In minutes, the convoy, now supplemented and led by the staff car, drove away from the bridge and, as Rochester had described, a short distance along the road they saw a British army fuel depot.
‘I think that’s it,’ Rochester said. ‘But even if it isn’t, we ought to top up the vehicle tanks anyway.’
As it turned out, it was the base he’d been briefed about, a petrol-filling depot operated by the Royal Army Service Corps, and it turned out that it wasn’t just fuel that the unit was able to provide. The officers showed their identification and the staff at the depot started filling the tanks of the car and the lorries. While they did that, Michaels showed the NCO in charge a copy of his orders and explained what they needed. The sergeant summoned the officer in charge, an unusually cheerful Scottish captain named McLeod, who appeared a few minutes later.
Having established who they were and what their mission was, McLeod ordered the kitchen staff there to prepare a hot breakfast for all of them, and then found room for them to sleep in a stable block at the back of the depot.
And there was a bonus Michaels hadn’t expected, though he probably should have.
Because of his job, running the British army petrol station, McLeod was very familiar with the location and layout of all the tank farms near Rouen; he was one of their biggest customers, and obtained all the fuel he needed to operate his station from them.
When Rochester and Michaels woke up later that morning, they spent an hour with him, using his extensive knowledge to fill in the gaps in the information they’d already acquired about their targets. By the time they’d finished talking with McLeod, they knew enough about the plants to decide which tanks should be attacked first, the order in which the rest of the storage tanks should be hit, and how best to detonate them using the minimum amount of explosive. Although the KFRE soldiers had arrived in France with dozens of boxes of explosives, with twenty-nine tank farms to disable, each with multiple tanks, Michaels knew that they would have to allocate their resources very carefully, and hopefully be able to use other methods of destroying their targets whenever possible. Which was why he’d insisted on Dawson coming along with him when he’d been briefed on his mission.
After a second breakfast, Rochester and Michaels drove back into the centre of Rouen to talk to Captain Laurent. Their meeting was short, and not particularly productive, at least at first. Michaels was introduced as the officer in charge of the entire operation, and he opened the discussion, in French, by emphasizing that about half of his men were already in Rouen and that he expected to be able position them at the tank farms that day.
That clearly didn’t impress Laurent.
‘That will not be possible,’ he said in French. ‘I have to accompany you to each tank farm, and I am far too busy to leave my office for the length of time that even one visit would take.’
The Frenchman sat back in his chair with a satisfied expression on his face.
Michaels thought for a few moments before he replied.
‘So how long can you be away from your office today?’ he asked, also in French.
‘Probably no more than half an hour. An hour at the most.’
‘And tomorrow?’
‘A little longer. Perhaps two hours or so. Why do you ask?’
‘I was just checking whether you will have time to accompany me when I go and speak to your general officer commanding this afternoon.’
Laurent looked confused.
‘Why would you want to see the general?’ he asked. ‘Your colleague has already been given his orders.’
‘That’s why I have to see him. Obviously I need to tell him that we can’t complete the tasks we were ordered to perform because you are refusing us access to the tank farms, and I will have no option but to report the reason for our failure to my superiors. As a matter of normal service courtesy, I will have to tell the general what the situation is before I make that report. It might save some time if you are there at that meeting. Then you can explain to the general why you are refusing to follow his orders.’
‘What?’
‘Did you not understand what I said?’ Michaels asked. ‘I apologize if my French is not fluent.’
‘No. I understood what you said. But I cannot—’
‘No problem,’ Michaels said, standing up and putting his cap on. ‘I’m quite happy to talk to the general myself if you’re too busy. Good day, Captain.’ Then he switched to English: ‘Get up, Gordon. We’re leaving.’
Michaels and Rochester were almost at the door before Laurent spoke again.
‘Wait, please.’
The two British officers stopped by the open door and looked at him expectantly.
‘I told you that I cannot leave the office today,’ Laurent repeated. ‘Would you be prepared to visit the tank farms to talk to the directors about providing sentries without me being there?’
As that was precisely what they had wanted from the start, Michaels nodded.
‘If you are sure about it, yes. That will certainly save me having to write that report.’
