Ormerod's Landing (35 page)

'Always accepting the natives are friendly,' pointed out Ormerod.

Her eyebrows went up and she projected her lips impatiently. 'They are Normans,' she said as if no further explanation were necessary.

'What about the Germans? Surely there are bound to be Germans on the island.'

'That is logical I suppose. But signals have been seen by planes flying over Chausey - and they are seen regularly. So, if there are Germans they are not very much awake. But if they are there, and they get in the way of our plans, we must eliminate them.'

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'Of course, of course,' nodded Ormerod as though he eliminated Germans every day.

She glanced at him and smiled. 'It will be all right,' she said. 'You will learn.'

'You know I don't speak any French,' he said, looking directly at her.

'So I believe.'

'The best way for me to get across France is as a deaf mute.'

'At first,' she told him, 'I thought it was ridiculous, crazy, sending somebody like you. But they said there was no trained agent they could send. And you wanted to go, to get this man - what is his name?'

'Smales. I should have kept my mouth shut.'

'But later,' she continued, ignoring the remark, 'I thought that an amateur would be just as good, it could be even better. As long as you can look after yourself. Sometimes trained people become too ... how can I say it? ... too involved, too sophisticated. Because of this they might be caught. They seek perfection. You will not do that. And if they catch you, the Germans, then a trained agent has not been wasted. This is only a kind of ... exploration, yes exploration, anyway.'

'Everybody's so nice about me being expendable,' grumbled Ormerod.

She laughed genuinely. 'I'm sorry for you,' she said. 'We are all expendable, but it's more difficult to replace some than others.'

'Well I'll have to keep my mouth shut in France,' he said solemnly. 'Deaf, dumb, drunk or doolally, that's me.'

'Doolally, what is that?'

'Mad,' he said. 'Batty. That probably fits better than any of them.'

'It will not be so difficult moving about,' she continued. I am certain of this. I have your forged identity papers and ration book here for you. Many men are still returning to their homes from the French army, after the surrender. Those permitted by the Boche. Some of them are walking across the country. Also there are many people who work in Normandy at this time of the year on the gathering of the apples for cider. They travel also from place to place.'

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'Cider. You have cider in Normandy?'

'Of course. It is the Norman's wine. You have this in England also?'

'Cider? Yes, they make it in the West Country.'

'The Normans probably brought it over with William the Conqueror,' she said airily. 'But to return to the point, there are many workers who will be moving around the countryside from farm to farm.'

'Won't the Germans be checking on them?' said Ormerod.

'They will, I expect. But our papers are as good as anybody else's. The Boche knows that the farming must go on, life must go on, even if he is the boss for the moment. People must eat and drink.'

Ormerod said: 'I'm partial to a glass of cider myself.'

'This western part of Normandy,' she continued, ignoring the observation, 'was not damaged by the battles. The countryside is peaceful as it was before. And the Germans, they are not organized yet. They have only been there for a few weeks. Also their security services are not good. They fight all the time between each other, themselves, I mean. There are many things in our favour.'

There was a sharp knock on the office door. Marie-Thérèse nodded and Ormerod opened it. A petty officer and two ratings stood outside. 'Captain Peterson's compliments, sir,' he said to Ormerod. 'We've come to take you to the ship.'

Ormerod stood aside and let the girl go first. To his surprise he saw some hesitation in her expression. She glanced at him as she moved forward.

'It is this submarine I do not like,' she whispered. I do not like it one bit.'

Ormerod attempted a grin. He touched her arm. 'Don't worry dear,' he said. 'It can only sink.

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four

On September 20th, 1940, the highest tide of the year occurred
along the Channel coast of Normandy and Brittany, giving a rise and fall of no less than forty-one feet. If the sea was powerful, however, the air was still. The night was moonless and without stars. At four o'clock in the morning HM submarine
Trenchant
was in position off the eastern rocks of Chausey Island.

