Let us therefore brace ourselves to our duties, and so bear ourselves that, if the British Empire and its Commonwealth last for a thousand years, men will still say, 'This was their finest hour.'
Winston Churchill
- 0 -
Same day, late night
Fifteenth Army Headquarters, Lille, France
The young communications officer stared at the message he had just deciphered.
"Shit!" he exclaimed, and ran out of the cramped radio room. He sprinted across the courtyard of the old chateau General von Salmuth had commandeered for his headquarters and clattered up the stairs to the General's quarters. The General's Chief of Staff, Helmut Schneider, looked up as the young man burst in.
"Priority message from one of our agents in England, sir," he panted, thrusting the piece of paper at Schneider.
The Chief of Staff grunted and took it, then dismissed the messenger with a flick of the hand. He waited until the door had closed before he read the message. He sat back, deep in thought, and reached for the phone.
The intelligence officer attached to the General's staff answered on the third ring.
"Agent Anthony," Schneider said without preamble. "Do we trust him?"
There was a brief silence as the intelligence officer wracked his brain for information about Anthony. He vaguely recalled that the man was positioned somewhere in London, but had no idea what his access was. But it wouldn't do his career any good to admit ignorance.
"Absolutely," he answered confidently.
"And what is 'Route B'?" Schneider asked.
The intelligence officer explained about the mail boat and its schedule. It stroked with what Anthony's message said, and Schneider felt a thrill of excitement. It seemed they would soon be in an excellent position to erase the remaining doubt as to where the invasion would take place. Simultaneously he also saw an opportunity to further his own career - all he had to do was apprehend the enemy agents that were on their way to intercept Tiberius. In a sudden burst of energy, he set about organising a welcoming committee for them.
- 0 –
The next day
Harry's house, Kent
The day was an extremely busy one. The manor was a hive of bustling and urgent activity. First to arrive was an SOE officer with suitcases full of authentic French clothes, all in Ruth's size. Ruth marvelled at the stylish outfits and ran her fingers appreciatively over the genuine silk stockings, an item that had become practically unobtainable in Britain. Next to arrive was a tall man with spectacles, and he and Malcolm greeted each other like old friends. His name was Colin Wells, and he was an expert forger. He provided her with all the necessary French papers. Ruth studied the documents minutely but could find no evidence that they were not genuine.
"These are a work of art," she said warmly and Colin glowed at the praise. He immediately launched into a long and technical explanation of his methods, and Ruth caught Malcolm's eye with some amusement.
Colin eventually left and was shortly followed by Tom Quinn, an intense man who gave Ruth a crash course in the handling of firearms. He concentrated on training her in the handling of the Sten submachine gun and the German Mauser pistol. The Sten was the weapon of choice for most agents going into enemy territory as it was accurate and easy to handle. He explained that Harry had specifically requested that she be comfortable with the Mauser as he would carry one as part of his German uniform. Ruth was not a good shot, that soon became clear, but Tom was unconcerned. As long as she could handle the weapon with some assurance, it didn't matter if she couldn't hit a barn. If she looked like she knew how to use it, that would act as a deterrent to their enemies and sometimes, Tom explained, a hesitation on the part of the opponent was all one needed to get the upper hand. The weapons training lasted until midday.
After lunch, Ruth and Malcolm settled down to work out their communications. They decided on the codes to be used, as well as frequencies and schedules for transmission. Malcolm also trained her in the use of the triangulation machine he had invented.
"It will allow you and Harry to pinpoint where the enemy is," he explained when Ruth expressed ignorance as to its use.
"Major German deployments will have a Signals Officer with them who makes regular contact with Headquarters. You use my machine to identify the exact location these signals are sent from, and you will then be better able to avoid them."
By the time Malcolm was satisfied that Ruth had all the instructions down pat, it was late afternoon. Ruth realised that they hadn't seen Harry all day; he'd disappeared early that morning saying he had 'things to take care of'. It was the second day he had done so and she couldn't help but wonder what these 'things' were. Were they connected to the operation, or did he have private matters he wanted to get in order before they departed? It was by now clear to Ruth that they were likely to face great peril, and that the chances of them getting out alive were slim. She wondered whether she should try to call her mother, but they weren't particularly close and she decided against it. Ruth acknowledged with some regret that there was really no-one she particularly wanted to speak to one last time. She thought back to the previous night and belatedly recognised what she had only registered subconsciously until now: Harry had the same sense of isolation about him that she had. Perhaps their mutual perception of this quality in the other partly explained their instant mutual attraction. She mulled it over as she went upstairs to dress and pack.
