On the Edge of Darkness (Special Force Orca Book 1) (24 page)

“
Clear this road now, or I will shoot your damn horses and then you! Do you understand me!”

The man
almost certainly knew no, but Baum’s furious features and the pointing gun had the desired effect and the man renewed his efforts to drag the reluctant horses off the road.

But w
hat was this? He hadn’t noticed the peasant women before, two of them standing there behind the cart. In his experience these Norwegian women could be quite beautiful; he stroked at his heavily waxed moustache and stepped out eagerly in their direction. The women were buxom, big breasted, just his type, for was he not ‘big boned’ himself. He had no objections to the same attributes in his women, in fact he preferred it. Tantalisingly hidden behind those flowered headscarves it was difficult to see if their faces matched the promise of their ample bodies. As he drew near they kept their eyes averted, but he knew they were watching him he could hear them giggling. Of course they were shy! Only to be expected in his presence… So much the better; he liked his women big and shy. He smiled at the charming creatures, curling his lip and raised one enquiring eyebrow, an expression he had practised much in his shaving mirror. He gave his short self-assured laugh.

One turned her head in his direction
: she had a large ginger beard. Baum stepping back in surprise, caught a movement to his side, two men clad in white overalls jumped down onto the road, for a second he thought they were German Alpine Troops. Then he heard the shouted commands, British! He looked quickly, over his shoulder back towards the vehicles. His men were being dragged from their cabs. He lifted his hands slowly above his head.

*     *     *

Midshipman Hope popped his head up through the hatch of the Panzerspahwagen.

“
This could come in handy,” he said, swinging the heavy machine gun round on its mounting.

Grant leant on the bonnet,
MG34, good weapon, but with luck, you shouldn’t need it. Remember the plan, park up on the north side of the airfield, we’ll meet you there as soon as we can. You have the recognition signal?”

“
Yes, sir,” said Hope, locking the machine gun into place as Grant sprinted back towards the tankers. “Wilson! What are you doing? I told you to get in the truck.”

“
I’m ‘aving a spot of bother trying to get out of this dress, sir.”

“
No time for that, man. Get in as you are.”

“
Easier said than done in this lot, sir” said Wilson hitching up the heavy woollen skirt, exposing his black boots and legs. “Did you notice the legs, sir. I think they’re better than the wife’s.”

“
Will you get in!” cried Hope, looking with understandable distaste at the seaman’s hairy legs.

“
I am , sir.” said Wilson as he sat down heavily on the seat, “Just remember I’m spoken for.”

Hope
grimaced as he turned the key in the ignition and the eight cylinder Horch roared into life. He drove back onto the road and, with headlights blazing, the convoy resumed its interrupted journey.

Behind them some distance from the road, eight, bound and gagged, German soldiers shivered in their long woollen underwear.

*     *     *

The sentries hastily dragged the temporary barrier from between the newly erected gateposts urged on by the young and foul-mouthed Scharfuhrer in the Panzerspahwagen.

The
armoured car pulled over to one side and the two Opel Blitz tankers accelerated past, through the gate and onto the tree-lined avenue that lead to the airstrip.

The older of the two sentries stood with his hands on his hips, shaking his head slowly as he watched t
he red tail- lights of the lorries swerving erratically away down the slush covered perimeter road.

“
Ha!,,, S.S! Did you see that arschloch, barely out of nappies, uniform didn’t even fit him, and already he’s a Scharfuhrer!”

In the lorry Hope laughed excitedly,
“I don’t know about you, Wilson, but I’m beginning to enjoy this.”

Wilson raised his eyes to
heaven and the cab roof, saying nothing. Shortly their headlights blinked out.

*     *     *

Grant’s wheel-spanner moved an inch and then slipped violently so that he rapped his knuckles on the outlet valve. Swearing, he yanked on the spanner once more and the aviation fuel spurted out in a fine mist. He jumped to one side, finding he could now turn the handle easily, he adjusted it so the highly inflammable liquid poured out from the tank at a steady rate.

A few feet away Blake was having no such difficulties with his valve. Grant gave a thumbs up in his direction and they both ran back to their cabs.

The two tankers shot off in opposite directions, fuel gushing down onto the concrete runway beneath them, it spread its way out across the apron and under the neatly parked aircraft.

