Those Who Dare - [Raiding Forces 01] Read online

  “Sure, Larry. Whatever you’re having.”

  They waited as a lovely waitress dressed as an Indian princess silently glided over with his drink.

  “How goes it, John? I understand you’ve been making the rounds.”

  “Checking up on me?”

  “I am, after all, a spy.”

  “Is that right? I had the impression you were a pyromaniac licensed to light up Europe.”

  “You got me there. I hope you will not consider me unwarrantably inquisitive, but I admit to a certain curiosity about your impression of the world of wartime cloak-and-dagger. So . . . soldier to soldier—after all, I am a Royal Engineer, you may recall.”

  “Looks like a Chinese fire drill to me.”

  “Quite! Chinese fire drill…what a scintillating analogy. I shall have to steal it from you at the earliest opportunity.

  “By the way, before I forget. . . the automatics I promised are being delivered to your suite as we speak. Put them to good use, with my compliments.”

  “Thanks. My men need all the extra firepower they can get.”

  “Glad to do it. Now, my real purpose in coming here today is to ask you one question,” Major Grand said, leaning forward on the table and fixing Major Randal with a direct look. “I want a straight answer, John.”

  “Fire away.”

  “Tell me why you volunteered to join the British Army. The real reason, not the fairy tale about saving the world from the evil Nazi horde.”

  Major Randal looked off into the distance. “On a whim ... I made the decision on the spur of the moment. After leaving the U.S. Army, maybe I wasn’t ready to settle down and go to work at a real job.”

  “I should say, old chap, you certainly have one now.”

  “You asked for the reason I joined, Larry,” Major Randal said, looking him square in the eye. “It’s only fair to tell you; after Calais, I’m in it strictly for payback.”

  “Quite right.” Major Grand stood up. “Perfectly good enough for me. I simply needed to hear it from your lips. Genuine candor is a rare commodity in the sleazy underworld I inhabit. A word of advice, if I might? While you may be completely justified in believing you have stumbled into Cloud Cuckoo Land, bear in mind—every so often even the craziest flaming cuckoo bird lays the odd egg that hatches.”

  After signing the chit for the drinks, Major Randal stepped out into the lobby. Brandy Seaborn wigwagged him to come over to the corner of the room where she and Captain Jane Seaborn were taking high tea with three soldiers.

  He was delighted to discover that the men were Sergeant Mike “March or Die” Mikkalis, Rifleman Tim Authury, and Rifleman Jimmy Castlewick, late of Calais and Swamp Fox Force. Major Randal was amused to observe that, despite self-consciously balancing tiny teacups in their laps, the three combat-hardened veterans appeared to be thoroughly enjoying themselves. Still, no matter how hard the baby-blue-eyed Sergeant Mikkalis tried to appear urbane, he still managed to project the aura of a stone-cold killer.

  The last time Major Randal had seen them was the day Swamp Fox Force disembarked from HMY Gulzar at Dover. When he walked up now, the three men immediately put down their cups and jumped to attention.

  “As you were,” Major Randal ordered quickly. “Carry on. How are you, men?”

  “Extraordinarily entertaining,” Captain Lady Seaborn answered for them. “The lads have been regaling Brandy and me with hair-raising accounts of your exploits at Calais, John. Seems you have been holding back a thing or two.”

  “What a marvelous story!” Brandy gushed.

  “It doesn’t count when you’re saving yourself, Brandy,” Major Randal snapped more curtly than he intended. “What are you men doing here?”

  “When it was learned you were staying here at the Bradford, we formed a delegation to inquire if there is a place for your former Riflemen in your current command, sir,” Sergeant Mikkalis announced stiffly. “Most Swamp Fox Force men would like to volunteer, Major.”

  “How many?”

  “Eleven of us 60th Rifles and Rifle Brigade men, and Duggan, the Royal Marine who signaled the Gulzar. Mickey wants to volunteer too, sir.”

