On Monday, the 28th of June, Willi took the two friends in his lorry to Wolgast. By midday they were again settled in rooms at the pleasant little hotel. After lunch Gregory went to the Town Hall, showed his permit to fish from a boat and secured the address of a man who might hire one to him. The boat-master proved glad to see a customer. He said that for a long time past most of his boats had remained idle and were taken out only during weekends by senior officials from Peenemünde who had permission to hire them. Gregory selected a small launch with a cabin and paid a fortnight’s hire for it in advance.
That evening he and Kuporovitch went out in it, heading south-west down the creek until they entered a big bay almost enclosed by the narrow waist of the irregular island. There they opened up the wireless set. In the lining of his leather belt Gregory carried a strip of stiff paper giving the code they were to use. He worked out the message; but the Russian, being much more knowledgeable about such an apparatus, tuned in to London. The message sent was brief and, starting with their code number, ran: Both well first fence crossed but many obstructions to overcome will communicate when anything to report.
They knew it to be highly probable that one or more German stations would pick up their coded message; but unless the listeners had been very quick they would not have been able to get a fix. Even if they had, as they could not plot it within less than a mile the transmitter might be at a place on either shore. In any case Gregory did not intend to send other messages from the same neighbourhood, and one of his reasons for being so anxious to get hold of a boat had been that in it they would be able to transport the set to different places several miles from Wolgast, without having to carry it, each time they wanted to send a message.
While Kuporovitch turned the launch round and headed her back towards the narrows Gregory quickly set about concealing the set under the bottom boards in the prow, as he thought it safer to leave it concealed there than to keep it with him in the hotel. When they had covered half the distance back to Wolgast, Kuporovitch cut the engine, Gregory threw out the anchor and spent an hour fishing. His catch proved disappointing, but it provided him with a few medium-sized fish to show on his return.
During the course of the week they set cannily about their prospecting. Some days Gregory went fishing only in the afternoons, on others the long, light summer evenings were ample justification for his going out again after dinner. Sometimes Kuporovitch accompanied him, at others he went for long walks to explore the surrounding countryside and memorise possible temporary hideouts in case some calamity forced them to seek safety in flight. But the problem of landing undetected on Usedom appeared to be insoluble.
The curiously shaped thirty-mile-long island consisted of two parts joined only by a neck of land scarcely a mile wide. The northern part, near the tip of which Peenemünde stood, was the smaller, but along the whole of its length on the landward side lay the lighted defence zone. The southern and much bigger part, on which was situated Swinemünde, the island’s biggest town, had no defence zone, but Gregory soon discovered that it would be useless to land there because across the narrow neck joining the two parts there was a barrier at which anyone would obviously have to show a pass in order to be allowed through.
His hopes of making a landing on the seaward side of the island were also dashed, because, when he had attempted to pass out of the northern end of the creek he had been halted by a guard-boat, and told that his permit did not allow him to proceed out into the open sea. And even if in a single night he could have made the long voyage round the southern end of Usedom, as that was only divided from the mainland by an even narrower creek it was certain that another guard-boat there would turn him back.
The township of Peenemünde lay on the landward side of the island about two miles from the open sea and a good seven up the creek from Wolgast. When taking his first Sunday walk along the landward bank of the creek Gregory had not gone that far but had turned back after five miles, so it was not until he explored the whole length of the creek in his motor boat that he got a sight of the little town.
It had a small harbour, but little of the town itself could be seen, as the authorities had pulled down all the buildings on the water front and had built a twenty-foot-high concrete wall which screened all but a jagged outline of roofs and the church tower. At the entrance to what must have been the main street, leading down to the harbour, there was a big iron gate in the wall and a guard house with a picket of soldiers. As Gregory had expected to find the place heavily protected he paid little attention to it, particularly as he felt certain that the rocket-launching sites would be three or four miles away, on the seaward side of the island.
However, opposite Peenemünde, on the mainland about half a mile from the creek, stood the village of Kröslin; so he landed at the jetty that served it, walked to the village and had a drink at the only inn. As he dared not risk appearing inquisitive, the only information he picked up was that over a year before all the civilian inhabitants had been evacuated from Peenemünde, and the buildings in it were now used only as barracks for the troops who patrolled the open zone along the bank.
