from the original point of discussion, and we don’t have much time left,’ he said. ‘What happens to your men if they’re caught?’
‘I’d like them kept in custody until either Ottaway or I can arrange to collect them. I’ll have Ottaway keep in touch with the commandant of the POW camp, and of course we’ll both need transport.’
Truscott glanced at his wristwatch. ‘We ought to be going,’ he said briskly. ‘The General doesn’t like to be kept waiting.’
They called themselves ‘The Five Swinging Metronomes’ and not one of them was a day under fifty. A conspicuous lack of musical ability was more than adequately compensated for by their sheer, unbounded enthusiasm as each instrumentalist in turn tried to draw out the rest of the band. Piano, drums, saxophone, clarinet and piano-accordion were an odd combination but at least they produced rhythmic music to dance to.
Red, white and blue bunting had been draped around the wall bars to complement the Tricolour, Stars and Stripes, Hammer and Sickle and the Union Jack which hung from the retracted parallel beams in the roof of the gym. French chalk gave the floor a passable surface and a beer bar, which was closely supervised by the Orderly Sergeant wearing a distinctive red sash, had been set up in the changing room while, ignored by everyone present, a couple of regimental policemen stood in the entrance to the gym as a visible reminder that rowdy behaviour would not be tolerated. A pall of blue-grey cigarette smoke drifted like cirrus cloud above the heads of the assembled crowd.
The girls came from miles around on their bicycles, on foot or by bus and, regardless of their age or true reputation, the soldiers referred to them collectively as tarts, judies and crumpet, a slander justified in part by only a very few of their number. For the vast majority, the dance was no more than a welcome break from the grinding, monotonous drudgery of the war, and they were out to enjoy themselves.
Their gaiety was as infectious as it was spontaneous, and although he was frequently jostled as they tried to move around the crowded floor, Ottaway didn’t care. Whether she wanted to or not, Anne Bradley was forced to keep close to him and through 73
the heavy khaki skirt he could feel the softness of her thighs.
Their heads were touching but she was looking past him and he wondered if she was remembering another time and another place and another man. From the stage, a soldier crooned:
‘ Missed the Saturday dance,
Heard they crowded the floor,
Awfully lonely without you,
Don’t get around much any more. ’
‘Does that apply to you?’ he said quietly.
She moved her head and smiled at him. ‘Perhaps it did a few months ago.’
‘Thinking about him?’
‘Who?’
‘Your boyfriend.’
‘I haven’t got one.’
‘How about me? Will I do?’
She laughed and said, ‘I’ll think about it.’
‘I’m free, white and over twenty-one and you would just love Cape Cod.’
‘Is that where you live?’
‘No, but some day I will.’
‘Send me a postcard when you do.’
‘Well, that may never happen—schoolteachers are badly paid.’
‘I can’t imagine you in a classroom.’
‘I taught French and German for a year or so after I’d graduated.’
‘You don’t look old enough.’
‘I’m twenty-seven, I guess that makes me an old man, or at least I will be before this war’s over. Have you ever thought what you will do when peace finally breaks out?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered, ‘I shall try to forget the war.’
‘I could do with some fresh air. I don’t suppose I could persuade you to take a walk with me?’
‘As long as it is only a walk.’
A lopsided smile appeared on his face. ‘What do you take me for?’
‘A red-blooded American,’ she said lightly. ‘My mother warned me about men like you.’
After the humidity inside the gym, the night air seemed damp and chilly, and shivering, she drew close to Ottaway and was comforted by his arm around her waist. They walked briskly along the narrow path which led towards the Range Warden’s hut on the perimeter of the camp, and half expecting him to produce the key, she was surprised when he made no effort to lead her inside.
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‘Now I know you were telling the truth.’
He stopped and turned to face her. ‘About what?’
‘Going for a walk. I thought it was just an excuse to get me outside.’
‘You’ve got a very suspicious mind, Anne Bradley.’
‘Perhaps I have.’ She shivered. ‘It’s cold out here,’ she said,
‘let’s go back.’