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  “To make matters worse, Afrika Korps has a secret weapon—621 Radio Intercept Company, called ‘the Circus,’ commanded by Hauptmann Alfred Seebohm. The good captain is a cross between a brilliant radio intercept genius and a psychic.

  “Make no mistake, Seebohm is the single most dangerous adversary British Forces faces—he’s Rommel’s Merlin.

  “In CRUSADER, we had every reason to expect a crushing victory,” R. J. said. “Seebohm and our poor radio discipline are the primary reasons we failed to achieve little more than a draw after suffering horrendous losses. He was able to provide Rommel signals intelligence about our intentions at practically the same time our field commanders were deciphering the same orders originating from Eighth Army.”

  “That’s not good,” Col. Randal said.

  “Colonel, you—meaning Raiding Forces—are to put together a special team,” R. J. said. “Your mission is to support the team tracking down Unit 621 with the idea to capture Hauptmann Seebohm—failing that, kill him.

  “Questions?”

  “Is this a RED INDIAN?” Col. Randal asked.

  “Negative,” R. J. said. “It could turn in to one in the event you stumble across signals equipment, documents, etc., during your quest. But Seebohm is the target.

  “Brandy,” R. J. said, “I want you and Parker to take charge of the intelligence/reconnaissance element that tracks Seebohm, which means you, Brandy, are in charge of the operation.

  “I understand you have already organized a mission Tactical Operations Center here at RFHQ.”

  “We have,” Brandy said.

  “Mandy, your role is to be the liaison between Brandy and Parker—whom we shall call Team SUNDANCE—Raiding Forces, and myself.

  “Team SUNDANCE and Mandy,” Col. Randal said, “will be relocating to Oasis X as soon as Desert Patrol takes the field. Is that a problem?”

  “No,” R. J. said. “In fact, Brandy, read Mr. Zargo into the SUNDANCE mission as soon as you arrive. He will be an invaluable asset.”

  “Love to.”

  Brandy made eye contact with Col. Randal. She winked. They had already had this conversation.

  OPERATION SOLID GOLD.

  R. J. said, “We are done here.”

  • • •

  Veronica Paige was waiting outside the door when the meeting broke up.

  “You wished to see me, R. J.?”

  “I do, but first I should like to congratulate you on a well-deserved OBE, Veronica,” R. J. said. “John tells me that at the decisive moment during the siege of RAF Habbaniya you made an independent decision, acted on it on your own initiative and followed up to personally view the results at great risk to yourself, which saved the base from being overrun by tanks—high praise.”

  “The Colonel was being overly kind,” Veronica said.

  “Negative,” Colonel John Randal said. “Exactly the way it went down.”

  “We shall make this brief,” R. J. said.

  “MI-9 is part of Dudley Clarke’s portfolio. The colonel has expressed no interest in Escape.

  “In the last war, British Secret Intelligence had an unfortunate experience with a female agent. She disobeyed orders, helped a large number of people escape from the Germans instead of maintaining her cover and was subsequently exposed, captured, then publicly executed by firing squad in Paris.

  “Ever since, MI-6 has been reluctant to work with female agents, and the SIS refuse to participate directly in escape programs.

  “Major Stone has been officially listed as Dudley’s officer-in-charge of Escape for the last six months,” R. J. said. “Sir Terry made it plain to Dudley he no longer wants to be responsible for MI-9. It his desire to concentrate full time on commanding his family regiment.

  “Veronica, once again that leaves you, the acting chief of MI-9, twisting in the breeze.”

  “I do not understand,” Veronica said, “why no one seems concerned about our prisoners.”

  “Not quite everyone,” R. J. said. “I see things differently. Over thirty thousand of our men are in POW camps here in North Afrika—some of whom are being transferred to Italy—with a few, the most senior officers, being sent to camps in Italy and Germany.

  “Every single day we have pilots being shot down and ships sunk and the crews captured, which increases the number of prisoners. Every one of those POWs has eyes and ears and is located behind enemy lines. What MI-9 needs to do is concentrate on finding a way to put all those prisoners to work gathering intelligence or disseminating misinformation.

  “The trick will be to develop a method to communicate with the POWs.

  “Veronica,” R. J. ordered, “starting tonight, you are the permanent Middle East Command Escape Officer. Report directly to me.”

  “Thank you, R. J. I should like that.”

