Not Flag or Fail Read online

  Ronny and I wolfed down the soup and followed up with the bread and cheese. When we had finally finished she appeared carrying a plate containing a fruit tarte and cut us each a generous slice.

  “Monsieur likes my cooking I think” she said and laughed softly.

  “He does indeed.” I replied biting into the tarte.

  We finished the meal off with a generous sized cup of strong coffee and in turn, each of us made use of the bathroom to freshen up as best we could, we had no razors with us and did not like to ask but we were each provided with soap and a jug of hot water and were able to get a good wash.

  And so it was that looking fresher and cleaner on the outside and better fed on the inside that we said our goodbyes to the family at nine thirty that evening and set off once again for the coast.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  We made our way carefully back to the riverbank, it was another moonless night and in the shadows, an inky blackness cloaked us. During a whispered conversation we agreed that we were confident that the family would not give us up to the German troops, so we did not feel the need to look behind us.

  We trotted on silently, after a while Ronny, the intrepid navigator, pointed out a series of three bridges very close together and showed me, on the map, their position. The bridges were about halfway between Cassel and Wormout, this meant we were making good time, there was only about six miles left before we reached the coast and it wasn’t yet ten thirty. Twenty minutes or so later, on the outskirts of the village of Wormout, we slowed to a walk and slipped quietly, deeper into the darkness. Neither of us spoke, by now we didn’t have to, we could almost read each others thoughts.

  Once again our instincts saved us; we stopped, knowing that something wasn’t right. Looking around I eventually spotted the glow of a cigarette about fifty feet in front of us, I took Ronnie’s arm and silently pointed and together we watched the small red glow move up and down as the smoker moved the cigarette up to and away from his mouth.

  Our problem now was identifying the smoker, was it a local out for a late walk? We didn’t think so; the people at the farm had told us there was a curfew in operation from ten o’clock.

  So was it a sentry and if so was he on his own? To the left of us there was just the river and the ground between where we hid and the riverbank was fairly open. The only cover to be found was over to our right around the side of the path where a rough hedge of bushes and saplings grew more or less in line with the bank of the river. Behind the hedge to our right were open fields so the problem of how we were going to get closer needed some thought, I knew for certain that I wasn’t stopping here.

  I whispered to Ronny that I thought it was time for the old cowboy trick again; after all it had worked for us once before. Ronny agreed and I felt around on the ground until I found something to throw. I picked up a stone, a little larger than the size of a cricket ball and handed it to Ronny.

  “I’ll go for about halfway.” whispered Ronny.

  “Ok let’s just hope it works.” I whispered back.

  He threw the stone underarm, as if bowling to a child; it was well executed landing in the darkness with a thud and the noise of breaking twigs.

  “Halt.” shouted a voice and almost instantly we heard the sound of two rifle bolts being operated and a whispered conversation. Nothing else happened so I felt around with my foot and bent down to pick up another stone of about the same size, I handed it to Ronny and in a whisper told him to put it in the same spot.

  Again we heard the stone fall and again the command halt rang out, this time from two voices. A light appeared on the track, moving erratically from side to side, it was followed by two steel helmeted silhouettes, one of which was obviously having some difficulty holding his rifle and the torch at the same time, neither giving any impression of confidence.

  “Careful,” whispered Ronny, “these are just the sort of idiots who’ll shoot you, wait here I wont be long.”

  With that he silently slipped off to the right, leaving me with the Germans heading towards me, now less than thirty feet away. As quietly as I could I stooped down, making myself less of a target, I wanted to take the safety off my machine pistol but was afraid the click would be heard. The silence was broken by a familiar voice speaking quietly in German it was Ronny, he was standing close behind the soldiers and whatever he said must have been understood because they laid their rifles on the ground and moved backwards away from them, raising their hands as they did so. I stood up and as I moved forward, levelled my gun towards them, prodding them with the barrel to turn them around, we moved back to where they had earlier been waiting. Hidden just to the side of the track we found the now familiar BMW motorcycle and sidecar, this one though had a machine gun mounted on the front of the sidecar. We looked around and were satisfied that there was no one with them, Ronny spoke quietly to them but they just looked at him and did not reply, he told me that he was asking them what they were doing here?

