This chapter was first published in Published: 08-26-16 and has been fully re-written on 04-07-2021 (April 2021) in partnership with the super talented Rodsantos. Please go read his Avatar alternative history WW2 story "Operation Eclipse". Its a great read, you wont be
Okecie Airfield, Warsaw — August 31st, 5:00pm
It was sunset when they arrived back at the airfield, accompanied by a translator and a stack of paperwork authorizing the aircraft's use. The base commander had balked at the unspecified reason—it had been withheld to avoid any leaks which would've tipped the enemy off—but the signature at the bottom of the order had nipped the officer's protests in the bud.
The way over had been a treacherous one. They had driven like madmen on both legs of the round trip, nearly breaking their axles twice as they bounced over deep ruts in the road. Four more times, they had been forced to disembark and push the truck out of the deep mud.
They were now parked alongside the Bombay, waiting on the tarmac for the crew to show up. The truck's radio blared loudly; they were monitoring the civilian broadcasts for any sign of enemy activity.
"Remind me why we can't just drive there?" grumbled Frank, glowering up at the aircraft which had nearly caused their fiery deaths mere months ago. "If we'd started driving in the morning, we'd be there already!"
"It's the road system," George replied. He took a quick bite out of his zapiekanka, spilling a couple of mushrooms down the front of his uniform. He quickly brushed them away. "At some point out beyond Warsaw, it's only dirt farm roads for hundreds of kilometers. Maybe the occasional gravel at some points, but that's hardly better. With the weather we've had for the past few weeks, it's all been churned into mud. It'd take us days to get there by car."
"We've lost enough time as it is," agreed Darren, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his coat. The squad had made the decision to dress in layers. Though the weather was mild, it would be cold at altitude. "This way, we'll be there in about an hour."
Beside them, Pearl said nothing. Her eyes were glued to the Bombay, studying every brittle rivet and hastily-patched hole of the primitive flying machine. On this rickety contraption rested not their existence, but the fate of a nation. How different it all would've been if Rose weren't so stubborn.
On the tray across her lap, her sandwich had gone cold. The accompanying pastry, a gift "for the lady" from the base kitchen, was untouched, save for a small nibble at the edge. She stared down at it, too wound up to even pretend to eat.
Frank eyed her meal hungrily. He had been the first to finish his, a last-minute parting gift from Colonel Oziewicz's staff before they took off. "You going to eat that?"
"Help yourself. I ate before we left."
"For the love of God," sighed James in exasperation. "Leave her food alone. She'll need it for—"
"Too late," Frank shot back, retort muffled by a mouthful of flaky bread and meat.
Across the airfield, a commotion was brewing. The guards were gathered at a secondary gate which led directly to the runway, hurriedly searching a convoy which had stopped there. In the lead car, an annoyed-looking man in a distinctive dark blue flight suit poked his head out of the driver's side window.
"That must be our pilots," Darren surmised. He wrapped the last of his meal in an oilcloth and tucked it away, motioning for the rest of the team to stand. "Right, lads, this is the real deal. Final equipment check. Make sure everything's accounted for."
He went from team member to team member, tightening straps and securing equipment. He paid special attention to their parachute harnesses, making sure that they were fixed properly. Their jump training had been cursory, and extra care had to be taken that the few bits that they had learned were correctly implemented.
As for the chutes themselves, there was little to do about them except trust that the base quartermaster had packed them properly. There really was no room for error. They were dropping too low for a backup parachute to be of any use, and in its place they had brought more urgently-needed supplies.
The lead vehicle drew up beside the aircraft. The three-man crew leaped out, briefly pausing to speak with Darren before rushing up the ladder to begin their preflight checks. From the next car stepped Adelajda. She had shed her regular secretarial uniform for a set of combat fatigues, complete with a pistol belt around her waist and a canvas backpack with a radio antenna sticking out the top. The unfamiliar clothing hung loosely on her, flapping in the light breeze.
Under the dying light, her face was taut. A cigarette smoldered at the tip of the slim holder which was clutched tightly between her fingers. She took a long, anxious drag and burst into a coughing fit.
"I don't like this," George muttered, out of earshot. "Why's she tagging along? Does she even know how to use that weapon?"
"I had no choice, " said Darren. "After you four left for the motor pool last night, the Poles forced her on us. Oziewicz wanted a translator, a trustworthy one, and she volunteered."
"She's a good person," Frank put in, "but she's going to be a bloody liability out there. Couldn't they have given us somebody with combat training, at least?"
"Everyone was rushing back to their units. They couldn't spare anyone else. We'll manage, all right? She looks like she's in reasonable shape, and Oziewicz says she can handle a pistol. We're not doing a long-range patrol in the Highlands. She should be able to keep up."
"As long as I'm not stuck playing nanny, yes?" George stalked off.
Darren heaved a sigh, then shouldered his pack and headed for the aircraft door. He paused at the bottom of the boarding ladder and drew his combat knife, quickly scratching a cross and a crude impression of their unit insignia into the fresh paint.
A mechanic stared at him, and he sheathed the weapon. "For luck," he explained, before disappearing into the bowels of the transport to find his seat.
"Are you going to be alright?" whispered James, just loudly enough for Pearl to hear. His hand gently squeezed her shoulder.
She turned to him. "I'm just afraid, James. They've been preparing for months, maybe even years. What if we're already too late? What if this is all for nothing?"
James clasped her hands in his own and gave her that boyish, endearing smile of his. Despite herself, she began to relax. He opened his mouth to reassure her, but his words were cut off by the roar of the Bombay's engines sputtering to life. The propeller blades spun up, tousling his light brown hair and rumpling his uniform in the draft.
"Plane's ready!" yelled Darren from the cargo door. "Mount up!"
Pearl broke away from James. Grabbing her pack, she hustled up the ladder, leaving him alone to scramble for his gear. It was go time. There was no turning back now.
~{0}~
Rybnik, 22 km southwest of Gliwice — 5:15pm
Not much notice was paid to the two large delivery trucks parked across the street from the small office building. It was a common sight in Rybnik, and the locals filtering back to their homes from a long workday passed on without disturbing them. Though the village was small, it sat astride a major north-south highway, only a few miles from the border. Because of this, it was home to a perpetually busy German customs post.
