Ormerod's Landing (32 page)

He was given training in the use and maintenance of the
portable wireless receiver and transmitter and spent an idyllic
afternoon lying in a meadow of thyme and buttercups, relaying practice messages, gazing up at the enormous sky and listening
to the lyrical larks.

40

There was an hour's physical training every morning, orches
trated by a man with the leanings of a sadist, supplemented by
a fierce course in unarmed combat under the charge of a blond
boy whom Ormerod regarded with the gravest suspicion.

'Do you know Mrs Sweetman?' smiled the instructor as the
opening line of their first session.

'No, can't say I do,' replied the mildly surprised Ormerod.

'Well, I'm her son Charles.'

'Oh, I see.'

The young man almost simpered. 'I'm going to teach you silent killing.'

Ormerod found the youth's scented hair almost too much for
him in their close-in fighting and the instructor grabbed his
testicles rather more times than he would have thought neces
sary during the course of the training, but there was no doubt
that Staff-Sergeant Sweetman knew his business. Ormerod's
natural revulsion at tearing apart the nose of another human being with his outstretched fingers, enemy or not, was tempered by the immediate need to protect himself against the
assaults of the slight young man. Eventually they were throw
ing each other around like the best of enemies.

During the entire time of his training, a total of five weeks, he was virtually in solitary confinement, for he saw no one
close but his instructors and the grubby private who delivered the tea. On a couple of occasions he saw three men, mysteri
ously wearing snow suits in the bright sun, undergoing some sort of ritual at the distant end of the camp, but he was told
he could not contact them because they were on secret training
also, and in any case they were Norwegian. He ate his meals
alone in a yawning army mess-hall and in the evening he swot
ted up his geography and listened to the BBC Forces Pro
gramme in the threadbare room. Every weekend he telephoned
his wife and told her how his police course was going.

Three days before his time at Ash Vale was finished, although
he did not know that at the time, he was called to a briefing
given by a major and a captain. He had spent the morning
brushing up his facts on Normandy and making his will (ad
vised in that order by the grubby private who apparently knew
more of what he was doing and where he was going than
anyone else).

41

'When these two blokes come to see you then it's a racing certainty that you'll be disappearing soon,' the perpetual jankerwallah forecast cheerfully. 'They won't have you hanging around here for the duration. It goes without saying.' He nodded at the Michelin Guide,
Country Walks In Normandy, The Normans, A History of Normandy
and the maps on Ormerod's bed. 'Mind you,' he said eagerly. 'After reading all that guff you'll probably find they shoot you off to Norway with those other poor buggers.'

It would not have surprised Ormerod either. But when he reported at two in the afternoon to the briefing room he saw there was a reassuring map of France spread across the wall. The briefing officers, the major and the captain, were a strange pair, like a music hall turn, Ormerod thought. The major short and young and the captain tall and almost elderly. They sat behind twin desks and the moment that Ormerod went in the major asked: 'Have they taught you burial yet?'

'Burial?' said the horrified Ormerod. 'Er ... no. They haven't got to that yet.'

'Very important, burial,' said the captain. His voice was squeaky and insistent while the major's was slow and sleepy. Ormerod wondered if they had spent a long time rehearsing.

'Secret burial, that is,' enlarged the major. 'Essential. Must give you a crash course before you actually take off. It's not any use hiding out yourself if you leave your dead pals lying around. It's bound to give you away. I mean, I suppose they've taught you to bury your parachute haven't they? I jolly well hope so.'

Ormerod's heart appropriately dropped. 'Parachute? They said I wouldn't have to go by parachute. Brigadier Clark promised.'

'Promises in wartime,' shrugged the captain, 'are promises in wartime. They are hardly ever kept, you know.'

'But... I can't even ...'

'Don't worry, as it happens,' put in the major. 'We've actually discounted the parachute notion in case you missed the damned island because it's no size at all. You have to go by submarine.'

42

'Island?' asked the bemused Ormerod. 'There's an island?'

'Chausey Island. Oh for God's sake, they've crammed you with the geography haven't they? You're supposed to have covered all of Normandy.'