‘Very well. I may be able to accompany you tomorrow or perhaps the next day.’ Laurent paused for a second or two, then said something else in French to Michaels.
‘Thank you for that, Captain,’ Michaels replied. ‘I didn’t know that was the case.’
Michaels waited until they were outside the building before he explained to Rochester what had happened.
‘It’s amazing what a subtle threat – or even a not very subtle threat – can achieve, especially in the military. Black marks on annual reports make for very poor promotion prospects, even in wartime. It’s just a matter of knowing which buttons to press. Right, we’ll go back to the petrol depot, get the men saddled up and start getting them into position.’
Back in the staff car, Michaels explained what else Laurent had told him.
‘You probably won’t believe this, but he told me that the tank farms along the river aren’t all under the control of the French general here in Rouen.’
‘They’re not? Then who does control them?’
‘Apparently because some of those tank farms and refineries are close to the coast of France, they fall under the command of the admiral in the French navy who is also in charge of the port of Le Havre, and he has nothing whatever to do with the French army general who controls all the others.’
Rochester stared at Michaels for a moment, perhaps wondering if his friend and colleague was joking. Then he voiced his thought.
‘You are joking, aren’t you?’ he asked.
Michaels shook his head.
‘I wish I was, but I’m afraid I’m not.’
‘But that means we have to start the whole process of negotiation all over again with this bloody admiral. And I’ll bet you he’s just as deluded as the general and almost every other French officer we’ve met so far.’
‘You’re probably right,’ Michaels said. ‘But that’s the reality of the situation, and we have to make the best of it.’
The sirens started wailing a couple of minutes after they walked out of the building, and the two British officers joined a line of French military personnel, and quite a few civilians, who were heading for the closest bomb shelter. They both heard and felt the ground shake as a stick of bombs landed somewhere nearby, and flakes of concrete fell from the ceiling of the shelter, but that was the closest the bombs got. Within about twenty minutes, the all-clear sounded and they walked back up into the open air.
The KFRE soldiers were both ready and eager to get started, and clustered around the two captains when they got back to the fuel depot.
Michaels explained the plan, such as it was, which was that they would set off in convoy from Rouen and visit each of the first fifteen or so tank farms in turn. Michaels would explain to the director of each one that the British soldiers had been sent to provide an extra line of defence for the sites against any possible German incursion, and that their presence had been approved by the general officer commanding in Rouen. That, of course, wasn’t strictly true. In fact, it wasn’t even half true, but Michaels guessed that the civilians involved would probably be reluctant to disturb the most senior military officer in the area to confirm whether or not he had actually issued such instructions.
Exactly how anyone could realistically expect that a maximum of four British soldiers – they were visiting fifteen plants and he had sixty-two soldiers at his disposal – armed with a rifle and a pistol each could defend an oil refinery or tank farm against the might of the Wehrmacht and the Luftwaffe was a question he hoped none of the site directors would think to ask, because he had no idea what answer he would give.
They set off in convoy, the Morris staff car again leading the way, Dawson in the driving seat, and with Michaels supplying the directions to the first of the tank farms. The lorries containing the British soldiers, bottles of water and food – only standard ration packs – and the vital boxes of explosives and detonators, trundled along behind as they headed out of Rouen and turned south towards the Seine.
The gates to the first tank farm that they reached were closed and locked, but by dint of repeatedly pressing an electric bell push mounted on the pillar next to the gates, Michaels was eventually able to summon a member of staff. With the metal gate acting as a barrier between them, he explained their mission, emphasizing that the British soldiers had been sent to guard the site.
The staff member clearly knew nothing about any such arrangement, and was, equally, clearly not in a position to allow the foreign soldiers inside the facility on his own authority, but he did trot away obediently when Michaels asked him if he could speak to the director. A heavyset man wearing a dark blue suit appeared at the gate a few minutes later, and Michaels ran through the entire scenario, once again, with him.
Five minutes later the gates swung open and four of the KFRE soldiers, each carrying a couple of boxes of stores along with their kitbags and rifles, walked into the site a few feet behind Michaels and Rochester, Dawson right behind them, all of whom were accompanied by the plant director. Once they were inside the boundary fence, the soldiers lowered their stores and kitbags to the ground, and then followed the officers.