During the trips on which Kuporovitch had accompanied him they had surreptitiously made soundings at low water, in order to verify the places shown on Malacou’s map at which the creek could be forded, although as long as they had the boat it did not seem likely that this information would prove of much use to them.
On the Tuesday they had seen several aircraft go up from the island and disappear to the northward over the open sea, and for some hours afterward they heard occasional explosions in the distance; so they knew that firing trials were being carried out. The same thing happened on the Thursday, but for all the information it brought them the trials might as well have been taking place on Salisbury Plain.
By Saturday evening Gregory had decided that there was no way in which he could get on to Usedom by water, so he told Kuporovitch that, as fewer people would be about on a Sunday, he meant next day to reconnoitre the marshalling yard. But the Russian shook his head.
‘No, dear friend; not tomorrow. Remember what Malacou told us. Although Sunday is your best day of the week, tomorrow is the 4th of July, so a bad day for you to start any new plan.’
Gregory gave him a quizzical look. ‘Do you honestly believe all that stuff? I can’t really credit it.’
‘Mortdieu! How can one not?’ Kuporovitch took him up. ‘Greatly as I dislike accepting guidance from a man in league with the Devil, you proved right about his being on our side; and I am sure that it is largely through following his advice that we have so far avoided running into trouble. Remember, too, that in the past I dabbled in the occult myself, so I have had some experience of the potency of the stars. I beg you to put off making any plan for smuggling yourself through to Peenemünde until Monday.’
Somewhat reluctantly, Gregory agreed and on the following day he was extremely glad that he had. As he came out on to the verandah of the hotel for a drink before lunch he saw Hauff and an officer of the Sicherheitsdienst seated at a table. Hauff beckoned him over, introduced the S.D. man as Oberführer Langbahn and said:
‘Herr Major, I had hoped to see you here. Sit down and have a drink. How goes the fishing?’
‘Danke Ihnen,’ Gregory replied with a smile. ‘I’m doing very nicely and as I give all I catch to the landlady she’s looking after me very well. Although I expect I owe that partly to my first lunch here being with you.’
‘Good. I should like to return today that lunch you stood me, and we will have some of your fish. Feeling pretty sure I’d find you here, I booked the table in the window recess so that we can discuss our business without any risk of being overheard.’
Greatly intrigued, Gregory had a drink with them, then they went in to lunch. When they had ordered, Hauff said, ‘It’s about that batman of yours. What is his native language?’
‘He is a Ruthenian. They come of the same stock as Ukrainians and speak a form of Russian.’
‘Enough to understand ordinary Russian?’
‘Oh yes. Sabinov is a quite well-educated man and a diehard anti-Communist, but he could easily pass as a Russian if he wanted to.’
‘Do you consider him trustworthy?’
‘Certainly. As the Ruthenians were a minority and oppressed by the Czechs, he hates their guts and joined up as a volunteer soon after we went into Czechoslovakia.’
‘Could you do without him for a while?’
‘I could if I had to,’ Gregory hedged. ‘Of course, he’s had a pretty idle time lately, just polishing my boots and buttons and helping me with my boat. But I’m not at all anxious to part with him.’
‘We’d fix it for someone in the hotel to do the polishing for you,’ Hauff said quickly, ‘and surely you could manage your boat on your own?’
‘Yes, at times I go out without him. But I’ve had him with me for over a year. He’s a good fellow and greatly attached to me. Still, what do you want to borrow him for?’
Hauff’s senior, who ranked as a Brigadier, leant forward and said in a low voice, ‘I will take on from here. My job, Herr Major, is Chief Security Officer at Peenemünde. It’s no secret that the Todt Organisation has many hundreds of Russian prisoners of war working there. Naturally, as they are kept on a very low diet they are lethargic and ordinarily my men don’t have much trouble with them. But recently there have been certain indications that the prisoners in Camp C are plotting a mass break-out.’
The Oberführer took a drink of wine and went on, ‘What these miserable creatures hope to gain by that, heaven knows. They couldn’t possibly get away and we’d shoot them down like rabbits. But I don’t want a number of my men to be taken by surprise and murdered, or to have to eliminate a valuable labour force; so I’m trying to find out who the ringleaders are; then I’d be able to have them shot and nip this business in the bud. I’ve got a few stool-pigeons working with the prisoners, but I’m anxious to put more of them on the job and it’s devilish hard to find Germans who speak Russian well enough to pass as Russians. Hauff, here, happened to recall that you had a Ruthenian servant, and since you tell us he is a reliable man I want you to lend him to us for this work.’