  “Don’t you men think you might be of more value helping to rebuild your battalions?”

  “No, sir. They treat us like lepers. No one is interested in the last stand of 30 Brigade at Calais. All people talk about is the miracle of Dunkirk. We want to serve with you again, sir, providing you will have us.”

  “You’re willing to jump out of airplanes?”

  “Yes, sir. Lady Seaborn has been gracious enough to explain that requirement to us.”

  “Can you arrange to have these men brought on board and slate them for parachute school, Jane?”

  “Certainly.”

  “In that case, welcome to Raiding Forces, men. Frankly, I figured you men would be happy to have seen the last of me.”

  “We liked those jungle tactics you showed us, sir,” Sergeant Mikkalis said, his pale eyes gleaming. “We want another crack at your brand of cut-and-run fighting.”

  “I would have liked to have had you in Commandos from the start,” Major Randal told them. “Make sure to tell the others I said so.”

  “Sir, there is one question,” Sergeant Mikkalis said. “That last night in Calais when you ordered us to tear down the wooden fence, you made each man carry a large plank. Since we never used them for anything, the men have been wondering, sir.”

  “The Channel was only twenty-six miles across to Dover, Sergeant. If there weren’t any ships to pick us up, Plan B was to use the planks like surfboards and paddle home.”

  “Would that have worked?” Brandy asked skeptically.

  “We were getting ready to find out,” Major Randal said.

  “Any way to expedite those transfers, Lady Seaborn?” Sergeant Mikkalis queried. “We’d like to start jump training as soon as possible.” The other two Riflemen nodded their agreement.

  “Consider it accomplished, Sergeant Mikkalis,” Captain Lady Seaborn said. “Orders will be cut and delivered here within the hour.” As she said it, she never took her eyes off Major Randal. “The next class at No. 1 Parachute Training School starts Monday, and all Swamp Fox Force volunteers will be in it, on my word.”

  “In that case, I’ll see you when you graduate,” Major Randal said. “Good luck, men.”

  ~ * ~

  On the way back to the elevator, Major John Randal ran into Captain “Geronimo Joe” McKoy. “New pistols for Raiding Forces have just been delivered to my room,” the major informed the old Ranger. “Let’s go see what they gave us.”

  As they were going up, he asked, “How have you been occupying yourself lately, Captain?”

  “Well, John, I’ve been doing some work out in the country at a spook school called Wandsborough Manor. Lady Jane hooked me up with this ex-policeman, Captain William Ewart Fairbairn. They call him the ‘Shanghai Buster.’ He was on the police force out there, and they say he killed a whole bunch of Chinamen. He’s pretty handy with a pistol. You know how I teach you men to watch the front sight close, touch her off, and adios? Well, I never met the man before, but you know what he teaches? Front sight, squeeze, and Godspeed. Ain’t that something?”

  When they walked into Major Randal’s suite, Chauncy informed him indignantly, “These three filthy footlockers arrived while you were out, sir.”

  “Jackpot!” declared Captain McKoy when he raised the lid on one of the containers. Packed inside were fifty brand-new pistols in Colt factory boxes. “Border Specials, the pistola of choice of the Texas Rangers. FBI issues ‘em to its agents, too. As a matter of fact, I’ve been known to carry one myself on occasion.”

  “Looks like a standard-issue U.S. Government Model Colt .45 automatic,” Major Randal said.

  “This here is the Colt .38 Super, John. Built on a .45 frame, it shoots a .45 ACP cartridge necked down to .38 caliber. Colt originally designed the .38 Super for the Mexican trade. Down in Mexico, you can’t own any weap
on that’s chambered for a round their military uses. When Colt necked it down to get around that law, they found out the .38 Super would shoot completely through an engine block. They’re extremely accurate once you get the head spacing adjusted right—real flat shooting with fairly mild recoil. Each one holds ten rounds. As a fighting pistol, the Colt .38 Super is just about perfect.”

  “What would a clandestine organization be doing with Colt .38 Supers?”

