“To measure the strength of the French Army?” I asked. The mission seemed futile, considering in my time in Rabat they’d shown themselves just once; to assist in the extinguishing of my warehouse fire. I hadn’t even seen their presence in any of the local bars and I told him as much.
“Well, it’ll be an easy mission then,” Rupert nodded. “I’ve to report within two days.”
I could hardly imagine that was the extent of the mission; it raised far too many questions. “What’s the bigger picture?”
“I don’t know, but it’s imminent, whatever it is. I’m just one of many operatives dropped up and down the coast. Because I was coming to Rabat I was told about you, given your passwords. H.Q. had no idea where you were, even if you’d made it here.”
Being stranded irked me, and I didn’t care if I showed it. “Oh I made it here just fine. Then my transport out never arrived.”
“Ouch.”
“I’ve been carving my own resistance.” I told him of my little fire-storm two nights ago. I was aware of my own mission, which now seemed to be superseded by Rupert’s. “How do you get out?”
“I don’t. I’m under instructions to radio in my information by the 5th of the month. Once I’ve radioed in, or if the mission goes arse over tit… whatever happens, I have to get inland twenty-miles after the 5th February.”
“Inland?”
Rupert nodded. “Those are my instructions.”
I wondered what the heck was going on. You ask operatives to enter, survey, then run away. In my mind there was one reason; somewhere along the African coast, there was going to be a raid. And I told Rupert so.
“I agree.” He said. “If you have anything left to do in Rabat, I’d do it pretty quickly.”
“I do,” I didn’t want to tell him details in case he got caught. “But I need some cash, do you have any?”
Rupert nodded. “I have some spare. How much do you need?”
“A couple of hundred Francs should be enough. I have to get rid of my rather clingy accomplice.”
He nodded towards the man on the floor. “What do we do with them?”
“That’s the one fly in the ointment. Sorry. When I started this particular plan, I truly hadn’t counted on having two bodies to deal with. I think we should just do the needy and lie low. We only have two days to get through, then we run to the hills.”
“To the desert.” He grinned. “Let’s just snuff them. Maybe put them in a compromising position?”
So we calmly smothered them, stripped them naked, threw the clothes around the room, and laid the bodies on the bed, hands round each other’s throats. We knew it wouldn’t fool the professionals, but it would certainly shed some doubt on what had actually happened.
There was no way we could both get out of the hotel unseen if we used the stairs, but the windows led to a dark alley, and within minutes, we were out on the street, heading to my hotel.
The next morning, I gave Ramsai some of the cash and sent him south to Casablanca on the morning train. With Trezeguet heading inland to take a look at the army base, I set off on my own for Port Lyautey.
Thankfully it was only a few miles up the coast, as the train was particularly dirty. Being on my own with no Ramsai to assist or divert me, I felt like a fly on a cream cake, and every bit as vulnerable.
As soon as I got out of the train, I knew Port Lyautey was the exact opposite of Rabat. There were French soldiers everywhere, Navy and Air Force too. To make matters far worse, they were all armed, prowling around the station and streets like wild cats looking for prey; I felt immediately on guard, and the feeling never left me until I got back on the train again.
The town was situated on the winding Sebou River, which seemed to be perfectly navigable judging by the sea-going boats tied to the quay. I quickly spotted four familiar grey hulls on the quayside, Schnellboots, all in a further state of readiness to those in Rabat.
That wasn’t good news.
Again in contrast to Rabat, these boats were guarded by three armed guards while the builders worked. I silently cursed, knowing they’d be guarded at night too. To make matters worse, there was no convenient café to watch from. I’d been on the quay for just a few minutes and already felt I was sticking out like a sore thumb.
The milling military presence also contributed to my uneasiness. Even if I were to somehow get explosives near to the craft, or simply set them ablaze, I still had to negotiate an escape through soldier-infested streets.
As I went through my mental calculations I knew I had already decided. These ships were not workable targets for me, and considering it was my own idea anyway, I felt little compunction in cancelling my intended raid.
I browsed the market for an hour, picked up a few scraps of silk, and got back on a train to Rabat. A wasted day, yes, but at least I’d ruled it out as a viable option. My skin continued to crawl from my time in Port Lyautey, and I ate in my own hotel that night, happy with the familiar surroundings. Rupert skulked in later, going upstairs immediately. On seeing him, I quickly finished my drink, and followed.
“Good day?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Not really. I got a rough strength, but there’s little to see. Two infantry battalions, not anything worth bothering about.”
I agreed. “Your operative in Port Lyautey has his hands full,” and I told of my findings. “When do you radio in?”
“I’ve already done it.” Rupert said. “I’m just back from the boat.”
Just then, a tapping came from the door.
“Herr Volland?”
Ramsai.
“Yes? What is it?”
“Eh, I have the samples from Casablanca.”
“In the morning, Ramsai, I’m going to bed.”
There was a moment of hesitation. “Yes, Herr Volland.”
