Raider X Page 3

  “Why not?”

  “Because despite the Nazi belief that every enemy should be executed, such a notion will run counter to everything that Schwarzwalder was taught in his military education. Like us, those schools implore their students to maintain some sense of discipline in warfare. Enemy combatants are one thing; civilians are quite another. Schwarzwalder won’t have the death of innocents on his conscience. I expect he will pick you all up and formally make you prisoners of war. Or he might even drop you off on some island or neutral port somewhere.”

  “But there’s no guarantee.” Thatcher took another sip of his brandy. Curiously enough he still felt like he was awaiting the executioner’s command to fire. There was no real reprieve with what Hewitt was offering him. Just a different chance to die for his country. He smiled in spite of it all. And then he noticed Hewitt had stopped speaking.

  “Listen Thatcher: I know all about you. I know how your mind works.”

  “Do you now?”

  Hewitt leaned forward and took a sip from his own glass. “You might be thinking somewhere in the head of yours that if you do get popped by Raider X and picked up by Schwarzwalder, that you could just as easily offer your services up to Hitler. Or maybe you could implore Schwarzwalder to drop you off in Portugal or somewhere else where you could set up a new life.”

  Thatcher said nothing while Hewitt eyed him.

  “Let me relieve you of that fanciful notion.” Hewitt now had his gaze firmly locked on Thatcher. “You don’t have much that we can hold over you once you leave the confines of this office, that is true. Your immediate family is back in the States or scattered to the four winds, some are dead and some are simply nowhere to be found.” Hewitt shuffled a few papers on his desk. “But you do have an aunt living out near Hereford, don’t you? You haven’t seen her in quite some time but it’s my understanding that you dote on her quite a bit when you do. Maybe you view her as the last link to your mother, I don’t know. But we have documentation here that tells me you care an awful lot about her.”

  Hewitt put the papers down and looked at Thatcher again. “It would be a terrible shame if anything were to happen to your little old aunt. I mean, I imagine she wiles most of her time away on a rocking chair in front of the fire on these cold afternoons, wouldn’t you?”

  Thatcher felt his jaw tighten. “Perhaps.”

  “And if we got word that you had somehow…flittered away like a little bird, off to some warmer locale to sun yourself on a beach without a care in the world, that would mean we’d have to tear her away from that cozy life she’s got for herself.”

  “Unless I’m mistaken,” said Thatcher, “this isn’t Nazi Germany. Is it? You can’t very well just uproot a little old woman and put her in jail.”

  Hewitt recoiled. “Oh, my goodness, I wouldn’t dream of putting her in jail, Thatcher.”

  “Well, it’s just that you-“

  “What I would do is ship her north to one of our estates in Scotland. Far removed from any village. And there, I would put her out in the middle of a night exercise for our trainees. She would be live training for sentry removal with a knife.”

  The words dropped hard on the desk as Thatcher looked at Hewitt and again saw the expression that revealed his handler had absolutely no qualms about what he had proposed.

  “You can’t do that.”

  Hewitt shrugged. “You know, you’re probably right. In any other time when the homeland isn’t being routinely attacked by the raving maniac across the channel, I couldn’t. But these aren’t ordinary times, Thatcher. And the Emergency Powers Act gives someone like me an awful lot of latitude when it comes to making sure my organization is successful. You see, we’ve been charged with disrupting Hitler any way we possibly can. And when the Prime Minister gives you a direct order, one tends to take that mandate very seriously. As I have.”

  Thatcher leaned back in his chair and smiled. “So yes, while in peacetime, you could perhaps fly off as you’d like, during wartime, there’s nothing to stop me from dragging auntie out of her warm bed in the middle of the night and making her stand outside in the frigid highlands while a student trainee sneaks up from behind and punches a blade into her flabby neck.” He glanced down at the papers on his desk again. “You’d do well to remember that. If you have any sort of affection for your aunt, then you’ll quell that desire to use this assignment as a gateway to freedom and concentrate instead on making sure you complete it to the best of your ability.”

