Death Ray (29 page)

The back of the truck was full of boxes, mostly food, wine and brandy destined for the dining tables of the SS and Gestapo at the château. We’d already decided that whatever the truck was carrying, we would ‘deliver it’ to the depot – that was our ruse to get past the sentries at the gates. Max’s face lit up on inspecting our cargo. ‘Toll!’ he exclaimed. ‘Leave it to me,’ he said. ‘I know exactly how to talk our way inside.’

By nine o’clock we were half a mile from the depot’s entrance and almost ready. We just had one thing left to do, and it wasn’t the nicest of tasks. Since only Max, Loki and I were going in, Jacques and Amélie had to be kept somewhere safe. We agreed to drop them off near the depot and pick them up again on our return – only there was more to it.

It was Loki’s idea but Max and I went along with it. Loki feared Jacques might have second thoughts about our plan; that he might scarper and dash to the château to alert everyone, hoping that his parents might be evacuated before the raid began. Whether Loki was right or not, it simply wasn’t the time to take unnecessary risks. So we tied up both Jacques and Amélie and hid them in the trees close to the road. Accepting their fate, they didn’t protest, but in the beam of the truck’s feeble headlight I saw the sorrow on Amélie’s face. After all we’d been through together, it had come down to this – fear and distrust.

I sat in front with Max, who drove us to the entrance of the depot where we were flagged down. I felt the hairs rise on the back of my neck.
Stay calm!
I kept telling myself.
Act confident. Act normal!
Loki remained in the back of the truck, hiding behind the boxes and guarding the bags containing the explosives, time pencils and the tape he intended to use to strap the devices to the fuel tanks.

A rather lazy sentry approached, rifle slung over his shoulder. Max leaned out of the window and waved some papers we’d found in the cab under the sentry’s nose. Cheerfully he announced that by order of German High Command all troops were to be given extra rations to celebrate the recent victories of the glorious Third Reich, and we had the honour of making the deliveries. It did the trick. The barrier lifted without further ado, and we drove inside.

A straight road stretched out before us, lit by a string
of
hooded lamps. Massive circular steel tanks, at least twenty feet high and fifty feet in diameter, lay in the darkness on both sides of us amid a mass of pipes, ladders and gantries. The air was thick with fumes. Thankfully there were few soldiers wandering about now we were inside.

‘Slow down,’ I said to Max. ‘And keep to the right.’ I turned, banged a fist on the back of the cab, slid open a small hatch and called to Loki, ‘There’s a place up ahead without lights. It’s pitch black. Jump out there. We’ll pick you up again in ten minutes on our way out. Same place. OK?’

‘Understood, Finn.’

‘Good luck.’ I slid the hatch shut and glanced at Max. ‘Time to start praying.’

Loki dropped from the back of the truck and disappeared among the fuel tanks. Max and I made for the main building, a dull flat-roofed brick block, two storeys high. A worker in overalls kindly directed us to the ‘stores’ at one side of the building. Having parked up, we climbed out, casually ambled to the back of the truck, lifted the canvas awning and began unloading the boxes.

‘
Hey! Was machen Sie da?
’

We paused and looked over our shoulders. A rather short, stern-looking Wehrmacht officer was peering at us from a doorway. We put down the box, snapped to attention, saluted, then Max set about explaining what we were doing here. The nature of our delivery was sufficiently interesting for the officer to want a closer
look
. He approached and gestured for us to show him. We opened a box and stood patiently while he peered inside and examined a few bottles. He seemed pleased.

‘
Neunzehn hundert, fünf und dreissig! Ein besonderes gutes Jahr für Burgunder. Wunderbar!
’ he enthused. ‘
Weitermachen
.’ He waved in the direction of a covered store area and then wandered off clutching a bottle. I looked at Max and grinned.

Grabbing the last of the boxes, I saw our supply bags hidden at the back of the truck. I had an idea. Rummaging inside, I felt for the telltale furriness that could mean only one thing – one of Smithy’s stuffed rats. Locating one, I grabbed a time pencil. They were clever delaying devices containing a detonator set off by a spring-loaded plunger. A piece of copper wire held the spring under tension. By bending one end of the pencil, it broke a glass ampoule inside containing strong acid that would eat through the wire. Eventually the wire would break and the device would go off. How long this took depended on the strength of the acid and the thickness of the wire. I bent the pencil to activate it, and then inserted it into the poor beast’s backside. I stuffed
Herr Ratte
between the bottles, resealed the box and lugged it into the store area, where I hid it at the back of the pile. The time pencil had a one-hour delay –
wunderbar
!