Gregory had difficulty in concealing his elation at being presented with such a God-given opportunity to get Kuporovitch right inside the Experimental Station, but he did not wish to appear too eager to co-operate, so he said:
‘To agree is obviously my duty, Herr Oberführer, and I do so willingly. But how Sabinov will take this proposal I can’t say. Obviously he’ll have to live and work among the prisoners and that’s a pretty tough assignment. Of course, I could order him to do as you wish. But that wouldn’t be much good if he is unwilling. Even for a short time such a life would amount to severe punishment; so from resentment he would probably keep his mouth shut about anything he did find out, just to spite you.’
‘He would be well rewarded,’ put in Hauff.
‘Ja, ja!’ added the Oberführer. ‘I agree that such a task calls for sacrifice and fortitude; but he will be well paid for it, and if he is successful I’ll see to it that he gets an Iron Cross, 4th Class.’
‘Very well,’ Gregory nodded, ‘I’ll put it to him.’
‘When could you give me his answer?’
‘I’ll speak to him after lunch, but I think we ought to give him an hour or two to think it over.’
‘That’s reasonable. All right, then. I’ll return here about six o’clock, and over a drink together you can tell me his reaction.’
For the rest of the meal they talked about the war and Gregory related some of his mythical experiences in Norway. Then, as soon as the two Nazis had left, he found Kuporovitch and took him into the garden at the back of the hotel. Having told him about Langbahn’s proposal, he said:
‘This is a marvellous break for us if you’re willing to play, Stefan. But there’s no getting away from the fact that it would mean hell on earth for you as long as you remain in that camp. The ordinary guards won’t be told that you are a stool-pigeon, so you’ll be treated just like the other prisoners. It’s certain that you’ll be starved and beaten, and if your fellow prisoners rumble you they might quite possibly do you in. So I’ll think no worse of you if you regard it as asking too much, and somehow I’ll get myself smuggled in on a train.’
‘Ventre du Pape! You’ll do nothing of the kind,’ the Russian replied stoutly. ‘If you did you would like as not get caught and anyway that wouldn’t give you half as good a chance as this will give me of finding out what’s going on there. I’m quite tough enough to take care of myself; and to bitch Hitler’s last chance of winning the war I’d willingly spend a year down a coal mine on bread and water.’
‘Good for you, Stefan,’ Gregory smiled. ‘I felt sure that would be your answer, but I hate the thought of your having to go through the mill like this while I’m just idling around fishing.’
‘Don’t give that a thought, dear friend. But this means we shall be separated, and I will not be able to take the wireless in with me. If I do get on to anything really worth while how the devil am I to let you know about it?’
Kuporovitch’s question presented a very difficult problem, but after having discussed it for some ten minutes they agreed on a line for Gregory to take when he saw the Oberführer again that evening.
Langbahn arrived soon after six, and when they had ordered drinks Gregory said, ‘Sabinov is willing to play, if you’ll agree to certain conditions. He says that earlier in the war he spent some time as a guard in a Russian prisoner-of-war cage and that half of them died from starvation. I told him that the labour gangs at Peenemünde wouldn’t be as ill-fed as all that, but he insists that he should be allowed out one day a week to eat his head off. Rations being what they are, two or three ordinary meals wouldn’t be much good; but no doubt if you had a word with the landlady here she’d fix things so that he could stuff himself to the eyebrows. He realises, too, that he’ll be letting himself in for a very tough time, so he wants to set himself up each week by a day of real relaxation. There is nothing he enjoys more than going out with me when I’m fishing, so if you’re prepared to let him come back to me on Sundays, and arrange for him to have a real blow-out, he’s all yours for the rest of the week.’
For a moment Langbahn considered these terms, then he said, ‘I fully appreciate his point of view and I’ve nothing against his requests in principle. But it would look very fishy to the other prisoners if one of them were removed from their gang every Sunday, so make them suspicious of him and defeat our object.’
‘That is a snag,’ Gregory admitted. ‘But surely there must be scores of gangs and quite a number of deaths that make it necessary to fill them up from time to time with new arrivals. Couldn’t you place him with a different gang each week?’