  “Or die trying.”

  “Exactly. Die trying,” said Hewitt. “And god help auntie if you die without trying because we’ll know about that as well.”

  “What else?”

  “What else?”

  “Cover story? What’s my background?”

  Hewitt shrugged. “You don’t really have one. We’ll give you your official papers back, but that’s it. You were hoping to travel to Portugal and later Spain to do business. You’re in real estate.”

  “Nothing else? What if they do a background check on me?”

  Hewitt grinned. “You’ll be at sea and there’d be no way to confirm or deny anything at that point. And as you’ll find, Thatcher, sometimes, the simpler the lie, the easier it is to pull off. Most times, in fact.” Hewitt checked his watch. “And that is about all I have to say to you.”

  Chapter 5

  Hewitt actually shook Thatcher’s hand as they parted. “I’d wish you luck, but you’re going to need a whole lot more than that on this mission, Thatcher. The fact is, this might be our last time together.”

  “You always send your operatives off with such a lofty pep talk?”

  Hewitt grinned. “No, usually I think they have a shot at returning. You? I’m not so sure. This thing has suicide mission written all over it. There are too many variables, but we have to try. The Prime Minister wants Raider X destroyed without us having to launch an entire fleet to have to hunt it down. So it’s down to you to get it done.”

  “And what happens if I manage to do so?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean exactly what I just asked: what happens next? I make my way to some neutral country and go to the embassy? You send a boat to pick me up? What?”

  Hewitt eyed him. “You come back here. Any way you can manage to do so. You’re a resourceful lad. I don’t much care of you swim home and up the Thames. Get back here as soon as you can. And don’t let me find out that you took off or else.”

  Thatcher sighed. “I know, I know.”

  “Good,” said Hewitt. He nodded behind Thatcher. “Now Jeremy here will see you off to your flight.”

  Thatcher turned with a start. Hewitt’s bodyguard had materialized out of nowhere and his presence was rather off-putting. Thatcher tried to smile but Jeremy just looked at him with the sort of eyes that reminded Thatcher of a dead fish. It was not a comforting sight.

  Hewitt cleared his throat. “Off you go then.”

  Jeremy turned and Thatcher followed him toward the front of the building, pausing only to remove his pass and give it back to the nice old lady with the machine gun under her desk. Outside, Jeremy stepped into the driver’s seat without even looking at Thatcher. Thatcher took a glimpse at the crowded street and wondered how far he could sprint before the tongueless bodyguard caught up with him and beat him senseless.

  With a sigh, he climbed into the back of the car and Jeremy instantly rolled away from the curb. Thatcher got the distinct impression the bodyguard had wanted him to try something funny. He was glad he hadn’t done so.

  They rolled through the London traffic while Thatcher took everything in. The streets were crowded with all manner of people while trucks belched exhaust. Horns sounded as people made their way throughout whatever lives they had here. Thatcher absorbed it all wondering if he’d even ever see it again. As much as he hated the bustle sometimes, he had to admit that even in wartime, London had a certain charm that he would no doubt miss while away.

  His mind went to the sp
ecifics of the operation and then he realized he didn’t really have any. Hewitt had given him no timetable of how this was going to happen. He had no clue where the ship he was traveling on was even heading although he concluded it must have been toward Portugal since that was where Hewitt had told him he was going. But even still, the vagaries of the assignment gnawed at him. It was as if Hewitt hadn’t even invested much into making sure the mission was a success. He had simply found some loser with nothing else to live for and handed it off to him.

  Thatcher, he thought, you have once again shown yourself remarkably adept at attracting the worst circumstances to your life.

  Jeremy drove them outside of London to a small airstrip based on a converted mansion’s grounds. The planes were lined up on the manicured lawns and as they drove in, he could see a few of the pilots mooching around drinking tea and smoking cigarettes. Jeremy drove up to a single plane and Thatcher got a look at it for the first time.