  “On paper,” R. J. said, “Colonel Clarke still remains the head of MI-9, but he will play no further role in your day-to-day operations except to provide cover as needed for your operations or to use Escape as a source to disseminate A-Force misinformation.

  “Any questions?”

  Veronica said, “Not at the moment—sure to have many later.”

  “Colonel, you have always indicated an interest in MI-9,” R. J. said. “For administrative purposes, Veronica will be attached to Raiding Forces, which means continuing to operate out of RFHQ. That puts Escape in perfect position for Raiding Forces to execute missions she develops—OK by you?”

  “Yes, sir,” Col. Randal said. “Veronica and I have a history of working together. She’ll get my full support.”

  “Outstanding,” R. J. said. “Now all we have to do is turn MI-9 into a valuable intelligence asset.”

  Col. Randal walked Brig. Maunsell down to his car.

  “Colonel Fellers, the military attaché to the U.S. Embassy in Cairo, has been making inquiries about you,” R. J. said. “Claims he knew you—or knew of you—while serving on General MacArthur’s staff in Manila.”

  “Never met the man,” Col. Randal said.

  “Something to do with a bandit named ‘Smiling Jack.’ Fellers is leading the effort to return you to U.S. Army uniform,” R. J. said. “Your promotion is sure to slow him down, but he’s a good man and will rethink.

  “To that end,” R. J. said, “since it is in the best interests of all concerned for you to remain in command of Raiding Forces, I would like to propose that you allow me to put myself forward to act as your representative in arranging your release from the British Army.

  “With your permission, I shall negotiate the terms for your return to the U.S. Army.”

  “Sir, I don’t have any terms,” Col. Randal said, “as long as I stay with Raiding Forces.”

  “Oh,” R. J. said, “I believe we can do better than that.”

  Col. Randal said, “Take your best shot, R. J.”

  “With pleasure,” R. J. said. “One last thing. Priority of missions is: GOLDEN FLEECE/RED INDIAN, SUNDANCE—I hear that mission has been restyled OPERATION SOLID GOLD, and BOMBSHELL in that order.”

  “Understood, sir,” Col. Randal said, realizing that if R. J. knew the designator SOLID GOLD, it meant that Brandy had already briefed him on the mission. The Brigadier had gone to the trouble to come out tonight to establish his command authority, to evaluate in person the principals’ response to the structure of the team carrying out the SOLID GOLD mission and to make sure everyone was read in and on the same page.

  The chief of SIME was demonstrating superb leadership skills.

  “Request permission to include Lieutenant Jaxx on the SOLID GOLD ‘Need to Know’ list, sir,” Col. Randal said. “He’ll be my deputy on the team that takes down the 621st.

  “Permission granted,” R. J. said, climbing into his car.

  “By the way, the Great Teddy—I thought the lad was only fifteen years old at Habbaniya. How did he manage to become one of the A-Force camouflage officers?”

  Col. Randal said, “It’s a long story.”

  • �
�� •

  James “Baldie” Taylor arrived back at Raiding Forces Headquarters from his hurried meeting with Colonel Dudley Clarke at A-Force. There were only a handful of people at RFHQ to attend his briefing. They assembled in the small briefing area in the suite shared by Colonel John Randal and Major the Lady Jane Seaborn.

  Present were Col. Randal, Major Jack Black, Captain “Geronimo” Joe McKoy, Captain Taylor Corrigan, DSO, MC; Captain “Pyro” Percy Stirling, DSO, MC; Captain Hawthorne Merryweather, Captain Penelope “Legs” Honeycutt-Parker; Lieutenant Roy Kidd; Lieutenant Mandy Paige; Brandy Seaborn; and Waldo Treywick. These were all the Raiding Forces leaders who could be located on such short notice. All the others were in hospital or on leave.

  At the last minute, Major the Lady Jane Seaborn and Ensign Teddy Hamilton, aka “The Great Teddy”, arrived with Lieutenant Pamala Plum-Martin, who was still wearing her evening dress.

  “As you are all aware, Rommel launched a surprise counterattack from the vicinity of El Agheila,” Jim said. “No one saw it coming. Afrika Korps has already advanced over one hundred fifty miles in less than two days.”

  That was true; almost everything else he was getting ready to say was a lie—to be repeated to their interrogators in the event anyone in the room was captured. Raiding Forces was going to be operating deep behind enemy lines.