‘I’m afraid that’s no good. In six days he wouldn’t have been long enough with any set of men to win their confidence.’
Feeling that he now had to take a chance unless Kuporovitch’s opportunities of securing information were to be rendered useless, Gregory said, ‘The deal is off, then. He really dug his toes in about being given a break now and again.’
‘Now and again,’ Langbahn repeated. ‘That’s rather different. If he’d be willing to stick it for spells of a fortnight I’d agree to his terms.’
Gregory nodded. ‘I might be able to persuade him to do that. Particularly if I were able to offer him some additional inducement. How about telling him that instead of a day a week he can have both Sunday and Monday off at the end of each fortnight?’
‘That’s fair enough.’ The Oberführer finished his drink and stood up. ‘I must be off now. Please put this new proposal to him this evening. If he agrees tell him to come to the Town Commandant’s Office tomorrow morning at nine o’clock and report to me.’
Gregory too came to his feet and they exchanged a smart ‘Heil Hitler’. But, having turned away, Langbahn suddenly swung round and said, ‘One other thing. If he agrees I shall send him straight over to the island, so you won’t see him again until Sunday week. When he has his days off I don’t want him to come to and fro on the ferry, because there is just a chance that he might cross with a new batch of prisoners; and if one of them remembered his face afterwards they would tumble to it that he was a stool-pigeon. To avoid that I’ll arrange for him to have a pass enabling him to go back and forth by the gate in the wall that we’ve built to screen Peenemünde. It’s much nearer the camp, too. As you have a boat you can fetch him off at nine o’clock on alternate Sunday mornings and on the Monday evenings you must see to it that he’s back through the gate before midnight. Will that be all right with you?’
‘Yes. I’ll miss him, of course, but I’ve nothing against such an arrangement,’ Gregory replied truthfully. Then he added with a smile, ‘I’ll bring some cold food with me so that the poor fellow can make a hearty breakfast.’
That evening Gregory told Kuporovitch of this most satisfactory arrangement; and on the following morning, with very mixed feelings, he watched his friend march off to report at the Town Commandant’s Office.
During the fortnight that followed, Gregory derived little pleasure from his fishing. He could not get his mind off what the loyal Russian must be going through and was in a constant state of anxiety about him. Only one event cheered him a little. As he was now able to receive the B.B.C. news bulletins on his wireless set without danger he listened in to them at various hours once a day; and on the evening of Saturday, July 10th, the successful landing of the Allied Armies in Sicily was announced.
From that he assumed that Churchill had finally lost his battle with the Americans and they had definitely vetoed his cherished plan for liberating Europe by a full-scale invasion of the ‘soft under-belly of the Axis’. Had that not been the case the assault would obviously have been launched in the Adriatic, against the Balkans, or the first landings made in Sardinia as a stepping stone to the gulf of Leghorn and the classic road taken by Napoleon into Austria. The latter, Gregory knew, was the plan that bad always been favoured by the Joint Planning Staff.
The Americans, on the other hand, had always wanted an invasion direct from Britain into France. It seemed evident now that they had got their way, and the operation against Sicily had only the limited objective of relieving Malta and freeing the Mediterranean so that Allied convoys could again be sent through it and thus be saved the long haul round Africa.
Throughout the next week Gregory listened eagerly to the bulletins and since the die was cast it comforted him to learn that in Sicily the Allies were sweeping all before them.
On Sunday the 18th he set out early up the creek in his motor boat, praying that no ill had befallen Kuporovitch. To his relief the Russian appeared on time, and he brought interesting news.
As he devoured the Brötchen Gregory had brought he declared that during the past fortnight he must have lost at least a couple of stone, and that the conditions under which the prisoners had to live were indescribable. They were forced to labour from dawn to dusk filling sandbags with earth and making thick walls with them to screen the buildings in which the scientists were working, they were brutally flogged by their Nazi overseers if they showed the least sign of shirking and fed only on coarse bread and soup made from potato peelings. Daily, numbers of them died from exhaustion or malnutrition and the huts in which they were quartered were pigsties, because they were too feeble at night to attempt to clean them out.