The submarine partially surfaced just after dawn which was at 6.22 a.m. and two minutes later the conning tower hatch opened and a petty officer looked out at the island. 'Found it,'
he said with satisfaction. He and two ratings led Ormerod and Marie-Thérèse Velin along the deck and assisted them in the
launching of the collapsible canvas boat. Both Ormerod and
the girl were armed with pistols. They were each in possession of a full set of forged identification documents and the girl had
a reduced-scale Admiralty chart of the locality. Both were
dressed in blue Breton fishermen's trousers and jerseys. Orme
rod also carried a prayer sheet issued by the Missions to Sea
men which had been discreetly and decently given to him by a
religious rating aboard the submarine. Marie-Thérèse had five
hundred thousand francs in one thousand franc notes.

Ormerod was first, climbing clumsily into the jerky canvas
boat. He wobbled and all but capsized it while Marie-Thérèse
regarded him doubtfully through the insipid light. He returned
the look apologetically and the ratings helped her into the
boat. The petty officer saluted with some sense of drama and
then leaned over confidingly. 'Bugger off quick,' he advised. He
nodded towards the submarine's conning tower. 'Before this can of beans goes down again, or she'll take you under with us.'

'AH right,' said Ormerod. One of the other things they had
not taught him in training was to row a boat at sea. Possibly
because there were no facilities at Ash Vale, in the middle of
Hampshire. 'Have a good football match,' he whispered laconically to the petty officer who nodded as though he ap-

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preciated the thought and jogged thankfully back along the wet deck towards the conning tower. Ormerod began to pull at the oars.

'Haven't done this for years,' he puffed at Marie-Thérèse as the canvas boat moved sluggishly in the uneven water. 'Southend before the war.'

The girl smiled wanly and at about the moment of the smile two German soldiers innocently night fishing off the outer rocks of Chausey turned their small boat around an islet and saw the British submarine lying on the surface half a mile away. While the astonishment was still on their faces they saw the vessel begin to drop into the engulfing sea and within a minute there was only foam to mark the place where she had been.

The two men simultaneously spotted the small canvas boat moving clumsily towards the shore. One of the soldiers was a corporal, who hoped to be a sergeant, and the other was a private. The corporal nodded and they quietly manoeuvred their dinghy around the headland and pulled it into a sharp pebble beach. Their rifles were in the bottom boards of the fishing boat and they took them and went carefully along the shingle to the place where they estimated the canvas boat would come ashore.

The rocks were wet, sharp with shellfish and slippery with weed. When the soldiers reached the highest point of the small island on which they had landed they saw that they had made an error. The canvas boat and its two passengers had come to shore across a channel of water on another outcrop of low-tide rocks three hundred yards away. The two Germans, dropping behind a stony parapet, immediately and prematurely opened fire with their rifles. The first shots cracked through the still early air, the bullets shrieking as they ricocheted from the stone outcrops above Ormerod and Marie-Thérèse.

'Christ - already!' exclaimed Ormerod, pulling the girl out of the boat. 'Get down for God's sake!' They crouched behind the rocks. The girl began swearing in French. Ormerod poked his head out to have a look. 'The Germany army,' he muttered as he saw the soldiers running down the shingle and plunging up to their waists as they crossed the small channel, their rifles

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held above their heads. 'Well, two of them.'

'We will have to kill them,' she said, as though it were merely an inconvenience. 'So soon. It is very bad luck for us.'

'And them,' mentioned Ormerod more surely than he felt. 'How are we going to do it?'

The girl put her head out of their cover so she could see the Germans. They were still struggling to cross the channel, halfway over with the water up to their armpits. 'We will move,' she said decisively. 'Towards the main island. Perhaps we can make an ambush for them. Come.'

It was the first time that Ormerod had fully appreciated that she was actually in charge. He grunted but before he had finished she was climbing away from their hiding place and moving quickly over the rocks, going west. Ormerod followed her heavily, puffing a few yards in her wake. They climbed outcrops, slid down the other side and squelched across flat leads of seaweed-hung water. At the top of one of the small heights Ormerod saw the white cottages and the lighthouse on Chausey a mile away. He wondered if they would ever get there.