  “Eighth Army is setting a trap for the Desert Fox along the Gazala Line. Field Marshal Auchinleck is rushing three hundred of the latest model Grant tanks, recently arrived from the U.S., to Tobruk in anticipation of launching a massive counterattack of his own once Rommel’s advance runs out of steam. When that happens, Eighth Army has the opportunity to deal Afrika Korps a deathblow,” Jim said.

  “Desert Patrol will depart RFHQ for a location of its own choosing southeast of Bir Temrid to set up a dummy tank formation that will appear to threaten Rommel’s extreme right flank. The idea is to distract the Desert Fox while Eighth Army slams into Afrika Korps—striking out of Tobruk.”

  FM Auchinleck’s trap was a ruse. There were no tanks from the U.S. There was not going to be any strike out of Tobruk. Allied troops were exhausted and materiel spent after CRUSADER. Tank losses had been catastrophic—250 tanks in two days.

  The ambush and counterattack was an A-Force deception. Subterfuge was all British Forces was capable of at this point in the desert war.

  Col. Clarke had cooked up the plan in about ten minutes before briefing Jim, and then flying off to do a personal reconnaissance of the battle area.

  “Raiding Forces’ mission is to go out to the desert, set up dummy tanks,” Jim said. “Sit this one out—deceiving Rommel.”

  “Questions?”

  No one said a thing.

  6

  BEVERLY HILLS BANK

  Colonel John Randal was sitting at a table in the mess hall at RFHQ eating breakfast with two of his troops, Corporal Tim Authury, MM, and Corporal Frank Hawkins, MM. The food was excellent. Major the Lady Jane Seaborn had brought in chefs from the Bradford Hotel in London to cook for the Lancelot Lancers Yeomanry Regiment when it made its epic fighting drive, the longest in history, from Kenya to Addis Ababa. Now, with the Lancers operating as gun jeep patrols, the cooks worked out of RFHQ and Oasis X.

  Cpl. Authury had been with Col. Randal in Swamp Fox Force at Calais. Cpl. Hawkins had been in Raiding Forces as part of the original polo-playing intake of volunteers for special service and had been on Col. Randal’s personal five-man raid team on OPERATION TOMCAT—the first parachute operation in British Forces history.

  “It’s about time for you two men to quit slacking off,” Col. Randal said.

  The corporals froze mid-bite. What had been an enjoyable conversation with their commanding officer came to a screeching halt.

  Col. Randal lit a Player’s cigarette with his hard-used U.S. 26th Cavalry Regiment Zippo. He studied the two through the blue smoke. “Desert Patrol has to completely re-organize—lot of slots to fill. Time to step up, men—no more free ride for you two.”

  Cpl. Hawkins looked at Cpl. Authury. Cpl. Authury looked at Cpl. Hawkins. They thought they had been stepping up. Both Raiders were recipients of the coveted Military Medal.

  Col. Randal reached in his pocket and pitched two pair of sergeant’s stripes on the table. “Next time I see you—say in the next five minutes or so—have ’em on.”

  “SIR!” Both Raiders chorused.

  Captain “Geronimo” Joe McKoy strolled over to the table as the two new sergeants were rushing out, nearly knocking over their chairs. He dropped a newspaper on the table. It was a copy of the Austin American.

  “King thought you might like to take a gander at this,” Capt. McKoy said. “Came in today’s Royal Mail.”

  The headline read, GOVERNOR PARDONS UT FOOTBALL STAR—WAR HERO.

  Austin——Today Governor Coke Stevenson signed a pardon for Lieutenant Billy Jack Jaxx, convicted of trespassing at the Tri-Delta Sorority House during a panty raid at UT. Jaxx is best known for running back a kickoff of 102 yards for the Longhorns against Baylor.

  Currently, Jaxx is serving out a four-year period of deferred adjudication in lieu of a jail sentence after having volunteered for the U.S. Army Paratroops. Presently his whereabouts are not known other than he is a member of the American Volunteer Group somewhere in Egypt operating behind enemy lines as a member of a hush-hush British Commando unit so secret even its full name is classified.

  Lt. Jaxx has been presented the Military Cross, only bestowed for valor, with two bars denoting three separate awards of the medal.

