On the Edge of Darkness (Special Force Orca Book 1) (34 page)

*     *     *

The HQ runner backed away from the position and turning in the snow, crawled on his elbows for another fifty yards, stood up and crouching double ran back towards the vehicle park.

He saw the two radio operators sitting, their backs against the trees. He ran straight up to them.
“By the Gods, you two would have been for it if I’d been the Ober…”

A hand appeared from behind his head, he had time to see a tattooed snake
on an exposed wrist, before his throat contracted beneath a sinewy arm. He heard the crack of his own spine and then a painless void enveloped him.

*     *     *

The snake surveyed its handiwork from the comfort of its hideaway. The trap was a thing of beauty, a diorama worthy of any exhibition. The three corpses were propped against the trees. It took time to enjoy the way the fat man’s hand rested gracefully on the shoulder of his neighbour. It raised a hip flask in the direction of the trio and took a swig of the fat man’s Schnapps. Fat soldiers always carried little extras, little tit bits to enjoy.

It
could be the last kill here… it might be necessary to move again. The dirt track to the rear? The tongue flicked across the wet lips in anticipation. It took a last look at the art of the Mentor before smiling slyly and sliding back deeper into the folds of the ground sheet.

*     *     *

It was as he had sensed, the others had come in strength, too strong a force, come to see his handiwork. No chance of a quiet kill. They would send a messenger now. The Mentor had made sure of that, they had no radio. Another move in the game, how it enjoyed anticipating the ‘others’ move. How it would enjoy countering it. The long body slid smoothly, slowly from cover and then swiftly through the trees. As it went it laughed quietly, a hissing sound, humour absent in the sick eyes.

The snake had already chosen the position, a sharp turn in the path. The prey would be cautious here. It would check the road ahead making sure it was
clear; its whole attention would be on that. Strike time! It laughed again. It was laughing a lot lately, a sign the Mentor was enjoying the work, was pleased with him. Knew the snake did not want to return to England with the others. It smiled, nodding in understanding. Here it was no crime, here it could kill at will. Here there were hundreds, thousands of prey… enough for even the snake’s insatiable needs. He must remain here with the Mentor, they must never be parted.

*     *     *

The Norwegian Sea, 0550 hrs, Monday, 28
th
May, 1940.

‘Eddy’

Grant
cursed; the moon had appeared from behind thick cloud. In the ghost-white light he could see every detail of Crosswall-Brown’s boat as if it was day. The M.T.B. leapt over the waves like a racehorse taking fences, eager to be taking the next.

Abruptly the coast of Norway appeared
from the sea, peaks of snow capped mountains shrouded in mist tipped with silver from the setting moon.

Too much light, by entering the
Inlet now he was risking the secret base, the Network’’, just about everything they had worked for. In any other circumstances he would have veered off, abandoned the mission, and returned home. This time was different, he had no choice, his orders were to get their people out.

A
s dawn’s first light painted the sky, quenching the darkness behind the rugged silhouette, the line of the coast began to grow in stature. Ten miles to go, at thirty knots, twenty minutes. They would make it now, but only just.

“
Ship! Green two five!” the lookout’s cry shattered that brief moment of triumph and relief. As he whipped his binoculars up, struggling to focus both the glasses and his tired brain, a star-shaped light, winked its challenge. Beyond the loom of the light he instantly recognised the sleek head-on silhouette of an enemy destroyer.

*     *     *

Inlet

It had grown cold as the dawn approached; already the sky had started to lighten in the east. Sieg surveyed the enemy’s position through the powerful Zeiss binoculars. He had hoped that the reinforcements, he had sent for, would arrive before dawn, unlikely now. He had set sentries in the rear to counter any more of the dissident behaviour that had cost him valuable men. He lowered the glasses and turned round to continue his briefing of Hoffman.

“
I will attack at zero six-thirty hours even if the extra men have not arrived. I am certain there are no more than eight or ten men against our thirty. It is enough…the fewer of us the greater the glory, No?”

Hoffman
’s eyes flashed momentarily to his leader’s face. He was serious. The blue eyes flashed back to the tree above Sieg’s shaven head. “Yes. Herr Jager Leutnant!”

“
I want you to take half the men around to the right flank, go well to the rear before moving across, I don’t want the enemy to know of your movements. At zero six-thirty, precisely, we attack together. That will give you plenty of time to move into position, no skis until you are well out of ear-shot.”

The Oberjager
, bobbed his head, clicked his heels and turning smartly away checked for the reassuring presence of the hip flask.

*     *     *

The Mentor was all knowing…all seeing. Hadn’t he prophesied exactly what the prey would do. The other had arrived exactly as he had foretold. He travelled on foot, the Mentor had made sure of that when he had the vehicles destroyed. He slowed at the bend, as it had been decreed he would, the snake must now ensure that the man died in the way ordained by his Mentor.

It
smelt the man’s fear as he died, as he wriggled pathetically in the last long embrace. The fear was strong, rank, acrid; he sucked it deep into his lungs. It gave him strength… it made him one with his Mentor. There would be no reinforcements for the others now, but the snake had one more kill, at a hut in the forest….

*     *     *

‘Eddy’

Grant had a moment of doubt, by now the German destroyer, for that matter the whole occupied coastline, must know of the captured E-boats. Try to bluff it out or not?…It might buy Crosswall-Brown some time, some breathing space: it might not. Without taking the binoculars from his eyes he shouted, “Middy! the youngster appeared alongside him, oilskin shining like black oil. “Make to Jerry, We have a captured enemy Schnellboote. Others are in the area. Last known position Latitude 64 degrees north Longitude nine degrees east’… Get that off quickly, and then…” he paused, the moment he had dreaded, since that last leave, had now arrived, “Signal the ‘Dirty Four’… ‘Act independently… Engage the enemy…” Something caught in his throat. He swallowed quickly. “Add, ‘God’s speed’. “ Fighting to keep his voice steady he bent to the wheelhouse voice pipe. “Come to port, steer west twenty north. Full ahead all engines.”