Most of the pedestrians going about their daily lives assumed that the trucks waited there in order to subject themselves to the same course of treatment as every other consignment passing from Poland to Germany, the routine inspections, taxes, and paperwork. Today, however, they couldn't be further from the truth.
At his seat in the driver's cab, Alfred Naujocks impatiently checked his watch. Three minutes to go. This one would need to be timed to the second. A large group of potential "witnesses" was scheduled to pass through, distracting the handful of guards long enough for his men to do their work.
The preparations for this raid had been relatively straightforward. Transportation had been easy to arrange, as were the weapons. The men carried carbines and handguns of Russian and Czech design, identical to those stockpiled in Army and State Police depots all across Poland. The uniforms had been slightly harder to acquire, but eventually had been provided by Sergeant Alojzy for an additional fee.
Looking into the wing mirror, Naujocks could see the others parked behind him, ready to snap to his signal. Alojzy was leaning out the passenger side window of the second one, glancing from the trucks to the customs station and back.
"Damn fool will blow our cover," he grumbled under his breath.
"Problem, boss?" The driver rested his hand on the stock of his weapon, concealed down by the gear shift.
Naujocks shook his head. "It doesn't matter now. Prepare to give the signal. Remember, only speak Polish. If I hear a single word of German before this mission is over, I will personally see you court-martialled. On my mark. Three, two, one...now."
The young soldier grinned, leaning on the horn. He followed it up with two shorter blasts. The rear compartment door banged open, and the truck jolted up and down on its suspension as men jumped down to the pavement with weapons out in the open. Drawn by the hubbub, a civilian saw them and beat a hasty retreat back down the street.
Gunfire filled the air. They fired skywards, angrily chanting anti-German slogans as they marched towards the office. With the crash of broken glass, a rifle butt stove a window in, and two men lobbed petrol bombs through the gap. They shattered inside and began to burn violently.
Still seated inside the idling truck, Naujocks followed the action with detached interest. His men had formed a line at the door, raining Polish invectives on the customs workers as they roughly herded them away from the flames. The bodies of two border guards, who had foolishly attempted to resist despite being heavily outnumbered and outgunned, were dragged from their post and deposited on the sidewalk.
When the assault group finally piled back onto the trucks, the conflagration had spread to the roof. The office workers had scattered, fleeing into the muddy farmland beyond the highway, and the townspeople of Rybnik lined the roadside, watching in stunned horror.
The driver gunned the engine. Naujocks reached over to his window, unrolling a Polish flag. He hung it by the side of his door as they sped off, ensuring that every onlooker knew who had done such a thing.
A stunning success. This raid had gone off without complications. The deaths of the two German guards were regrettable, but ultimately unavoidable. In any case, they would lend credence to the story he had been tasked with creating.
Naujocks lit up a cigarette, leaning back against his seat. It would be a long drive to the next objective, and he had to make sure he was rested and ready for action. This time, he would personally join the attack.
~{0}~
Polish frontier — 5:20 pm
Across the border, Operation Himmler was in full swing. The marauding groups of infiltrators terrorized the populace of both nations, shooting up anyone in uniform, burning government buildings, and capturing strategic points for the exploitation of the arriving invasion force. News was traveling fast by phone and radio where available.
For the most part, the Poles had been caught by surprise. They had been expecting a wholesale thrust by thousands, not a series of rapid, small-scale strikes against nonmilitary targets. The army and police had managed to repel an assault at Jablunkov Pass, but the rail tunnel there had already been guarded. As for the Germans' other objectives, they had been left completely vulnerable.
~{0}~
Over Lodz, 170 km northeast of Gliwice — 5:30pm
"Once we land, detach from the tandem harness. If you need assistance, Frank will help you. When we're moving, we need you to stay with us at all times. Darren will be up front, and James will take up the rear. Don't stray beyond those boundaries."
Adelajda nodded along nervously to Pearl's warnings, trying to remember what she was being told.
"If we make contact with the enemy, take cover and refrain from moving. Find something solid, like a concrete wall or the engine block of a vehicle. Bullets will pass straight through wooden fences and car doors. Wait until we signal the all-clear before you leave cover, understand?"
"Yes, I understand."
"Show me your gun," directed Pearl. "You know how to use it, right?"
"I do." Adeladja unbuttoned her holster and brought out her pistol presenting it to Pearl for inspection. "I signed up for some basic pistol training last month and can hit center-mass on the outline targets."
Pearl grasped the wrist of her gun hand, gently pushing the muzzle down towards the floor of the aircraft. The weapon appeared to be unloaded, but within the confines of the aircraft, she was unwilling to take any risks. "Adelajda, always watch where you're pointing that. We'll work on your weapons handling when this business is done."
She grimaced, chagrined. "I'm sorry."
"It's fine. Just be mindful next time. Now, I want you to load it."
Adelajda pulled a magazine from the pouch at her other hip, slipping it into the empty pistol. She chambered a round, then placed her weapon on safety.
"Good. Unload and stow it away."
She dropped the magazine and racked the slide to eject the bullet in the chamber. Pearl reached forward, plucking the falling cartridge out of the air, then offered it back to Adelajda. "You'll need this."
"Corporal?" said a voice. The flight engineer stood in front of them, grasping onto the bulkhead for support. "Our radio equipment's just managed to pick up transmissions from Sender Gleiwitz. I don't speak a word, but the announcer sounds bloody well agitated. It might well be urgent. "
"On the way, Lieutenant." Darren jerked his head in the direction of the cockpit. "Pearl, take Adelajda up there and have her translate. Report to me when you get back."
Pearl unbuckled her seatbelt and helped Adelajda out of hers. The bulky parachute pack made it a tight fit, and she was only able to squeeze herself past George and Frank by way of a few bruised shins and muttered curses. Fortunately, the cargo hold wasn't nearly as full as it had been during her last flight, and they were able to reach the engineer's workstation without further difficulty.
