Midnight Raid Read online

  *

  Kneipe, usually of an equable temperament, was angry and frustrated tonight. His S boat had left her moorings an hour before midnight, as scheduled, to make her rendezvous with her sister boat ten miles south-west of the fjord entrance. She had hardly cleared the harbour when, as usual, he had ordered full ahead: he liked always to charge out with dash and bravado. The boat reached peak revolutions as she tore between Islands Two and Three; and died to half speed with no warning indication of a defect.

  Kneipe ordered the cox to go about and try full ahead on their way back to harbour: but the engine faltered and almost died completely. The boat returned to her moorings, the artificers and a shore-based engineer officer slaved in the cramped engine room for over an hour, before Kneipe could sail again, very late, to replace the boat that had already failed to spot the assault convoy.

  Kneipe was approaching Island One while B Troop was drawing close to the booby-trapped hawser; whose buoy, at its seaward end, was taking far more of a beating than Scherer had expected.

  Headquarters Troop, Heavy Weapons Troop and E Troop, which were all going to attack the town’s seafront, were close behind B Troop, because they had the furthest to go.

  A Troop, which was to create a diversion on the south of the town – near the enemy sangar on that side – with half its strength, while the other half captured Island Three, followed.

  D Troop, of which half would capture Island Two, while the other half stood by in reserve, near the harbour mouth, came next.

  C Troop, whose job was to take Island One, brought up the rear, because it had the shortest journey.

  The whole commando, then, was chugging at four knots towards Olafsund while Kneipe’s S boat came soberly in the opposite direction: there was to be no customary bravura this time, in case the engine misbehaved again.

  The second booby-trapped hawser, also dragging its buoy, waited to snag any of the assault boats that kept to their original course close inshore on the southern side of the fjord.

  *

  Major Redlich had made up his mind to visit Kirsten that evening for the first time since the executions. He had not been in touch with her while his search squads were at work. Now that the hunt had ended, two days ago, he was impatient to go to her. Celibacy had always depressed him. After some two weeks of abstinence he felt repressed and bad-tempered. Yet, he hesitated to telephone and announce that she could expect him to dinner. He knew that the shooting of her compatriots would have a profoundly disturbing effect on her. It would arouse some animosity in her heart, aimed at him in particular rather than at his nation in general.

  Inflexible though he was in what he considered to be his duty, in all respects, he was not totally bereft of sensitivity. He did not wish to intrude on whatever grief she felt: by association, because at least one friend had been among those condemned. But he did want to make use of her body; and urgently.

  He telephoned. Her voice, in response, was impassive, neutral; he thought, guarded. There was certainly no welcome in it or any sign of relief that he had at last broken the only long silence that had ever existed between them.

  “I would like to see you, Kirsten.”

  “I am afraid I haven’t enough in the larder to invite you to dinner.”

  “A kind thought: but I could not spare the time, anyway. I shall be rather late in the office. Perhaps at about nine?”

  “Very well. But… I am afraid you are going to be disappointed.”

  He frowned, puzzled. “Oh?” Thoughts, calculations whirred through his head. “I don’t understand…”

  “Spare my blushes, please, Dieter…”

  There was a moment’s silence.

  “I’ll be around at nine,” he said brusquely, and put the telephone down. He sat, thinking, took out his diary, confirmed the dates of their assignations over the past three months, did some more mental arithmetic, and then banished the matter from his mind. He had a full “In” tray.

  She stood back when she admitted him to her house. He moved to take her in his arms, but she turned away quickly and led him into the drawing-room without their usual kiss and embrace in the hall.

  He grasped her shoulder and turned her to face him.

  She smiled uncertainly at him. The smile encouraged him and he took her gently by both shoulders and drew her closer.

  “What is the matter, Kirsten? Are you hating me?”

  She shook her head, still smiling, her eyes troubled. “You have never harmed me, Dieter. I am worried, though… I don’t want to anger you…”

  He bent to kiss her. Her lips were as responsive as though she were kissing a close relation, no more. There was no passion there.