  What were we going to do with them I wondered, I’d done enough killing with the SS men and didn’t want to do any more but if we tied them up and left them they would be a threat to our escape. Ronny prodded them with his gun and told them to remove their helmets which they did. He then told them to remove their jackets; they were wearing combat smocks not dissimilar to our own. “Stand back Alan and keep your gun pointed at them.” Ronny said, as he pushed them to the floor, walking to the side of them so that I had a clear field of fire. He removed each of their leather trouser belts and refastened them around their ankles, fastening their legs together. He then pushed one of them over onto his stomach; he removed the soldier’s braces and used them to secure his hands behind his back. Leaving him lying face down he repeated the operation with the second soldier. When he was satisfied, he sat them both up and dressed them in their jackets again, which he zipped up, their arms inside, the arms of the jackets hanging loosely at their sides. As a finishing touch he felt through their pockets, pulling out army issue handkerchiefs which he stuffed into their mouths.

  “That should hold them until morning; I don’t fancy any more killing just yet, do you?” He said.

  “No, not tonight” I replied.

  I looked over at the BMW “What do you think, seems a shame to waste the training.” I said.

  Ronny agreed, saying that the same thought had crossed his mind, adding that if we just wore the German helmets our uniforms were close enough to get by in the dark. He said he’d do the sidecar with the map and all I had to do was go where he told me.

  “And remember to lean into the sidecar on the bends or we’ll go arse over tit.” he whispered in the drawl usually reserved for Fishy.

  We both put on the helmets, Ronny got into the sidecar and I pushed down onto the kick start, the big flat twin rumbled instantly into life. Slowly I edged my way along the path, Ronny had the sidecar mounted MG 34 machine cocked and ready, traversing from side to side as we progressed through the darkness. Within a couple of minutes the path joined a wider track that veered off to the right away from the river, Ronny pointed for me to follow it which I did and drove steadily along it for about five minutes until in front of us I could make out a road.

  “Left or Right?” I whispered.

  “Go left, it’s a straight road to Dunkirk, we’re in no rush but try and get a bit of speed up I think it will look less suspicious”

  I pulled down the goggles and nudged Ronny to do the same then pointed the machine to the left and opened the throttle. I was immediately impressed not so much with the speed, it didn’t seem any faster than the 500cc BSA bikes that we’d trained on but it was so much smoother, I could get to like this I thought. I turned on the headlight and allowed the speed to build up until the speedometer indicated fifty kilometres per hour; the road was fairly flat with few bends and didn’t require a lot of concentration. I glanced across at Ronny and saw that he was busy going through a pannier that was fixed to the side of the sidecar, pulling out a torch and holding it up for m
e to see. I spotted a red light some distance in front and nudged Ronny to make him aware; he put the torch down into the sidecar and gripped the machine gun. As we got closer we could make out an Opel truck and a Kubelwagen parked at the side of the road it seemed to be some sort of checkpoint.

  “Keep going.” said Ronny but I wasn’t thinking of stopping anyway. As we got closer I could make out a group of soldiers standing at the side of the truck, one of them detached himself from the group and walked towards the edge of the road, raising his hand casually for us to stop. Instinctively we each raised our arms and waved back and I added to the camaraderie by peeping the horn. We didn’t look back; there was no mirror on the bike so we had to just keep going hoping we weren’t being pursued, if we were going to appear relaxed it wouldn’t do to look back.

  After a couple of minutes Ronny twisted around in his seat “No one behind,” he said, “We’re clear.”

