Tomb of the Lost

Chapter TWENTY EIGHT



Rushton raised his head again. He was behind a large stone water trough. It was hundreds of years old, used by generations of traders to water their animals. He was received with another burst of bullets from the MG42’s. Rushton was totally pinned down. Tosh Wilkes was the closest man to him, he was pinned down too, behind a Volkswagen Kubel. Tosh was guessing it belonged to an officer because of the command pennants hanging limply from the front wings. Remarkably not one shot had been fired at Tosh. The gunners obviously not wanting to hit their commandants car. More Germans were coming down the stairs, an officer at their head. He ordered that the alarms be switched off. An eerie silence fell over the square inside the Medina.

“I am Leutnantoberst Von Kessel. You are surrounded. Throw down your weapons.”

Rushton slowly raised his head. The machine gunner on the left panicked and fired. Von Kessel yanked on his arms making the bullets spatter the wall behind the L.R.D.G commander. Angrily he pulled out his Luger and pointed it at the machine gunner’s temple who gave out a surprised yelp.

“The next man who shoots I shoot!” he bellowed.

Tosh was able to wriggle into a position of where he could see Von Kessel between the wheels of the Kubel. He glanced across at Rushton’s position and was now able to see Rushton’s face. Rushton was staring back. He said something but Tosh couldn’t hear him as Von Kessel continued. If he could get these men to surrender.

“You may as well give yourselves up. There is no escape, no where to run to. My men won’t shoot if you show yourselves right now. You have my guarantee.”

Tosh managed to slowly unhook the scoped Enfield and bring it up to his side.

“Give yourselves up. There is nothing to fear. We soldiers of the Fatherland, of the third reich. We welcome our friends, the Americans, the British. Surrender yourselves now. There is nothing to fear from us. I give you, the commander, whoever you are to the count of ten to throw down your weapons and give yourselves up. After that my men will be ordered to shoot.”

Rushton had heard the words and he didn’t believe them. He knew that Doyle and the rest of his men wouldn’t believe them either. Doyle was still watching Rushton. Rushton shook his head. There would be no surrender. Von Kessel was counting out loud, for effect. He knew a ten count wouldn’t be enough.

“One….Two….Three….” he paused to take his hat off to wipe his forehead with his handkerchief.

Doyle raised the rifle and fired.

The top of von Kessel’s head disappeared. A look of surprise spread across his face. He staggered forward a couple of steps and pitched forward flat on his face. His blood pumped out thickly. The Germans, horrified and now leaderless began firing at everything and everyone. Doyle sighted again. His second shot took the left machine gunner cleanly in the temple. His head was thrown back and this pulled the MG42 up. His finger was still on the trigger and the bullets ricocheted off the far wall. He collapsed to the ground pulling the gun down on top of him. The hot barrel sizzling. The other machine gunner had seen where the single shot had come from and he swung his gun around and sent a wicked burst at the Kubel. Doyle lay still as the bullets ripped up the ground around him. The gunner waited anxiously for his gun to cool before he could continue firing at his invisible enemy.

Doyle couldn’t see him from where he lay.

Now the British returned fire. Their Stens superior to the German Karbiner rifles. Rushton was suddenly aware of more Germans arriving through a side gateway and he rolled into position and sent a burst from his Sten at them. He killed the first two easily as they rushed headlong through the gate and into the courtyard. Koenig right behind them was able to throw himself against the wall in the nick of time. He peered around the wall. Rushton fired at him but at this distance Koenig was able to move back out of the way. Rushton pulled the clip out of the side of his Sten and inserted a new magazine. He kept the gun trained on the gate. More bullets hit the Kubel puncturing it’s bodywork, ripping up the bonnet. Doyle was splashed in the face by black oil. He looked under the vehicle and could see engine oil leaking onto the road. Rushton heard a tell tale clink of metal on stone, two of them and he knew without seeing that they were Stiel hand grenades. He jumped to his feet and ran for Doyle as they exploded.

“You all right Sir?”

“Yes. Well done for taking that Colonel out.”

“I couldn’t resist it Sir. The arrogant bastard was stood there asking for it.”

Rushton and Doyle stood and fired at the gate where Koenig’s men were. They stopped and kept still, waiting. They saw Koenig look around the corner.