But he had seen the giant rockets, both from the distance on the ground and during several trials when they had been fired. They were, he estimated, as large as had been reported, but more than half those fired had exploded prematurely. It had not, however, been possible to judge the size of the warheads they would carry when they became operational, for these gave only a feeble bang before falling back to earth or into the sea, which showed that the charges in them had been only small ones.
His real news was about another form of secret weapon that was being developed. This was a much smaller type of rocket that had wings and looked like a pilotless aircraft. They also sometimes miscarried and, having circled round, nose-dived into the sea. But there were many more of them and, from their performance, Kuporovitch judged the state of their development to be more advanced than that of the larger rockets.
So that no coded message sent out might be associated with his release from the camp, they decided not to send one till the following afternoon; and when they did send it they did so from far out in the big bay to the south of Wolgast.
On Monday evening, at about half past eleven, Gregory landed Kuporovitch at Peenemünde and watched him disappear through the gates there to face a further twelve days’ gruelling ordeal.
During those days Gregory was again a prey to all those anxious frustrations felt by a wife who has seen her husband go off to the war and can expect no news of him. But on Sunday the 25th news of great importance came to him from his wireless. Owing to the success of the Allies in Sicily, Mussolini had fallen. No details were immediately available, and for some days even the bare news was suppressed by the German stations; but towards the end of the month they had to release it, while the B.B.C. reported that the Duce had been forced by the Fascist Council to resign and arrested by the order of King Victor Emmanuel.
On the morning of August 1st Gregory again collected Kuporovitch and the Russian brought with him further valuable intelligence. While working with his group on erecting a wall of sandbags to protect a long, low building, two civilians had come out of it who, it seemed probable, were either engineers or scientists. They had halted within a few feet of Kuporovitch and stood for some minutes watching a firing trial that was in progress. When one of the small, winged rockets had been launched successfully one of the men had remarked to the other:
‘At last we’re beginning to get somewhere with these pilotless aircraft and I’m told that work on the launching sites in northern France is going well. Very shortly it will be only a matter of getting the new weapon produced in large numbers. With the priority that will receive they should be able to begin the bombardment of London by the winter, or perhaps even this autumn.’
The man had, of course, spoken in German and it obviously had not occurred to him that any of the miserable-looking Russians working nearby would understand that language. But Kuporovitch’s knowledge of German had greatly improved during the past two months and he assured Gregory that he was prepared to swear that he had reported correctly every word that had been said.
This news that the first of the secret weapons might become operational within the next few months was highly alarming and Gregory felt that it ought to be passed on with a minimum of delay; so he went into the cabin and put a message into code while Kuporovitch took over the boat and steered her down the creek back to Wolgast. Shortly before they reached the town Gregory had the message ready and he sent it off at once.
Kuporovitch had gone through another very hard time, including a stand-up fight with a big bully in his hut who had attempted to rob him of his meagre ration. He had not yet identified any leader of the plot, but there were definite indications that one was afoot and, to keep in with his paymasters, he had reported these before leaving camp that morning to the junior S.D. officer under whom he had been placed.
For the greater part of the Sunday and Monday he either ate or slept, to recruit his strength for his next twelve days of hunger and hardship. Then, on the Monday, shortly before midnight, Gregory watched him disappear for the third time through the gates at Peenemünde.
He was due for his next release on Sunday, August 15th, and by nine o’clock that morning Gregory had the launch tied up in the little harbour, waiting to take him off. But he did not appear.
By half past, Gregory was extremely worried; then it suddenly entered his mind that Kuporovitch might have sent a message to the guard post to await him there; so he clambered up on to the quay. Outside the post, not far from the sentry, a Sergeant and several men were lounging in the sun. Quickly Gregory questioned them, but they could tell him nothing; so he asked the Sergeant to send one of the men to fetch his officer. Five minutes later an elderly Lieutenant of the Reserve came out of the gate. He said that he knew Soldat Sabinov by sight, as the man was on a list of people allowed to pass in and out of that gate; but no message concerning him had been received.
With growing fears that some misfortune had befallen his friend, Gregory remained there until eleven o’clock, making desultory conversation with the Sergeant and explaining his anxiety by telling him that Sabinov had previously been his servant, so he would be very upset if his failure to appear was caused by his having met with an accident.
