The five men crept inside. An iron walkway ran all around the inside of the roof. The Nazi flag hung limply from it at the far end directly above a red tank holding five thousand gallons of petrol. There were three other such tanks in the warehouse. The S.A.S men moved quickly using the crates as cover. They reached the first of the red tanks, it’s gauge showing empty. The second showing three hundred gallons. The last two showing empty like the first. They quickly planted explosives on the four tanks and moved on. There would still be enough fuel in them to cause a fire. They left through a rear door and headed into the next warehouse. Inside this one men were working. Johnny peered around the doorway. More red tanks at the back, similar gantry above. Johnny got out of the way so Tosh could take the lead.
“Everyone got grenades?”
They all nodded.
“We’ll throw them in, wait for the explosions, then storm them. On my count one, two, three.”
Each man took a grenade and held it in front of himself.
“Pins out.”
They fell to the floor with a little metallic ringing sound.
“ONE. TWO. THREE. THROW!” Tosh shouted.
The five men dashed to the doorway and threw their grenades. They ducked back for cover.
Corporal Josef Meier was operating his forklift truck when something came spinning past him. Puzzled he stopped the truck and jumped out to investigate. What was more and it sounded ridiculous was that he imagined it to be a British hand grenade. Half smiling to himself for being so stupid he crouched down to look under the front wheel for whatever it was. For safety reasons he didn’t want to run it over.
He saw the item.
He didn’t even have time to be afraid.
The grenade exploded turning Meier’s face to ribbons of red. Blood pumped from his gashed throat. His fellow workers heard the crack of the grenade and stopped what they were doing, to stare. Their looks turned to horror as the other grenades exploded amongst them. The grenade that killed Meier had been cooked.
The five British rushed in and finished off any German that still moved with bursts from their Stens.
Outside Otto Wurtz turned from the sarcophagus to the direction of the gunfire.
“Mein Gott! They’re in the warehouses!”
He pulled out his Luger and brandished it at his men.
“The warehouses! The warehouses!” he bellowed.
Von Brest jumped aboard the freighter. The sarcophagus was being lashed into place on the ship’s deck.
“Hurry men! We have very little time. Captain! Put to sea!”
“Aye Doctor!” Mufasa yelled back. He jumped into action suddenly realising that there were virtually no Germans as yet on board his ship, “Should we not wait for the Major and his men?”
“There is no time. The British are here in the town.”
“Very well Doctor.”
“I will not have this mission jeopardised any further. Put to sea now!”
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
Koenig’s head broke the surface of the water. His lungs ached for air. He inhaled deeply. How long he’d been underwater he didn’t know. The cold water had numbed the knife wound and dulled his senses. He’d felt himself free falling in the cold darkness around him, his arms out in front of him, legs trailing, head forward. He felt himself slipping away. Suddenly no longer cold or in pain, somehow warm and….comfortable.
He wasn’t afraid. He saw images of his life before him.
His family.
His friends.
Elsa!
She looked so beautiful, so real. She was here, now, in the water with him, reaching out for him. Then suddenly she was gone. He blinked his eyes in the darkness. Then his senses came back to him. He felt his head pounding, lungs bursting. He realised he was going to drown. Then he remembered the two Englishmen and the knife. He reached to where the knife had entered his flesh. It was still there. Gritting his teeth he took hold of the handle and pulled it out. For a moment he thought he would faint. He felt warmth on his fingers and knew it was blood, his blood. Then with his lungs straining he kicked for the surface as the knife turned and twisted as it sank to the sea bed.
“You hear that Jack?”
“Yeah what was it?”
“Must have been him,” Terry said staring out into the darkness, unable to see the surface of the water after more than twenty feet.
“Could have been anything.”
“No it was him, had to be him,” Terry raised his Sten gun and fired from the hip in a sweeping pattern. Koenig stayed still as the water churned up behind him. He could see the two British some fifty yards away on the dock under a weak streetlight. Incredibly none of the bullets had hit him. Koenig, despite the cold and the pain was ready to dive again if more bullets came at him.
Terry Smythe pulled the trigger again. The clip was empty.
“Damn!”
He threw the Sten to the ground and pulled out a pistol and fired random single shots into the darkness. Jack watched him. When the pistol was empty Terry felt around his pockets for more ammunition. Then he caught Jack’s gaze.
“What?”
“What’re you doing that for? You’re wasting your time.”
“You said you heard him as well.”
“I’m not sure….”
“Oh now you’re not sure?”
“Could have been anything.”
They both looked down into the black water.
“Yeah I guess you’re right. Come on let’s get back.”
Koenig watched them leave before he dared to take another breath. Then slowly so as not to splash he kicked with his legs and swam on his side with his good arm towards the jetty. It took him several minutes to reach the concrete supports in the water, the road ten feet above him. Each support had old car tyres wrapped around it to help avoid damage to boats and Koenig found that he was able to pull himself along by them. He stopped once for a rest for a few minutes because his good arm was aching and then continued until he saw a ladder. The last two rungs of which were submerged. He blessed whoever had placed it there and reached above his head grasping a rung. He felt in the water with his feet, found the bottom rung and pushed himself up. He then began slowly and painfully to climb up. It was difficult to move with his once elegant officers riding boots filled with water and twice he slipped, both his feet coming off at one point leaving him dangling above the water. He groaned with the pain. For a moment he felt that his arm was going to be torn from its sockets but he managed to hang on, find his footing and continue climbing. All the while his left arm hung loosely by his side. Finally his head cleared the top and quickly checking he was safe he pulled himself over the edge and lay on his back panting up into the night sky. In the distance he could hear noise and he was unsure as to what it could be but the gunfire appeared to have stopped. He sat up and examined his shoulder putting his fingers into the slit in his jacket and shirt. When he pulled his fingers out there was fresh blood on them. He looked around. The faint streetlights extended away in both directions and he had no idea as to where he was. Then he heard the sound of a boat starting up and he saw a trail of smoke on his right as it drifted up into the starry sky.
Koenig reached forward and removed his boots, emptying water in a stream from each of them. Then rolling over onto his knees and pushing himself upright with his good arm he picked up his boots and squelched his way towards the German positions and safety.