Incursion Read online

  Barnes leant forward in his seat and said, “Captain Shaw your training and linguistic skills make you ideal for an assignment that we have in Norway.”

  Shaw sat back. Perhaps things weren’t going to be so bad after all. He wanted to get into the fight and here was an opportunity being dropped in his lap.

  “What’s the assignment sir?” Shaw asked Barnes.

  “The Norwegian resistance contacted us a couple of days ago asking for assistance.”

  “Assistance doing what, sir?”

  Hill said, “The resistance claims to have come across a crashed German fighter. According to their report, it is some sort of advanced fighter aircraft. The resistance says that it is unlike anything they have ever seen before. Unfortunately, the plane crashed into a heavily wooded area not far from a German weather station. They want someone to come and examine it before the Germans get wind of what is going on and come looking for it themselves.”

  “Sir, I’m hardly an expert on airplanes. In fact, I’m not all that fond of them. I don’t mind jumping from them, but flying in them makes me uncomfortable,” explained Shaw.

  Barnes said, “Captain, your mission is very straightforward. We need you to escort a couple of people to and from the crash site. One is from the RAF; the other is a Free-Norwegian soldier who is also an explosives specialist. The RAF expert will examine the plane, take pictures, and bring out what he can. Once you are done, the plane will be blown in place. We don’t want to hand anything back to the Germans that we don’t have to.”

  Shaw nodded his understanding.

  “Time is of the essence Captain Shaw,” stressed Hill. “The Germans will undoubtedly come looking for their missing aircraft, so the sooner you can get there the better.”

  “When do I leave?” Shaw asked.

  “Tonight,” replied Barnes bluntly. “Once this meeting is over you will be driven back to the RAF station where you landed. A plane is waiting to fly you to Newcastle. There you will be kitted out with weapons, winter gear and then given a final intelligence briefing by one of our operatives. The Norwegian soldier and the man from the RAF will meet you in Newcastle. At precisely twenty-hundred hours tonight, you will all board an Avro Manchester bomber and fly to Norway. You will parachute from the plane near a village called Vikedal and be met on the ground by members of the Norwegian resistance who will lead you to the German aircraft. A British submarine already on patrol in Norwegian waters has been warned off to pick you up once the mission is complete.”

  Shaw’s head was spinning. It was all happening too fast. His commando training had taught him self-reliance, but this was something else.

  “Questions?” asked Hill.

  “None that I can think of right now; however, I suspect that five minutes after I leave I’ll think of dozens,” replied Shaw, with a feigned smile on his face.

  “Well then Captain, you had best get going. Best of luck,” said Hill. Standing up, he offered Shaw his hand.

  Shaw stood, shook Hill’s hand, placed his cap back on his head, and then crisply saluted the two colonels. Turning about, he headed out of the room and was met at the door by the red-capped MP, who escorted Shaw to his waiting jeep. Less than a minute later, he was on his way.

  Inside, Hill turned to look over at his counterparts and wearily said, “Do we have the right man for the job? He seems keen enough, but he’s never done anything remotely like this in his life.”

  Somerset shrugged his shoulders. “Do we have a choice? Our first choice was killed in a damned traffic accident yesterday. If Colonel Barnes hadn’t suggested Shaw, we’d still be looking through our files for someone with the right qualifications to send.”

  “He’ll do fine,” said Barnes.

  “I hope so,” added Hill. “There is so much riding on this mission.”

  “I do hate sending out men without telling them the truth,” said Somerset. “They should know why we are asking them to risk their lives.”

  Hill shook his head. “I can’t agree Harry. If he is captured, the less he knows, the better.”

  “What do you think their chances are?” said Barnes.

  “One in ten,” said Hill. “The Germans aren’t fools. Soon enough they’ll come looking for the downed aircraft as well. Only they’ll come in force. It’s all just a question of who gets there first.”

  With that, the meeting ended. No one said it, but none of the men expected to see Shaw alive again.