Loki was waiting for us in the shadows and leaped aboard as we trundled past. No sooner had we exited the main gate than I slid open the small hatch and called out to him. He shoved an arm through and gave me a
thumbs-up
. Everything was set. I just prayed Alain would be equally successful in dealing with the railway line. We picked up Jacques and Amélie and headed for the château. It was all going so smoothly, so well. Somehow I just knew that the rest of our mission wasn’t going to prove quite so easy.

At ten-fifteen we were in position, parked fifty yards along a gravel track in the forest, a stone’s throw from the entrance to Château Rochefort. I peered up at the night sky. The weather was fine, with just a little broken cloud and a light wind – perfect for the parachute drop.

Max whistled nervously while picking at crinkly bits of dried collodion on his face. He’d applied the solution that afternoon in an attempt to make himself appear much older. The shoulders of his uniform looked like they were covered in dandruff – it was the dusting of talc he’d applied liberally to his hair. Seeing the results of his efforts, the rest of us had abandoned the idea!

The wait began to get to me too. Loki remained in the back of the truck with our
prisoners
. Amélie and Jacques complained bitterly when Loki refused to loosen their bindings. He insisted they should remain tied up – at least until we were inside the château – in case the guards at the gate decided to take a close look at them. Only once there – with no chance of turning back – would Loki untie them and return their weapons.

Max drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘I
hate
this part, Finn. The waiting. The lull before the storm. I just want to get on with it. All this hanging around drives me crazy.’

At ten thirty-five I climbed down from the cab and walked a little way into the trees. I needed a pee before we set off and all hell broke loose. Loki joined me. ‘Well, it’s almost time, Finn,’ he said.

‘Uh-huh. Damn this blasted zip!’

Beneath our uniforms we were wearing dark civilian clothes. At the right moment we’d discard the uniforms. That way I hoped to avoid being shot by the British paratroopers. Unfortunately, taking a pee with two pairs of trousers on and two zips to negotiate wasn’t easy. It was the sort of problem encountered by Special Ops agents that wasn’t covered in any of our lessons back at Mulberry House. I’d barely sorted myself out when we heard an explosion that sounded like distant thunder and there was a shimmering flash on the horizon. It was rapidly followed by an orange glow in the sky. I peered at my watch – ten-forty. It had begun!

‘Best get back to the truck, Finn.’

Within minutes, a convoy of trucks and motorcycles shot past us, speeding in the direction of Le Havre and the fuel depot. We counted them. Every truck meant fewer soldiers to deal with at the barracks. Five trucks – that probably equated to at least a hundred men, half the total garrisoned at the château. But it meant there were still a hundred for us to overcome. ‘Come on,’ I muttered under my breath. ‘More please.’ A minute later
another
two trucks hurtled past.

I turned and banged a fist on the rear wall of the cabin to let the others know we were off. Max fired up the engine and slipped into gear, then turned off the gravel track and onto the road. Accelerating, he ground through the gears. I reached into my coat pocket and removed two hefty lumps of plastic explosive. Then, glancing out of the windscreen, I held my breath as two German motorcycles shot past us, heading in the other direction, the drivers raising their hands to say hello as they whizzed by. If only they knew!

Max took his foot off the accelerator and slowed. Just a few hundred yards separated us from the entrance to the château. Both sides of the road were bordered by woodland, and to my left a string of telegraph poles stretched into the night. ‘Stop here,’ I said.

Max applied the brakes. I jumped from the cab, ran to the nearest telegraph pole and taped a lump of explosive to it. Then, fumbling in my pocket, I took out a time pencil, bent it, gave it a shake and pressed it into the explosive. These particular time pencils had a ten-minute delay. I ran to the next telegraph pole and repeated the exercise, then rushed to clamber back into the cab. ‘All done,’ I said with relief. ‘With any luck they’ll knock out Fritz’s communications and stop them calling for reinforcements.’