Grant had been driving for less
than two minutes when the engine suddenly spluttered and died. He tried the ignition. The starter motor whirled, but the engine failed to start. He pumped at the accelerator and tried again, with the same result. He turned to a silent Wyatt in the seat alongside him, “It’s no good, I think we are out of fuel, but the other tanker should be along in a bit to complete the circle. That’s the plan anyway.”

“
No need to worry then,” grumbled Wyatt, “there’ll be another one along in a minute…unless, of course, they get into trouble. For all we know they could have run out of fuel and all.”

Grant thought for a moment, he knew Wyatt wa
s a cheerful soul, but that didn’t stop him being right. “Do you know how to set the timer?”

“
No idea, sir,” said Wyatt, helpfully.

“
I’ll do that then…you collect up our gear and…” A sudden blazing white light illuminated the darkened cab.

“
Christ!” yelled Grant, “get out quick. We’re sitting smack in the middle of a bloody bomb waiting to go off.”

They jumped down from the cab with a
n audible splash; they were ankle deep in aviation fuel.

“
Walk round to the back, keep the lorry between us and the light.”

Wy
att, still in his peasant women’s clothes, lifted his skirts clear and followed Grant. To their initial surprise, no one called on them to halt. It could be the guards thought it was just a tanker in difficulties or it could have just been the shock of seeing a bearded man in a woman’s skirt alighting from the cab. Whatever it was, they kept on walking, past the end of the vehicle, keeping in its shadow as much as they could until they emerged once more into the white light. Their luck was not destined to last. They were only yards from the edge of the darkness, when a challenge barked out and a burst of machine fire kicked the tarmac up in their faces.

*     *     *

“Nein Nein!” screamed a panic stricken German voice from the darkness, “cease firing! Cease firing! The whole area is swimming in fuel! One spark and we are all finished!” The firing stopped as abruptly as it had started.

Grant recognised
Hogg’s voice immediately and even understood some of what he was shouting. With Hogg clinging to its running board the other tanker appeared in the pool of light and screeched to a halt. The midshipman jumped down and pointed his machine pistol at Grant’s belly. “Let’s get out of here, sir.”

Grant lifting his hands in the air
, gesturing for Wyatt to do the same, “Bugger it, Middy! I’ve just remembered, I haven’t set the bloody timer… I’ll make a dash for my lorry, you shout for them to hold their fire and then give chase. Don’t catch up with me until I’m out of sight around the back of the tanker; that’ll give me a chance to set the timer.”

He turned
running into the blinding beam of the searchlight, feeling terribly exposed despite hearing Hogg behind him doing his bit in German. Thankfully no shots rang out; it appeared to be working. In the cover of the truck at last, he leapt up into the cab and quickly set the timer on the explosives. Hogg arrived close on his heels and waved his vehicle in. Out of sight of the guards Grant crammed himself into an already packed cab and, with Hogg on the running board waving to the searchlight operators, they drove off into the night.

*     *     *

The headlights of the armoured vehicle flashed twice. Hogg, back in the driving seat once more, stamped the accelerator to the deck and they shot forward like a bat out of hell. They hit the perimeter wire between two line posts ripping them from the ground as they careered on. There was an explosion as one tyre disintegrated, ripped to shreds by the barbed-wire. The tanker crashed on erratically, dragging with it a jumping occasionally airborne section of fence complete with posts.

Clear of the field, they
skidded to a halt, leapt down and sprinted across to the waiting armoured car. Barely had they obtained a handhold when it, it began to move, accelerating across the grass as they clung to it for dear life. Suddenly there was a huge explosion behind them and the night sky erupted into light.

Chapter 14

A Change of orders

Swept Channel, Firth of Forth, 2215 hrs, Wednesday, 22
nd
May, 1940.

“Do you hear there? This is the Captain speaking. As you have probably realised by now we are heading south and not north. Shortly after leaving harbour I received a signal from the Admiralty ordering us to the French port of Boulogne. Our orders are to assist the Dover Patrol in the evacuation of army personnel cut off by the advancing German Army. We will enter harbour at oh eight hundred hours tomorrow morning. That is all.”

*     *     *

Morning Watch, Approaches to Boulogne Harbour, Thursday, 23
rd
May, 1940.

It was a beautiful spring morning, fresh and clean, already warm with the promise of a hot day to come. The sea oily smooth, sparkled with reflected sunlight. The warship’s raked bow cut through the still water sending an arrowhead of tumbling foam hissing down her sides.