Adelajda knelt by the lieutenant's seat, and he turned up the volume knob. She listened to the rapid-fire broadcast with growing alarm, blanching at what she heard. Pearl and the engineer shared a look of concern.
"What is it?" he asked. "Has the big one really started?"
"An attack." Adelajda paused for a moment to listen again. "At Rybnik, not far south of our destination."
Pearl consulted her mental map of the country. As far as she could recall, Rybnik had little strategic importance other than the highway passing through it. A strange target for a small-unit raid. "What could the Germans possibly want there?"
"No, not the Germans. Polish. Our soldiers attacked a German customs office in the village. They..." she struggled for her next words, "...they murdered people and set fire to the office. The German government have declared it an act of war. I don't understand, we would never do something like this."
"Polish Army troops did this? Not irregulars or angry civilians?"
"The report says so," confirmed Adelajda. "They wore our uniform and came in military trucks."
"But that makes no sense. I'd understand if it was an armed mob, but regulars? Your commanders aren't foolish enough to order something so patently stupid. Not now, when the Germans are looking for any excuse to..."
That was it. A false flag, manufacturing a justification for the enemy to invade. Rybnik was one of the incidents that they had fabricated. If Aldebert's notebook was to be believed, Gleiwitz would be next.
Pearl turned to the flight engineer. "Lieutenant, is there any way you can get us there faster? If we don't get to that radio station in time, we could be looking at another Great War."
~{0}~
Sender Gleiwitz, township of Gliwice — 6:25 pm
The distance between Rybnik and Gliwice was not especially long, only twenty-five kilometers in fact, but the muddy dirt roads made the journey between the towns far slower than either Naujocks or Alojzy had anticipated. By the time they arrived at their destination, it was already past dark, and visibility had dropped significantly.
Naujocks had three trucks now, having linked up with an additional assault team en route. The added manpower was required for the larger target, and the reinforcements were bringing mission-critical equipment. They pulled up alongside the station in the gathering gloom, dismounting rapidly.
The facility consisted of two massive radio masts, each a couple hundred meters tall, with long, thin transmission cables strung between them. In the middle was the control building, a narrow, two-and-a-half-story structure of stone and wood construction. Somewhere on the second floor was their objective, the broadcasting studio.
Two of the teams would secure the perimeter, keeping watch for any police or military intervention, while the other would storm the building and seize the objective. The staff would be driven away, permitted to flee via the fire escape.
"Quickly!" ordered Naujocks, jogging towards the rear vehicle. "Quickly with the konserve! I want them spread out properly."
The beam of his clip-on flashlight illuminated one of his men, dragging a corpse by the legs. Another regarded the cargo hold with disgust and upturned a jerrican of water to rinse out the blood pooled on the metal floor. The third team had brought with them five freshly-executed inmates from Dachau, all dressed in Polish Army uniforms.
Naujocks supervised their grim task. The five dead men were hauled across the mud and deposited across the grounds of the radio station, carefully arranged to give the appearance that they had died in combat. The one closest to him had been dumped facedown, sprawled in a damp patch of grass. An old service revolver with three rounds fired had been placed by his right hand.
Once it was done, he led the team southeast to guard the approach from the dirt road, dispatching the men of the second truck to take their positions on the opposite side of the compound. The assault team advanced, rushing low and fast down the path towards the station door.
Over Gliwice — 6:35 pm
"Five minutes out!" shouted the flight engineer, poking his head back into the passenger compartment. "Once we're over the target area, we'll throttle back our engines to slow us down! Should give you an easier drop!"
"Get ready!" ordered Darren.
They came to their feet and began rechecking their gear for the final time. One by one, they clipped their ripcords to the static line which ran overhead. Frank was last to follow suit, after helping Adelajda slip into their tandem harness.
Grunting heavily, Darren and George hefted the bulky canvas bag containing the squad's heavier equipment towards the door. Borne by its own parachute, it would be the first to leave the aircraft.
The Bombay slowed to a near glide, and the sound of the aircraft engines dropped to a low hum. The slipstream whipped through the open door, blasting them with the cool night air.
"Hold it, lads!" said Darren as they flew past the small township, skimming over the pinpricks of artificial light in the sea of dark farmland. Some of those dots were flashlight beams, borne by figures hurrying across a dimly-lit compound below. "Lot of activity down there! We'll hold the jump until we're just past the target!"
They counted slowly to twenty, waiting as the town gave way once more to sprawling fields. In her harness, Adelajda glanced down and swallowed nervously. Pearl could pick out her muttered prayers, lost in the whistling wind to the others' ears.
"Go, go, go!" Darren shoved the equipment bag out the door. The canopy blossomed, a brief splash of white floating down into the night sky. Without another word, he leaped after it.
Frank and Adelajda were next. The secretary clamped a hand over her own mouth, stifling a yelp as she allowed herself to be pulled out into thin air. George soon followed, leaving Pearl and James alone in the aircraft.
"See you on the ground, then." Pearl nodded confidently, trying to instill in him more reassurance than she felt herself. James had done his best to keep his face blank, but she could almost hear his heart pumping madly.
She took the plunge. As she fell away, she saw James' expression dissolve into pure terror. He rushed forward to the cargo door, hand outstretched for hers.
"Pearl!" he screamed over the wind, but she was too far gone.
~{0}~
Sender Gleiwitz grounds - 6:40 pm
Through the upper-floor windows, Naujocks saw the corridors light up with the flicker of quick gunfire. The distinctive crump of detonating grenades rent the night air, mingling with the fearful yells of the station staff. Shadows flitted rapidly down the metal fire escape, and the vague figures of civilians shuffled off into the night. To the north, the other covering team let off a few unaimed shots to spur them into evacuating faster.
An infiltrator threw open an upstairs window, flashing a quick message to him. He raised his hand in acknowledgement. They had occupied the building. The next stage of the plan was now underway.
~{0}~
Pearl wrenched the buckle of her parachute harness free, letting the whole assembly slide to the ground. Dropping to one knee, she unlimbered her rifle and brought it up, hastily scanning her for immediate threats. Nothing. The radio station compound to the west was still abuzz with activity, but their arrival had gone unnoticed.