  What was it Hewitt had called it? A Defiant? Whatever it was called, it didn’t look like it had been made to transport someone. Jeremy slowed the car to a stop and they both got out. Jeremy handed the pilot who was sitting nearby a sheet of paper. Then he simply turned, glared at Thatcher, got back into the car, and drove away, leaving Thatcher alone with the pilot who was still reading. After a moment, he looked up and nodded at him.

  “You Thatcher?”

  “Yes.” Thatcher stepped forward to shake the pilot’s hand. But he didn’t offer.

  Instead he looked over his shoulder and whistled. “Oy, Steaks, got us a mission.”

  A grossly overweight mechanic stepped out of the small shed nearby. He stood perhaps five feet tall and almost as much wide and was chomping on something that Thatcher assumed was food.

  “Who’s this then?”

  The pilot eased off of his seat and rubbed his ass. “Special guest of His Majesty. Just got paperwork says I need to fly him down to Poole. Best get him outfitted with the necessary kit. It’s urgent.”

  The Pilot walked off to start pre-flight checks of his plane while the beefy mechanic motioned for Thatcher to follow him. “This way.”

  Thatcher followed him to the shed and the mechanic turned and eyed Thatcher up and down. “Yeah, mate, that outfit’s not really going to work here. You see that turret in the back of the plane?”

  Thatcher looked at the plane for the first time and noticed that there was a section behind the pilot with a gun turret. From this sprouted a series of four barrels of machine guns. Thatcher could see no other armaments on the plane. “I’m sitting in the back then.”

  Steaks nodded. “Exactly and they didn’t quite make it roomy, so I need you to get into this here kit.” He held up a strange-looking suit that reminded Thatcher of someone going diving under the sea. And then the mechanic also showed him a sort of pouchy garment that apparently fit over the form-fitting suit. “This here’s your rhino suit.”

  “Rhino suit?”

  Steak grunted. “Got your chute in it case you run into trouble. ‘Course with you just heading down to Poole, it shouldn’t be an issue. Now come on, strip off them old clothes and let’s get you kitted up.”

  Fifteen minutes later, after much pulling and prodding, Thatcher waddled out of the shed and toward the Daffy, as the plane was apparently nicknamed. He’d given up wondering why they called it that. All he knew is he felt absolutely ridiculous waddling about like penguin in his kit. Steaks had given him a bag for his civilian clothes and then thrust it back into Thatcher’s hands.

  “Hang on to that. You can get changed down at Poole and make sure you give Leftenant Simpson the rhino suit back.”

  “Thanks.”

  As he struggled to walk normally up to the aircraft, the pilot Simpson turned back and regarded him. “All set are you? Let’s go. Schedule to keep and all.” He pointed out how Thatcher could climb up on the wing to gain entry to the rear turret.

  Thatcher did so but couldn’t figure out how to get in. Then Steaks reappeared and showed him how to move it to the side to grant entry. “If you need to get out, that’s how you do it in reverse, so don’t forget. Got it?”

  Thatcher nodded. “Thanks.”

  “Oh, and if you do have to ditch over the water for some reason, get out of the chute as soon as you hit the drink.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it will pull you under like an anchor and you’ll drown in about twenty seconds if you don’t.” Steaks clapped him on the back and jumped down, surprisingly adroit for such a beefy little man. Thatcher climbed into the rear turret and found himself staring out of the back of the plane, which was a weird sensation.

  He heard a bang as the engine kicked to life and then pulled on his headset, hearing Simpson already communicating with the makeshift air tower requesting permission to depart. The tower confirmed his approval and then Simpson guided the plane away from it’s resting place near the shed.

  His headset crackled and Thatcher heard Simpson’s voice in his ear. “You ever flown before?”

  “A few times.”

  “Good. Don’t puke in my plane. I’ll have you down to Poole in no time. Just sit back and try to relax.”