Soon after eleven he decided that it was useless to wait any longer and, returning to his boat, he made all speed back to Wolgast. There, at the hotel, he was relieved of his worst fears on finding a note that had shortly before been left for him. It was from Brigadier Langbahn and read:
I am sorry to tell you that your man was beaten up last night and is in hospital. But his injuries are not serious and he will be well enough for you to pick him up tomorrow. He has landed one fish for us, but there is still trouble brewing, so I shall expect him back at midnight on Tuesday.
All that day it rained heavily and Gregory spent it indoors, worrying about Kuporovitch; but when he collected him next morning, apart from a black eye and a badly bruised chin, he was in fairly good shape.
It transpired that in the last group to which he had been allotted he had recognised—but fortunately without being recognised himself—an ex-member of the O.G.P.U. Naturally, he had had no intention of saving the Germans from riots by denouncing any conspirator who confided in him; but he knew that it would strengthen his own position if he turned one of his fellow prisoners in, and several of his brother officers who had been caught up in the Tukashevsky conspiracy had been tortured and executed owing to the activities of this O.G.P.U. man. So Kuporovitch had avenged them by reporting him as one of the leaders of the break-out plot and had seen him hauled off to torture and death by the Gestapo. Unfortunately other members of the group had suspected that it was Kuporovitch who had ‘squealed’, so they had attempted to do him in. As he had had the sense to shout for help with all the strength of his powerful lungs, his bellowing had been heard and the guards had arrived on the scene in time to rescue him.
He had no fresh news about the secret weapons, but hoped to pick up further information during his next spell inside; and he had no special fears about returning to his highly distasteful job, because he was to be put into a different camp, to which it was believed that the trouble had spread and, of course, he would enter it under a different name. Two days’ relaxation with plenty of good food and drink fully restored him to his normal, cheerful self and, a little before midnight on the Tuesday, Gregory landed him in front of the Peenemünde gate.
He pushed off at once and, not having heard the news that evening, as soon as he had rounded the promontory just south of Peenemünde he stopped his engine, then began to fiddle with the knob of his wireless hoping to pick up a midnight bulletin from a British station. He had been trying to get the Continental wave-length only for a moment when he recognised his own call sign.
At once he pulled out his notebook and pencil, sent his number and turned the set up. The message was short and having taken it down it took him only a few minutes to decode, because by then he had memorised quite a number of the abbreviation symbols. As he worked by the light of his torch he jotted down: Tried to contact you three nights stop maximum raid on P first suitable stop withdraw stop report results if possible.
With swift concern he switched out his torch, returned the wireless to its hiding place and turned the boat about. Somehow he must warn Kuporovitch, and they must devise some way of getting him out. Perhaps they could say that, owing to his injuries, he needed further time to recuperate. He had been gone less than a quarter of an hour and he had a two-mile walk back to his camp. There still might be time to catch him.
At full speed Gregory drove the boat back into the little harbour and scrambled ashore. The arc lights were blazing down, so the sentry recognised him at once and made no move to fire. Running up to him, Gregory panted:
‘Soldat Sabinov! I forgot to tell him something. It’s important … very important. Get him back. Send someone after him.’
The sentry shook his head. ‘Herr Major, I cannot leave my post.’
‘Then call your Sergeant! Call your officer!’
The man gave a shout and his Sergeant emerged from the guard house.
Urgently, Gregory repeated his request that someone should be sent after his man to get him back.
‘I regret, Herr Major,’ the Sergeant replied, ‘but I have no authority to use one of my men for such a purpose.’
In a second Gregory became the typical German officer who is accustomed to be obeyed without question. Drawing himself to his full height, with all the authority of his rank, he snapped, ‘Call your officer. Instantly; or it will be the worse for you.’
The Sergeant wilted. Calling another man out of the guard house, he turned, took a key from his pocket and unlocked the gate. Then he said to the man, ‘Go and fetch the Herr Leutnant.’
A few minutes that seemed an age to Gregory went by. Suddenly the lights went out. In a flash he realised what that meant. It had never happened before during his seven weeks at Wolgast. It could be only because a warning had been received that an air-raid was imminent. The message had said ‘first suitable night’. The moon was nearly full and now lit the scene faintly between drifting patches of cloud; so conditions could not have been better.
The gate was open. The Lieutenant might already be in bed. It might be ten or fifteen minutes before he had dressed and could be brought there. Meanwhile Kuporovitch was calmly walking back to the camp where within the next hour hundreds of men might lie dead. The thought spurred Gregory to immediate action.