  4

  RAF Station – Newcastle

  The small cast-iron stove in the corner of the dilapidated wooden shack barely gave off enough heat to keep the room from dropping below freezing. Shaw stood there quietly staring at a map of southwestern Norway pinned to the wall of the old wooden shack. Even though it was his mother’s homeland, Shaw had never really paid much attention to Norway during his studies, other than to hone his language skills. It was a decision that he was seriously regretting while he studied the mountainous and unforgiving terrain around the proposed drop site.

  After eating a hearty supper meal of sausages, boiled potatoes, and peas, Shaw was led to a building standing alone in a secluded section of the base. Looking about, Shaw doubted that the shack was used very often. Running his finger across the table in the middle of the room, he saw that it, like everything else in the room, was covered in a fine layer of dust.

  Voices chatting excitedly outside the shack caught Shaw’s ear. Taking a seat at the table, Shaw looked up at the closed door. A second later, the door flung open and a short, skinny man in an RAF uniform with corporal’s chevrons on his sleeves stepped inside the room. Seeing Shaw sitting there, the man shot to attention and saluted.

  “Good evening sir,” said the corporal nervously.

  Shaw noted that the man had a thick Scottish accent. He had a slender, angular face with dark-red hair and bright green eyes that seemed a bit large for his face.

  Shaw stood and returned the salute. “Good evening to you…Corporal?” Shaw said, fishing for the man’s name.

  “Sorry sir, where are my bloody manners? My name is Corporal Bruce, Duncan Bruce, sir.”

  A second later, a tall, blonde-haired sergeant with ice-blue eyes entered the room and saluted Shaw. He had a self-assured air about him that reminded Shaw of the commandos he had trained with in Scotland. Seeing the Norway shoulder tab on his battle dress uniform, Shaw knew that the man was from the Free-Norwegian forces in England.

  The men he was responsible to lead to and from the crash site had arrived.

  “Good evening sir,” said the Norwegian sergeant in fluent English.

  Shaw welcomed the sergeant in Norwegian. Happy to see that Shaw could speak his language, the man introduced himself as Mads Andersen. All three men then sat down at the table. Shaw was about to ask Andersen where he came from in Norway, when the door opened and a woman in her late twenties dressed from head to toe like a man in warm woolen clothing stepped inside. Under her arm was a worn black leather briefcase. She had dark-brown hair that was pulled back on her head. On her slight, upturned nose rested a pair of silver-rimmed glasses. Shaw saw that she had chestnut brown eyes, thin, pale lips, and a plain but not unattractive face.

  Shaw went to stand, but the woman quickly raised her hand to stop him.

  “Captain, we don’t have time for that,” said the woman brusquely. “Good evening gentlemen, my name is Elizabeth White, and I am here to brief you on your mission.”

  Bruce sat back in his seat and said, “Pardon me dear, but you’re a woman.”

  White instantly locked her eyes on Bruce. “Your powers of observation do you credit Corporal,” said White, her voice as cold as ice. “When was the last time that you parachuted into Nazi-occupied territory?”

  Before Bruce could say a word, White cut him off. “You don’t have to answer that. I’ve read your file, and you have never once stepped outside of the country. Whereas I have parachuted twice into France since the country fell to the Nazis. Don’t let my sex fool you Corpo
ral. I know my job and I certainly hope that you do as well.”

  “Yer right, I canna say that I ever have left the country,” said Bruce, wishing now that he had kept his mouth shut.

  Shaw smiled. The woman was not one to be pushed around.

  “Now that we have that out of the way, as we don’t have a lot of time I suggest that we get straight down to business,” said White. Placing her briefcase down on the table, she opened it and handed a folder to Shaw. “Inside you will find the name of your contact, and the recognition signs that you must use. You are to read it, memorize it, and then hand it back to me before you leave this room. Is that understood?”

  “Cleary,” said Shaw, wondering if White was always this brusque with people.

  Opening the folder, Shaw saw there was a single piece of paper inside. Picking it up, he quickly read it over twice to make sure that he understood what was expected of him before handing it over to Bruce, who glanced at it for barely a second before handing it over to Andersen to memorize.