“It’s another officer,” Doyle said.

“High ranking judging by his hat.”

Koenig checked again and sent his men through the gate. Rushton and Doyle sent hand grenades at them. The grenades exploded and the air was filled with the screams of dying and injured men. Rushton’s men jumped up and rushed forward at the much slower firing Germans. One man sent a burst from his Sten into a German’s chest at point blank range, literally shredding the soldier’s chest. Another S.A.S. man pulled his trigger to just a click. His gun had jammed. Without hesitation he swung the barrel and floored his enemy. He stomped on the German breaking his neck with a sharp crack. Another found himself grappling with a German, both men with hands on the German’s rifle. The S.A.S. man was stronger and he forced the German down onto his back and pushed down with the rifle across the German’s throat until the German stopped kicking and breathing. The Englishman turned the gun around and smashed the butt into his enemies skull just to make sure.

On they surged, rushing for the steps now. The Kubel, which had been smoking, now exploded so violently it shook the very walls of the Medina. Burning fuel sprayed the air. Some of it landing on the canvas tops of the trucks parked nearby. These quickly began to burn. Soon they were an inferno.

Rushton and Doyle sprinted across the courtyard. Koenig saw them go. He fired his pistol at them, missing completely.

One of Rushtons men ran in front of his Major and was brought down by the remaining MG42 gunner. His death gave Rushton and Doyle the vital seconds to turn and kill the German with their Stens. Doyle made it to the MG42 and got behind it to use it. Koenig sent more of his men through the gate and Doyle mowed them down. They fell like skittles at a bowling alley. No more came. Doyle pulled a pin on a grenade and threw it through the gateway. It landed at Koenig’s feet. Koenig looked down at the knobbly thing and facing death, in the supreme moment of his life, he did what he thought was necessary, the only thing he thought he had left.

He turned and fled.

“Cowardly bastard,” Doyle said “Why doesn’t he stand and fight.”

Rushton nodded to two of his men.

“Get him!”

They grinned excitedly and dashed off. The thought of bagging a Colonel an opportunity too good to miss.

Doyle made it to the bottom of the steps first and bounded up them two at a time, only stopping to fire from the hip at Germans coming down the stairs. Rushton came up after him, much slower, allowing his other men to overtake him on the ancient stone steps. Others of his group still below in a stalemate with well hidden Germans, neither side taking casualties at the minute. Rushton pulled a pin on a grenade and threw it. It landed behind three unsuspecting German’s and exploded, ripping into their backs. As they fell his men rushed their position and finished them off. Now the S.A.S. had control of the courtyard. The area was littered with dead bodies and burning vehicles.

Doyle was at the top of the steps now. He waited against the wall as two more German’s came running out. Incredibly they didn’t see him. The first one ran past, the second Doyle shoulder barged clean off the stairs. He fell twenty feet to the courtyard and lay screaming with a broken back. Rushton killed the man rushing headlong down the stairs and sent a burst into the screaming German. Normally he wouldn’t have wasted the bullets but the man’s cries were getting through to his nerves. Now the S.A.S. ran up the steps single file keeping close to the wall. Rushton moved up so that he was at their head. Doyle right behind. The swastika flag was hanging limply from a pole. The light breeze when it came, playing with it. There was a double wooden door at the top, the only way in to the fortress building, a square tower eight hundred years old. The other entrances came from other stairs. Rushton quickly scanned the crennelated walls for signs of trouble. There didn’t appear to be any Germans on the walls. In the old days of various empires siege weapons and cannons once adorned these battlements. Today on top of the square stone tower there was a German 88. This was used to protect the harbour.

“There is an 88mm gun on the roof Doyle. We need to capture it.”

“Yes Sir.”

Rushton poked his head once inside the door. There was no one in sight.

“Go. Go. Go!”

