Churchill's Secret Warriors: The Explosive True Story of the Special Forces Desperadoes of WWII by Damien Lewis Page A
Authors: Damien Lewis
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Free French were in effect stateless persons fighting to retake their homeland, what reprisals could the Spanish possibly take against them? A few onlookers spoke darkly of English voices being heard from across the water, but no one could be certain.
There was one exception, however.
Kapitan
Specht, until a few minutes ago the proud commander of the
Likomba
, had no doubt whatsoever who was responsible for the loss of his ship.
Kapitan
Specht had refused to attend that first dinner party, for he had always maintained that one German officer should remain aboard his fine little vessel. It was only Frau Luhr’s charms that had convinced him to make an exception this time. As a result he was now a Captain bereft of both crew and ship, and he was convinced that both Herr and Frau Luhr must be undercover British agents.
Specht was spitting blood. Well-oiled and with his face puce with rage, he made his way directly to the one obvious target on which to vent his anger – the British Consulate building. He stormed in, marched through the pantry and came face-to-face with Peter Lake, Britain’s Vice Consul in Fernando Po. Lake was in truth SOE agent W53, a man personally recruited by M to oversee Operation Postmaster from the Santa Isabel side of things.
Specht let fly with a string of foul-mouthed curses, before yelling out: ‘Vere is mine ship?’
‘If you think …’ Lake replied, but he was immediately interrupted.
‘Who is drunk? Who is drunk?’ an enraged Specht demanded.
‘
You are
,’ Lake retorted. ‘Now get out! This is British sovereign territory. Get out!’
Specht totally lost control. He punched Lake in the face, which gave the twenty-six-year-old SOE agent the excuse he’d been looking for. Lake proceeded to knock seven bells out of the German
Kapitan
, who eventually found himself staring down the barrel of a revolver. At the sight of the gun leveled at his head, Specht promptly collapsed, split his trousers and soiled what was left of them.
The police were called. Specht was dragged away and thrown in gaol, while a round-the-clock guard was placed at the Consulate to prevent any such further incidents. Word quickly reached Lake that Specht was threatening to kill him and his colleagues, but he wasn’t overly worried. He’d got the measure of the German
Kapitan
during the punch-up, and if anything he would relish a return match.
Lake was also determined to make the most out of the German captain’s intemperance. He immediately penned a letter to the island’s Spanish Governor, decrying Specht’s breach of international law. He demanded that there should be no repeat performances, and that all British citizens then present on Fernando Po be afforded Spain’s full protection. In doing so, Lake had foremost in his mind fellow SOE agent Richard Lippett, the chief architect of the Santa Isabel end of the Operation Postmaster deception.
Sorulace, cowed by the threat of the compromising photos in Lake’s possession, offered immediate assurances that Lake’s request would be given every priority. More to the point, he refrained from any suggestion that it was actually the Britishwho might be responsible for the shocking breach of international law represented by that night’s daredevil raid.
*
On the blacked-out bridge of the
Duchessa d’Aosta
, March-Phillipps was feeling understandably exultant as he stared out to sea. The entry he made in his ship’s log reflected the quiet, understated sense of satisfaction that he was feeling. At last he and his men had struck back hard against the enemy. ‘Boarded and captured and towed out
d’Aosta
,
Likomba
and
Bemuivoi
’, he noted. ‘No casualties. Cutting out went according to plan.’ In the fast pace of the moment, it seems he got the name of the captured German pleasure yacht slightly wrong, but the sentiment was entirely heart-felt nonetheless.
March-Phillipps turned to a tall figure standing at his side on the bridge. It was Longe, the
There was one exception, however.
Kapitan
Specht, until a few minutes ago the proud commander of the
Likomba
, had no doubt whatsoever who was responsible for the loss of his ship.
Kapitan
Specht had refused to attend that first dinner party, for he had always maintained that one German officer should remain aboard his fine little vessel. It was only Frau Luhr’s charms that had convinced him to make an exception this time. As a result he was now a Captain bereft of both crew and ship, and he was convinced that both Herr and Frau Luhr must be undercover British agents.
Specht was spitting blood. Well-oiled and with his face puce with rage, he made his way directly to the one obvious target on which to vent his anger – the British Consulate building. He stormed in, marched through the pantry and came face-to-face with Peter Lake, Britain’s Vice Consul in Fernando Po. Lake was in truth SOE agent W53, a man personally recruited by M to oversee Operation Postmaster from the Santa Isabel side of things.
Specht let fly with a string of foul-mouthed curses, before yelling out: ‘Vere is mine ship?’
‘If you think …’ Lake replied, but he was immediately interrupted.
‘Who is drunk? Who is drunk?’ an enraged Specht demanded.
‘
You are
,’ Lake retorted. ‘Now get out! This is British sovereign territory. Get out!’
Specht totally lost control. He punched Lake in the face, which gave the twenty-six-year-old SOE agent the excuse he’d been looking for. Lake proceeded to knock seven bells out of the German
Kapitan
, who eventually found himself staring down the barrel of a revolver. At the sight of the gun leveled at his head, Specht promptly collapsed, split his trousers and soiled what was left of them.
The police were called. Specht was dragged away and thrown in gaol, while a round-the-clock guard was placed at the Consulate to prevent any such further incidents. Word quickly reached Lake that Specht was threatening to kill him and his colleagues, but he wasn’t overly worried. He’d got the measure of the German
Kapitan
during the punch-up, and if anything he would relish a return match.
Lake was also determined to make the most out of the German captain’s intemperance. He immediately penned a letter to the island’s Spanish Governor, decrying Specht’s breach of international law. He demanded that there should be no repeat performances, and that all British citizens then present on Fernando Po be afforded Spain’s full protection. In doing so, Lake had foremost in his mind fellow SOE agent Richard Lippett, the chief architect of the Santa Isabel end of the Operation Postmaster deception.
Sorulace, cowed by the threat of the compromising photos in Lake’s possession, offered immediate assurances that Lake’s request would be given every priority. More to the point, he refrained from any suggestion that it was actually the Britishwho might be responsible for the shocking breach of international law represented by that night’s daredevil raid.
*
On the blacked-out bridge of the
Duchessa d’Aosta
, March-Phillipps was feeling understandably exultant as he stared out to sea. The entry he made in his ship’s log reflected the quiet, understated sense of satisfaction that he was feeling. At last he and his men had struck back hard against the enemy. ‘Boarded and captured and towed out
d’Aosta
,
Likomba
and
Bemuivoi
’, he noted. ‘No casualties. Cutting out went according to plan.’ In the fast pace of the moment, it seems he got the name of the captured German pleasure yacht slightly wrong, but the sentiment was entirely heart-felt nonetheless.
March-Phillipps turned to a tall figure standing at his side on the bridge. It was Longe, the
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