Read Online Night of the Fox by Jack Higgins - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jack Higgins
Tags: Fiction, Suspense, Historical, Thrillers, Action & Adventure, Mystery & Detective, Espionage, War & Military
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Gallagher said. "Who did you kill to get those?"
"A quarter pound of China tea and a leg of pork. Okay?"
"Nice to do business with you," Gallagher told him. "See you next week."
His next stop was at the troop supply depot in Wesley Street It had originally been a garage and there were half-a-dozen trucks parked in there. There wasn't much happening, but a burly Feldwebel called Klinger was sitting in the glass office eating a sandwich. He waved, opened the door and came down the steps.
"Herr General," he said genially.
"God, Hans, but you do well for youself." Gallagher said in excellent German and prodded the ample stomach.
Klinger smiled. "A man must live. We are both old soldiers, Herr General. We understand each other. You have something for me?"
"Two sacks of potatoes for the official list."
"And?"
"Another sack for you, if you're interested."
"And in exchange?"
"Petrol."
The German nodded. "One five-gallon can."
"Two five-gallon cans," Gallagher said.
"General." Klinger turned to a row of British Army issue petrol cans, picked two up and brought them to the van. "What if I turned you in? You're so unreasonable."
"Prison for me and a holiday for you," Gallagher said. "They say the Russian Front's lovely at this time of the year."
"As always, a practical man." Klinger pulled the three sacks of potatoes out of the van. "One of these days a patrol is going to stop you for a fuel check, and they'll discover your petrol is the wrong color."
"Ah, but I'm a magician, my friend, didn't I tell you that?" and Gallagher drove away.
Military petrol was dyed red, the ration for agricultural use was green, and doctors enjoyed a pink variety. What Klinger hadn't discovered was that it was a simple matter to remove the dye by straining the petrol through the filter of the gas mask issued to the general public at the beginning of the war. A little green dye added afterward turned military petrol to the agricultural variety very quickly indeed.
Survival was what it was all about. This was an old island, and the Le Brocq half of him was fiercely proud of that. Over the centuries, the island had endured many things. As he passed the Pomme d'Or Hotel, German Naval Headquarters, he looked up at the Nazi flag hanging above the entrance and said softly, "And we'll still be here when you bastards are long gone."
Gallagher parked the van at the weighbridge and walked along the Albert Pier, going up the steps to the top section. He paused to light one of his French cigarettes and looked out across the bay. The fog had thinned just a little and Elizabeth Castle, on its island, looked strange and mysterious, like something out of a fairy story. Walter Raleigh had once ruled there as governor. Now Germans with concrete fortifications and gun emplacements up on top.
He looked down into the harbor. As always it was a hive of activity. The Germans used Rhine barges, among other vessels, to carry supplies to the Channel Islands. There were several moored on the far side at the New North Quay. There were a number of craft of various kinds from the 2 Vorpostenbootsflotille and two M40 Klasse minesweepers from the 24th Minesweeper Flotilla. Several cargo vessels, mostly coasters, among them the SS Victor Hugo, were moored against the Albert Pier.
Built in 1920 by Ferguson Brothers in Glasgow for a French firm engaged in the coastal trade, she had definitely seen better days. Her single smokestack was punctured in several places by cannon shell from RAF Beauflghters in an attack on one of the night convoys from Granville two weeks previously. Savary was the master with a crew of ten Frenchmen. The antiaircraft defenses consisted of two machine guns and a Bofors gun, manned by seven German naval ratings commanded by Guido Or-sini.
Gallagher could see him now on the bridge,
"A quarter pound of China tea and a leg of pork. Okay?"
"Nice to do business with you," Gallagher told him. "See you next week."
His next stop was at the troop supply depot in Wesley Street It had originally been a garage and there were half-a-dozen trucks parked in there. There wasn't much happening, but a burly Feldwebel called Klinger was sitting in the glass office eating a sandwich. He waved, opened the door and came down the steps.
"Herr General," he said genially.
"God, Hans, but you do well for youself." Gallagher said in excellent German and prodded the ample stomach.
Klinger smiled. "A man must live. We are both old soldiers, Herr General. We understand each other. You have something for me?"
"Two sacks of potatoes for the official list."
"And?"
"Another sack for you, if you're interested."
"And in exchange?"
"Petrol."
The German nodded. "One five-gallon can."
"Two five-gallon cans," Gallagher said.
"General." Klinger turned to a row of British Army issue petrol cans, picked two up and brought them to the van. "What if I turned you in? You're so unreasonable."
"Prison for me and a holiday for you," Gallagher said. "They say the Russian Front's lovely at this time of the year."
"As always, a practical man." Klinger pulled the three sacks of potatoes out of the van. "One of these days a patrol is going to stop you for a fuel check, and they'll discover your petrol is the wrong color."
"Ah, but I'm a magician, my friend, didn't I tell you that?" and Gallagher drove away.
Military petrol was dyed red, the ration for agricultural use was green, and doctors enjoyed a pink variety. What Klinger hadn't discovered was that it was a simple matter to remove the dye by straining the petrol through the filter of the gas mask issued to the general public at the beginning of the war. A little green dye added afterward turned military petrol to the agricultural variety very quickly indeed.
Survival was what it was all about. This was an old island, and the Le Brocq half of him was fiercely proud of that. Over the centuries, the island had endured many things. As he passed the Pomme d'Or Hotel, German Naval Headquarters, he looked up at the Nazi flag hanging above the entrance and said softly, "And we'll still be here when you bastards are long gone."
Gallagher parked the van at the weighbridge and walked along the Albert Pier, going up the steps to the top section. He paused to light one of his French cigarettes and looked out across the bay. The fog had thinned just a little and Elizabeth Castle, on its island, looked strange and mysterious, like something out of a fairy story. Walter Raleigh had once ruled there as governor. Now Germans with concrete fortifications and gun emplacements up on top.
He looked down into the harbor. As always it was a hive of activity. The Germans used Rhine barges, among other vessels, to carry supplies to the Channel Islands. There were several moored on the far side at the New North Quay. There were a number of craft of various kinds from the 2 Vorpostenbootsflotille and two M40 Klasse minesweepers from the 24th Minesweeper Flotilla. Several cargo vessels, mostly coasters, among them the SS Victor Hugo, were moored against the Albert Pier.
Built in 1920 by Ferguson Brothers in Glasgow for a French firm engaged in the coastal trade, she had definitely seen better days. Her single smokestack was punctured in several places by cannon shell from RAF Beauflghters in an attack on one of the night convoys from Granville two weeks previously. Savary was the master with a crew of ten Frenchmen. The antiaircraft defenses consisted of two machine guns and a Bofors gun, manned by seven German naval ratings commanded by Guido Or-sini.
Gallagher could see him now on the bridge,
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