Doyle led them in. Almost instantly they were fired upon from the far end of the hall. Two German soldiers were using an over turned table as cover. Doyle sent a burst at them. The table top splintered as the bullets hit it. He reloaded. The Germans both raised their heads. Doyle fired again missing them just as they ducked into cover. Men on either side moved up. The Germans looked up from their cover. They instantly saw the danger and decided to run for it. The S.A.S. fired into their backs, killing them. Further back in the hall Germans could be seen retreating through the building. From behind a door Doyle could hear a voice talking quickly. He kicked the door in. The radio operator turned as he stood. Doyle pulled his pistol out and shot him twice in the chest. He fell slumped over his equipment. Doyle took the operator’s head phones off his head and held one of them to his ear to listen to the frantic voice at the other end. Doyle spoke in German into the headset. The voice at the other end fell quiet, then calmly asked who had spoken. The voice repeated the question.

“You’ll never know,” Doyle said.

He reached out and ripped the headset out of the radio then pulled its main power supply out. The lights on it slowly dimmed. Doyle fired two shots into it smashing the dials on the front.

Rushton was in the doorway.

“What were they saying?”

“There is no help coming for them.”

Rushton sighed with relief.

“Thank God for that.”

“We’ve done it Sir. We’ve got them on the run.”

More machine gun fire could be heard further away as Rushton’s men pursued the fleeing Germans through the building and out on to the battlements.

Down they ran, running for their lives. Every time one of them stopped to fire at the British he was cut down. Their rifles too slow to take aim compared to the Stens. Once on the ground the Germans broke into panic and fled into the streets. All thought of fighting gone now. Their only instinct left was to survive. Some of them even throwing down their weapons and equipment to speed up their escape. Without officers to lead them desertion didn’t even enter their heads. All had one thing on their minds.

Make it to the docks!

To the ships!

To safety!

Doyle burst up the steps to the top of the square tower. Rushton right behind. The German 88mm gun was unmanned. It had been abandoned in a hurry. Crates of shells lay opened everywhere. Empty shells were piled in a corner. Doyle patted the long barrel, whistling.

“She’s a beauty.”

Rushton was pleased that they’d taken it without a fight. In one corner of the tower was a pole, hanging high above them a swastika flag. Rushton walked over to it, drew out a long knife and cut through the ropes. The flag fell to the roar of his men.

“Doyle you know how to operate the gun don’t you.”

“Yes Sir but it requires three men to fire it.”

“Find two others to help you. Train it on the harbour. Fire on any boats that attempt to leave. If Lieutenant Dennis is successful he will release green flares. If he cannot complete his mission he will signal red. That is your signal to blow those boats out of the water.”

“Yes Sir. And our men?”

Rushton looked down at the harbour.

“They will be in the hands of God.”



Koenig stopped to catch his breath. He pointed his pistol back the way he’d come, ready to fire at the first of them. There were two of them. That much he knew. They had fired at him already, missing him. When he saw there was no sign of them he lowered his pistol.

Had he lost them?

How far he had run he didn’t know. In which direction. He didn’t know. Exactly where he was now he didn’t know. He had weaved his way through alleyways and streets. He had hoped by now to have found the harbour but he had not seen it once. His lungs ached. He had lost his elegant officers hat. His feet hurt from the running. It had been a long time since he had seen a parade ground, since he’d had to march alongside other recruits. His throat felt constricted and he brought up his free hand and loosened the top button on his shirt. He ripped his tie off and threw it to the ground. He was able to control his breathing now and he took a few deep breaths while rubbing his aching chest. He wiped his jacket sleeve across his mouth. He was thirsty. The cool air around his neck felt invigorating. His breathing completely controlled now.

He held his breath as he thought he heard running feet and voices. He couldn’t be sure but that was what it sounded like. No, more like echoes. He put his head against the wall behind him, feeling its coolness, as he exhaled, eyes closed.

“Hello Fritz,” spoke a voice by his ear.

Koenig’s head spun around.

The S.A.S. man was two feet away. A knife in his hand. Koenig lashed out and chopped the Englishman in the throat with the edge of his hand. He staggered back winded as Koenig brought his knee up into his enemy’s groin. A groan escaped the wounded man’s lips as he sank slowly to his knees. A shot rang out, missing the German Colonel by inches. It left a perfect hole in the wall by his head. Koenig wasted no time in dashing off down the street to his right as the man who had fired the shot ran up.

Had Koenig thought he probably could have killed them both there and then. Certainly the man on the ground with his hands between his legs but his only thought was to once again run. To get as far away as possible.

“Jack! Jack! Are you all right?” Terry Smythe asked his friend, holding out a hand to help him up.