The others were dimly outlined in the field ahead, gathered around the fallen equipment bag, and she broke into a jog to join them. Darren was inspecting the contents, aided by Adelajda and her red-tinted flashlight. Frank and George provided cover, anxiously watching the building with their weapons at the ready.
Darren acknowledged her sudden appearance out of the darkness by offering her a hand grenade, then pulled a long prybar from the bag for his own use. The other two barely spared her a glance, having already gathered their gear.
"Leave the heavy stuff," grunted Darren, zipping up the bag. "We'll come back for it later."
The beat of heavy boots on the soggy grass signalled James' approach. Pearl turned to greet him, but the words caught in her mouth as she registered the look on his face. He was deathly pale, his eyes wide with shock. His hand shook as he held his rifle, clutching the stock so tightly that it was fit to snap in two.
Darren grabbed him by the shoulders, giving him a quick once-over. "You alright there, lad? Did you break something when you hit the ground?"
"Pearl..." James broke free from Darren's grasp, staggering forward. "I don't believe it...you're okay?"
Despite the seriousness of the situation, she couldn't help but blush. "Of course I'm okay. What's gotten into you, James?"
"You...your parachute didn't open. You should be dead!"
"Pull yourself together, lad!" Darren hissed. "You want to tell Fritz where the hell we are?"
"I saw it with my own two bloody eyes! The static line broke!"
"Oh, stars." Unbidden, Pearl's hand shot up to cover her mouth. In all the excitement, she had instinctively tapped into her powers to break her fall.
"If the line broke, it'd be like that damnable song," countered Darren, glaring at George and Frank "Tell me, James. Does it look like that happened to her?"
Pearl chuckled nervously. "Yes, James. I'm completely fine. I managed to pull the emergency just in time."
"But I have your parachute right here!" he insisted. With his opposite hand, James dragged a bulky bundle into the circle of low light. It was her chute, still bound up as tightly as the day the quartermaster had packed it.
"I...um..." Every eye was on her now, freezing Pearl where she stood. She held up her hands, trying to placate them as she struggled for words. "Please, I can explain!"
A few shots rang out from beyond the treeline. Instinctively, everyone dove for the dirt. Darren dragged Adelajda down with him, extinguishing the light as he flattened himself to the ground. They hid in the darkness for a few moments, listening carefully for resistance, but no more fire came their way.
"What the hell was that?" hissed George from up front.
"I don't think they've seen us," said Frank. "Must be shooting at something else."
Darren rose to his feet, motioning for the others to follow. "We don't have much time. Let's get this over with. After we're done, Pearl..." he motioned towards the parachute pack on the ground, "...you owe us an explanation."
"Yes, sir." She nodded meekly.
"Right, here's the plan. I'll take point and scout ahead. George, Frank, on my left and right. James, you stay just behind us. Keep your head up and watch for hostiles. If any one of us makes contact, you'll be the first to move up in support."
"And us?" asked Pearl.
"You hang back with Adelajda," Darren ordered. "Keep her safe, take care of any threats. Adelajda, you're this mission's most valuable asset. Stick to Pearl and stay low. Don't move up unless we say it's safe, yes?"
"I understand, Corporal." She unbuttoned the flap of her holster, readying the weapon for action.
"Let's move."
As they broke from the scrum, an unmistakable rumble echoed from beyond the trees. Truck engines sputtered to life, accompanied by men shouting orders. With a snap of his arm, Darren motioned for them to quicken the pace.
Jogging past the fallen parachute pack, Adelajda stared at it in curiosity. "I simply can't wait for you to explain how that happened," she murmured, leaning in towards Pearl.
"It is a great story," agreed Pearl, somewhat grudgingly. "If we get out of this, I'll tell you all about it."
~{0}~
Another message blinked through the window. The assault team had completed their task of hooking the transmitter up to pre-recorded tapes. Their message was clear, exhorting the local populace to rise up against their oppressive German neighbors.
"Nearly finished, towarzysze!" Naujocks announced to his team, who were still watching the road for any sign of approaching trouble. Raising his light, he sent off three quick flashes, signalling the retreat to the lookout in the control building.
A few more rifle shots echoed from within. As planned, the assault team were now damaging the control equipment, ensuring that only power loss or the total destruction of the transmitter would halt the broadcast.
"Finally." Alojzy grinned, baring yellowed teeth. "What are we waiting for? Let's get the hell out of here."
"Patience, Sergeant," chided Naujocks. "Rest assured, you will get your due."
~{0}~
Sender Gleiwitz grounds
At the treeline, Darren raised his fist in the signal to halt. They paused behind a low wooden fence, and the squad spread out along its length to assess the situation with their own eyes.
In the darkness, they could make out faint silhouettes. Armed men hustled across the grounds, rushing towards the road where the rumbling truck engines awaited them. Less easy to see were the figures crouched in the station's shadow, standing post as their comrades sowed chaos behind then.
The others had seen them too. Darren scowled in their direction, and James shouldered his weapon. Pearl carefully adjusted her rifle's sights, ranging them out to a hundred yards. The squad was in perfect ambush position, capable of wiping out the sentries before they even knew what hit them.
"What's the plan, boss?" murmured Frank from his side of the line.
Darren thought for a moment, glancing from the building to the courtyard and back. A flashing light glinted through the station windows, and he stiffened.
"Securing the station's our priority. Leave the bastards for now, we'll slip round 'em. Come on, lads."
He beckoned the squad forward, and Pearl vaulted the fence. She landed softly on the other side and turned back to help Adelajda as she clambered over. They resumed formation, quietly darting around the edge of the compound and out of the sentries' field of view.
Sticking tightly to the wall of the control building, they advanced along its side. The murmured orders from the courtyard and the rumble of the truck engines grew ever louder as they approached, tiptoeing towards the nearest entrance into the station.
Up front, Darren gestured again. A warning signal, but not for enemy activity. He extended his hand, motioning towards a vague mound in the grass, barely visible even to Pearl. From a distance, she had mistaken it for a misshapen heap of dirt, but it began to take on an all-too-familiar form as she drew closer.
