On the Edge of Darkness (Special Force Orca Book 1) (9 page)

*     *     *

There was no light from the building, no noise, no sign of life as Stilson drew close to the woodpile, his slow, careful and silent movements eerily imitating those of his mentor. He slid pass the stock of wood, paused momentarily by the plank door, listening, his tongue flickering over blue-cold lips. Then his dim shadow slipped into the dark recesses beside the door.

*     *     *

Bushel had moved his position. He was now between the sentry post and the lighthouse. Nothing left to chance, that was his saying and it had served him well so far. Cover every eventuality and you’d done all you could, the rest was the luck of the draw.

Twice, during the day,
the fat NCO from the sentry post had crossed the three hundred yards to the lighthouse. If it happened again he wanted to be in a position to ensure it would be a one way trip.

From where he
lay he could see both the path to his right and the lighthouse to his left. He settled down, hidden by his white ground sheet.

*     *     *

The lighthouse keeper was in a hurry. He’d put off going out into the cold to the last possible moment he had fallen asleep in the dying warmth of the fire. Now it was barely alight, urgently in need of more wood, not much time, the convoy was due at eight, he had to put the light on at seven, and he hadn’t prepared his supper yet. He reached for his greatcoat, cursing his own stupidity; he hastily banged an old lidded pipe out on the stove’s cast iron lid.

*     *     *

The sharp metallic sound the pipe made on the stove was the first sign of life Stilson had heard since arriving at the door. He curled back in against the wall, deeper into the shadow. The door’s bolt drew back onto its stop; he heard the rusty creak of its hinges.

The shaft of yellow light
flaring from the lighthouse’s warm interior illuminated the frozen snow and reflecting in the white of Stilson’s wide staring eyes.

*     *     *

Grant replaced the cap on his head, a fixed smile playing to his audience, He knew they would be watching him from the cliff top and he knew what fine instruments German binoculars were, after all he owned several pairs himself.

He gave one final wave and took the E-boat in a broad curve back out to
into the sea’s darkness.

*     *     *

Bushel saw the beam of yellow light from the opening door, watched as the silhouette of a man paused briefly and then moved off to the left, leaving the door slightly ajar. The steady light from the opening flickered momentarily as another, slimmer shadow moved swiftly across it. So swiftly, so silently, that you had to be expecting it to see it. A heart-beat later and the slim figure moved back into the light, the door gapped and then silently closed behind it. The darkness that descended was somehow blacker than before, the night somehow colder than before.

*     *     *

Unteroffizier Heinrich Altmann doubled over in pain, rocking backwards and forwards, rubbing at his bloated belly with both hands. He cursed his stomach and the skipper of the E-boat for awakening him to such discomfort.

He scrambled awkwardly from the gun-emplacement calling to his men
his intention to check things at the lighthouse. Not entirely a lie, he had to make sure that lazy oaf of a keeper was awake for the northbound convoy.

Of course he knew
that his men knew that he was also going there to sample the ‘oaf’s’ Schnapps and the warmth in front of his lighthouse fire. He rubbed again at his ample belly. That schweinhund of a company cook…the arschloch never washes his hands. It was a wonder the whole squad wasn’t sick. He flapped his arms about his distended body, Gott it was cold, it didn’t help that he had bared his backside in the wind ravaged latrine so many times during the night that it felt more like a block of ice than an arse.

*     *     *

Stilson wiped the slippery blood from his gloves, quickly removed and pocketed the fuses from the control panel below the great light. He did the same with the reel of fuse wire. Then, with the hilt of his knife, he smashed the connections for good measure. It would take a skilled electrician several hours to get the lighthouse functioning properly again; more than enough time for their purposes.

Silently retracing his
steps down the spiral staircase he stepped out into the bitter cold night. At a trot, to get his circulation moving, he headed for the cliff top and the rendezvous with Bushel. He chose a route off to one side of the snow-trodden path, but within sight of it.

*     *     *

Bushel saw the willowy figure that was Stilson leave the lighthouse and moved the ground sheet slowly to get to his feet; suddenly he heard soft footsteps coming from the opposite direction. He sank back down looking quickly in the direction of the lighthouse, too late to warn ‘Snake’, he could be anywhere. He’d have to deal with this alone. Let the man pass and then…

*     *     *

Heinrich Altmann trudged on, head down holding his rumbling belly in one hand and the strap of his machine pistol in the other. Suddenly the griping pain cut through him again, ten times worse than before. He staggered to his left and fell to his knees in the snow with a groan… there was another groan; not his. He must be hallucinating with the pain it was if the snow was moving under him. Mein Gott! He was hallucinating the snow had a foot, the foot hit him in the face, more pain. He rolled his twenty Bavarian stone onto the top of the flailing mass that was Bushel and his groundsheet, pinning the corporal firmly to the ground, he began to bellow at the top of his voice.

*     *     *

The German emplacement sprang into life for the second time that night men running in all directions pulling on greatcoats and boots. Once again they scanned the blackness out to sea.

*     *     *

Stilson stopped dead in his tracks that noise would alert everyone for miles around, what the hell was it? It sounded like a pig squealing. He started to run, moving with the ease of an athlete. The knife flickered from its sheath as he sighted the fat target. Without pausing he slid pass the yelling figure, a flickering white silhouette against the pristine snow. The knife flashed fleetingly, the Bavarian’s second mouth gapped soundlessly as he toppled slowly back. Stilson’s pace did not falter carrying him on towards the cliff top.