“Bastard kicked me in the bollocks,” Jack struggled to his feet. He coughed and spat blood, “I’ll cut his off and shove them down his throat.”

“He won’t get far. Not now. The water’s not much further and he’s headed straight for it. Come on.”

Jack hobbled after his friend.

On and on Koenig rushed. Along streets and alleys. His leg muscles hurting now, his breathing coming in short rasps. He knew for definite now that if they caught him they would kill him as slowly and as cruelly as they could. This thought alone took him through the red mist of pain and drove him ever onwards. He raced down a poorly lit alley and crashed headfirst into a large pile of terracotta octopus pots. He tumbled over them, sending them chinking and smashing against each other. They continued to fall and break as he tumbled into a heap. He struggled to his feet, slipping on pot shards and large pieces of terracotta. He’d banged his left knee so hard that he couldn’t actually feel his toes and he hopped on it as one does when they have pins and needles. The pain from this was a hundred times worse. He’d also banged his head and when he placed his fingertips on it he winced at the pain from the fresh bruise. Within a minute it was a big bump. Then he remembered his assailants would be gaining on him and he limped off as quick as he could. He cleared the end of the alley. The pots had been outside a fish processing factory. He fell at the end into the road. He wanted to give up now, to accept his fate. He heard running footsteps approaching from behind. The sound of feet treading on broken pottery. Koenig rose slowly and was suddenly aware that he was almost at the water‘s edge.

“Here this way,” a voice said not too distant.

Koenig limped to the water’s edge to get his bearings. To his right the concrete ran out. It quickly became reeds and further, stretching away into the distance, a moonlit beach. To his left, his destination, the boats and safety, but they were a long way away.

Jack and Terry reached the end of the alley.

“There he is!”

Koenig aimed his pistol and fired.

He missed.

Terry fired back but missed too. Then Terry’s gun jammed.

“Shit! Shit!” he said shaking the gun, trying to free the blockage. Koenig fired again. This time he hit Terry in the arm. Terry let out a groan and dropped his Sten. Instantly his hand came up to cover the wound. Koenig pointed his Luger at Jack and pulled the trigger.

Click!

He tried again.

Click!

He looked at his pistol incredulously.

Out of bullets!

Out of anger he drew his arm back and threw the pistol. Terry ducked it as it clattered up the street just as Jack threw his knife. It buried itself up to the hilt in Koenig’s left shoulder. He let out a yelp of pain and as the two Englishmen looked on he staggered back a few steps and fell the ten feet headfirst into the water.



The Germans were working frantically with the freighter. Guns, equipment and food was being loaded none too carefully. Wurtz’ men barking orders constantly at the civilian crew. Von Brest was standing alone in the square shouting instructions at a crane operator. The sarcophagus was swinging from chains attached to it. They’d removed the canvas back of the six wheeler lorry that had carried it this far to enable the crane to get in. Von Brest was agitated that the crane was very old and the chains rusty.

“May God help us all if anything were to happen to it now.”

Wurtz was on the freighter with Captain Mufasa.

“Make sure we are ready to sail the moment the artefact and the Doctor are on board.”

“Yes Sir Major.”

As Wurtz turned to leave the bridge he noticed an old pistol laying on its side by a window. He also saw an older rifle propped up behind the door. He wasn’t happy about these men being armed. Mufasa caught Wurtz’ stare. He looked from the guns to the Major, their eyes met. Finally Wurtz decided it wasn’t worth pursuing. Firstly they needed the crew’s co-operation as neither he nor any of his men knew how to sail a boat. Secondly the antique guns looked like they weren’t capable of doing much damage and thirdly ’These men have a right to defend themselves I suppose’

“Just make sure we’re ready please Captain.”

Mufasa nodded his head. Wurtz left and Mufasa stared at the open door for a moment before gazing at the pistol. It had been ten years since he’d fired it last. He had shot a man. Through the brain. A man who had questioned his orders as Captain. A man who’d upset the harmony of his crew. A mutinous piece of scum who’d got what he deserved. A bullet between the eyes, dumped overboard off the coast of Madagascar and never received mention again from any of the crew.

Mufasa had seen the look on the SS Major’s face. The German hadn’t liked the pistol but had said nothing.