- 0 –
Harry arrived a few minutes later. He had been in London all day, interrogating the German spies that had recently been apprehended on British soil. He needed the very latest information on the internal workings of the German army. After that he had gone to see the Prime Minister and provide him with a final briefing. Churchill had listened attentively before querying Harry in detail about Ruth Evershed.
"What a brave and remarkable woman," he had eventually commented. Harry had refrained from responding, aware that he might give away just how remarkable he did find her.
"Are you going to tell her the truth about the operation?" Churchill had asked, studying his intelligence man keenly.
Harry had hesitated before he shook his head.
"Why not? Do you not trust her?"
"I trust her implicitly," Harry had said with emphasis. "But, she has had no training as an intelligence officer. In particular, she has not been trained in counter-interrogation. If we were captured… It is better that she knows as little as possible."
Churchill had nodded. "She'll resent you for these lies afterwards."
"I know," Harry had sighed, "but needs must."
Just for a moment his regret had shone through, and Churchill had smiled at him sympathetically.
"It is all for a most worthy and noble cause, Sir Harry. We must stop this madman by any means possible."
He had shaken Harry's hand, and as the other man departed he'd called after him, "If she survives, I'll see that she gets the recognition she deserves. I give you my most solemn word on that."
Harry had nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Prime Minister."
And now the time had come. He got dressed and gathered his duffel bag that contained Malcolm's machine and other tools of the trade. He moved to Ruth's room with a heavy tread. On the one hand he wished he'd never met her, never dragged her into his murky world; but on the other hand he was certain that she was the best person for the job, and in these dark times that was all that should matter. And on a more personal level he acknowledged that he felt more alive since she'd come into his life than he'd felt in years, and vowed silently that he would do all in his power to ensure that she came back in one piece. He knocked on her door and waited for her answering call before he pushed it open. Ruth looked up and did an almost comical double-take. Harry was resplendent in the black uniform of an SS Obergruppenführer. He looked disturbingly authentic with his blonde hair and military bearing.
"Ready?" he asked, and guided her out of the door and into the car.
Malcolm drove them to the airfield, and Harry took the opportunity to give him some last minute instructions. Ruth sat quietly in the back, not really registering their conversation, and thought about the unexpected turn her life had taken. She was suddenly very aware of every sound, every smell, and everything she could see. This could be the last time she ever saw her home country, and the notion brought a lump to her throat. She wondered about the others who had gone before her; were they also filled with the same feeling of equal parts fear and excitement? Her gaze went to the man that had come into her life and changed everything. He had pushed her past what she had always thought was her physical limit, and had in the process shown her that she was capable of much more. And for that she was eternally grateful.
- 0 –
Harry and Lt Carter packed the parachutes with a focussed intensity whilst Malcolm was on the phone to a contact at the RAF weather office. He turned around with a troubled expression.
"Bad weather is expected to move in over France in the next few hours," he announced.
Adam glanced at his watch. "Drop is in two hours."
He pondered the news, drumming his fingers on the table. "What do you think, Harry?"
"The bad weather may play into our hands. They won't expect any drops to be made."
"So you don't want to postpone?"
"No. It is not an option."
Adam looked at his determined face and smiled faintly.
"All right. Let's get you kitted up then."
They shrugged into the overalls that would keep them warm and at the same time obscure their attire. Next came the backpack that contained the parachute. Adam lifted it onto Ruth's back and helped her fasten the buckles. He must have sensed her anxiety because he murmured reassuringly, "Fly, ground rush, flare, bend your knees, run. Nothing to it."
She smiled at him gratefully. He was about to attach her duffel bag to her belt when Harry interrupted.
"I'll take it."
Adam glanced at Harry's own heavier duffel bag. "I'm not sure you should take both, sir. The weight-"
"Ruth hasn't practiced jumping with an extra weight dangling below her. I'll take it."
Ruth tried to catch his eye but he bent to the task of strapping his damaged knee tightly. She looked at Adam worriedly. He shrugged and took her bag from her.
"You heard the stubborn bugger."
The rest of the preparations were completed in tense silence, with only Malcolm's updates on the weather impinging upon it. The others were occupied with their own private thoughts. And then they were ready. Malcolm reminded Ruth of their communication schedule and shook Harry's hand.
"Come back," he said softly, and watched them walk off towards the plane.