Max pulled off again. Rounding a gentle bend, he suddenly stiffened and took a sharp intake of breath. ‘There it is, Finn. Château Rochefort.’

I banged on the cab again. ‘This is it!’ I yelled.

Max turned off the road and approached the heavily fortified gates. Sentries shone their torches at us and waved for us to pull over. ‘Let me do the talking, Finn,’ said Max. He opened his window and poked his head out. ‘
Wozu die ganze Aufregung?
’ he shouted.

He was asking what all the excitement was about. One of the guards called back that there’d been a major raid by the Resistance at the fuel depot and that there were reports of fierce fighting. I thought of Alain and said a quick prayer for him. His mother had already lost a husband and two sons. That was a big enough sacrifice, wasn’t it?

The guard approached the cab and shone his torch at Max and then at me. Max explained that we had two prisoners in the back. The guard signalled to a colleague who was in charge of a hungry-looking Alsatian and ordered him to take a look. This he duly did, calling out that everything was in order. A few cheerful words later and the gates were swung open: we were on our way again. Max wiped the sweat from his brow, looking extremely pleased. I peered at my watch – ten minutes to eleven. We had so little time.

The driveway up to the entrance of Château Rochefort was wide, as straight as the barrel of my gun, and a mile long. My mouth grew dry. I knew the hardest part of our mission lay right in front of us. Max leaned forward, peered up at the sky and whistled. ‘
Ach du meine Fresse!
Look at that, Finn. What a sight!’

The night sky was peppered with parachutes, dozens of them, some little more than specks, others already
large
enough to see the men dangling from their cords. Most were drifting slightly to the south of us. A few would miss their landing mark, a handful probably ending up in the trees. It was an amazing, heartening sight. But it also meant we needed to get a move on. ‘Put your foot down, Max!’

The château was an equally incredible spectacle. It was vast, with row upon row of shuttered windows, towers at each corner, and was constructed in stone that looked solid enough to withstand a howitzer. The facade was lit by the feeble light of a waning moon. A broad set of stone steps led up to the main entrance, above which hung the obligatory swastikas. Two guards flanked the heavy wooden doors. Clutching their rifles in front of them, they gazed up at the parachutes in astonishment. Distracted, the soldiers hardly noticed our arrival. Max stopped opposite the entrance and we climbed out, ran to the rear of the truck and lifted the awning.

‘’
Raus! ’Raus!
’ I shouted, waving the barrel of my machine gun. Jacques and Amélie hesitated and then jumped down. They looked terrified.

Loki climbed out too, handed me a bag from the back of the truck and gave me the faintest of nods. I slung the bag over my shoulder and together we marched our prisoners towards the main entrance, Max leading the way, his pistol drawn, barking various orders at us in German. The two sentries had overcome their surprise and raised their rifles, aiming them into the sky.
Anyone
who was a half-decent shot could probably hit a parachutist as they drifted slowly down and came in to land. Realizing this, Loki duly dealt with them using a short burst of his Sten.

Throwing open the door to the château, Max strode inside with an air of authority. A middle-aged Nazi official sitting behind a desk in the hallway slammed down a telephone, rose abruptly to his feet, snapped to attention and saluted. ‘
Heil Hitler!
’ His eyes flashed at each of us in turn. ‘
Das Telefon – die Leitung ist tot. Was ist los?
’ he stammered. He was trying to tell us there was something wrong with the telephone. I hid my delight.

Max walked up to the guard’s table, lifted the phone and listened. Banging it down, he turned to me and said, ‘Well done, Finn, the lines are down.’ His sudden switch to English caused the blood to drain from the German official’s face and he raised his arms above his head.

The inside of the château was even more jaw-droppingly splendid than it looked from the outside. Fancy furniture, gilded paintings and mirrors surrounded a large staircase that led up to a galleried landing. The place stank of wealth once belonging to the Moutons, now the property of the Third Reich.

Alarm bells began ringing throughout the building. There was one in the hall, right above the official’s desk. It was deafening. I couldn’t even hear myself think. A few rounds from my Sten silenced it and punched a nasty hole in the plaster of the wall. The official began to shake from head to foot.