Despite the deep beat of the destroyer
’s engines and the sharp cry of the seagulls overhead it was strangely quiet. The beauty of it all, made the horror that was to come the more bizarre, the more senseless. Its prelude was a deep rumble, rushing in from the distant shore, rolling over them like thunder. The once clear line of the horizon smudged suddenly with drifting smoke, billowing listlessly eastward.

The seamen settled behind their gun-sights preparing themselves like nervous batsmen before the first ball
of the over. Every sense stretched taut, trigger fingers tensed, sweating hands gripping tighter. Tired minds began to imagine the worst, the tumbling wake hid a torpedo’s track, a distant seagull became a diving aircraft, a breaking white capped wave a periscope.

“
Do you hear there this is the captain speaking. We have had another change to our orders. We are now proceeding to a point five miles north of the harbour to give close support to our troops on the ground. We will be carrying out a bombardment in company with elements of a French destroyer squadron.

In addition, the port authorities have requested our assistance with their docking arrangements for the Dover Patrol, who will be entering harbour sometime today. I intend to drop the sea boat with a berthing party under the First Lieutenant at the harbour entrance and then to proceed to the rendezvous point with the
French destroyers. That is all.”

*     *     *

As they sailed closer, Boulogne seemed to be completely ablaze. Black smoke, that hid most of the town, rolled out across a debris-strewn harbour.

Barr scanned the installations with his binoculars. Judging
by the gunfire the Germans were already in the town. He ordered the sea boat to be lowered.

A
s if to confirm his worst fears, sniper fire began to rip in above their heads. Through his glasses, he could see puffs of smoke coming from a building on the port beam. He used the ship’s engines to quickly swing the ‘Nishga’ around so as to put her between the snipers and the men working on the sea boat.

The
‘Nishga’s’ four point sevens opened fire with a bark that rumbled off the walls of the old warehouses like a roll of thunder. A full broadside slammed into the second floor of the building turning it into a dense dust cloud. The dust slowly settling, like a falling curtain, revealling the desolation wrought by the four hundred weight of explosive. It had demolished the entire floor; blown clean away as if it had never existed. The sniper fire had ceased, immediate proof, if proof had been needed, of its source.

While the over-laden sea boat began its lonely crossing to the nearby jetty
, the ‘Nishga’ turned sharply to starboard, her screws thrashed into life as if in a fit of temper. She surged forward flashing across the harbour, rapidly working up to full her speed. She cleared the entrance doing twenty knots and began a long lazy turn to starboard.

*     *     *

The sea boat bobbed madly in the departing ‘Nishga’s’ wake.

While his men leant to their oars,
every man anxious to reach some sort of cover, Lieutenant Grey watched the destroyer race away with feelings of acute trepidation, he felt abandoned and very much alone. Ashore, he could hear screams, shouting and the rattle of small arms. The jetty, they were making for was full to overflowing with soldiers, many on stretchers. There appeared to be no discipline some of the men even appeared to be drunk. Standing in the stern, peering through the swirling smoke, he caught fleeting glimpses of another jetty, one that appeared to be deserted. He pointed it out to Petty Officer Stone, standing beside him at the tiller. “Take her in there.”

Although they were not receiving
any direct fire, spent rounds of ammunition where falling in the water all around them as they nosed their way through the now dense smoke.

Suddenly they were there, seaweed covered wooden
pylons towered above the sea boat.

“
I’ll take her right in, sir, get her under the jetty, she’ll be out of sight there and it’ll give us some cover.”

They bumped gently into a
cross strut and quickly passed the stern line around it.

Petty Officer Stone worked his way forward stepping on the thwarts,
“It’s near enough high tide, lads, so leave plenty of slack on those lines, we don’t want to find her hanging down the jetty when we get back.”

Fastened to
pylon, a rusty iron ladder led to the jetty’s wooden decking ten-foot above their heads, pushing off from strut to strut they ‘walked’’ the boat across to it.

Stone pointed,
“I want two men to remain with the boat, keep her in cover, out of sight.” You’ll do he pointed out his two men. “It’ll better be here intact when we get back you got yer rifles use them if you need to, don’t let anyone and I mean anyone ,friend or foe, take this boat from yer, understood.”

Stone gripped the bottom of the ladder,
“The rest of you, up you go.”

He held tight to the ladder, the boat rocking as the men made their way for
’ard.

*     *     *

‘Nishga’

The French liaison officer climbed the short rope ladder up from the sea boat and stepped onto the ‘Nishga’s’ quarterdeck. He saluted and wished the Officer of the Watch ‘a good day’’ Together they walked along the iron deck to the break in the fo’c’s’le and passing through the Wardroom Flat climbed two more ladders before they reached the bridge.