'Yes sir, I have,' said Ormerod carefully. 'Except Chausey Island. They seem to have overlooked that. I don't even know
where it is.'

'Wouldn't they
just,'
sighed the captain. 'It's typical.' As if
propelled by the force of the sigh he stood and went to the
map of France. He picked up his officer's cane as he went and
used it to point.

'France,' he said dramatically.

Ormerod's eyebrows ascended. 'Yes sir,' was all he could say.

'Normandy,' said the captain knocking the cane on the map again. He moved it north a few inches. 'Chausey Island,' he
added with theatrical patience. 'Seven miles, give or take a bit,
off the Cherbourg Peninsular ...'

'Ah, the Cotentin Peninsular,' Ormerod put in quickly to show that he knew. The captain looked at the major, not at
Ormerod, and raised his face in a shrug. 'Chausey,' he continued
sternly, 'is one main island, two kilometres long and about seven hundred metres at its widest, and a number of small uninhabited islands and a few hundred rocks. It's the only one of the Channel Islands that belongs to the French.'

Ormerod, thinking he was expected to contribute, nodded and said brightly: 'They all belong to the Germans now.'

Both officers regarded him with expressions they apparently
reserved for dolts. 'That,' said the major stiffly, 'is why we're
going in there.' He smiled an almost sinister smile. 'Well ... you are.'

The captain continued, tapping the map impatiently with his cane. 'The island is normally inhabited by fishermen, that type
of fellow. We don't know how many Germans there are be
cause the only contact we've had since the occupation is some
one signalling with torches at overflying aircraft. God only knows what they're trying to say.' He smiled. 'Unless it's "help!"*

43

'How's your French?' asked the major abruptly.

'It doesn't exist, according to this,' said the captain looking at
a sheet in his hand.

'Good God. No French?'

Ormerod shook his head feebly. 'I told Brigadier Clark that,'
he pointed out. 'But he didn't seem to think it mattered. He said the ordinary German soldier wouldn't understand a lot of French anyway. And if I got to officer level, then it would be too late. I've got to try and avoid talking to the Germans.'

'Not a bad idea,' intoned the captain. 'My advice to you Ormerod is if you get into a situation - you know, a
situation
- where you can't avoid it, you should try to make out you're drunk, insane or a deaf mute. Then they'll probably just kick you up the arse and let you go. So do you think you could impersonate a deaf mute? That's the favourite I'd say.'

'I could practise,' promised Ormerod.

The captain suddenly became very friendly and, advancing on Ormerod, put his arm about the policeman's shoulder. 'Listen, old chap, I expect you'll handle the whole thing very well.' He glanced at the major for confirmation.

'Oh, very well indeed,' said the major. 'Very well.'

'Now you'll be getting a detailed briefing before you're actually off on this outing,' said the captain returning to the map. He pointed at the island again. 'But anyway - Chausey. Landing by submarine. Then you've just got to make your local arrangements to get onto the mainland. We can't risk a submarine too near the French coast. Valuable things apparently, submarines.'

Ormerod, doubt from forehead to chin, looked at the map. 'On Chausey,' he asked tentatively, 'there won't be ... there won't be anyone to meet us?'

Both officers looked blank, then astonished. 'Meet you?'
said the elder captain. 'Good God old chap, it's not Paddington
station. We haven't got a clue as to who or what is on Chausey.
People from Mars for all we know, old boy. That's the object
of the exercise, to contact resistance groups, or potential re
sistance groups. I mean for all we know there's a bloody tank regiment on Chausey, although that, I must admit, is a bit unlikely.' He spread his hands. 'We simply don't know, Ormerod.

44

There hasn't been a lot of to-ing and fro-ing lately. Not since Dunkirk.'

The major sniffed approval of the sarcasm and glanced at the captain. The captain nodded as if agreeing to tell. 'You know it's a woman,' he said, 'going with you.'

'I was told that,' said Ormerod, glad there was something he knew.

The captain said breezily. 'Nothing wrong with women. I mean, they don't scare you or anything, do they?'