A body, dressed in a Polish Army uniform. Vacant eyes stared straight back up at her. They were the only intact features which remained of his face, twisted beyond any possible recognition. The nose had been pulped and split open by some blunt force, and the jaw hung askew. Fresh blood stained the front of his tunic. He had not been dead long.
Adelajda froze, pushing two of her knuckles into her own mouth to stifle a horrified gasp.
Pearl put an arm around her shoulder, as much to drag her friend away from the grisly sight as to comfort her then gestured for Adelajda to keep her eyes on them. As much as she wanted to whisper comforts she couldn't risk it.
Slowly, Adelajda turned her face towards hers. Her lips trembled, and Pearl could hear the rapid tempo of her breathing. Pearl found her clammy hand and gave it a short, reassuring squeeze then tugged gently to keep her moving.
A minute later, the squad reached their destination. They took their positions by a small access door on the side of the building, hidden from both the sentries guarding the rear and the armed men out in the courtyard.
"Prepare to breach," whispered Darren. He and Frank took the left side, wedging their prybars behind the hinge on the door. James and George stood opposite, rifles held ready. Darren held up three fingers.
Three...two...one...
With the creak of metal giving way, the door came loose, and they surged into the radio building.
~{0}~
"Scheisse!" growled Naujocks, though he was careful to keep his native exclamation under his breath. Just as he had thought they were home free, the otherwise smooth operation had developed a complication.
The parking lot had been soaked thoroughly by the recent rains, churning the normally workable gravel surface into a muddy bog. Two of his trucks were trapped in it, wheels sunk nearly to the axle bearings. He could abandon one of them without issue, though it would have to be burned in their wake. But the other would have to be recovered, or else there would simply be no space to haul all the infiltrators away.
"Unload the trucks!" shouted Alojzy. He pointed towards a truck, the one mired deepest in the mud. "Any equipment that can be left behind, get it in there."
A few of the infiltrators looked to Naujocks in askance, wondering why he had allowed the mercenary to order them around. He folded his arms and voiced no objections. Little as he liked Alojzy, he wasn't a veteran sergeant for nothing.
Alojzy uncorked a hip flask and took a deep swig, wiping his mouth on his coat sleeve. "You, you, you, fetch wood," he directed, selecting three loitering infiltrators at random. "Boards, planks, anything we can push under the wheels. The rest of you, start digging, use your hands if you have to. Go on, get moving!"
~{0}~
Strangely, the station was relatively undamaged. With the reports from Rybnik playing on her imagination, Pearl had been expecting something far more grim. A fire-gutted building, dozens of corpses strewn in the hallways. But as they picked their way through the ground floor, there was little of that to be seen. Upturned office furniture and a handful of shot-out window panes greeted their entry, but besides the mangled corpse outside, it seemed as if the station had been taken in relative peace.
"This floor's clear." Darren pointed to the ceiling. "We're going upstairs."
He and Frank were first up the staircase, advancing as far as the quarter landing. James and George leapfrogged them, rushing the rest of the way up. They paused at the top of the stairs, scanning the hallway with their rifles up. Spotting no immediate danger, they motioned for the rest of the squad to join them.
The second floor was a mirror image of the first. Chairs and desks carelessly flung about on the tiles, plastered walls pocked with bullet holes. But no signs of bloodshed. Pearl cautiously raised her Lee-Enfield, waiting for a threat to present itself from one of the doorways which lined the sides of the hallway.
"Kop dalej, chuji!" shouted a loud voice, slurred from drink.
Pearl pulled Adelajda to the floor, shielding her with her body. The others froze, training their weapons towards the sound.
"Where the hell did that come from?" demanded James.
More shouting emanated from the same source, followed by the revving of a powerful engine and the squeal of wheels sliding on gravel. The same voice cursed again, clearly growing more frustrated by the second.
"Second room on the left," said Pearl, after some contemplation. "It's facing the parking lot. The window must be open."
"James, George, have a look," Darren directed.
Nodding in agreement, the two crept forwards. George shouldered through the door, and James peered inside. A moment later, he turned back to the squad and shook his head.
"Clear. She's right, it was coming from outside."
Darren checked his watch. It had already been three minutes since they had entered the building. They had to move faster, stealthily or not. He waved them forward, rushing across the hall towards the next doorway in the line. The clatter of his boots on the tiles was soon joined by the rest of the squad rushing after him.
Reaching the large pair of double doors, they stacked up along the wall, preparing to breach once more. Darren kicked it open, immediately diving for the floor to dodge any expected counter fire. Arriving close behind, James leapt through the opening, turning on his heel to aim his weapon into the room. Across from him, George and Pearl took up covering positions.
"What the hell?" exclaimed Frank.
The electrical hum of running machinery greeted their arrival. Pearl found her flashlight and flipped it on, training it towards the center of the large chamber. The red glow illuminated an array of gauges, knobs, and wires. They had found the broadcast room.
On the desk sat a large jukebox player and a turntable, hooked up to the main switchboard by long black cables. Upon closer inspection, they appeared to have been placed there by the intruders, who had pushed a row of speakers to the floor in order to clear enough space.
"Check for traps." Darren nudged Frank forward, who reluctantly prodded at the debris around the switchboard with the butt of his rifle. Finding nothing, he shot the squad leader a thumbs-up. Darren strode forward, reaching for a headset which hung from a hook by the transmitter.
"Sounds like Polish." Darren's brow furrowed, and he looked up. "Adelajda, I need you over here to translate. George, James, barricade that door and guard it until we're done."
The heavy doors slammed shut, followed by the clack of the lock engaging. Adelajda made her way over to the control station and slid the headset over her ears. Darren found a discarded notepad on the floor and threw it down on the desk in front of her, along with a pencil.
The next few minutes were spent in silence, punctuated only by the scrape of Adelajda's hurried shorthand and the muffled curses of the infiltrators outside. Pearl crouched by the doorway, occasionally glancing over at the secretary at work. Her face was shrouded in shadow as she scrawled away, leaving her expression unreadable.