It was not difficult to hear the Germans coming in pursuit. They clattered clumsily over the resounding surface, slithering and cursing as they went. They knew that the two people in front had spotted them but they were not worried. Sooner or later they would come to The Sund, the deep trough between the islets and rocks and the main island. That had to be crossed. It could not be avoided for when the tide came back all the outlying surface rocks would be completely covered again.

The corporal was quite a clever young man. Had he lived he might have gone far in the Wehrmacht. He motioned his companion to move to the north while he went southwards, making a model pincer movement, that manoeuvre so beloved of the German army. They moved carefully now, making sure each step was secure and without making a noise. The corporal eventually raised his head and was delighted to see his quarry crouching in a shell-strewn bay looking in the other direction. He glanced up and saw that his compatriot had succeeded in coming around the rear from the other flank. The plan had

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worked well. Where the two people crouched he could see a lobster pot, filled with a catch, wallowing a few yards off shore.

That ought to have told him there were others around but he failed to register the clue. He motioned his comrade to move in. Now he had decided he did not want to shoot the invaders. They would be of much more value as captives. He moved inwards towards the other German soldier. Then, when they were only five yards apart he rose casually above the rocks and shouted to Ormerod and the girl to raise their hands.

They looked up and knew they had to obey. Standing helplessly they put their hands above their heads. The German corporal said something to his companion and at that moment an amazing thing occurred. Something pushed them from behind and, shouting in fright, they both stumbled and came flying over the top of the parapet of rock.

Slack-jawed, Ormerod watched them, spread-eagled as they flew, their faces disfigured with horror and astonishment. It was only a drop of twenty-five feet or so but both Germans struck outstanding rocks and bounced flamboyantly before hitting the shingle and the sand and lying grotesquely still.

The eyes of Marie-Thérèse and Ormerod travelled up from the recumbent grey figures to the ledge where they had been standing. Like a comic actor coming forward on cue to take his bow a young man appeared. He was wearing a Breton blue jersey the arms of which were spread out as if acknowledging applause. He was leering strangely.
'Moi,'
he said briefly.
'C'est moi.'

A group of other men, all fishermen, appeared on the surrounding outcrops of rocks, and silently looked down on the scene. They began clambering down to the group. The oldest of them, once square, now rotund, looked at the youth who had done the damage and then to Ormerod and the girl.

'You must understand he is mad/ he said. 'His head is mad.'

"Thank God for mad people,' answered Marie-Thérèse.

'There will be trouble,' said the fisherman. He stared at the youth who smiled weakly and performed a pushing movement to demonstrate what he had done. The others said nothing. Marie-Thérèse moved forward and turned both Germans on their backs.

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'They are not dead,' she said in her businesslike way. 'It is no use shooting them. It will show. We must drown them.'

She had spoken to the fishermen and they regarded her with horrified amazement. She turned to Ormerod. I think we must persuade them.' She produced her pistol and, after hesitating, Ormerod did likewise. 'We must drown them,' repeated Marie-Thérèse in French in the direction of the fishermen.

'Put your weapons away,' replied the old man calmly. 'Because of what the boy has done we are in this matter just as much as you. He may be mad but he is still one of us. We will do as you say.'

Dumbly the fishermen picked up the Germans and carried them along the gulleys. They reached a point poised about twenty feet above the sea. The girl, her face hard as a pebble, said something else, almost barking at the fishermen. They hesitated, then obeyed. They scrambled over the shingle and returned with a large seine fishing net. The two soldiers were wrapped in this and then, while Ormerod stood as in a stupor, two large boulders were attached as weights and the Germans rolled down the short cliff and into the sea. They sank horribly.

'Thank you,' said Marie-Thérèse to her countrymen. 'You did a great service for France.'