“Good!”

He checked to make sure that no one was nearby then reached around to the small of his back and pulled out a brand new Beretta pistol from the waistband of his trousers. He checked that it was fully loaded and that the safety catch was on. It was still shiny from being new and he huffed on it and polished it on his sweater before putting it back in his waistband. It was reassuring to feel it there. He knew he could pull it and use it at a moments notice.

‘What does it have to do with these Germans anyway?’

They weren’t his masters. He didn’t take orders from them. Mufasa also knew that there were guns stashed about all over his ship and that most of his crew were armed anyway, all of them carrying at least one knife each.

Mufasa patted the gun behind his back.

“Maybe I’ll get a chance to use you.”

He had eleven crew to the fifty Germans and whatever was in that stone box hanging from the crane, well, Mufasa and his men knew it must be gold and the Germans wouldn’t be watching it once they were safely out to sea. They wouldn’t miss a bar or two.

Mufasa began smiling to himself. He was a man who’d fought off Barbary coast pirates many times. These disciplined Germans would be easy prey but one thing he knew. If the killing started that SS Major would have to be got rid of first. His smile turned into laughter as he started the engines and checked his controls.

Wurtz by now had rejoined the Doctor.

“How’s it going Doctor?”

“I keep telling him,” Von Brest pointed angrily at the crane operator “To slow down.”

Wurtz looked at the man. He was a local to Gabes, very tanned and very nervous.

“Slow down!” Wurtz shouted at him.

“It’s not my fault,” the man babbled back in a mixture of Arabic and French. Not sure if the German officer understood either or both, “This is a very old crane and its controls are stiff.”

“What’s he saying?”

“I have no idea Doctor.”

Wurtz rounded on some of his men standing by.

“Do any of you speak Arabic.”

“I can a little Major.”

“Get over there and tell him to calm down. Tell him if he damages that he can come personally to Berlin to tell Adolf Hitler.”

“Yes Sir. But won’t that make him more nervous.”

“Just tell him. Tell him to keep his eyes on me and follow my instructions.”

The soldier was right. The crane driver became more nervous.

“Look at me!” Wurtz bellowed at him.

The man nodded, trying to stay calm.

“Now bring it round. Slowly! Slowly!”

The lever was stiff. He glanced nervously at the knob he was trying to push. The crane hadn’t received the proper hydraulic oiling in years.

“Keep your eyes on me.”

The crane driver pushed forward on the lever. It was stiff. He applied more pressure. The lever unexpectedly shot forward. It turned the crane faster than he’d intended. The sarcophagus swung uncontrollably out and just as it reached its Zenith, without warning, one of the chains snapped midway. The links below the break smashed down and took a chunk out of the sarcophagus’ side. Von Brest was absolutely livid at the damage. Wurtz rushed over to the crane driver who was frantically babbling his excuses again in at least three languages this time.

“Get out!” Wurtz shouted at him.

The man jumped down and cowered away from the SS Major.

“By rights I should have you shot for sabotage!”

The man had both his hands on his head, tears streaming down his face.

“Get out of my sight,” Wurtz roared, raising a hand as if to strike him. The man fled in despair.

“You,” Wurtz pointed at the soldier he’d sent earlier “Can you drive this crane?”

“I don’t know Sir. I could try.”

“Get up there quick before the whole bloody thing collapses.”

Wurtz’ man climbed reluctantly into the crane. He started by looking at all of the controls. There were no instructions and all of the details that had been on the knobs and levers had long since worn off. Wurtz held his hands out.

“What are you waiting for?”

“There are no instructions Sir. I don’t know what any of this does.”

“Well there’s only one way to find out and you’ve got thirty seconds.”

The sarcophagus was by now gently rocking back and forth, listing to one side because of the broken chain. Von Brest was at one point standing directly below it. He hadn’t even considered what would happen to him if it now decided to fall.

“Get it down quickly,” he shouted across at the new crane operator.

Wurtz dashed up the footholds and almost into the cab.

“Come on man! What are you waiting for?”

“Look Sir you can see the problem. There are no….”