  “Deniability, probably. A man gets caught with one, it don’t automatically look like he has been armed and equipped by British Intelligence.”

  Major Randal picked up one of the pistols and experienced an instant flash of nostalgia. The finely checkered walnut grip with the oversized diamonds carved at top and bottom felt like an old friend in his hand.

  “If Chauncy’ll help me tote these footlockers down to my room, I’ll inspect ‘em all for you and marry ‘em up with holsters. While y’all are still on leave, I’ll run ‘em over to a gunsmith I know at Westley Richards to adjust the head spacing and polish all the parts so they run slick and reliable.”

  “You’re staying here in the hotel?”

  “Miss Threepersons and I both have rooms right down the hall, but I’ve been spending most of my time out at Wandsborough Manor, teaching people with a ‘need to know’ how to shoot a pistol. It’s the dangedest place you ever saw. They got cat burglars, safecrackers, picklock artists, wheelmen, counterfeiters, and all kinds of different people out there a-teachin’ every kinda fast and fancy trick you ever imagined to the students, trying to turn ‘em into secret agents.

  “You go to lunch, and you got these criminals and the policemen that’s been chasin’ them for years who are also on the teaching staff sitting down at the same table, saying things like, ‘Pass the bread, please.’ It’s a real circus, and I ain’t kiddin’.”

  ~ * ~

  24

  BRIEFING

  THE PEOPLE DESIGNATED TO ATTEND THE EVENING BRIEFING assembled in Major John Randal’s suite. Present were Captain the Lady Jane Seaborn, Squadron Leader Paddy Wilcox, Lieutenant Randy Seaborn, Lieutenant Percy Stirling, Lieutenant Harry Shelby, Sergeant Major Maxwell Hicks, and, looking as though he had just returned from an extended survival, escape, and evasion course, a hollow-eyed Captain Terry “Zorro” Stone.

  “In the strict interest of the health and welfare of our troops, old stick, I highly recommend we cut our leave time substantially shorter in the future,” he said with a weak grin.

  Royal Marine Pamela Plum-Martin slipped in at the last minute. Major Randal gave Captain Lady Seaborn a questioning look, and she gave him a slight nod.

  Major Randal handed Chauncy one of his parrot beak-gripped .455 Webley service revolvers. “Take up a post outside the door and shoot anyone who tries to come through.”

  “Sir!”

  “Before we get started,” Major Randal said to the group, “I have a few administrative announcements. First, let me introduce Lieutenant Harry Shelby of the Sherwood Foresters, more recently with No. 2 Commando. Harry doesn’t know it yet, but he is going to be Raiding Forces’ sniping officer, in command of a special operation we’re here to discuss this evening. Harry’s seen his share of combat and his shooting credentials are impeccable.

  “Next, effective immediately, Captain the Lady Jane Seaborn is appointed to serve as the Raiding Forces’ intelligence officer.”

  There were some shocked looks; none of the officers in the room had ever heard of a woman holding a staff position in a fighting outfit before. On the other hand, they had never encountered as unorthodox a unit as Raiding Forces before in any of their military experiences.

  “Stand up and take a bow, Captain.”

  “Do not panic, boys,” she said, flashing her trademark man-killer smile. “I promise it will only be temporary until we can find you the best qualified man for the job.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “Eleven of the Rifle Brigade and King’s Royal Rifle Corps men, plus a Royal Marine from the mixed Green Jacket detachment I commanded at Calais who escaped with me, turned up unexpectedly and volunteered for Raiding Forces. They have been packed off to parachute training school and will be joining us just as soon as they qualify.

  “Now, let’s get down to business.”

  A hush of anticipation fell over the room.

  “For some time Squadron Leader Wilcox, Lady Jane, the Sergeant Major, and I have been quietly working on a project. Now that we have someone with Harry’s qualifications on board, all the pieces have finally fallen into place for Raiding Forces to move forward with it.