"I have it, Corporal." Adelajda raised her pad, clearing her throat. Her voice was surprisingly calm. "It's a single repeating message. 'Rise, brave sons of Poland. Our enemies have taken too many liberties with our suffering nation. For too long, they have treated our land and our people as spoils to be divided. We have tolerated enough. Today, we fight back. Today, we make them suffer as we have at their hands. We will drive these thieves, these tyrants, these opportunists, out of our homeland.
'We have already struck the first blows. The German scum at Rybnik maintain an office for the express purpose of extorting our businesses. Our brothers burned it to the ground. Here at Gliwice, we have seized their means of spreading their malignant words and turned it to our own advantage. We have begun the salvation of Poland. Now, it is your turn. My brothers, I plead you to take up the battle flag of Lech, of Krakus, of Sobieski. March to your nation's aid, for in this time of need, she cries out for courageous men to serve her. Keep in your hearts and minds this maxim: God, Honor, Fatherland.'"
"Of course." Pearl buried her head in her hands. No wonder the station had been left relatively undamaged. The infiltrators hadn't had a sudden attack of conscience. They had needed the facilities intact to further their deception.
"Christ," muttered James. "It's perfect. If that message gees up some actual Poles and they start attacking German civilians, then all the better for Fritz."
"I..." Darren trailed off, still digesting the translated message. "We...we could broadcast a retraction, tell the people that this was all a plot. Adelajda, I need you to—"
"I don't think that's an option, boss." Frank shined his light down at an adjacent desk. The transmission controls were riddled with bullet holes, reduced to nothing but a twisted pile of metal and shattered glass. "I don't think we'll be able to send anything out but this Hun tripe."
"Christ!" snarled Darren through gritted teeth. He kicked over a chair, breathing heavily.
There was a loud record scratch, followed by the crack of breaking wood. All eyes went to Pearl just as she drove the stock of her rifle through the turntable one last time.
She shrugged sheepishly. "Well, we couldn't counter the broadcast, but at least we've stopped anyone else from hearing it."
Chest still heaving, Darren stalked over to the ruined broadcast equipment. He stood perfectly rigid, fists clenched by his sides.
"What now, boss?" asked George.
"Jerry got one over us tonight." Darren's voice quivered with barely-restrained fury, but as he turned back towards his squad, his eyes glinted with cold cruelty. "But we won't let him start off home without a parting gift. Everyone, look to your weapons. We're going hunting."
Frank whistled in appreciation. Pearl shot James a concerned look, but his steely nod assured her that he was ready.
"We're going to move out to the wall and hit them from there. Choose your targets. There'll be plenty of them out there." Darren paused, surveying the faces of his squadmates. "Any objections, speak now."
Pearl flipped her rifle's safety with an audible click. "None. Let's punish them."
"I want to fight them, too." Adelajda jumped from her seat, reaching for her handgun. "This is my nation, my army, my war. I will take revenge. Don't deny me this."
The pistol was halfway out the holster when Pearl grabbed her hand. "Steady, Adelajda. You don't have the training we do. Leave them to us."
"You can't take those broadcasts to heart," said James. "Jerry wrote 'em, precisely because they wanted people like you to give them an excuse to storm across the border."
"Mój Boże, they were never going to give us a chance . First the treaty with the Russians, and now this..." She gestured wildly to the radio. "...this devilry. Please, let me pay them back."
"I swore to Oziewicz that I'd keep you safe," snapped Darren. "Hand on bloody gospel. You're staying here, lass, and that's final. Make sure to keep your head low. A stray round could well end up anywhere."
Pearl placed a hand on her friend's shoulder. "Just wait until the shooting calms down before coming out. I'll save one for you, I promise."
With that, the squad hurried through the door, leaving a frustrated Adelajda standing amidst the ruins of the radio room.
~{0}~
"The large truck lurched forward, wheels finally finding traction on the wood. The boards ripped from the property fence cracked under the weight, but held up long enough for the truck to drag itself from the miniature sinkhole. Soon, it was idling on firmer ground.
"Mount up!" shouted Naujocks to the men, now scurrying around to collect their equipment. They began tossing bags aboard in a bid to make up for lost time. Though their schedule had been built with tolerances for situations like these, they needed to get moving. He was under no illusions as to what would happen if his lightly-armed men were caught by a regular Polish Army unit.
To the rear, Naujocks heard the tinkle of breaking glass. His men were throwing their leftover petrol bombs into the abandoned truck in order to set it alight. Even now, the driver's cabin had begun to burn.
"Alojzy!" he called. "How are your men? We need to clear out of here!"
Straightening up, Alojzy wiped his muddy hands on his pants. He sauntered over, wearing a cocky grin. "They're ready to go. All they need to do is get on the trucks."
"Good, good." Alfred nodded approvingly. "Walk with me a moment, Alojzy. We need to discuss our escape plan, now that the timing has been thrown off."
Alojzy nodded, following him away from the men laboring to load the trucks. "I have the identification papers you gave me earlier for the border," he grumbled as they passed out of sight, "but you still owe me the other half of my fee."
"Don't worry." Naujocks smiled, reaching into his coat pocket. "I have the rest of the payment here."
A single rifle shot split the night air. From somewhere in the courtyard came a hoarse yell, then the thud of a body as it fell against the side of a truck on the way to the ground.
"Ambush!" Naujocks dropped to his belly in the mud. Alojzy grunted with effort as he threw himself down beside him. Both of them rapidly scanned the dimly-lit courtyard for the origin of the shot.
Three more shots rippled through the courtyard. The men had fully abandoned the loading operation, throwing down their burdens to scramble for their weapons.
"How the hell did the army get here so fast?" wondered Naujocks. He hadn't expected them for another hour, for the very least. The nearest outpost was fifteen miles away, over extremely poor roads.
"No, not the army." Alojzy drew his service revolver, searching for a target in the darkness. "I know the sound of our rifles. Those aren't ours."
"Maybe not, then. But whoever is shooting has provided me with a very convenient excuse."
"Eh?" Alojzy glanced over his shoulder. He found himself staring down the barrel of Naujocks' Luger.