  “Why would you anger me?”

  “I tried to tell you on the telephone: this is the wrong time.” Her eyes pleaded and she added, in a whisper, “Please do not embarrass me.”

  “But… it can’t be…”

  “According to your calculations – and mine – perhaps not: but I assure you that, according to my body, it is. Strange things happen to women under stress, you know: sudden shock can… bring on… you know… I am sure I don’t have to be specific.”

  “And have you been subjected to such heavy shock? Such stress, that it has altered the whole balance of your natural functions?”

  “Are you surprised? First, the shock of learning that Gro, all this time, has been spying for the British. Then, your men arriving without warning and searching this house from cellar to attic; and even climbing onto the roof! The stress of knowing I must be under suspicion… I’ve been confused and frightened… I had to send for the doctor and ask him to give me something to calm me and help me to sleep.”

  He led her to the sofa, pressed her down onto it and sat beside her with his arm around her waist.

  “I am sorry, my dear. You have suffered considerable strain: I can see that. If I was in any way the cause, I am doubly sorry.” He kissed the crown of her head. “I hope that what has happened will make no difference to the way you feel about me, and our relationship. I assure you it has not weakened my feelings for you, in any way.”

  She turned her face to him and a wan smile touched it for a moment. “Nothing that has happened has changed my feelings for you, Dieter.”

  He sat back and pulled her against him so that her head rested on his chest. “Thank you, Liebchen. And please don’t think that you have even been under suspicion: I have perfect trust in you.”

  She shuddered. “The Gestapo…”

  He spoke comfortingly. “Don’t worry about them: I gave them my personal assurance of your integrity.”

  “But you must be suspect, too, Dieter; for being my… friend.”

  “You don’t need to worry about me, either: I am in too good standing; in Oslo and in Berlin. I have many influential patrons, Kirsten: an uncle who is a lieutenant general, a cousin who is one of the Fuehrer’s most trusted S.S. colonels, a brother who is very close to Admiral Canaris himself, our Chief of Intelligence. No need to worry about me. And, if I vouch for you, no need to worry about yourself.”

  Her smile this time seemed to be suffused with gratitude. “I am very lucky to have such a protector. I only wish I didn’t have to send you away unrewarded tonight.”

  He returned her smile and kissed her again, and she was a trifle less cold this time, but cautiously.

  “Pleasures deferred are all the more gratifying when they are fulfilled, Liebling: I look forward to our next meeting; in two days’ time?”

  “Yes, I should be over it by then.”

  “Well, I won’t stay long now. There is still a pile of paperwork awaiting me; and I want to go round the defences.”

  Kirsten stood behind her front door, watching through the crack she had left open as he drove away. When his masked headlights had disappeared from view, she locked the door and went upstairs to change from pjyamas and a negligee into a dark blue fisherman’s jersey and trousers.

  *

  The bows of Taggart�
��s first assault boat struck the buoy that was submerged a couple of feet below the surface.

  The concrete cube that moored the buoy had been shifted inwards by the force of the heavy weather. Thus, the hawser was looped back on itself for a distance of some ten metres. The barbed wire scraped against the armoured side of the boat, which protected part of the hull: enough to fend off the barbs from ripping through the canvas.

  The speed with which the boat hit the buoy and its hawser tore the buoy away from its mooring rope. The buoy rose to the surface and the hawser floated free, and was carried towards the shore.

  The snatch by the boat had tugged the hawser tight before the buoy’s mooring rope parted. The hawser, dragged taut at full length for a moment, hauled on the thin ropes attached to the grenades, which had been fixed securely ashore, well above the wavetops, jammed there with small rocks and steel pegs.

  Six grenades detonated with successive loud thuds and bright red flashes. Fragments hurtled towards the boats, but they were out of range.

  Every officer and man in the commando saw the explosions.