Suddenly the full weight of a shoulder slammed the door. “Scheisse!” I roared, instantly making for the window. The second impact loosened the flimsy door, the third shattered it, sending it reeling into the room, swinging on its top hinge. I saw the image in my peripheral vision as I swung over the railings of the small verandah. It was a long drop, but I had no choice, my legs crumbling under me as I hit the ground, rolling, remembering my parachute training.
I was on my feet immediately, and heard Rupert land behind me, cursing as he hit the ground. “Agh, ma bloody ankle,” he muttered in pure Geordie-talk.
I slid into the wall, looking up. “Can you run?” I hissed at him.
“Aye, lad,”
“Follow me.”
My thought processes told me that Rupert had been spotted in the port, and probably followed to the hotel, and I couldn’t help but wonder if Ramsai’s knock had been fortuitous, planned or if he was somehow involved in the whole thing. I also had no idea who was chasing us, and that didn’t bode well.
Two streets later, we slowed to a walk, Trezeguet limping slightly. “What’s the plan?” he asked.
“I don’t really have one right now. Whatever happened back there, our cover’s blown; we can’t go back.”
“Agreed.”
“What was your plan once you’d reported in?”
“I was headed for Sidi Allal.”
“How far?”
“Maybe 25 miles.”
I knew we could cover ten miles a day in the desert. “That’s do-able on foot.” But first we had to get out of Rabat. “Which direction?”
“Slightly north.”
I nodded and set off, knowing we had to cross the river to avoid a long circuitous route. One of the problems was, we were both dressed in European clothes, white jackets and trousers, a sure giveaway. I hoped that the disorganization of those chasing us would be enough advantage.
We hadn’t got half a mile before we saw the guards on the bridge I’d intended to cross, and with our white attire, we weren’t going to be able to sneak up on them.
“Damn.”
We ended up sitting in a small ditch, dry for the moment, but we were determined to try to sneak out at a busy time in the morning; obviously just simply slipping out at night was not going to work.
My watch showed five o’clock when I heard the first gunfire. Small arms soon escalated into machine guns and the dull thomps of what I thought were probably grenades. Soon the streets around us carried French troops from the inland base, some in jeeps, some just running, heading into town.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
Trezeguet shrugged his shoulders.
Then over our heads came the howl of heavy ordnance. “Shells from ships?” I asked. To the east came the sound of explosions, maybe two miles away.
“They’re shelling the base.” Rupert said, his eyes wide with excitement.
“Then it must be a raid.” I said. “Maybe they’re taking out the boat-building business.”
“I’m not so sure.” His brows clouded, and he shook his head. “That’s something we could have done.”
We lay low for the next hour, for with nothing happening around us, we felt safer where we were than moving.
Then, at just a quarter past seven, the direction of French troops reversed, now driving recklessly out of town. It wasn’t long before we saw the first British uniforms; boy did the sight not bring a tear to my eye.
I thought I was dreaming, but as the moment passed, I heard the skirl of bagpipes. I looked at Rupert. “Are you hearing that?”
“Oh, yes.”
And round the corner, in full kilted battledress, came two pipers playing ‘Hieland Laddie’. Following the pipers strode an officer in a white woolen jumper. “What the heck?” I exclaimed loudly. “Is he carrying a sword?” the man had a Tam ‘O Shanter bonnet with a tartan square behind the silver badge; there was no doubt he was Scottish and particularly proud of it.
Resisting the temptation to stand and cheer, and maybe get my head shot off, I reveled in the moment.
By eight o’clock, the sounds of fighting had died to sporadic rifle fire, and the ships offshore had ceased their bombardment.
I stood up cautiously, looking all around as the sun came up, casting its first direct rays on the town’s buildings. “What’s the plan?” Trezeguet asked.
“I reckon we’ll take a dander into town, maybe down by the docks, see what’s going on.”
“Sounds good to me.”
But there was no way we were getting even close to the town center.
Having gone less than a few hundred yards, we were challenged by a bunch of Canadian soldiers. It made sense to me; if you need to invade a French colony, send in some French Canadians.
With hands in the air, we advanced slowly. “We’re British.” I said immediately. “British Intelligence. We’ve been in town for a few days now.”
Under armed guard we were escorted past jeeps and armoured cars to the British Consulate, the first time I’d set eyes on the place.
Outside the building sat two Churchill tanks, I’d say more for show than anything else, there certainly wasn’t enough room for them to maneuver.
Inside, a frantic bustle awaited us. Eventually a junior officer noticed us, our armed guards keeping their rifles trained on us. “What’s going on here?”
The soldiers came to attention. “Sir, we found these two walking into town. They say they’re British Intelligence, sir.”
“Oh, they do, do they?” The lieutenant looked us over. “Where are you from”?
“Edinburgh, Lieutenant, via Toronto and Gibraltar.” I said, giving him a smile. “I’ve been here for a few weeks now.”
“Ken Crawford,” Trezeguet said, “Originally from Whitley Bay.”
“And your Unit?”
“S.O.E.” I said, Rupert/Ken nodded.
I swear the Lieutenant flinched. “Down the hallway,” he said, moving to one side. “The door on the right, marked ‘Private’.”