'No,' said Ormerod, shaking his head. 'Not at all. I've recently got married to one. But I'm just ... well, surprised, that's all. I thought it would be a man naturally. A trained agent. I mean, using a gun and all that.'

The major did not look directly at Ormerod. 'She's trained
but not
experienced.
There's a difference you understand. But
she can use a gun all right, from what I hear,' he muttered. 'Better than most. And she's not going to be squeamish about it either. She'll look after you.'

'Thanks,' said Ormerod. 'Thanks very much.'

'You'll be meeting her tomorrow, or the day after I expect,'
said the captain. 'You'll be called for detailed briefing and then,
at the magic hour, you're off.'

'Any more questions?' asked the major, unnecessarily adding: 'Ormerod.'

'Well yes, there is as a matter of fact. You know about me going to France to find a wanted man, don't you? He's wanted for murder. Brigadier Clark knows all about it.'

The captain looked surprised but the major tapped his teeth with a pencil. 'Ah yes. Now you remind me, there
was
some
thing like that. Very odd business, I must say. Anyway that's all right, Ormerod. It's something you'll more or less have to do in your spare time.'

A dull despair rolled along Ormerod's stomach. 'I see, sir,' he said bitterly. 'In case I get bored.'

The major laughed unpleasantly. 'That's it! You're
all right
Ormerod! Absolutely
all right I
I like your sense of humour.
You'll make out fine in France. I don't think we could have picked a better chap.' He looked at the captain. 'What do you think?'

45

'No,' said the captain with a sly smile. 'I think he'll have great fun. Off to France with a woman - and a beautiful woman at that. Sounds like everybody's dream.'

Ormerod had had enough of them. Another five minutes and he thought he might have tried out the silent killing which the unarmed combat instructor had shown him. He said nothing.

'Righty-ho,' said the major cheerfully. 'Detailed briefing tomorrow. A car will come to you at ten hundred hours. At Ashbridge, Herts or Bucks, whatever it is. Decent little day out if the weather keeps up. Then, pretty quickly I would think - it depends if the navy can rustle up a submarine - off you go. And any further questions? Made your will and all that rubbish?'

'Yes,' said Ormerod. The two officers advanced on him and extravagantly shook his hand. He could have sworn the captain's eyes were glistening. 'Cheerio then,' said the major. 'See you when you get your medal.'

I hope I'm there to get it in person,' said Ormerod evenly. 'Is it possible to ask how I am supposed to get back?'

'Arrangements,' said the major, as though that covered it. 'They'll be made. You'll know in time.'

'Thanks,' said Ormerod hollowly. 'I just thought I would ask. I'm glad it's all taken care of.'

He went out of the hut. The two officers sat down side by side and stared at the map of Normandy. 'Buggered if I'd ever heard of Chausey Island either,' said the major reflectively. 'Not until last week.'

'Nor me,' sighed the captain. 'We'd better allocate this fairy tale a codename hadn't we? What's the next letter in the book?'

'We'll have to use D,' said the major. 'A, B and C were all used in Norway. The Jerries know all about them because they nabbed the agents if you recall.'

'Yes, I remember that,' said the captain as if it were only with difficulty. 'Right, D it is then.'

The major opened a file. 'Letter D,' he said. 'Here we are. Ah, just the thing.'

'What is it?'

'Dodo. Operation Dodo,' said the major. 'And we can give him the name Dodo too.'

46

The captain nodded. 'Right,' he agreed. 'He's as good as dead.'

At ten the following morning an army car arrived at the Ash Vale camp to take Ormerod to the final briefing. He was told to leave his anonymous battledress behind and to make the journey in his civilian blue suit. Ormerod sat in the back of the car, the taciturn military driver never turning his head, and they drove from Hampshire into Surrey and then into
Berkshire and Hertfordshire. Because he was a town man, used
to living in streets, Ormerod had never noticed much of the
country. Now he saw it lying brilliantly all about him, the
most vivid autumn after a hot summer, miles of yellow trees,
copper trees, vermilion trees, unrolling as they journeyed.