  “The situation is this: There are roughly eight hundred German fighter pilots staffing the Luftwaffe fighter units currently attacking Great Britain. Raiding Forces’ mission is to kill 10 percent of them—eighty fighter pilots.”

  The announcement was greeted by cold, professional silence. Major Randal had everyone’s undivided attention.

  “To accomplish this task we intend to deploy sniper teams to shoot German fighter pilots at their landing grounds as they scramble for takeoff. Consider what I have just told you as classified ‘Most Secret’—on a need-to-know basis only. No one outside of this room has a need to know. Do not discuss it with anyone not here tonight. Is that clear?”

  “Clear, sir,” the men and women chorused.

  “Lovat Scouts, the premier stalkers and snipers in the British Army, were recruited by Sergeant Major Hicks with this mission in mind; they will be the designated shooters. We have eight of them completing parachute school this week. Lieutenant Shelby will be the officer in charge of what I intend to call Operation Buzzard Plucker.”

  Everyone laughed at the name. Sick of hearing Nazi pilots constantly referred to as “eagles,” they found the term “buzzards” much more to their liking.

  “Some of you may be wondering why we’re targeting fighter pilots and not bomber pilots, who do most of the real damage. For the Germans to invade England, they must first establish air supremacy over the Channel. The only way the Luftwaffe can accomplish that is to destroy our fighter command. Operation Buzzard Plucker is intended to help prevent that from happening.

  “Squadron Leader Wilcox will now brief you on certain aspects of the operation,” Major Randal said. “You will receive a more detailed briefing at a later date.”

  The former Canadian bush pilot stood up in front of the group. Tonight he was wearing his black eye patch over the left eye. He looked like a rotund pirate in an RAF uniform.

  “German industry can build an ME-109 in a matter of days,” the squadron leader stated. “It takes a year to train a pilot and at least two years of operational flying for a pilot to become reasonably proficient in the cockpit. It’s easy to replace an aircraft; it’s almost impossible to replace a veteran combat pilot. The Luftwaffe started out with a huge pool of excellent pilots because of the emphasis it placed on prewar sport gliding associations and the aerial combat experience gained by the Condor Legion pilots during the Spanish Civil War. The Nazis have not capitalized on that advantage, however, by rapidly expanding their military pilot training programs using their combat-experienced pilots as instructors.

  “The Germans have foolishly decided to try to win the war with the skilled pilots they have now. That’s an incredible mistake the Huns are going to live to regret, I guarantee. Boxers like to say if you kill the body, the head dies. Every pilot we take out is like a body blow to the German war machine.

  “The basic plan is to insert a two-man Lovat Scout sniper team by sea, by parachute, or by air-landing them into a preselected target area. The team will proceed, under cover of darkness, to a hide position near the targeted Luftwaffe landing ground; lie in wait until the pilots scramble for a mission; then shoot as many of them as possible, without compromising themselves; while the pilots are sitting in their airplanes queuing up for takeoff. Tests we have conducted at a fighter base have shown that the sound of a squadron of high-performance aircraft running up their engines
prior to scrambling will muffle the rifle shots.

  “Now, here is where it gets interesting. Instead of returning to the coast for a pickup by sea as the Germans will expect, the Scouts will, instead, move inland to a preselected lake where I will be waiting in a small amphibious aircraft to fly them home.”

  “Okay, people, that’s everything for now,” Major Randal said, wrapping up the briefing. “I wanted to introduce you to Harry and get you wired in to Buzzard Plucker before we go off to Commando training in Scotland. Chauncy will show you to Captain McKoy’s room. The Captain has a present for each of you, courtesy of Lady Jane. I want Squadron Leader Wilcox, Captain Lady Seaborn, Lieutenant Seaborn, and Lieutenant Shelby to stand fast.”

  Major Randal then assembled the designated group around the table under the sparkling crystal chandelier in the small dining area in his suite. “Squadron Leader, when will you be prepared to begin Buzzard Plucker?”