‘They told me you were sleeping,’ she said.
He froze when he heard her voice. Didn’t want to turn around in case he was dreaming or if it was a cruel trick his sleep-starved brain was playing on him.
But it wasn’t.
It was her.
He turned around and saw her watching him. She looked every inch as beautiful as he remembered. Even in her Wrens uniform and with little make-up and her hair unkempt she was stunning. He ran over and grabbed hold of her. The two of them embraced, neither wanting to ever let go of the other. Their lips met with unbridled passion.
‘I’ve missed you,’ he whispered when they finally parted.
‘And I missed you too, Robert. It’s such a relief to see you again.’
They kissed again, but this time Jocelyn pulled away slightly. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
‘I heard a nasty rumour that you’re not staying for long. Tell me it’s not true.’
‘I’m sorry, my love. I have to go.’
‘When?’
‘Tonight.’
‘That’s what I’d heard, but I’d told myself I wasn’t going to believe it until I’d heard it from you directly.’
‘If I had any choice…’
‘If any of us had any choice…’
‘If I could—’
‘—then I know you’d stay. Are things really as bad as they’re saying, Robert?’
He turned away, not wanting her to see the hopelessness in his eyes. ‘Worse,’ he admitted.
‘We’re hearing all kinds of things, my love. Fantastic things. Horrific things.’
‘All true. In fact, I’ll wager you haven’t heard the half of it. And that’s why I have to go back.’
‘But why you? There are plenty of other men.’
‘Regrettably not. It seems I’ve acquired some kind of expertise in the colonel’s eyes. There really is no choice.’
‘It’s so damn unfair.’
‘I know, Jocelyn, but…’
‘What?’
‘But I fear if I don’t do this, I might not have a home to come back to before long. There’s an evil army fighting its way through mainland Europe, borne of the Third Reich, but having no place on Earth.’
‘I want to ask you more, but I fear I wouldn’t want to hear what you would tell me.’
‘This is a foe which has an immeasurable advantage on the battlefield, an enemy which adds to its number with every fresh kill. And it’s not just soldiers… ordinary people caught up in battle through sheer bad luck and geography… the innocents who…’
He stopped speaking. Tears were running freely down Jocelyn’s cheeks.
‘Stop, Robert… please. No more. I can’t bear the thought of you going back into battle against these creatures. I’m terrified that next time you won’t return.’
‘Nothing and no one will stop me getting back to you, Jocelyn. It’s the thought of us being together which will keep me alive and keep me fighting. I’ll come home, my love, I promise.’
15
The plan sounded simple. But then again, thought Wilkins, they usually did. Sitting here in the comfort and relative safety of the manor house, studying blurred photographs and hand-drawn maps, listening to intelligence reports and weather forecasts, the task at hand sounded decidedly less daunting than it should have.
The men gathered in the room were a mix of Brits and Yanks. Wilkins looked around, feeling like the odd one out as they all seemed to know each other. This mission had evidently been in planning for some time, just awaiting confirmation that the scientist was still at Polonezköy and additional intelligence from himself and others. The Yanks were from the 84th Airborne, and had been here at the manor house for the best part of a week, undergoing training alongside a small British task force. Captain Hunter was the American lead. He’d an accent so thick it had taken Wilkins a while to acclimatise to it. Even now he frequently misheard words. Not such a big deal had they just been enjoying a conversation in the pub on a Saturday afternoon, but to misconstrue an order in combat could be fatal. The stakes were far higher where they were going.
Colonel Adams ran through specifics of the mission, using a long stick to point out salient information on a blackboard mounted on the wall at the far end of the room. The colonel banged and scraped the stick, and the noise cut right through Wilkins. Was it just nerves, he wondered? He didn’t feel himself at all. If he could have left the room without retribution and never returned, he thought he probably would. He did what he could to remain focused, but couldn’t help remembering that buried deep below where he was sitting was one of the undead. It was frightening to think that one drop of blood, one splash of spittle, one bite, one scratch, one dribble of mucus, might be enough to unleash the unstoppable contagion on his beloved homeland.
Captain Hunter’s men would provide cover to enable the Brits to gain access to the camp, find the scientist and extract him alive. His name was Doctor Egil Månsson, and they had been provided with the most recent photograph available. They all knew full well that being held in a concentration camp would inevitably have had dramatic effects on the doctor’s appearance. At best he’d no doubt be weak and malnourished. There was every chance he wouldn’t even be alive.
The task force was to be led by Lieutenant Charlie Henshaw, who had already wasted no time in letting Wilkins know who was in charge. Wilkins knew of Henshaw by reputation. Respected and loathed in equal measure, he got the job done and that was all that mattered tonight.
Sergeant Boris Steele was Henshaw’s number two. He struck Wilkins as a decent chap, willing to listen and take a step back when he needed to, but equally prepared to stand his ground. He seemed to offer a welcome counterpoint to Lieutenant Henshaw’s abrasiveness. There was no mistaking the high regard in which Steele held his closest comrades. Somewhat older than most of the men, he had a fatherly air about him.
Lance Corporals Harris, Barton and Jones were also along for the ride, and though Wilkins didn’t know any of them, they all seemed like decent fellows. Wilkins thought that Jones, an enthusiastic scouser, didn’t look old enough to be out alone this late, let alone to be parachuting deep into enemy territory. He was a diminutive lad who seemed to have trouble filling his own uniform.
‘The main thing you need to know about Polonezköy right now is that it’s been awful quiet over the last week or so,’ a bespectacled intelligence officer explained.
‘They stopped using it?’ one of the Americans asked. ‘Shut it down?’
‘We’re not sure. All we know is that movement around the camp has reduced to practically nothing.’
‘Think they’ve cleared out?’ another man asked.
The intelligence officer clearly had little in the way of useful intelligence to offer. ‘I’m afraid we don’t know. Even if the Germans have left the camp, there’s been no major activity. That would indicate the prisoner population is still being held there.’
‘Left to rot,’ the first American seethed. ‘That’d be right. Damn krauts.’
Colonel Adams took over and explained that the plan was to be dropped in a barren region a couple of miles south-west of Polonezköy. Captain Hunter’s men would hold position long enough to ensure the task force had reached the camp, then move several miles north to take – and hold – the airfield at Leginów. There they’d wait for the Brits to return with their precious cargo, then call in air support so they could get out and get home.
Perhaps Wilkins wouldn’t have felt like such an outsider if he’d been the first choice for the mission. But, as Colonel Adams had pointed out on more than one occasion with his customary lack of tact, the first choice officer was dead. As was the second choice. And the third. And the fourth was missing in action.