As in Amsterdam, Michaels had cautioned Dawson to say nothing about their real intentions, but just to observe and note the sizes of the tanks, the pipework, the valves, the type of fuel oil each one held and anything else that could be relevant to the success of their mission. The small group did a circuit of the site, Michaels ostensibly looking for defensive positions for his men.
Back at the main gate, the director shook hands with Michaels, smiled at Dawson and the four soldiers selected to ‘guard’ the site, and then scuttled off back to his office in one of the buildings near the gate.
Satisfied that none of the tank farm staff were within earshot, Michaels gave the four men their final, brief, instructions.
‘Work two on, two off. Mount guards as I told you earlier, and do patrols of the site. The director has told me you can use that building over there’ – he pointed at a small detached structure near the administration offices – ‘as a bunk room, and there’s a washroom attached, so you will have some creature comforts. We’ve already seen the tanks, but when you’re out doing those patrols, pay particular attention to them, and how you’ll blow them when the order is given. You can start prepping the charges, as long as none of the staff here can see what you’re doing. The set-up here looks to me very much like the tank farms we destroyed in Amsterdam, so we can probably use the same techniques. You agree with that, Dawson?’
‘Yes, sir. The tanks hold everything from heavy oil down to kerosene, so blow the valves off the heavy oil tanks first, to get it flowing, then do the kerosene, and remember to soak blankets in kerosene to use as igniters. There should be some in the lorries, so make sure you take at least a couple each, just to keep you warm at night. Once you blow the tanks, you’ll be warm enough without the blankets.’
A couple of the soldiers chuckled, but they were obviously not looking forward to their lonely nights at the tank farm.
‘Do it the way we did it in Holland. Blow the valves off using the smallest amount of gun cotton that will do the job, and ignite the fuel the same way we did before.’
‘Any questions?’ Michaels asked.
‘Scran, sir?’ one of the soldiers asked.
‘We’ve only got standard ration packs for you at the moment, I’m afraid. If this takes longer than I expect, we’ll get some proper food for you, probably from the French, but I think you’re only going to be here for a day – two days at the most. You might not have heard, but a Jerry patrol smashed through the French defensive line only about 20 miles from Rouen yesterday, so I think we’ll be lighting these particular fires very soon.’
Minutes later, the convoy was back on the road and heading towards the next tank farm. There, they repeated the process, Michaels explaining the details of their mission, suitably modified for public consumption, and again he had no trouble getting permission to station his troops inside the compound.
‘I think the director was quite glad to see soldiers – even only four soldiers – mounting guard at the site,’ Rochester said as they drove away. ‘I didn’t see any sign of French troops stationed at either of those two tank farms.’
‘Nor did I. It rather makes you wonder exactly what defensive measures Captain Laurent has put in place, if any.’
These visits set the pattern for the day, and with the sky starting to darken as dusk approached, the convoy drove away from the fifteenth tank farm, the staff car leading the now empty lorries.
They had stationed four soldiers at each tank farm, but at Mailleraye Michaels had positioned six men; unlike the other sites, which were purely tank farms, this was an oil refinery, which meant it was a whole lot bigger and had far more tanks that would need to be destroyed.
‘Back to that transit camp, sir?’ Dawson asked.
‘Yes. There is accommodation there, of a sort, so I suppose we can’t really justify renting hotel rooms in Le Havre,’ Michaels said. ‘But before we do that, we need to find out where that French admiral hangs out and get an appointment with him first thing in the morning.’
‘They can do that at the British headquarters,’ Rochester replied. ‘I’ve told the lorry drivers to go straight to the transit camp, so we can separate from the trucks once we get back to Le Havre.’
‘Let’s hope the admiral is a whole lot more realistic than the general, because I want all of our men in position by tomorrow evening at the latest. We have to be ready to start the demo as soon as the first Jerry troops appear over the horizon.’
‘Here’s hoping,’ Rochester agreed, but he actually sounded far from hopeful.