  I slowed as we came to a crossroads where a sign had been allowed to remain, stating the distance to Dunkirk. It was now only six kilometres, we glanced across at each other, Ronny’s face lit up by a grin.

  “In about two miles, take the coast road which is off to the right, you might recognise it, it’s the same road we came down when we were last here. If we don’t get stopped, head for the dunes where we had a kip the last time and then as we get nearer to the departure point we’ll look for somewhere to dump the bike ok?”

  I told him that it sounded ok to me and then concentrated on the road ahead, we were too close now to risk something going wrong.

  I took the right turn as Ronny had said and we rode past the place where earlier the British check point had been set up, the sea was now visible to our left and as we motored down the esplanade we saw that the curfew had done its work. There was not a single sign of life anywhere.

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  Ronny put his hand further down into the sidecar and shone the torch down onto his watch before telling me it was just after midnight. I came to the place where before we had entered the dunes and carried on past. We were fast approaching the headland where the cave was situated so I started to look for somewhere to lose the motorbike. Some distance in front of us I could just make out the dark shape of a building on our side of the road facing the beach. Slowly we came closer and I could make out a sign advertising the goods on offer, it was a beach café obviously closed and locked up for the night.

  Perfect I thought slowing down, steering the bike in through the entrance I drove quietly around the back of the building; I stopped next to some dustbins and turned off the engine.

  “This ok do you reckon?” I whispered to Ronny and he gave me the thumbs up.

  We took off the helmets dropped them into the sidecar, replaced our berets, cocked the guns and walked quietly out and away, two minutes later we reached the safety of the dunes.

  We were right on the edge of the dunes much further down than where we had stopped to rest up when we were last in France. There was no moon and although we could make out the dark shape of the promontory, the beach was in almost complete darkness.

  “Are you ready for a run then?” I asked Ronny.

  “Ready when you are.” he replied.

  The running must have been improving; we reached the rocks very quickly.

  “I reckon it’s about an hour to the pick -up point then?” Ronny said.

  “That was then, we move quicker now and we can take advantage of the darkness, I reckon half an hour at most.” I said, setting off at our usual trot around the base of the rocks. Nothing hindered our progress and I was close with my estimate, as forty minutes later we were below the cave not even breathing heavily. We climbed straight up, it was even darker inside than I remembered but maybe that was because it was so dark outside.

  Moving towards the back of the cave we each lit a cigarette and leaned against the rock smoking, silently reflecting on the events of the past few hours.

  Ronny took the torch that the family at the farm had given him and the two lenses from out of his pocket, turning in toward the cave he briefly shone the torch onto the lenses selected the green one and slipped the red one back into his pocket. “Let’s see if our taxi’s arrived yet.” It was almost one a.m. so worth a try I guessed.

  He sent out the signal ‘ok’ through the green lens. We both watched intently but no answer came back. “Well we are a bit early.” I whispered.

  Ronny kept the signals up at the required five minute intervals, at some point changing the torch for the one he’d found on the motorcycle thinking it may be more powerful.

  It was just before two o’clock when I thought I saw a light “Over there to the right I’m sure.” I said excitedly and sure enough we both saw it, dot -dash -dot and watched as it was repeated once more.

  “Bloody marvellous they’re here.” said a relieved Ronny, putting the torch away and buttoning the flap on his pocket. We waited a few minutes and then made our way down from the cave. At the base of the rocks we cocked our weapons each of us keeping a lookout down our side of the beach.

  The sea was calm and the waves lapped gently onto the sand twenty feet in front of us, it was too dark to be able to see more than about ten feet from the shoreline but we guessed the rescue party would be close to by now, although there was nothing we could do but wait.

  Ronny was standing to the left of me and he nudged me and whispered that he thought he’d seen something he pointed off to his left; I looked over to where he was pointing briefly but was careful to keep an eye on my side of the beach for unwelcome company.

  “Yes it’s them, come on.” he whispered pulling at my sleeve, I took a last look down the beach and then followed him.