The four French destroyers were fine on the starboard bow steami
ng on the same northerly course and running parallel to the coast. The nearest was less than a cable’s distance and as the two officers reached the bridge her broadside rang out.

They had arrived
unnoticed; all eyes were trained on the shore watching the fall of her shot with professional interest. The target, a line of advancing German tanks, was in plain sight, less than a mile away so the explosions, when they came, could be easily seen with the naked eye. The target was momentarily obscured in a cloud of smoke and dust as the French shells exploded. The tanks, Panzer IIIs, judging by the fifty millimetre guns, trundled out from the other side completely unscathed.

“
Bloody Frogs, still can’t shoot,” remarked the Navigating Officer, without taking his eyes from his binoculars, “you’d think they would have learnt something since Trafalgar.”

“
Perhaps, monsieur, you would like the opportunity to show us your skills, said the Frenchman, I think it is, ‘ow you say in English, your turn now?”

Lie
utenant Usbourne went bright red, “ I...I do apologise,” he stammered. “It was just a joke.”

“
Ah, yes!” said the French Lieutenant coldly, “the famous English sense of ‘umour. I was warned about it before I left my ship.”

Barr hid a smile, amusing
, but not really the start he would have wished for. He trained his glasses on the distant cape watching the swell marching on the lighthouse at its point. He turned abruptly and walked to the Gunnery voice pipe, his direct line to the Gunnery Officer high above them in the director.

“
Engage enemy tanks, green two oh, range two thousand yards.”

He could hear the orders being
relayed to the four point sevens.

“
Main armament to follow director; target bearing green two oh; range one thousand seven hundred.”

“
Shoot!”

The full broadside shook the whole sh
ip, the enormous recoil physically pushing the two thousand tons of destroyer sideways. The smoke billowing aft from ‘X’ and ‘Y’ turrets shrouded the bridge in its acrid folds before the following wind cleared it away over the bow.

The smoke
, however, had not managed to obscure the view from the Gunnery Director. He heard a ragged cheer from above.

“
Hit by God!”

“
First bloody salvo!” said another voice.

“
Bloody wonderful!” came from another.

The French Liaison officer turned his back and walked swiftly to the other side of the bridge. Barr concea
led his pleasure behind a harsh.

“
GDP control yourselves this isn’t a cricket match.” The yelling stopped as if a tap had been turned off.

*     *     *

Lieutenant Grey reached the top of the ladder and peered along the wooden planking that formed the floor of the jetty. At its shore end, less than fifty feet away, stood a ruined brick warehouse, he immediately recognised it as the one ‘Nishga’s’ four-sevens had damaged earlier. Scrambling up the last few rungs he joined Petty Officer Stone kneeling behind the disintegrating remains of a small boat.

“
Best keep your head down, sir,” whispered Stone, “There’s someone in that building. I seen them moving around it might be more snipers.”

Just then two men appeared climbing gingerly
through the rubble. More men emerged from the ruins until there were about thirty in all. Some were obviously the worse for drink, all were dirty, covered in brick dust.

“
Pongoes, sir; Frogs by the looks of ‘em.”

“
Could be Germans,” whispered Grey.

A
shake in his voice made Stone look round at him. He was shocked by how pale and drawn he was.

“
They’re Frogs, all right, sir, I can smell the garlic from ‘ere.”

Grey peered
cautiously over the gunwale of the boat, “Looters do you suppose.”

Stone shrugged,
Deserters I’d say …most of them haven’t got their bundles…I think they’ve seen the boat.”

“
My God do you think so.”

Stone
’s assumption was confirmed seconds later when one of the advancing men called out in good English.

“
English, we only want your boat, we want no trouble, give us the boat and you can leave.

“
Shall I tell them to clear off, sir?

“
Erh…I don’t want to provoke them.”

“
Don’t you worry, sir. I’m used to dealing with drunks and living with them. Leave it to me. He gestured to his landing party to follow him and rising from cover he marched smartly forward. In the middle of the debris-strewn jetty, he halted and about turned. Grey, still crouching behind the boat, could only admire the man, it was as if he was drilling recruits on the parade ground at Whale Island.

Wi
th his back to the advancing mob, he held out his arms. “Form two ranks in front of me, move yourselves!”

His ten-man squad fell in, picking up their dressing, reacting automatically to
their training and the sound of his voice.