On the Edge of Darkness (Special Force Orca Book 1) (23 page)

He reached the
first lorry, the one that blocked the road, he threw his gun up into the cab and hoisted his exhausted body after it.

He had time to realise there were no keys before a searing flash of soundless light ended
the rest of his days.

Hogg
’s ammunition lorry vanished in a ball of howling orange and red flame that shot to an incandescent column of white hot flame that soared hundreds of feet into the night sky. Then the oil lake ignited, erupting outwards, from the exploding truck, in a fiery dome of burning oil that encompassed the entire convoy and the bridge. Liquid flame spewed over the edge of the bridge like molten lava, a hundred-foot cascade of flame that quenched itself in a hissing, boiling river.

Grant reduced the revs and the boat sank swiftly back into the
inferno into the dancing flickering shadow of the bridge. Amid the rip and roar of further explosions his men worked quietly and quickly, floating the drum across to the waiting divers.

Once the frogman had the drum, bucking and bobbing at their feet
, they attached Burton’s purchase to the rope that encircled its fat belly and hoisted it clear of the water. Leaning out they grabbed it and swung it in among the supporting girders of the bridge. As they worked both men snatched nervous glances upwards at the blazing inferno a mere hundred feet above their heads. At last the drum was secured under the iron buttress that supported the eastern end of the bridge. They started the short, but perilous journey back to the E-boat, pulling themselves along the grass line through the surging waters. Floating debris smacked into their bodies threatening to pluck them away into the waiting darkness downstream. An oil drum, blazing fiercely, crashed into the water to their right. They were only yards from safety when they saw it, in seconds it was surrounded by a spreading raft of burning oil that rushed down towards them.

Wilson
, on the ‘Eddy’s’ deck, saw the danger, grabbed a boat hook and leaning out attempted to push the drum clear, but it spun round, slipped by him and again headed for the men in the water.

Desperately the divers reached out for the hands of
the men leaning over the stern. Bushel was dragged clear with only seconds to spare. The men grabbed for Burton, the heat from the burning drum searing their bare faces. He was in mid-air, suspended by his wrists , when the drum hit his flailing legs. The drum spun away as he kicked out at it. The legs of his water suit were in flames. Two seamen dunked him back in and, mercifully, the flames were snuffed out by the icy water. He was dragged aboard. The two divers lay, side by side, exhausted, mouths open gasping for air like wet and very oily fish.

Grant cut the engine revs
to virtually nothing allowing the ‘Eddy’ to be swept clear of the bridge and to disappear rapidly into the gloom downstream.

*     *     *

The second massive explosion ripped through the fjord ten minutes after the ‘Eddy’ had shot out from under the bridge. It blew one leg, of the towering structure, away from its supporting rock bringing down hundreds of tons of rock that had loomed above it.

The effect was staggering, the tremendous weight of
falling rock, crashing down on one end of the metal structure, bent the roadway into an impossible bow. It snapped and sprang back twisting the bridge into an impassable, Chinese puzzle of metal hanging by its one remaining leg.

*     *     *

The third explosion that lethal night was by far the biggest. The ammunition dump exploded. Blazing oil from the stacked drums spewed out with the force of an erupting volcano. It turned the mountain top into an inferno to rival the devil’s own bonfire.

Forty-gallon oil drums shot into the sky, arcing away like great fiery rockets. Exploding ammunition sprayed the mountain with great showers of sparks that
flickered the high terrain into dancing light. It illuminated the trotting figures of Hogg and his men as they chased their long shadows west towards the fjord.

*     *     *

The mess sat drinking their rum and staring in amazement at the lemonade bottle that Wilson held in one grimy hand.

They had
secured alongside less than an hour before and their rum had been waiting for them. The irrepressible Wilson had produced the bottle from amongst his kit with great reverence. Inside was a metal shackle that was so big it touched the sides of the narrow necked bottle.

“
There you are, I told you I could do it that’s ‘alf a tot you owe me Nervous.” He reached out for the Leading Hand’s of the mess’s rum.

“
Will you hang on a minute,” said the Irishman, snatching his rum out of harm’s way as quick as any mother would her threatened child. “It’s a trick you’re after playing…That’s never the same bottle…”

“
What d’yer think I did … made a bottle around the bloody shackle, I ain’t no glass-fucking-blower am I, of course it’s the same bottle, you crud. Come on cough up….” He leered lecherously at his Leading Hand while adding, “Put your rum where my mouth is!”

“
Arh!…See half it off then, I suppose,” said O’Neill, begrudgingly handing a grinning and victorious Wilson his precious tot.” Come on then, how did you do it? You sponging bloody rum-rat you!”

“
Ha! Ha!” cried Wilson, one finger alongside his crooked nose, “I ain’t letting on, am I?” He swigged back lusciously, seeing off half of the Irishman’s rum and handed back the rest. “It’s for me to know and you lot to guess at. That little trick’s won me more rum than a cow’s got udder.”

“
Well,” said the Irishmen, his voice full of cunning, “You might as well tell us, ‘cause you ain’t going to get any more rum out of us, are you now? Not seeing as we know you can do it.” He held the remains of his rum up to the light to make sure Wilson hadn’t taken more than a fair share.

“
Yeah?… Well that’s true,” conceded Wilson, feeling generous as the rum took effect. He stroked his beard thoughtfully, “Tell you what… a ‘gulpers’ off the each of yers and I tell yer.”

“
‘Gulpers’? …Sippers,” bargained O’Neill, already half a tot down.

“
Sippers!…You got to be bloody joking, I tell you the secret and you use it to get extra rum for the rest of your naval career and for this you’re only willing to part with a bloody ‘sippers’. You can bugger off the lot of yer!”