He chuckled dryly. "One less loose end. Enjoy hell, zdrajca."
A wet cloud of pink mist burst into the air, illuminated by the glow of the burning truck. Alojzy slumped facefirst, dead before his bald head touched the mud. He was the last piece of the puzzle. A dead Army sergeant left behind at the station with the other bodies would incriminate the Poles beyond all doubt, at least in the eyes of the world.
~{0}~
"I got one of the bastards!" Frank hooted, ducking behind the stone wall. He slammed his rifle bolt forward, loading a fresh round.
George flicked two fingers up at him, partly in contempt, but also to show how many he himself had already killed. He shifted position for his next shot, popping up to place a round through the chest of a running infiltrator.
"Oi, cut it out, both of you!" growled Darren, coming up for his own shot. "You're giving our position away!"
There was a scream from somewhere between the trucks, and he dropped back down to safety. The squad was practicing a tactic that they had drilled for back in Achnacarry, displacing a few meters after every shot to throw off any return fire.
BANG!
Pearl let the heavy recoil of her rifle push her back down behind cover, just in time. A slug skimmed the top of the low wall a scant foot overhead, raining plaster and concrete chips down on her. She had fired her tenth round; her magazine was empty.
"Reloading," she murmured. "Cover me."
James nodded, waiting for a break in the fire. He came up, pulling the trigger as quickly as he could rack more rounds into his Lee-Enfield. His six rapid shots sent the enemy scrambling for shelter, momentarily halting the growing concentration of return fire.
With practiced ease, Pearl extracted two five-round clips from her ammunition pouch, smoothly pressing both into the open breech of her weapon. She closed the bolt and swung into action once more.
~{0}~
Adelajda peeked over the windowsill, watched the battle unfold below. From her vantage point, she could see her friends in their firing line behind the wall. She had witnessed enough military exercises to know that they were expertly trained, more than holding their own against a force which outnumbered them four to one. She could see at least three bodies splayed out in the gravel, in addition two more wounded being dragged across the yard towards the trucks.
But the sheer weight of enemy firepower gave trouble even to the Commandos. As she watched on, a line of infiltrators staggered into the trucks, protected by the withering return fire of their comrades.
She caught a glimpse of Pearl flitting between firing positions, taking the occasional shot at the enemy. As she looked on, Pearl lined up an easy shot on an infiltrator. The truck window by his head shattered, and he froze in panic. A perfect target, standing completely still. Surely she couldn't miss the next one.
Pearl's next round struck the cargo compartment an inch from the man's head, sparking as it passed through the thin steel surface. He took his chance to escape, flinging himself through the open door of the driver's cabin and out of sight.
Back in Skierniewice, Adelajda had watched the Commandos at their rifle practice. There was no way any one of them would have missed two clear shots in a row such as those. It was almost as if Pearl was missing on purpose.
The loud blast of a horn reverberated off the stone building. The lead truck groaned forward, crunching through the gravel. When it reached the road, she knew it would be gone forever.
"They're getting away," she breathed, first in disbelief, then in growing rage. "You promised me a kill, and you're letting them get away."
She raised her pistol, racking the slide as she had been taught. Dragging a sleeve across her eyes to wipe away the tears which threatened to blind her in her moment of vengeance, she set off downstairs.
~{0}~
Pure energy coursed through Pearl's body, heightening her every sense. The dim shadows of the fleeing infiltrators sharpened in her eyes, and under the vicious drumbeat of enemy fire, she began to make out a salvo of frustrated cursing. Frank had missed his latest shot.
"Rückzug!" cried out a voice, barely audible through the sharp whiz of supersonic rifle bullets passing overhead. An order to retreat in German. So desperate were they to get away that they had abandoned the illusion.
"Give it to 'em!" A muzzle blast lit up James' dusty face as he fired another round. The speaker's string of frenzied orders dissolved into a guttural yell. He thrashed violently on the gravel, clutching at the gushing wound just below his sternum.
Three of the infiltrators sprinted over to pull the wounded man to safety, but George had spotted them. "Where are you going, eh? We aren't done with you yet!"
One of them went down, barely a stride away from his fallen friend. The other two saw the danger and dodged back behind a truck before any of the squad members could land a shot on them.
Looking briefly towards the control building, Pearl let out a silent curse. The watching silhouette in the upstairs window had disappeared. A quick glance at the other empty windows facing the courtyard told her that Adelajda hadn't simply shifted positions to get a better view.
She groaned inwardly, bracing herself for another above the safety of the wall. I'll deal with it later, she concluded.
No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than a sprinting figure skidded in next to her, like a base runner diving for home plate. Every instinct in Pearl's mind screamed in full alert, and she slammed a forearm into the intruder's chest, throwing them against the dirt. Her other hand unsheathed the fighting knife at her belt, and she drove the razor-sharp blade downwards with inhuman force.
"Pearl, wait!" gasped the intruder. "It's me!"
Her knife halted half an inch from Adelajda's startled face. Slowly, Pearl released her collar and rolled off the top of her. "What are you doing here?" she angrily demanded, returning the weapon to its scabbard. "I told you to wait until the situation calmed down! Look around! Does it seem calm to you?"
"I've come to avenge the evil they have done to my people." Adelajda brandished her pistol. "You promised me that chance."
She came up on one knee, taking George's abandoned position behind the wall. She extended her gun arm, drawing a bead. Pearl lunged after her, reaching forward at full stretch to drag her back to cover.
To Pearl's enhanced eyes, it all happened in slow motion. A single rifle shot echoed out from the trucks. Adelajda's head snapped backwards in a spray of red, and she instantly went limp.
"Help!" begged Pearl. She pulled Adelajda towards herself, cradling her as she felt for a pulse. Warm blood gushed out from under her head, slowly pooling in Pearl's lap. "James! Darren! Somebody, please! It's Adelajda, she...she..."
A heavy metallic smell hung in the air, mingling with the lingering stench of spent propellant. Pearl tasted it in her mouth. It was her whole world, metal and cordite and her friend's brains leaking out through her fingers. Nothing else existed but that.