Thrusting the Sergeant aside he dived through the gate. It gave on to a curving street. Expecting any minute to be shot in the back, he pelted along it, hugging the nearest side to take the best advantage of the deep shadows now cast by the moonlight. The sentry, bewildered by the sudden switching off of the lights and taken by surprise by Gregory’s abrupt action, momentarily lost his wits and forgot that he should have used his rifle. The Sergeant shouted to Gregory to halt but, also taken aback, lost a few moments before drawing his pistol. By the time he blazed off with it, Gregory was round the first bend of the street and no longer a visible target.
In less than two minutes he was out of the deserted village and running hard along an open road. As he ran he caught the drone of an aircraft engine and knew that it must be a Pathfinder coming in to mark the targets. A siren wailed, then a score of anti-aircraft batteries opened up. Streams of tracer bullets streaked the night sky and shells began to burst overhead.
By then Gregory had covered a mile. The road dipped slightly and in a depression ahead a dark group of trees stood out. The fact that by now Kuporovitch would realise his danger and do his best to save himself did not enter Gregory’s head. His one desperate thought was that before the friend who meant so much to him reached the camp he must manage to catch him up.
A dull droning was now audible from seaward. The mighty bomber fleet was coming in. In the distance, to either side of the group of trees towards which the road led, the darkness was stabbed by spurts of flame. The flashes lit up long lines of hutments and humps like giant golf-bunkers that must be the assembly shops protected by thick walls of sandbags. The Pathfinder had located his target and was dropping his markers.
Gasping for breath, but still running hard, Gregory reached the group of trees. His chest pained him terribly and he knew that his strength was flagging, yet he forced his aching legs to obey his will and thrust him on. When he was halfway through the trees the bombs began to fall.
From the sky there came a roar like continuous thunder. It was punctuated by terrific detonations. Searchlights streaked the sky in all directions. Anti-aircraft shells were now bursting up aloft at the rate of six a second. It seemed impossible that anything could live up there through such a barrage. Pieces of shell came whistling downward. An aircraft was caught like a tiny gnat in the beam of a searchlight. It was hit, burst into flames and came spiralling earthwards. In front of him, through the fringe of trees on either side of the road, Gregory could now see the camp clearly. Scores of brilliant flashes made it as bright as daylight. A dozen of the long huts were already on fire. Incendiaries were showering down and others were igniting every minute. The explosions of bombs and guns merged into a deafening drumfire.
Gregory was nearly through the cluster of trees. At the side of the road, less than a hundred yards away, he suddenly saw a figure that had previously been hidden by them. Against the glare of the blazing camp there could be no mistaking the solitary, broad-shouldered man who was standing quite still watching its destruction. With infinite relief, Gregory staggered to a stop. Then, with all the remaining strength of his lungs, he yelled:
‘Stefan! Stefan! For God’s sake take cover.’
Kuporovitch did not turn and through the roar of the explosions it seemed unlikely that he could have heard. Starting to run again, Gregory gave another shout.
At that moment there came a blinding flash, another and another, as a stick of bombs straddled the coppice. The trees to either side of the road swayed and crumpled. Gregory glimpsed one as, uprooted by the blast, it toppled and fell. There was no escape. It crashed directly on to him. One moment he had been running, the next he was pinned to the ground in the middle of the road. An intolerable pain shot through his body. His eyes seemed to burst out of their sockets. A terrible weight on his left leg held him captive. Even as he strove to lift his hands they flopped back slack and useless. Everything about him had gone black. The crashing of bombs and roar of guns now sounded distant, as though his ears had suddenly been plugged with cotton wool.
Through a mist of pain a thought flashed into his brain. It was the 17th of August. An 8 day in the 8th month. Malacou had warned him that any such day, in conjunction with his birth number, 4, would prove highly dangerous to him, and particularly so in his association with Kuporovitch. Yet he had ignored that warning and been brought to the fatal date on account of the Russian’s having to be a day late in coming on his fortnightly forty-eight-hour leave. Malacou had also told Gregory that he might die in the hour of his triumph.
This, then, was it! He had had a good run for his money and Peenemünde was being destroyed. But he had come to the end of the road. His agony then seeped away as he slipped into total unconsciousness.