“
Gulpers seems fair to me,” said a voice from the far end of the tot table.

“
Now!” slurred Wilson, “There’s a man that knows a sound investment when he sees one!”

“
Alright then,” said O’Neill after a long pause for sober thought.

“
‘Gulpers’ it is …if everyone agrees…?” There were nods around the table.

“
Right, away you go,” ordered O’Neill.

“
Oh no!… bloody rum first,” said a still cautious, but grinning, Wilson.

“
Sure, you’re a trusting soul, Wilson do yer know that?” mournfully O’Neill handed over his rum for the second time. Wilson took a generous gulp, and followed it up with, an equally generous gulp from each of the drawing members of the assembled mess.

“
Right you bloody rummy, now tell us; before you become incapable of speech.”

“
All right, all right. But I’m not sure if you lot ‘ave the necessary intellect to take it all in…” He bit his lip, looking doubtful, “…but, a deals a deal. You do it with a belt, a locker door knob and a piece of ‘airy string… oh and a bucket of cold water; so there you ‘ave it.”

“
And…?” asked O’Neill.

“
What’d yer mean, and?”

“
And?… And!… fucking and!” half screamed a, by now, incensed O’Neill…Have I to spell it out for you…what… do… you… do… then!”

“
What? You mean you want me to show you how to do it and all.”

“
Bugger off, Wilson,” cried Wyatt, “I’ve sussed you…you robbing bar- steward you ain’t getting your hands on no more of my rum!”

“
All right!…all right…only joking,” said Wilson, grinning and getting unsteadily to his feet. “Where’s the bucket of water I used,” he reached behind the lockers. “Arh! And there’s me ‘airy string,” he held up half a fathom of ginger sisal. “ There’s me locker door knob and there…”

“
Alright! All fucking right!” yelled O’Neill, “enough of the Houdini shit; get on with it will yer?”

“
And ‘ere” persisted Wilson drunkenly, “is what you do. Tie one end of the string to the locker door knob. Stick yer bucket of water ‘ere, nice and ‘andy and take a lemonade bottle…” He peered around until his eye fell on one with a drop in the bottom, he unscrewed the top and downed the contents.

“
Oh, fucking thanks!” said Wyatt, “that was mine, that was, I was fucking saving that.”

“
Donated to sightific research,” slurred Wilson dismissively. “Now you tie the udder end of the string to your belt, sweat back on it like this.” He leant back, “… so it’s nice and taut, catcha turn around the bottle, so it in the middle of the string like this. Then you push and pull the bottle up and down ….up and down… See that, with the string round it, the bottle’s getting hot. You do that until you smell the string burning,” He worked away like mad until smoke, from the friction of the string on the bottle, snaked its way up towards the deck head. “And then,” he said breathlessly, “quick as a flash… you whips it out of the string and plunge it in the cold water…thus. “There was a crack and one half of the bottle floated to the bottom of the bucket. The men crowded round, Wilson reached into the bucket and retrieved the bottom half of the bottle and carefully fitted the two halves back together again. “You can put what you like in there now.” he said, a look of drunken triumph on his plump face.

*     *     *

Olaf Kristiansand arrived on board shortly after lunch with important news. The situation ashore was changing hour by hour, but he had discovered that following their successes against the British the Germans were moving aircraft, supply and naval bases further forward.

Later, in his tiny cabin, Grant
studied the information in detail. Olaf had supplied him a comprehensive list of the new bases. He sat back in his chair, wondering what effect the changes in enemy troop concentrations would have on their operations.

Some of the new bases were closer to
‘Orca’s’ forward base. The inevitable increase in traffic would certainly go hand in hand with an increase in the risk of detection. On the other hand ‘Orca’ would be that much closer to their targets and that would mean less time spent getting there and back and that might actually reduce the risks.

New bases meant new defences. Possibilities there, new bases took time to construct and it was then that they were at their most vulnerable. Minefields for instance, always a thorn in clandestine operations,
they took time to put into place.

A pre-emptive raid now, before Jerry had an opportunity to build adequate defences would have a
very good chance of success. Grant leant forward studying the list and carefully plotting their positions on his chart.

There was a new airstrip being constructed at Trondheim. Now there was a tempting target if ever he
’d seen one. Large areas by their nature were harder to defend.

If he held a war council straight away it
might be possible to mount a raid tonight, delay would only increase the risks. He could see a mountain of difficulties to overcome, foremost in his mind was the little problem of transport. The partially constructed base was several miles from the sea…

*     *     *

Scharfuhrer Engelbert Baum swore, “Pull over, pull over!” his driver, quickly signalled right and came off the accelerator, in his mirror he saw the two road tankers behind breaking violently.

Ahead a man
, caught in the two powerful headlights, was fighting to control two horses as they reared and backed away from him towards the centre of the road.

T
he farm cart they had been pulling had lost a wheel. The accident had blocked the narrow road completely. Extracting his ample body from the close confines of his Panzerspahwagen Baum shouted angrily at the carter. “Clear the road immediately.”

The sudden
and noisy outburst only served to upset the already nervous horses even more. He gestured angrily for his men to lend a hand and clear the road.

The Scharfuhrer waited impatiently
, hands on hips, legs astride, the very picture of anger. Clearly this dummkopf of a Norwegian peasant knew nothing of horses, his inept attempts at controlling his animals were only making matters worse.

Already
he was behind schedule now this important supply convoy would be further delayed by this incompetent rustic oaf! He drew his pistol, advanced and pointed it first at the man then at his wall-eyed horses.