German rifle fire shrieked past her, but the once-deafening sound was an insignificance. Pearl cared only for the lifeless body which was held tightly in her arms. Her rifle lay forgotten by her boots, having fallen from her numb fingers.
Off to her right, someone shouted her name. Vaguely, she recognized Darren's voice, but his words failed to register in her mind. She was transfixed by the disfigured face staring back at her in accusation, in reproach. What had made her believe that she could be the savior of humanity, when she couldn't even protect the life of one friend?
She looked to the brave men beside her, the fragile beings of flesh and bone who had sworn to stand by her side against this evil. Their lives were forfeit. All would inevitably fall in this war, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Humanity had advanced too far and too fast for its own good. It would destroy itself, and bring the entire world down with it. All she had fought for would be for nothing.
Something heavy collided with her. Surprised, she toppled sideways, losing her grasp on Adelajda. The back of her head struck the base of the wall with a painful jolt, and she gasped.
"Snap out of it!" bellowed James, his face barely an inch from hers. Pearl's eyes refocused. He had just rugby-tackled her to the ground. "What the hell was that? You nearly got yourself killed!"
"Covering fire!" Darren, Frank, and George unloaded a rapid volley of rounds. James dragged the body away from Pearl, laying it down a few paces to the squad's rear. He retrieved Pearl's fallen rifle, crawling over to where she was huddled against the wall.
"You're okay?" he asked. "You aren't hurt?"
Slowly, reluctantly, she shook her head. Giving her a reassuring nod, he pressed her rifle into her hands and dragged himself back to his position.
The volume of enemy fire was dropping off, slackening to just a few harassing shots. A transmission slammed into gear, and two large engines roared forward.
"Cease fire, cease fire!" yelled Darren. "We have them on the run!"
But Pearl ignored him. She jumped to her feet, chambering a fresh round into her weapon. At the far end of the courtyard, two infiltrators raced after the second truck, straining to reach the outstretched hands of their friends already safe in the cargo hold. The one further to the rear threw his rifle aside, arms pumping to throw himself forward at full tilt.
"You're going nowhere."
Pearl settled her sights on a point just ahead of the fleeing man, just below the level of his collarbone. Her steady hand gave the trigger a slow, gentle squeeze. The infiltrator went facedown in the mud, unmoving. His companion skidded to a halt, swinging his rifle around towards the squad, but it was too late for him.
BAM!
A dark stain appeared on the man's uniform tunic, just over his heart. His legs failed him completely, and he sagged to the ground with a scream of pain. The rear truck's compartment door slammed shut, and the pair of vehicles turned the corner, accelerating away down the dirt road and into the darkness.
The German's pained groans didn't last long. Soon the night was still again, save for the crackle of the burning truck in the center of the yard. Pearl kept her rifle shouldered, surveying the area warily.
"Christ, what a mess." Darren struck a match. The brief flare of light illuminated his wan face as he set a cigarette between his lips.
Boots crunched faintly against the gravel. James cautiously walked towards her, holding his empty hands up for her to see. When he was close enough, he reached forward, gently pushing the barrel of her weapon down to point safely at the ground. He remained silent, but the sad pity in his eyes said everything she needed to hear.
She wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder. Her rifle clattered to the ground.
"I shot them," she whispered softly. "They were running, and I shot them. I had a choice. They weren't even a threat anymore. I—I was so angry at what they had done. They killed our friend, started this war….we failed, James. We failed them all."
James held her tight, gently stroking her hair. He began to sing, stumbling over the words of an old poem from his youth. Long ago, his own mother had sung it to her small son, fearful of the dark and cruel world.
They say this, too, shall pass,
They say grief eventually fades.
But those sayings are of little comfort
When you're living through such sad days.
They say that time heals all,
And this much I know is true.
So hang in there, my dearest friend,
And together we'll see this through
Behind them, Frank picked Pearl's rifle up from the ground, gingerly dusting off the dirt. He drew his knife, carving two deep notches into the stock.
End Chapter 9
* Alfred Helmut Naujocks - He was the key operative and organizer of the Gleiwitz raid, the destruction of the German Customs house, and a few other incidents. He participated in a number of sabotage, infiltration, spying, and mayhem projects through the war.
* Operation Himmler - This was the code-name of the operation Alfred was participating in. It was a series of attacks all across the Polish frontier to present a false-flag of Polish aggression against German interests. Some German and Russian units had begun their invasion even as the attacks were happening and Hitler was calling for the Polish government to yield and give concessions of land or resources as compensation
* "Grandmother Died" was the code-word used to initiate the Gleiwitz raid
* Invasion of Poland - Begun with simultaneous border crossings by German and Russian units as the non-aggression pact the nations had signed promised both nations a portion of Poland in the event of war and occupation.
* K-98 - German rifle. I've actually fired one of these at the local firing range; it's got a heck of heavy recoil to it and the blast wave it makes when fired will make dust jump into the air and ripple your clothes. It's a hoot to shoot.
* Radio Station Gleiwitz - the old building - Long, rectangular two story building with attic space for more equipment. Two huge 100 meter towers were situated behind the building with the radio transmitting wires strung between them for long range transmission. I've examined the facility on Google-Earth and the building that's there is different from the one described in the incident. I'm not sure why this is, either the old building was destroyed and replaced OR, more likely I've just got a junk resource and the wrong photos. Either way, we needed a building.
* Canned Goods - Alfred's infiltration team had brought with them prisoners from the Dachau concentration camp earlier. The idea was to dress them in paramilitary uniforms, kill them, then leave the bodies spread over the facility to make it look like a battle had taken place. Read up on the incident for more details if interested but it's a pretty dark piece of history.
* German Customs House - I could not find reliable pictures or descriptions of this attack. I could find plenty of information about the radio station but the details on the others were thin. I decided to take some creative license and make this one violent for the purposes of the story.
* Zapiekanka - An open-face sandwich made of half of a baguette or other long roll of bread, topped with sautéed white mushrooms, cheese and sometimes other ingredients, and toasted until the cheese melts. Invented in the 1970's but we'll pretend there was a 1939 version.