  “Ma’am I was pulled from training this afternoon and have not been briefed at all on this mission. Where exactly where are we going?” asked Andersen.

  White walked over to the map on the wall and then pointed at the west coast of Norway. “You will be parachuting near a small community called Vikedal,” explained White. “Be aware that there is a small German weather and radio relay station on the hills above the village. Resistance reports that no more than a couple of dozen Germans are stationed there at any given time. As they are combat support troops and not infantry, they should not give you any trouble.”

  “Have you ever been there?” Shaw asked Andersen.

  “No, sir, I grew up around Oslo and never had the chance to visit that part of the country before the war,” replied Andersen.

  “How far is it from the drop zone to the crashed plane?” Shaw asked White.

  “It’s about five miles cross country,” replied White.

  “That doesn’t sound too bad,” said Bruce.

  White looked over at the map and said, “The terrain around Vikedal is mountainous and heavily wooded. At this time of the year, the average temperature hovers around freezing during the day and can dip well below zero at night. A heavier than normal snowfall has covered the region this winter. The staff over at the meteorological branch predicts that a major storm is headed towards that region. Several more feet of snow will most likely blanket the region over the next few days. I hope you gentlemen all like the cold.”

  “I don’t,” said Bruce. “I’m all skin and bones. I’ll probably freeze to death out there.”

  “Corporal Bruce, I take it that you didn’t volunteer for this mission,” said Shaw.

  “Yer right sir, I didn’t volunteer. I was bloody well drafted. I was about to go on leave for a week when I was told that my leave was cancelled and that I was going to photograph a crashed German aircraft. I thought it had gone done somewhere in the Midlands. At most, it would cost me a couple of days leave to drive out there and photograph the plane. I didn’t realize that something else was up until I stepped into this room and saw you sitting there.”

  Shaw didn’t like the idea of jumping into German occupied Norway with a man who didn’t seem up to the task. Looking over at Bruce, he said, “I’m here because I have the training, and I speak Norwegian. Andersen is going because he is from Norway and is a demolitions expert. Why do you believe that you were selected?”

  “Well sir, I canna speak a word of Norwegian, and I have never parachuted out of a plane in my life,” said Bruce. “I guess it’s because I am very good with a camera. It doesn’t hurt that I have an eidetic memory.”

  “What is that?” asked Andersen.

  Shaw smiled. “Our Scottish friend, the photographer, has what is called a photographic memory. If he sees it, he memorizes it for life.”

  “Aye and it’s not just images,” said Bruce. “Sounds as well, I can recall them instantly from memory.”

  “Well, that explains your participation. If you lose your camera, you will still be able to recall what you saw and pass on to our intelligence associates when we get back,” said Shaw, looking over at White.

  “That would be correct,” said White.

  “Do you have any maps or up to date aerial photography of the area?” said Shaw.

  “Aerial photos no, but I have a map with the location of the drop zone, the German installation, and the crash site on it,” said White as she dug out the map from her briefcase.

  Shaw took it from her and placed it on the table for everyone to examine. He didn’t have to be told that it wouldn’t be allowed out of the room.

  Shaw studied the map for a couple of seconds. Looking over at White, he said, “I was told that our extraction plan was a British submarine. As I doubt that we will be lugging around a heavy radio set, who will contact it on our behalf to arrange for pickup once the mission is over?”

  “The resistance will,” said White. “They know what they are doing. We inserted several intelligence operatives into that area last summer.”

  “How are they doing?” asked Bruce.

  “One is confirmed dead, two are missing and presumed dead while the fourth is still providing intelligence to us.”

  “So you’re telling us that you have a seventy-five percent failure rate,” said Bruce unenthusiastically.

  White smiled. “Those are acceptable odds in my line of business Corporal. The longer people operate undercover, the greater the chance that they will be found out. The Germans aren’t fools. Their counter-intelligence activities are incredibly efficient. Be thankful that this shouldn’t take more than a couple of days to accomplish.”