*     *     *

The snake could see the hut now as he slid steadily nearer through the misty half-light before dawn. When the light came he would take another. It would be his last task, the last of the commands, for a moment he felt confusion, were they the commands of the Mentor or of the other called Bushel. It mattered not for it knew it was what the Mentor wanted.

It hear
d the sound of men in whispered conversation. The snake stretched its long body forward, turned towards the sound, a half smile on its face as it tasted the air with a wet tongue. Here he would take only one, the head one. It would remove the head like a chicken and leave the body to die in its own juices. Something laughed quietly.

The snake had known the head-prey would be here even if the
other called Bushel hadn’t; a testimony to the superiority of the snake over the other. It had to stop himself from chuckling, the Mentor did not like noise…noise was the enemy of the hunter. It grinned, half sneer, half revulsion at man’s inadequacy, its head extended, tongue licking at its stained teeth. A devil’s face, sick with sin. It would wait…wait until the prey was ready, ripe…it would be soon. The striped-blackened face with the mad yellow eyes merged silently back into the dense foliage.

*     *     *

It had fallen quiet as Bushel had expected. Jerry would be re-positioning, waiting for first light, readying for the off, what he would have done in the same circumstances.

There
wouldn’t have been more than fifty Germans in those three half-tracks. No one would have survived the mining of that first vehicle that would leave thirty… maybe more….but then they had accounted for a few since…less than thirty then. If ‘Snake’ had survived to do his bit there would be no reinforcements. Thirty…It was still enough to take this place if they knew their stuff … if their officers were still alive.

*     *     *

Marine Blake, unseen, watched Oberjager Hofmann and his men removing their skis. Another five or ten yards and they would have been in the perfect position, in amongst the first of the explosives. As it was they had stopped too far back. He would have to be patient. They would have to come nearer, plenty of time. They looked like experienced soldiers, judging by their kit, possibly Alpine Troops. He had trained with their sort in Norway before the war. He knew how good they had to be… they wouldn’t be squadies on skis. About fifteen as far as he could see, though it was difficult to tell exactly. He eased the safety on the Bren and checked the sights for snow.

By the time
he looked back they were spreading out and had begun to move forward. He gave one quick burst on the Bren… Brrrr! They were good, inside one second there was nobody there. He’d got one for definite, maybe another wounded, he could hear groaning.

He reached out to his right and pushed down on the first plunger. The explosion was muffled by the snow…disappointing, anticlimactic even,
but the effects weren’t. Men flew out from behind trees. He guessed five…six, somersaulting through the air like rag dolls, dead before they hit the snow.

Angry orange tongues flickered back from the trees as the troops
returned fire. As he’d hoped his earlier short burst had gone undetected, the fire was erratic, random, a gut-scared reaction. They had no idea where he was… and he had no plans to enlighten them…yet.

*     *     *

M.T.B.34

Crosswall-Brown’s signalman struggled to read the message from Grant’s boat; it was directed towards the enemy destroyer, not towards them, a mere loom of light.

“
Enemy destroyer has challenged the ‘Eddy’, sir. She replied, I think she asked if the destroyer had sighted something or the other, but I couldn’t be sure… ‘Eddy’ signalling us now sir…reads…’Act independently… Engage the enemy…God’s Speed’.”

Crosswall-Brown yelled above the roar of the engines.
“Hoist Battle Ensigns… Stand by torpedo tubes…Stand by depth charges. Guns hold your fire until my order. “Helmsman! Starboard wheel…” he leant quickly over the compass, “Steer east twenty south!”

Crosswall-Brown looked down at his hands, they had been shaking badly,
now they had stopped, it was always like that. He’d be all right now. He had always known he was more afraid of being afraid then of anything else.

“
Middy we’ll go in… close range… torpedoes first then depth charges,” he yelled, “Signalman make to enemy destroyer, “Enemy astern of you… am attacking.”

They bounced in, the roar of the aero engines mounting to a screaming crescendo; twenty knots… twenty-five knots. She began to punch into each wave like a prize-fighter at a punch bag. T
hirty knots. She wouldn’t take much more… not in this sea. The range was closing at a colossal sixty knots. They were hurtling towards each other at a mile a minute. His beloved ‘Dirty Four’ was banging across the sea’s surface like a skipping stone, great spurts of water jetting from her wooden sides each time she hit solid water. He loved this boat! He wished he’d had time to circle round, come in from windward. Then she would have flown across the surface like an albatross. Suddenly he remembered one of Barr’s saying ‘War affords very few luxuries, time isn’t one of them.’

He wiped his binoculars dry on the towel
hanging damp around his neck and, choosing his moment carefully, peered at the enemy warship. Time for one quick look and then the spray drenched them again. Time enough to see the barrels were training in his direction. He looked astern, they were hard to miss, the spray they displaced as their full weight smacked into each wave, shone with a luminance better than any flare.

“
Enemy vessel signalling, ‘Veer away… or I will… fire.”

He wiped
quickly at the glasses, snatched another look. He was looking straight down the barrels of the destroyer. He felt like a man about to commit suicide. He been in action before, many times, but not like this. This was different. This was no dead-end decision, devoid of choice. He had time to turn and run, time to think of the consequences if he didn’t. The crew had no choice, another ‘luxury’ not afforded. So this was bravery; this selfish unthinking madness. He shut out the thought. He’d become good at that at least. Another quick look, she’d turned broadside on, he could see her entire length. Suddenly the destroyer disappeared, obliterated by smoke and stabbing flame. A full broadside was on its way.