“What does this do?” Wurtz pushed forward on a stiff lever. The crane swung back the opposite way. He tried the next one. The sarcophagus began to slowly rise. He pushed this lever forward and the tomb slowly began to lower. As soon as he could reach the damage Von Brest was feeling the rough edges where the chunk had been knocked out. He was furious. There was other damage caused by the flailing chain. The sarcophagus bumped the ground gently and the chains went slack. Wurtz ordered his men to pick up all significant pieces of crumbled stone from it. He showed them to the Doctor.

“We will repair it in Berlin. I will find the best sculptor Germany has to offer. Thank you Major.”

Wurtz gave them to one of his men.

“Put them in a safe box. You are responsible for them until we reach Berlin.”

“Yes Herr Major.”

“Don’t let them out of your sight. On your head. Understood?”

The man swallowed nervously.

“Yes Sir.”

“Get more chains,” Wurtz ordered.

“Major,” Von Brest took his arm to stop him, “I think I would prefer it now if we could man handle it onto the ship.”

“That could take some time Doctor….”

“Have you not noticed that the gunfire has stopped.”

Wurtz had to admit he hadn’t. He listened now.

“Whatever the danger was is obviously over now.”

“It sounded like quite a gun battle Doctor. You!” Wurtz spoke to one of his men “Go and find out what’s happening. Find Colonel Koenig and get him back here where he is needed.”

The SS man saluted and dashed off.

“The rest of you roll your sleeves up. We’ve got some hard work to do. Doctor they’re all yours.”

“Thank you. Men it is time to reveal what we’re doing here. I know that some of you have speculated on our mission out here in Tunisia. I can tell you that mostly you have been wrong. This….” he said smacking the lid, “Is the greatest prize in the field of archaeology. The Fuhrer, Adolf Hitler, chancellor of the third Reich, envisioned a dream. His dream is for a thousand years of peace in the fatherland. Once his time has passed the Fuhrer wishes to be interred in the greatest tomb of all time….”

The gathered SS men, peered over each other to look at the plain stone sarcophagus with Egyptian hieroglyphics.

“Gentlemen we have achieved this for him. For I give you the last resting place of the greatest General who ever lived, the conqueror of Persia, the Macedonian lion, Alexander the great!”

Wurtz began clapping. Soon his men joined in to a huge round of applause for the evil little Doctor. This carried on for a further minute, then Wurtz put his hand up for silence.

“We have ropes, pulleys, all the materials necessary. Let’s get the sarcophagus on board the ship as quickly as possible please without any further damage,” he clapped his hands “Come on put your backs into it. Let’s go men.”



“Lets move out quietly,” Alf said.

His group had been watching the whole thing. They’d seen Koenig leave, heard the fighting intensify, seen the chain break. Now a lucky break for them as all their opponents now seemed to be occupied.

Alf dashed silently across the road. He reached the edge of the dock where the tall reeds were. He crouched and turned to look back. Johnny came next. Then the S.A.S followed one by one. Once they were all safely across Tosh took point. They raced along the dockside. The smell of the sea strong in their nostrils. It reminded Alf of childhood holidays at Bournemouth. On they moved in silence, each man in the darkness just able to see his colleague in front. Where the reeds ran out Tosh gave the signal to stop and they crouched and waited. Just ahead were the first of the boats. The first two were sunken, their masts and rigging all that was visible above the surface of the water. A slick of debris and detritus clung around them. The next boat was an incredibly rusty fishing ship. It had once, in its history, been painted white with a blue stripe. But today it was streaked with brown to orange. A sad state for a once proud vessel. The next four were serviceable but all civilian boats and ships were forbidden to leave port due to the German retreat, their crews temporarily commandeered to help in the evacuation.

Tosh reached the first of the German motor boats. It was sitting low in the water. Tosh lay down and crawled forward, a silenced pistol clenched in his hand. He stopped as he heard movement on the boat. Someone was moving something about on deck. Tosh waited until he was sure that the person was alone then gave out a low whistle. A head appeared above the side of the boat and Tosh fired a single shot into it. The man had a blank look on his face as his blood splashed the deck behind him. He crumpled to the deck where his legs twitched a few times and then fell still. Tosh got up, peered inside the boat, signalled to Alf and crept on to the next one. Incredibly the two men in this boat were asleep. A shot each and they were no more.