- 0 –
By the time they took off, it was pitch black and the wind had picked up considerably. Adam had to fight to keep the plane on course as the wind buffeted it in strong gusts. As he turned over the Channel he could see the far-off flashes of a thunderstorm, but for now the rain held off. He hoped to outrun the storm and deposit his two charges before it reached France, as there was no way they could jump in a thunderstorm. As it was the wind was probably already too strong, and he hoped the French Resistance waiting on the ground was spread far and wide; the chances of them landing in the designated zone were diminishing by the minute.
The turbulence was significant and Ruth was petrified as the plane lurched repeatedly. The thought that she would soon be expected to jump in these conditions filled her with dread. Her hands clasped together so hard that she began to lose sensation in her fingers. Harry sat next to her quietly and although she couldn't make out his expression in the darkness, he seemed rather more calm than the circumstances called for. As if he sensed her agitation, he reached out and took her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. Ruth was still adjusting to the feel of his fingers around hers when he suddenly pressed his mouth to her ear. She jerked away, startled, but his other hand found her cheek and guided her back towards him.
"Easy, Ruth," his voice said in her ear. She could feel his lips moving against it and an involuntary shiver ran through her.
"Take deep breaths and concentrate on what you have to do. Don't worry about the rest."
He pulled back but never let go of her hand.
They crossed into enemy airspace but Adam barely noticed. All his attention was focussed on keeping the plane on the correct course. It was almost impossible to gauge the wind speed accurately as it gusted around the plane.
"This is madness," he muttered. The chances that they would end up in the middle of a German military camp rather than in the designated zone were too big for comfort. If they pulled this off, it would go down in paratrooper folklore. He gritted his teeth as he made a wide turn over France and dropped below the cloud cover, the dark roiling heart of the storm chasing him all the way. They would only get one chance at this; if he had to come around again, they would be caught by the storm.
"Let's play for all the marbles," he said out loud and flicked on the red light.
Harry was up immediately and clipped his static line on. Ruth automatically followed, struggling to keep her feet as the plane pitched violently. Harry secured her line as well, and once again put his mouth to her ear.
"I go first. As soon as I jump, you count to five and follow. The Resistance will light a bonfire to guide us when they hear the plane – steer for it as best you can. Understand?"
She mouthed yes. The door opened and the wind howled around them. Ruth's eyes widened as a streak of lightning cleaved the sky a few miles behind them.
Harry smiled reassuringly and shouted, "I'll see you on the ground," but she could barely hear him above the din.
She thought, I'm going to die tonight, but before she could dwell on it the light turned green and Harry stepped unwaveringly into the void. Ruth counted to five, sent up a prayer and threw herself after him.
- 0 –
It was by far the worst jump Harry had ever experienced. The parachute lurched dangerously in the wind, the lines snapping taut and slackening alarmingly. To make matters worse, the two duffel bags swinging below his feet jerked him around and robbed him of virtually all manoeuvrability. As he struggled to line up on the bonfire his thoughts went to Ruth. She must be absolutely terrified by all this. He repeated one sentence silently like a mantra: Please let her be all right. As he neared the ground he also began to worry about what might await them down there. He felt for the Sten he'd slung round his neck and made sure he could easily lift and fire it if necessary. The storm was moving in rapidly and he felt the sting of the first raindrops against the back of his neck. He was going down much faster than Ruth would due to his extra weight, and soon he could make out details in the clearing where the fire was lit. The wind was hurtling him along and he began to fear that he would overshoot. He scanned ahead desperately but the area was heavily wooded.
"Damn it, come on!" He tried manfully to turn the parachute into the wind, with no success. He was over the clearing and released the duffel bags, hoping they wouldn't land in the fire. Then, suddenly, the wind dropped completely, and he managed to touch ground right at the edge of the trees. It was not the most elegant of landings and although he took the brunt of it on his right leg, he still jarred his damaged knee painfully. He had to clamp his mouth shut to stop from crying out as tears sprung to his eyes.
He was barely down before people swarmed around him. A young blond woman pushed through and said breathlessly, "The marigolds bloomed late this year."
"Yes," Harry gasped through the waves of agony, "but the daisies made up for it. Hello, Joanna."
"Welcome to France, sir," she said with a broad smile.
Harry struggled upright and looked skywards anxiously. The wind had picked up again and whipped into the trees with renewed fury. Raindrops began to fall with more regularity and the fire spat and hissed. He heard Ruth's parachute snapping in the wind before he could see her. She entered the circle of light moments later, travelling fast. Too high, she was still too high, he saw with dread.
"She's not going to make it," he said, unable to keep the desperation out of his voice.
She flashed over them and Harry had a glimpse of her face, eyes wide with terror and skin a ghostly white. A second later she was gone, swallowed up by the darkness.
tbc