Chapters (45)
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Contents
- Prologue
- 2046
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- About the Author
The boat powers through the still waters towards the stern of the U-boat as Harry runs alongside and vaults the gap to land heavily on the metallic flank. He sprints past the jutting tower hardly daring to believe no one has shot him then curses foully as the bullets start pinging near his feet.
A burning desire propels him on. That absolute need to reach the fast boat as it stops to collect the divers who set the charges.
He wants to scream out to wait but every bit of air is needed to fuel his lungs that beat his heart that drives his muscles to keep working. Through tear-streaked eyes caused by the freezing air whipping past his face Harry watches the two divers being pulled from the sea while two more commandos change the magazines on their Sten guns. Only a few metres to go now and he powers on. The first commando completes the magazine change and yanks the bolt back before aiming at the dock and the look of surprise on his face makes Harry want to burst out laughing. The commando pokes his mate in the arm and points dumbly at Harry. The second commando blinks and grins with a slow shake of his head.
‘HARRY, YOU FAT BASTARD,’ he shouts, waving a pack of cigarettes in the air. ‘YOU TIGHT SOD,’ he yells, laughing, as he yanks the bolt back on the weapon. ‘RUN, YA CRAZY GIT,’ he adds, as though Harry isn’t shifting at all.
The commandos fire past Harry at the harbour wall, giving what small cover they can. The men urge him on, shouting and waving for Harry to go faster and put some bloody effort into it. The man at the wheel revs the engine, aiming for the corner of the submarine to give Harry a chance to jump in, except the angle is off. The commandos firing don’t realise and lay down whatever fire they can muster and Harry watches in horror as the boat starts to veer away in tiny increments that increase the gap. With a rare tingle of fear coursing through his veins Harry leaps from the submarine but the distance is just those few inches too far and even the outstretched arms of the commandos can’t reach him as he splashes down into the freezing water of the fjord, which rips the air from his lungs.
Blackness everywhere and the shock strikes him to the core. The shock at missing the boat. The shock at seeing it edge away and the shock of the freezing cold water filling his boots. They become anchors, pulling him down deeper and deeper. His lungs demand air and the transition from hot to instant cold overwhelms his senses. Training kicks in. Don’t panic. Lock it down and work to swim up.