There are a few checkpoints from here to the aircraft carrier. I can do a pretty good German accent. Still, this is going to be difficult. The Kübelwagen’s a good touch though. Comfy, at that. I’m riding shotgun. Jennings is driving. Petersen’s in the middle, Pyre and Navittas are crammed in with him. They’re not particularly happy about that, I think.
The first checkpoint is about a kilometer out of town. (You’ll forgive me if I translate for this chap now)
“Guten tag Unterfeldwebel.” -- Good day, sergeant. “Ausweispapieren, bitte.” -- identity papers, please.
I hand him my papers, as do the rest of the boys. Make or break for us. Gene Krupa’s on his drums again. He goes into his office, then comes back out. The sun’s cooking us. Hopefully that masks the real sweat.
“Wo waren Sie?” -- where were you guys? He asks.
“Wir waren von unser einheit abgetrennt. RAF. Wir müssen mit deine befehlshabender Offizier sprechen. Wir haben wichtige Information.” -- so here’s our cover story: We were separated from our unit, thanks to the RAF. We need to speak to their commanding officer, because we have important information.
“Okay. Gehen Sie in, erste Recht, dann beachtet die Schilder.” -- First right, then follow the signs.
“Danke.”
Seems everything’s going well. Good thing nobody blew our cover. We’ll take that first right all right. Then we’ll do our own thing.
We have to make a pit-stop for the boys. We stop at a café. Good coffee. Just what we need. Keeps us on our toes. Especially since we hadn’t enough sleep last night. We gotta pass the time anyway. Can’t very well do the mission until we make contact anyway. Petersen’s got the shits. A couple Kriegsmarine officers come in while we’re waiting. The signal’s simple. Cross the knife and fork. See if one of these guys is the plant.
“Hans?” A man behind me says. His shirt’s black. Has a blue collar, white stripes.
“Ja, Klaus, das bin ich!” -- We’ll play our parts. I stand up and give him a good handshake.
We chat it up for a while in German. When the morning rush ends, we switch to English. Quietly.
“Good eggs, eh chaps?” he says.
“Indeed. Klaus, what‘s going on?” I say.
“Well, they’re putting out faster than scheduled, it looks like. They worked throughout the night. The commander’s not dumb enough to stay for long. Too easy for us to sneak in.” He took a sip of his coffee.
“Okay then. I don’t think we’ll be getting through that way then… all the same, I think we can still pull this off.” I took a sip.
“You have frog suits, yes?”
“In the trunk. Along with the rest.”
“One problem: I doubt you have enough explosives to crack the tanks from the outside.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Well, here’s the thing. I have a few Kriegsmarine uniforms I can get you. But probably not enough for all of you. That might look too suspicious. From there, we can plant a number of them on the fuel tanks, and the engines.”
“Bigger is better. Remember that. We should also try to plant some in the magazines.”
“You’re right. But we’ll need a distraction.”
“I think Navittas can handle that.”
“Roger” Navittas pipes up. “What’s the signal?”
“Pyre will send something burning over the side. It’ll attract attention, but yours will do much more.” I say.
“Righto. I’ll take a pair of satchels. One on each side should create enough confusion, and it’ll attract them far enough away to get them off your asses.” Navittas finished his tea.
“Sounds like a plan. Those shaped charges will do damage, just not sure if enough. It‘s a big ship. Pyre and Petersen, You’ll get the Magazine. Jennings and I will get the engines. Klaus, You going to be able to get out okay? Or do you want to come with us? -- I doubt you’ll be of much use on a ship that’s been destroyed.”
“When I can, I’ll join you. Barely five seats in a Kübelwagen. I might be able to procure something on site though. Jerry does like his motorcycles. I‘ll retrieve Navittas when it‘s necessary. The crew has the night off. It shouldn‘t be too heavily guarded, except for those on the welding crew.”
“Alright gents. Schmeissers for everybody. Navittas, don’t get any guns wet. Cartridges won’t fire. Find somewhere to keep them dry. We’ll scope out the place today.”
The Graf Zeppelin is anchored in the natural harbour of Tobruk. Plenty of patrols here and about. Our disguises work. Nobody’s the wiser. Good thing the boys know when to keep their mouths shut. Petersen has a grim look on his face. We find ourselves a pair of benches. The sun sears our skin slightly as it starts to slowly set. Then something happens. I hear the sound of trucks, and people disembarking from them. I feel a gun to my head.
I look to my left.
It’s Petersen’s gun.
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