  The UT Chapter of the Tri-Delta Sorority petitioned Gov. Stevenson to grant the pardon and have selected Lt. Jaxx to be the recipient of the Delta Delta Delta “ADOPT A SERVICEMAN” program.

  There was a photo of the girls in their cut-off blue jeans and peewee cowgirl boots on the manicured lawn of their colonial style sorority house holding a banner that read: “KILL THOSE JAPS BILLY JACK.”

  Col. Randal said, “Japs?”

  “Best-lookin’ girls with the richest daddies in the state of Texas,” Capt. McKoy said, “ain’t real good at geography.”

  • • •

  Major Jack Merritt, DSO, MC, MM, walked in, saw Colonel John Randal sitting with Captain “Geronimo” Joe McKoy and joined the table.

  Maj. Merritt was a Raiding Forces lieutenant, acting captain seconded to the Sudan Defense Force (SDF), who commanded a motorized company of Sudanese infantry. The SDF was considered an elite organization. British officers assigned to it served at one grade higher than their rank.

  His company was attached to Desert Patrol and spent its days long-hauling supplies to Oasis X and replenishing the hidden emergency supply dumps that Col. Randal had ordered cached every fifteen miles across the Great Sand Sea. The dumps stretched almost to Tripoli.

  “My trucks need a complete maintenance stand down, sir,” Maj. Merritt said. “If we take the field tomorrow, you’d best have a fleet of recovery vehicles standing by on call—or better yet, take them along with us.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Jack,” Col. Randal said. “Schedule your trucks for the shop. The general has arranged for us to have the use of civilian models for the duration of our mission. All we need ’em to do is to haul certain materials to the target. The plan is to camouflage ’em as dummy tanks.

  “We’re hoping they all get shot up.”

  “Do you require me to bring my entire company, sir?”

  “Negative,” Col. Randal said. “A driver, air-defense gunner, and two men for each truck. Send the rest of your troops on a pass—you take leave too.”

  “Are you certain, sir?” Maj. Merritt asked. “I can be ready . . .”

  As a corporal he had been Col. Randal’s wingman through all of Raiding Forces training, early pinprick raids, the jump on TOMCAT and was with him on OPERATION LOUNGE LIZARD before being given a field commission. It was said at the time that they could read each other’s minds. Maj. Merritt had no desire to let his CO down.<
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  “Like I said, Major,” Col. Randal said, “don’t worry about it—take some time off.”

  “Yes, sir,” Maj. Merritt said, standing up to leave but still not seeming sure about it.

  After he walked away, Capt. McKoy said, “According to the radio yesterday, the Prime Minister stood up in front of Parliament and saluted Field Marshal Rommel—know what he called him?”

  “What might that be?”

  “A daring and skillful opponent,” Capt. McKoy said. “Now why would the man do that?”

  “I have no idea,” Col. Randal said. “You’re not all that impressed with the Desert Fox, are you, Captain?”

  “Rommel don’t strike me as understanding what’s possible with what he’s got and what’s not,” Capt. McKoy said.

  “That’s real important for the commander of a mobile army who’s dependent on his beans and bullets coming from a long way off to know, John.”

  Col. Randal said, “Yes, it is.”

  • • •

  Lieutenant Randy “Hornblower” Seaborn was walking in the RFHQ front door when Colonel John Randal and Captain “Geronimo” Joe McKoy were leaving the mess hall.

  “Come on up, Randy,” Col. Randal said. “Give me a report on your pinprick raids—you’ve been out on the sharp end all by yourself for way too long.”

  “Raiding parties went ashore a total of twenty-three times in the last thirty days, sir,” Lt. Seaborn said. “Everyone in Sea Squadron has been pressed to the limit, Colonel—both MAS boats are way past due for engine overhauls. Probably triple the number of hours on their engines the book calls for.

  “We barely made it back here, sir.”

  “Good report, Randy,” Col. Randal said. “Get your boats in to be serviced—how long do you think that’ll take?”

  “A couple of weeks, minimum, sir,” Lt. Seaborn said, “possibly longer. When grandfather returns, he can help speed the work.”

  “Give your crews shore leave,” Col. Randal ordered. “You take off too—check on your MAS boats from time to time, Hornblower, but don’t overdo it. I want you getting plenty of rest and relaxation while they’re in dry dock—no hanging around supervising the work.”