  The garrison on Island One saw them and the searchlight crew rushed to action stations, the artillerymen ran to their guns.

  Kneipe and his ship’s company—those who were above decks—saw them and Kneipe shouted “Full ahead… Man searchlight… Action stations.”

  The S boat had a 20 mm gun in her bows and a 37 mm aft, as well as two torpedo tubes.

  Chapter Ten

  H.M.S. Prince of Denmark had made for open water as soon as the last assault boat had been lowered away. Three miles offshore she met her three escort vessels and together they began a monotonous run north and south, parallel to the coast, putting about at half-hour intervals. They were due to re-enter the fjord four hours after the assault boats were launched.

  The Headquarters Troop carried a transmitter-receiver which was capable of Morse telegraphy over far greater ranges than the contemporary voice sets. Should the commando need to be embarked sooner than in four hours’ time, a signal would bring the ships in: provided the portable equipment was still in working order.

  One of the Colonel’s greatest anxieties was lest this radio pack set were damaged in action. Good communications were essential to every phase of this operation. His first thought when the grenades began bursting was that the attack had lost its element of surprise. His second was that if his own boat were sunk, the pack set would go down with it; and there would be no means of calling for rescue.

  His boat was, of course, leading the other two H.Q. Troop assault craft; behind which, in pairs and only a couple of lengths astern, came Heavy Weapons and E Troops. These were closely followed by A and D Troops, with C Troop a good 100 yards astern of the latter.

  Immediately Taggart’s boat ran into the buoyed hawser, the Colonel knew that some sort of boom or booby trap must have been rigged there; and that there was probably another on the other side of the fjord.

  The troops were staggered: B and D on the north side of the fjord, to give them the shortest run to the cliff and to Island Two and the harbour; C Troop was also on the north side, from which it would be easiest to put ashore on Island One. All the rest of the commando were on the south side, with the Colonel’s boat in the van.

  At the second flash and clap of sound, which followed only a few seconds after the first, the Colonel yelled at the naval lieutenant who was in command of the assault craft and skipper of the Colonel’s, to “Turn left”.

  “Hard a-port,” the lieutenant ordered his coxswain; then turned to flash a warning to the boats astern, with a shaded flashlight.

  The Colonel’s boat lurched as it altered course, shipping water over the port gunwale and bringing groans from two of the Commandos, whose emptied stomachs heaved yet again.

  B Troop had been sufficiently far ahead of H.Q. Troop for the Colonel’s boat to shave past beyond the buoy attached to the hawser on the southern side. The outer of the two boats immediately astern also swung clear. The one on its starboard, however, brushed against the buoy; which was hidden by the foaming choppy water.

  Grenades began to explode on the southern shore as the bows snagged the buoy and a yard or so of hawser.

  *

  The S boat was on B Troop’s side of the fjord. Kneipe’s crew was quicker to respond to the alarum than the soldiers on Island One. Leutnant Braun, in command of the island’s garrison, was lazy and feckless. He had been thrown out of university after his first year, and been immediately hauled into the Army. Weedy, with an effeminate mouth and wavy fair hair, he was in the grip of an unrequited passion for his sergeant major. He was asleep, and dreaming of the hefty N.C.O’s embrace, when the alarm was given.

  The S boat’s bow searchlight bit into the darkness while the crew of Braun’s searchlight were still rubbing sleep from their eyes. Its beam turned first to the shore, where the grenades had burst, and remained there for 15 seconds, searching.

  Taggart shouted “Bren”, and the Bren gunner nearest to him thrust forward to rest his gun on the raised bow ramp. With the searchlight turned sideways-on to the assault boats, and the latter pitching and rolling, this was not the best moment at which to open fire.

  The light swept slowly from the shore, across the water. “Shoot it out as soon as you can get a decent shot,” Taggart said.

  The Bren gunner crouched, cuddling the stock of the machine-gun.

  The searchlight beam wavered as the S boat rolled. It traversed slowly towards the assault boats.