  As we ran along I could make out a dark shape about fifty feet in front of us just coming into view. When we got closer I saw that it was a rubber dingy about ten feet long two men in dark clothes were using paddles to manoeuvre it and a third who was at the front jumped out holding on to a rope. As we got closer we saw that he was completely dressed in black including a black knitted cap that was pulled well down over his ears, in his right hand he held a pistol pointed towards us.

  “Hello chaps can we give you a lift anywhere?” He said in a clipped accent.

  “Anywhere away from here old boy.” said Ronny in exactly the same tone, as we waded out up to our thighs and pulled ourselves into the dingy. Once we were inside the man holding the rope hopped in after us but with a much greater ease and the two men with the paddles turned us back towards the sea.

  The rope man found a torch and flashed it once seaward and as we watched a single answering flash appeared off to our right. The men on the paddles took their sighting and set off with a will towards the point where the light had made its brief appearance. I felt as though we weren’t making much progress but was proved wrong as suddenly out of the darkness loomed a dark shape that from our position low down in the sea appeared to tower over us. Minutes later our rubber boat nudged softly against the dark side of the bigger craft by the side of a steel ladder.

  The man at the front was quickly up the ladder taking the rope with him.

  “After you gents.” said one of the paddle men who was now standing, steadying the dingy by holding on to the side of the ladder. I climbed up the ladder and jumped onto the deck with Ronny right behind me. We stood there trying to keep out of the way whilst the crew of the dingy lifted it on board and carried it down towards the rear where they tied it down. While they were doing this the wheelhouse door opened and a familiar voice shouted across to us “Come on you landlubbers! Don’t stand there you’re blocking me flipping view.”

  We went across to the cabin and found Fishy looking very nautical in a white roll neck sweater and a dark refer jacket, his hands resting on the wheel. Next to him incredibly was a Flight Lieutenant in RAF uniform complete with sheepskin flying jacket.

  “Fishface my dear chap how jolly nice to see you.” drawled Ronny. The sheepskin man turned and spoke “Welcom
e aboard chaps, good to see you, my names’ Harper and for my sins I’m in charge of this little RAF outpost that we like to call Elizabeth, after the princess you know, although officially she’s known as HSL 121. Now then if you could just pop through that door and make yourself scarce down in the sickbay just until we get underway, then we’ll sort you out with some dry clothes and a nice fresh cuppa ok?”

  We did as he said, dropping down four steps into a wide cabin almost the width of the boat, there were two bunks, various white painted cupboards and a small desk and chair.

  I took off all my wet clothes, put a blanket around me and sat down on one of the bunks, Ronny did the same and came to sit next to me, bringing his jacket with him and removing his tin of cigarettes and lighter from a top pocket as he did so. We were still lighting our cigarettes when we heard the engines, which had been quietly gurgling since we boarded, start to gently purr and then felt the boat begin to move through the sea.

  I looked at Ronny and smiled “good old Fishy eh?”

  “Never did get him that medal did we?” he replied.

  We had just finished the first cigarette and were lighting the second when a Flight Sergeant came in with two big steaming mugs of tea. “Get your laughing gear round that lads I’ll go and get you something to wear, not going anywhere too smart are you.” He said laughingly, as he left the cabin again.

  He returned some minutes latter with the clothes he’d promised and as he placed them on the spare bunk he called them out stores fashion “Roll neck sweaters for the wearing of; two, boiler suits blue aircraftsmen for the use of; two, socks sea boot feet for the warming of; four, get into them lads and I’ll sort you out some wellies, can you both manage with size ten?”

  He again left the cabin and as we were getting into the dry clothing I noticed that the engines were now really beginning to purr and we could feel the boat starting to slap down onto the water. “Sounds like she’s starting to open up a bit.” said Ronny, pausing as he pulled on a sock. The Flight Sergeant returned with the Wellington’s.