  Thatcher grunted as he squirmed about the turret. The plane had not been designed for comfort, that much was obvious. But he hoped the flight wouldn’t take that long because the sooner he was out of this bizarre flying kit and back into his civilian clothes, the better he would feel.

  The Daffy turned again and pointed its nose toward the improvised runway. Thatcher looked at the mansion a half a kilometer away and wondered if the owners had ever expected to see a fleet of planes on their property. Probably not, he decided.

  But then his thoughts were diverted by the Daffy as it rushed down the improvised runway - which was little more than grass cut extra short - and then lifted off the ground and into the sky.

  Chapter 6

  As soon as the Daffy’s landing gear came up and tucked away in its belly, the plane felt a lot smoother. Simpson kept the plane’s nose pointed skyward and they ascended. He banked twice and took a heading before settling the plane into its proper direction.

  For Thatcher, it was weird sitting backward and seeing the world vanish as if falling away from him. The sensation wasn’t a bad one and he marveled at the miracle of flight as he tried to get some room in the turret to make himself feel comfortable. The mounted machine guns swung around slightly as he twisted this way and that. But he was largely unsuccessful at doing anything that might make his trip to Poole any more comfortable and Thatcher realized his best option was to simply hope that the trip was quick and uneventful.

  “There’s not a lot of room back there, I’m afraid,” said Simpson in his earpiece. The radio crackled with static every time he spoke and Thatcher realized he could hear more than just the two of them.

  “I appreciate the ride,” said Thatcher. “But how do you find someone who can tolerate this discomfort?”

  Simpson laughed. “You find someone who is a lot smaller than what you are, mate. Most of the gunners are short, thin guys who can actually maneuver a bit. Although even for that lot, it can get challenging.”

  Thatcher looked around. The setup seemed fairly evident. The four machine guns were electrically controlled from a main firing trigger. Thatcher also discovered that his turret would rotate if he pressed a lever on one side and it would go the other way if he pressed it the other direction. He shifted back and forth a few times, causing the turret to shudder in one direction and then the other.

  Simpson laughed again in his earpiece. “Getting a feel for it, are you? This is a much better version than the earlier one we had. We’ve got airborne interception radar on this model, which is quite the improvement.”

  “Have you shot down a lot of Nazi fighters with this?”

  “The Defiant is primarily used against bombers. But yes indeed. 264 Squadron was one of the principal players in warding off the Blitz. Not sure what’s been happening lately, but the bom
bing runs have become less and less. I’ve seen a lot of mates get shot down as well. The Defiant isn’t the best when it’s forced to face Nazi fighters. They can generally out-maneuver us. But this little lady can do some great stuff if she’s put in the right position.”

  Thatcher smirked. Any of the pilots he’d ever known had always referred to their planes as women. The same with ship captains. The world was apparently full of studs, he decided.

  It was at that point that Thatcher heard a series of beeps going off from somewhere in the plane itself. “What in the world is that?”

  Simpson’s voice crackled in his ear. “That is the radar system. I’m getting a number of hits on the scope in the cockpit here.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Other planes,” said Simpson. “Stand by.”

  Simpson immediately began speaking to someone that Thatcher assumed was back at the air traffic control tower. He felt a spasm in his gut. Then he heard Simpson’s voice again in his ear. “Change of plans.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Sorry, mate, but apparently the Jerrys have decided to send a bombing mission over London right now. Base is tracking a whole bunch of them coming over the Channel as we speak. We’ve been directed to link up with the rest of the squadron and see that they don’t get through.”

  “We’re going to shoot down bombers?”

  Simpson chuckled. “That’s exactly what I’m saying, yes.”

  Thatcher’s stomach dropped. “How late is that going to make me?”

  “I have no idea, but the priority is stopping the bombers, not getting you to your cruise ship.”

  Thatcher frowned. If only Simpson knew the nature of his assignment, he wouldn’t be so cavalier about what this transport was for. He just hoped Hewitt was being kept abreast of the fact that his suicide mission was in danger of not getting started properly because Thatcher was flying into combat.