Twenty short seconds after the first cry of alarm Stilson struck for the third time that night. Two grenades arced through the night over the sandbagged walls of the sentry post. They ignited as o
ne, the explosion seizing the sentry post in a blast of light and flame.

*     *     *

Lieutenant Grant stood at the back of the bridge; his officers and NCOs positioned around him wherever space allowed.

The E-boat, dead in the water, heaved bene
ath their feet to the long slow swell from the west.

“
This operation is going to be difficult, no two ways about it. There are three stages, the diversion, the mine laying and the attack itself. Our principle task will be the mine laying. It will take place here in this narrow neck of shallow water we’re in at the moment. We are between the headland and the island group on our port quarter. My intention is to draw the escort away from the convoy into the mined shallow water. If this proves successful we will then be free to attack an unescorted convoy at will. I intend using the…..” Two explosions ripped the night apart.

“
Full ahead all engines… port twenty! Action Stations!”

*     *     *

Bushel threw the enveloping mass of the groundsheet to one side, gagging for breath. The tremendous, pinning, suffocating weight on his chest had gone. He had no idea why and did not waste time wondering. He gasped another lung-full of ice cold air and tried, shakily to stand up. He staggered to his feet wrapped in the groundsheet. A flash of light blinded him, then two explosions close together. He searched frantically for his weapon realising, for the first time his whole body was a sticky mess. Kicking his legs clear of the sleeping bag he discovered the source of the blood that covered him.

The German
’s body lay spread-eagled, the snow around it black with blood. Then he found his gun and he was up and running.

*     *     *

“That’s put the cat in amongst the pigeons sir.” Hogg lowered his glasses. “Do you think the convoy would have seen the explosions?”

“Undoubtedly, they can only be about three miles astern. We’ll just have to go ahead as planned and hope the ‘Royals’ are still able to do their bit. Better get yourself aft and stand by to lay those mines”

*     *     *

“OK, lads get the lashings off these bastards, look lively or Jerry’ll ‘ave our arses for target practice. PO Stone stood, legs braced apart, leaning over to absorb the violent turn the boat was making to port.

Wilson and Wyatt had left their guns to help with the heavy mines. They removed the lashings
, fumbling in the dark on the steeply inclining deck. Each mine was now held in place only by a stout metal bar, once this was removed the mines would be free to roll down the ramp and into the sea.

Midshipman Hogg appeared by Stone
’s side, “The skipper wants to know if you are ready. We are coming up into position now.” As he spoke the lean to starboard eased and the engines died away to a deep throaty rumble.

“
We’re ready, sir.”

“
Right! Stand by,” …I’ll give you the word from the bridge when we are in position”

*     *     *

Bushel was running flat out for the enemy emplacement. It had gone eerily silent following the explosions and he feared the worse.

The
sandbagged perimeter appeared out of the dark, there was no challenge, no warning shots. Without pausing he leap-frogged over the bags. They were all dead, nothing moved. Silently, cautiously he advanced towards the emplacement itself

He burst through the door and found himself looking down the barrel of Stilson
’s Tommy gun. The marine held his gaze for a second before returning to his check of the bodies. He poked the point of the gun behind the bloody ear of a German private and turned him over with one booted foot.

“
Did you get the lot?” gasped Bushel.

“
Yeah, you were a lot of use.”

Bushel scratched th
e top of his head, embarrassed, “Sorry about that, I couldn’t move a bloody muscle under that fat bastard. I assume it was you that copped him?”

The wiry marine nodded once.

Bushel turned away “We’d better get on…that light should be in place by now!”

*     *     *

Hogg’s young and high pitched voice waxed and waned in the stiff breeze, “Right PO slip two mines, keep one in reserve.”

Stone lifted an arm in acknowledgement.
“Alright lads, you heard the officer… Wyatt, get the weight off the pin before you take it out, you ain’t going to move it like that.”

“
Bloody thing’s jammed… tight as a duck’s arse, PO.”

“
Get for’ard to the locker and get me a lever, a cable jack anything… whatever you can find.” He turned calling after Wyatt’s hurrying figure, “ and look sharp about it. Jerry’s peering up our hawse pipe!”

“
What’s happening down there? What’s the delay?” called Hogg.

“
Jammed, sir, I’ve sent Wyatt for a lever, here he is now… Gis it ‘ere”,

Stone snatched the wooden pole from the AB and rammed it in between the mine and the metal ramp, throwing his huge weight be
hind it, “That’s it! Now get that fucking pin out.

The pin slid free, Stone pulled the jack clear and the black bulk of the mine rolled sluggishly forward… and stopped.

*     *     *

The two marines dropped the reins of the improvised sledge al
lowing its own weight to bring it to a halt.

“
Gis a hand to turn it round to point out to sea…that’s it, let’s hope the bastard works! Some sodding thing’s gotta go right tonight…Get ready to make yourself scarce, we make tracks for the laying up position when I throw the switch, I don’t fancy sticking around in the light from this bastard and keep your eyes averted otherwise you’ll be as blind as a bat.” He threw the switch: nothing happened.