James Benn - Billy Boyle

“Can’t you radio them? They can’t leave until this storm clears, can they?”

“Sorry, Billy, but this is perfect weather,” Jens said. “We usually don’t make runs in the summer, because of the long daylight. Too much chance of being spotted by German air or naval patrols. But in this weather, they don’t go out. There’s rain and fog up north. Fishermen are used to it, but the Luftwaffe won’t fly and even if they send out patrol boats they won’t be able to see two meters in front of them.”

“In any case,” Harding added, “this is a top-secret mission. Complete radio silence. There’s no way to get in touch with them.”

There was a note of finality in Harding’s voice that depressed me. He looked down at the table, then at his injured hand. What had he seen in those last seconds when he tried to get to Daphne? Had she screamed, and did he still hear her?

“You must know where they’re going in Nordland,” I said, trying to stay focused. I wasn’t ready to give up. “Send someone in after them.”

“We don’t know exactly,” said Jens. “We gave them a list of contacts to make. It was up to the commando team to work out the timing. For security reasons, only one other person, in addition to those on the mission, knew when and where they were to meet those contacts.”

“And, of course, that person was Rolf Kayser,” I guessed.

Jens nodded.

“He must’ve had this planned as an escape option,” I thought out loud. “After he drove away, he must’ve stopped to watch the explosion. He saw that Kaz wasn’t dead, or at least he couldn’t be certain of it. So he went to Plan B. He got himself to safety behind enemy lines, into his own country, where he can melt into the mountains anytime. He knows we can’t track him down.”

“Damn!” cursed Harding. We all just sat there for a minute.

“There might be one way to find him,” Jens said finally.

“How?”

“I do not know Rolf’s schedule, but I do know Major Arnesen’s. I planned it out with him.”

“What’s that got to do with it?” I asked.

“Anders is on a mission to assess the readiness of the Underground Army. Rolf’s group was to link up with him and pass on information about the underground groups they’d trained and their ability to conduct sabotage operations with a very large shipment of plastic explosive we will be bringing into Nordland. Remember, part of the invasion plan is to seal off Nordland at its narrowest point.”

“When and where is the meet?” I asked.

“At a hut in the mountains above Leirfjord. I will have to check the exact date,” Jens answered.

“Major Harding,” I said, trying to summon up every bit of military bearing I possessed, “I request permission to apprehend Rolf Kayser at this meeting place and bring him back for trial.” Harding looked like the pope had just asked him for a kiss. He sucked in some air, then quickly composed himself. Jens looked surprised, and then smiled.

“Denied,” Harding said firmly. “You wouldn’t last ten minutes.”

“Sir, there are underground units throughout Nordland. Jens could put me in touch with one and they could guide me to this Leirfjord place-”

“I said no, Boyle. You’d either be killed or captured, preferably the former, because if you were captured, the Gestapo would get all of this out of you in nothing flat. I’ll not have you endangering the invasion plan. Period. End of discussion.” He got up and walked out of the room.

“I think he needs some time to think it over,” I said to Jens, after the door slammed.

“We don’t have that much time,” he answered. He sounded serious.

“We?”

“We. As a Norwegian, I feel responsible for my countryman’s conduct. As one who once counted Rolf Kayser as a friend, I feel betrayed. If we do nothing, as Major Harding suggests, he will certainly get away. Sweden is less than one hundred kilometers from almost anywhere in Nordland.”

“Aren’t you worried about the Gestapo getting hold of me?”

“I think you are a man of many surprises, Lieutenant Boyle. I think others should worry about you. Rolf Kayser, especially.”

Jens called for sandwiches and whiskey and we got down to some serious study. He rolled out a huge map and showed me the route Anders would follow by submarine from Scapa Flow and the shorter route Rolf was taking from the Shetland Islands. They both ended up off a little island, Tomma, on the coast of Nordland province.

“Tomma is about thirty kilometers south of the Arctic Circle. A small local boat can ferry you from it to the mainland here,” Jens pointed, “at Nesna. You take the main road from there to Leirfjord. I’ll draw a map of the path to the hut for you to memorize.”

“When would I need to be there?”

“By the 22nd of July. You have just under two weeks.”

“And how do we accomplish that, against the wishes of my commanding officer?”

Jens drummed his fingers on the table, looking at the map and then me. The drumming stopped.

“Let me see the orders Daphne typed up for you.”

I gave him the envelope. I realized that in all the excitement I hadn’t thought about Daphne’s death for several minutes. And suddenly, it was as if I had just found out again. I stared at the map while Jens read through the orders, and managed to regroup. Norway sure was a long way away. There was one advantage, though. Rolf Kayser would never expect me to come after him. What would be the German reaction to me if I was captured? I wasn’t so sure.

“Look, Billy,” Jens said excitedly, jabbing his finger at the papers. “Your orders are still valid. The cover sheet says thirty days, AAA priority, and identifies the issuing office. U.S. Army ETO headquarters, in this case.”

“Yeah, great,” I said. “But that and a nickel will get you a phone call.”

Jens looked up quizzically, but then went on. “The second page is the actual listing of orders, see? Then the third page contains the last order, an instruction to all Allied personnel to assist you in your duties. That is followed by the signature of Major Harding for General Eisenhower and Major Cosgrove for the Imperial Staff. Very impressive.”

“It only goes so far, Jens. At Southwold I couldn’t even get four wheels…”

While I was talking, Jens had laid out the three sheets next to each other. He then removed the middle sheet containing the actual orders and substituted a blank sheet of paper.

“Holy shit, Jens. You’re a genius. We can add whatever we want.”

He smiled triumphantly, but the smile faded quickly. “No, Billy. You should rather say we can add whatever you are willing to add. It may cost you your life.”

It was nice that Jens was thinking about my life expectancy, but something else was stirring in my mind. The last piece of the puzzle. I took away the first and second sheets and just stared at the third sheet, all by itself.

It was so simple. So damn simple that a real clever guy like me had never even had a chance.

Everything had been so easy, I knew there had to be a catch. Jens had doctored the orders, and late that night I was back at Southwold, returning the BMW no worse for wear and grabbing some of the winter gear the GIs had been issued. I jumped an air transport to Scotland the next morning. I had a Thompson submachine gun, my own. 45, a couple of grenades, and I felt ready to take on the whole German army. Then I realized that was exactly what I was about to do.

The orders got me into Scapa Flow, the huge Royal Navy base in the north of Scotland, no problem. I found the Fifteenth Motor Gunboat Flotilla and presented my paperwork. Jens had selected this unit because he had worked with them before and knew they were used to operatives showing up at all hours with top priority orders. The Fifteenth specialized in clandestine operations and was involved in ferrying agents in and out of Norway. This was right up their alley; a strange officer showing up unannounced with secret orders was routine. Even though my orders instructed the Fifteenth Motor Gunboat Flotilla to provide me with “immediate” transport to the island of Tomma off the coast of Norway, the commanding officer told me I’d have to wait two days for a moonless period. Motor Torpedo Boat 718 was due to leave then to pick up some downed British airmen and could be rerouted to drop me off at Tomma first. Not wanting to kick up a fuss and have my phony orders looked at any more closely, I graciously agreed. It didn’t bother me since I still had plenty of time to make the rendezvous. I was more worried about Harding. Jens was going to tell him I’d gone to Southwold to try and get firm evidence that Rolf Kayser had stolen a tire bomb. It wasn’t much of a story, but it would do to buy me a day or two.