‘That’s us?’ Lance-Corporal Harry ‘Harry-boy’ Turnball asked hopefully.
‘No,’ Callaghan replied. ‘Our task is to soften up the enemy before the landings – and to distract them from the landings – by engaging in a series of hit-and-run raids against their positions. For this mission, Operation Kipling, you and your jeeps will be inserted by parachute in central France. Once you’ve all been landed, you’ll establish a base, lie low and make contact with the Maquis.’
‘Frogs?’ Lance-Corporal Neil Moffatt asked dubiously.
‘French partisans,’ Captain Callaghan corrected him. ‘“Maquis” is a Corsican word meaning “scrub” or “bush”. The Maquis are so called because when the Krauts introduced compulsory labour in the occupied countries, many men fled their homes to live in rudimentary camps in the scrubland and forests. Since then, with the aid of our Special Operations Executive and America’s Office of Strategic Studies, they’ve been engaged in highly successful sabotage activities behind German lines. They may be Frogs to you, but they’re a bunch of tough, courageous Frogs, so don’t knock them.’
‘Sorry, boss,’ Neil mumbled.
‘Good or not, why do we need ’em?’ Rich Burgess asked.
‘Because we believe their local knowledge will make them invaluable for planning raids, particularly those behind enemy lines.’
‘Are they troublesome?’ Sergeant Bob Tappman asked.
Callaghan nodded. ‘Unfortunately, yes, and for a couple of reasons.’
‘Which are?’
‘The Maquis are split between those who support General de Gaulle’s Free French and those who sympathize with the communists. Unfortunately, the latter believe, as do the communists, that de Gaulle is no more than Britain and America’s stooge, to be used and then discarded.’
‘Bloody marvellous!’ Corporal Reg Seekings murmured, then asked: ‘Anything else?’
‘Yes,’ Callaghan said. ‘A lot of the Maquis have shown more interest in storing weapons for after the war, to use against de Gaulle’s supporters, than they’ve shown in actually killing Germans.’
‘Beautiful!’ Jacko said, laughing. ‘I can’t wait to work with them.’
‘Also,’ Callaghan pressed on, ‘the SOE views the Maquis as its own concern, has its own teams to arm and organize them, and therefore won’t take kindly to us becoming involved. In fact, they’ve already unofficially voiced their complaints about the plan to insert us in what they view as their own territory.’
‘Well, stuff the SOE!’ Rich exploded.
‘I agree,’ said Bob Tappman. ‘Those sods don’t know anything about the real world. We can deal with the Maquis better than they can, so let’s go in and get on with it.’
‘Nevertheless,’ Callaghan continued, ‘even given these negative points, we do believe that with the advent of D-Day and the continuing advance into Europe, the Maquis will be more co-operative than they’ve been in the past. They’ll want the war to end as soon as possible…’
‘So that they can get stuck into each other,’ Jacko interrupted, copping a laugh from the other men.
‘…to enable them to sort out their differences,’ Callaghan continued, ignoring the interjection. ‘We’re banking on that.’
‘And what if it doesn’t work out that way?’ Bob Tappman asked bluntly.
Callaghan nodded to Greaves, then stepped aside to let his fellow captain take centre stage. ‘Where we’re going,’ Greaves explained, ‘the situation is changing constantly, so our own position there will be highly unpredictable. Therefore we have to be ready to change our plans at a moment’s notice. What I’m about to outline to you is a preliminary course of action that’ll be subject to changing circumstances on the ground.’
‘I love surprises,’ said Jacko.
‘I should point out, first thing,’ Greaves continued, ‘that we won’t be alone. The Special Air Service Brigade, consisting of British, French and Belgian components, was flown into France shortly after D-Day and has since set up a wide network of bases in Brittany, the Châtillon Forest, east of Auxerre, the area around Poitiers and the Vosges. Some of these groups are working hand in glove with the Maquis; others are out there on their own. Either way, they were inserted in order to recce the areas, receive stores, and engage in active operations only after our arrival.’
‘So when and where do we arrive?’ Bob Tappman asked.
In response, Greaves picked up a pointer and tugged the canvas covering off the blackboard, to reveal a map drawn in white chalk and showing the area of central France bounded by Orléans to the west, Vesoul to the east, Paris to the north and Dijon to the south. ‘We’ll parachute in here,’ he said, tapping a marked area between Rennes and Orléans, ‘and then make our way by jeep through the forest paths north of Orléans. The vehicles will be dropped by parachute once you men have landed. They’re modified American Willys jeeps equipped, as they were in North Africa, with twin Vickers K guns front and rear, supplemented with 0.5-inch Browning heavy machine-guns. The modified versions have a top speed of approximately 60mph and a range of 280 miles, though this can be extended by adding extra fuel tanks, so you should get anywhere you want to go with a minimum of problems.’
‘And where do we want to go?’ Jacko asked.
‘With the recent American breakthrough at Avranches, we’ve been presented with a fluid front through which small vehicles can pass. The American Advance Party already has one troop spread across a direct line from Normandy to Belfort, roughly across the centre of France. With those men already in place, and with ensured air supply for our columns, we’re in a good position to cause chaos behind the Germans who’re withdrawing in front of the US 3rd Army led by General Patton. Therefore, in order to lend support to Patton’s advance and help his 3rd Army reach Dijon, you men will head initially for the Châtillon Forest and, once there, make contact with the Maquis. You will then learn everything you can about the area from the Maquis and, using that knowledge, embark on a series of hit-and-run raids, preferably by night, against enemy positions.’
‘How far do we take the raids, boss?’ Bob Tappman asked in his customary thoughtful manner.
‘Nothing too daring, Sergeant,’ Greaves replied. ‘Nothing too risky. The point is to harass them – not engage in unnecessary or lengthy fire-fights – and to sabotage their channels of communication and, where possible, destroy their transport. The task is harassment and distraction, rather than elimination – so just get in and out as quickly as possible. And no heroics, please.’
‘You won’t get any heroics from us, boss,’ Jacko said, lying for all of them. ‘No one here wants a bullet up his arse if he can possibly avoid it. We all want to live to a ripe old age.’
In fact, Jacko was not alone in thinking that the last good time he had had was a month ago, when on a weekend pass to London. After the peace and quiet of Gloucestershire, he and the other Originals had been thrilled to find the West End so lively, with staff cars and troop carriers rumbling up and down the streets, Allied bombers constantly roaring overhead, protected by Spitfires and other fighter planes, flying to and from France; the pavements thronged with men and women in the uniforms of many nations; the parks, though surrounded by anti-aircraft guns, packed with picnicking servicemen and civilians; ARP wardens inspecting the ruins of bombed buildings while firemen put out the latest fires; and pubs, cafés, cinemas and theatres, albeit with black-out curtains across the windows and their doorways protected behind sandbags, packed with people bent on enjoying themselves.
Even during the night, when diminishing numbers of German bombers flew over to pound London and V-l and V-2 flying bombs caused further devastation, the city was packed with soldiers, pilots, sailors and their women, all having a good time