  Its dazzling glare touched Taggart’s boat and stopped. The Bren gunner fired a burst. An answering flurry of tracer from the S boat’s 20 mm cannon spurted across the water.

  God! Taggart thought. We’ll be holed and sunk…

  The searchlight on the island sprang to life and swung towards the boat. A second later, the grenades on the southern shore began to burst. The searchlight hesitated, stopped and swung back to rake the foot of the cliff whence the new explosions and flames had come.

  The violent motion of the assault craft and the S boat had made it impossible for the latter’s light to stay on its target. For a brief while, the assault boat was out of its glare. The Bren gunner fired a longer burst.

  The S boat’s searchlight went out.

  Another stream of 20 mm tracer ripped blindly across the heaving water and Taggart heard a cry of anguish from the other side of the boat, and a sharper scream, followed by groans.

  The S boat was bearing down fast on the assault boats. Taggart could see her bow wave as she increased speed. He shouted to the Bren gunner to hold his fire: or the Bren’s tracer would give the enemy gunners an aiming mark: he knew they could not discern the assault craft, which was low in the water and made only a feeble bow wave. He wondered which of his men had been hit.

  Sergeant Major Duff answered the unspoken question: one killed, one wounded in the chest and shoulder.

  The island searchlight dwelt long on the shore before starting to sweep the water. Taggart heard a blast from a Bren, then another and a third. He knew it had come from the Colonel’s boat. The light went out.

  One thought predominated in the mind of every officer in the attacking fleet of small boats: had the S boat or the island garrison radioed a warning to Olsfsund?

  *

  Kneipe’s ill humour vanished the instant he saw and heard the grenades going off. A great surge of elation swept through him: action! The enemy had come, after all…

  At first he thought that Commandos must have landed and run into an infantry patrol of Major Redlich’s. He was disappointed when his searchlight picked up nothing but the familiar rocks. His spirits sank. He ordered the searchlight to sweep right across the fjord, with no expectation that it would reveal any sign of the enemy. He could not account for the commotion ashore, but there was certainly no movement there, no sign of a fight. He supposed that it was something to do with Redlich’s defences, which had gone wrong. It was a night on which things seemed destined to go wrong; first t
he damned engine of this boat, and now some false alarm ashore.

  As the light illuminated an assault boat, his excitement soared once more and he was consumed by delight: it was his lucky night after all… it was he who was destined to be the first to engage the enemy…

  He saw B Troop’s second boat, and, behind it, the two craft conveying D Troop. The rearmost pair, with C Troop aboard, were out of sight, beyond the pool of brilliance cast on the water by the searchlight’s dipped beam: another few degrees’ elevation would have revealed them, for they were well within its range.

  The first burst of fire from the Bren flashed past the bridge. He saw his bow gunners’ response go glittering above the violently shifting target, and swore. He gave a shout of encouragement when, the second time that the 20-millimetre loosed off a dozen rounds, the shells seemed to hit the boat. This was the burst that had blown one man’s head off and badly wounded another.

  He swore again when a heavy hail of bullets thudded into the S boat and shattered its searchlight. He heard the howl of a wounded man and a cry from another, who was flung overboard by the force of the bullets that hit him.

  Kneipe saw the island searchlight swing towards where he knew the Commandos were, and then turn away when the second lot of grenades distracted the searchlight crew; and, no doubt, Braun, whom Kneipe knew and held in contempt, and could readily imagine panicking, fluting contradictory orders and confusing everyone.

  He yelled at his bow gunners to keep firing at where they estimated the enemy to be. Tracer carved bright lines into the darkness, and he leaned over the bridge rail, peering into the night, trying to spot at least one enemy craft, wishing the enemy would resume shooting, which would give his gunners an aiming point.

  But it was the 20 mm gun that provided this: for Taggart’s two Bren gunners; who were now both resting their weapons on the bow ramp and began shooting together when the S boat resumed her fire.