  “It better not,” mumbled Bruce under his breath.

  “So far, the Germans have shown no sign of movement towards Vikedal. It is assessed that they are still in the dark regarding the crash. You should all be home in a week or so.”

  “Amen to that,” said Bruce loudly.

  Shaw looked down at his watch and saw that it was already getting late. Knowing that they still had to be issued their winter clothing and equipment, he was growing eager to wrap up the briefing. Standing, he thanked White and then asked Andersen and Bruce to wait outside for a moment. When they were alone, Shaw turned and faced White. “Before I leave is there anything else you wish to pass on?”

  White looked into Shaw’s gray eyes and dispassionately said, “Ensure that Bruce makes it back alive. He is deemed mission essential.”

  Shaw got the message…he and Andersen were expendable. It made sense; he didn’t like it, but he understood why he had to protect Bruce with his life if necessary.

  “Ok then, I’ll be off Miss White,” said Shaw with a friendly salute.

  White looked into Shaw’s eyes, smiled for a brief moment and then returned to her normally cold exterior. “Remember your training and you should all come out of this alive, Captain.”

  “I sure hope so,” said Shaw as he turned his back on White and left the room. Stepping outside into the cold night air, he could see their aircraft waiting outside of its hanger. A shiver ran down his back. Shaking off the feeling as nothing more than pre-mission jitters, Shaw led his compatriots over to an RAF Sergeant who was waiting to provide them with everything they needed for the jump.

  As they changed into their winter clothing, Bruce looked over at Shaw. “Sir, do you believe what that we were told about the Germans at the weather station only being support types and that they haven’t moved anyone new into the area?”

  Taking a deep breath, Shaw said, “To be honest Duncan, I don’t trust a word of what she said. I guess we’ll find out when we hit the ground.”

  “Aye sir,” said Bruce shaking his head. Visions of a German Armored Division ringing the drop zone filled his mind.

  “And another thing,” said Shaw. “From now on, no rank, first names only. If we get captured then we can revert back to our respective ranks, but not while we’re traipsing around Norway. I
don’t want to be singled out and shot by a sniper.”

  Bruce chuckled and then with a broad smile on his face said, “Not a problem Captain.”

  5

  German Army of Occupation Headquarters

  Oslo, Norway

  Major Jürgen Vogel sat alone, the ticking of a small clock in the brightly lit room the only sound in his Spartan office. His office was bare compared to his fellow officers. His walls were empty. Aside from a picture of his father on his desk, the room was cold and sterile and that was just the way Vogel liked it. He felt that officers who tried to make their offices look like home became distracted and inefficient. From across the hallway, the latest song by Marlene Dietrich was played on an old record player for the third time in a row. It was far too loud for Vogel’s tastes. He was about to get up and tell his friend to turn it down when he looked over at the pile of work still sitting on his desk. His in-basket hardly looked as if he had dented it, even though he had been diligently working at his desk for hours. Tonight was like every other night. As General Reckow’s chief of staff, it was his evening routine to read and categorize the general’s mail before he turned in for the night. If something were important, he could bring it to the general’s attention and deal with it before he went to bed.

  He was getting tired. Sitting up, Vogel slowly rotated his neck around inside his tight-fitting jacket collar. Hearing it pop a couple of times, Vogel let out a deep sigh, reached over with his right hand and then opened up the silver cigarette case on his desk. Taking a cigarette, he placed it on his lips before striking a match to light it. He had learned to do everything with his right hand ever since he lost his left arm above the elbow when a British plane strafed his jeep during the invasion of France. Not only had he lost part of his left arm, but he had also lost his left eye. With short, wavy black hair and a dark eye patch, he was respectfully referred to as the ‘pirate’ by his fellow officers. Vogel was responsible for the smooth running of his superior’s staff. He would have preferred to be re-assigned to a combat unit, but with his injuries, he knew that he was now only fit for staff appointments. It galled him, but Vogel was a soldier and a soldier did as he was told, even if he thought the work was better-suited to someone else.