Alf stepped onto the first boat. He instantly went down to the engine, took out a knife and cut the fuel line off. Petrol began leaking immediately. Alf took a roll of tape from his pocket and wrapped it around the severed end. He then placed the cable so that it didn’t look obvious at first glance. Two other S.A.S came on board and they quickly undressed the dead men. One of them quickly stripped down to his vest and pants and put on one of the dead mans clothes. Then together they bundled them down the stairs and jammed them into a large upright locker. Alf and the other S.A.S man left and proceeded to the next boat. They repeated it all again. At each boat they were losing a man.

Three more to go.

At the next gunboat the downstairs locker was full so they gently lowered the dead body over the side and into the water. They let him slip the last two feet with hardly a splash. His head bumped against the side of the boat half a dozen times and then he bobbed up and down as the current pulled him away. He soon disappeared into the dark and out of sight.

“Do you think he’ll be discovered?” Alf asked.

“Let’s hope not. Any boats leaving that hit him will probably think it’s just flotsam or jetsam or whatever they call it.”

They took out the next three boats. Now members of the S.A.S slipped into the water and swam to commercial boats and ships. Their mission to attach mines to hulls of fishing boats, freighters, cargo carriers. The submarine they would attempt last. It was heavily defended and each diver knew there was a strong possibility they’d be caught. The last gunboat had been unmanned. Alf watched from over the side as the divers swam with mines and placed their charges in the darkness. Now they were ready. They hadn’t lost a single man.



Johnny Larder ran across the empty road. Four men with him. They had watched Alf and his group secure the first of the patrol boats. Now they raced for the warehouses. The one man carrying the explosives at the back. Johnny peered around the huge double doors into the warehouse. It was a mess inside. Crates were piled high in places, smashed in others. Discarded or empty jerry cans littered the floor.

The five men crept inside. An iron walkway ran all around the inside of the roof. The Nazi flag hung limply from it at the far end directly above a red tank holding five thousand gallons of petrol. There were three other such tanks in the warehouse. The S.A.S men moved quickly using the crates as cover. They reached the first of the red tanks, it’s gauge showing empty. The second showing three hundred gallons. The last two showing empty like the first. They quickly planted explosives on the four tanks and moved on. There would still be enough fuel in them to cause a fire. They left through a rear door and headed into the next warehouse. Inside this one men were working. Johnny peered around the doorway. More red tanks at the back, similar gantry above. Johnny got out of the way so Tosh could take the lead.

“Everyone got grenades?”

They all nodded.

“We’ll throw them in, wait for the explosions, then storm them. On my count one, two, three.”

Each man took a grenade and held it in front of himself.

“Pins out.”

They fell to the floor with a little metallic ringing sound.

“ONE. TWO. THREE. THROW!” Tosh shouted.

The five men dashed to the doorway and threw their grenades. They ducked back for cover.

Corporal Josef Meier was operating his forklift truck when something came spinning past him. Puzzled he stopped the truck and jumped out to investigate. What was more and it sounded ridiculous was that he imagined it to be a British hand grenade. Half smiling to himself for being so stupid he crouched down to look under the front wheel for whatever it was. For safety reasons he didn’t want to run it over.

He saw the item.

He didn’t even have time to be afraid.

The grenade exploded turning Meier’s face to ribbons of red. Blood pumped from his gashed throat. His fellow workers heard the crack of the grenade and stopped what they were doing, to stare. Their looks turned to horror as the other grenades exploded amongst them. The grenade that killed Meier had been cooked.

The five British rushed in and finished off any German that still moved with bursts from their Stens.

Outside Otto Wurtz turned from the sarcophagus to the direction of the gunfire.

“Mein Gott! They’re in the warehouses!”

He pulled out his Luger and brandished it at his men.

“The warehouses! The warehouses!” he bellowed.

Von Brest jumped aboard the freighter. The sarcophagus was being lashed into place on the ship’s deck.

“Hurry men! We have very little time. Captain! Put to sea!”

“Aye Doctor!” Mufasa yelled back. He jumped into action suddenly realising that there were virtually no Germans as yet on board his ship, “Should we not wait for the Major and his men?”

“There is no time. The British are here in the town.”

“Very well Doctor.”

“I will not have this mission jeopardised any further. Put to sea now!”