Chapter 8 #2
“It would depend on whether the crew resisted or not. If they resisted, the British navy would open fire, and we wouldn’t stand a chance, especially if their vessel was a destroyer.
If the crew surrendered, the boat would be seized, escorted, probably to Gairloch, and thoroughly searched.
Any intelligence material would be confiscated, and the boat then classified as a spy vessel, not combative. ”
“A spy vessel? Spies are executed, Oskar!” she gasped.
“I know. But I would not necessarily be.”
“How not? What do you mean?”
“If the crew is found in uniform on the boat, they’d be treated as prisoners of war, and interned in a camp somewhere. If they’re captured out of uniform, or conducting espionage on land, that’s when they could be charged as spies.”
“And executed?”
“Yes. By firing squad.”
“But you’re on land now, and not in uniform!” she cried.
“As I said, I’ve taken a bit of a risk,” he smiled. “On the ship,” he went on, “I have my full German naval uniform that I can quickly change into, hidden in a space behind a panel. As do all the crew.”
“So you personally, if you’re found ashore in civilian dress, like you are now, you could be arrested, tried as a spy, and executed?”
“Yes.”
“Are you insane?” Rachel cried, her mouth agape. “You’d rather risk your life helping the British than staying safe serving your country?”
“Even that’s a risk,” he smiled again. ‘The Royal Navy could blow up my vessel at any time, even though we’re disguised as a Danish trader.”
She groaned, sinking her forehead into his chest. He lifted her chin with his finger, forcing her to look up at him. “My love is British,” he said, his blue eyes locked onto hers. “I love her more than any man has ever loved a woman. Of course I’m going to support her country.”
With another groan riding on a deep sigh, Rachel closed her eyes, and, taking the opportunity, he kissed her again, gently, tenderly. “I told you when we first met, we Germans can be a little crazy,” he said then, flashing her a grin. “I also just told you, don’t worry about me.”
“How can I not?” she replied weakly.
“I know how to take care of myself.”
“Faced with the might of the Royal Navy? Faced with execution?”
“I’ll cross those bridges if I come to them,” he said, kissing her again.
She nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving his. “Alright. I’ll do it,” she said then. “To protect our waters, to protect Scotland, I’ll do it!”
He nodded. “I could never doubt your bravery. From that very first day when you saved my documents from the mud.”
“So, what do I do?”
“I cannot come often to see you in person,” he began. “That’s far too risky for me. But, whenever I can, I’ll leave you written messages in the peat shed. The furthest row, in the corner on the left, under the bottom turve. That way, I can row back to the boat quickly. Check every day.”
She nodded.
“You need a way of transmitting those messages that cannot easily be traced back to you,” he went on. “Is there a fisherman you can trust?”
“A fisherman?” she frowned.
“Yes. They’re naturally suspicious of strange vessels. They go in and out of sea lochs at odd hours, they know patrol routines, they’ll be interacting often with Royal Navy vessels, who depend on them.”
“I – I take soup to an older, widowed fisherman whose son has just died in the trenches. Obviously, he’s far from happy with the Germans and might be glad to help,” Rachel offered.
Oskar nodded. “Be sure you trust him implicitly. Get a feel for his loyalty when you visit. The words I write on the messages will be exactly what to say to him, word for word, but of course, you will not mention the papers at all. I want you to burn those immediately, so memorise each message.”
“What kind of things will you write?”
“Things like, ‘I noticed a boat out on the water today at dusk that had no lights.’ You’ll just be telling him things you’ve noticed out at sea.”
“Understood. Then who does he tell?”
“He’ll know to tell the harbourmaster at Gairloch.” He took her face between his hands again. “Listen to me. If anyone asks, if anyone ever asks, you have not seen me. You’ve heard nothing!”
Her eyes widened. “Oskar - ”
“Rachel - it’s imperative.”
For the first time, she saw tension beneath his calm. “Of course! I understand,” she confirmed with a nod.
“If I’m found ashore, or even known to have been ashore,” he said quietly, “they will not consider explanations.”
She understood enough of that. The newspapers had carried the story - the German spy who had been tried at the Old Bailey, then shot at the Tower of London, his name spoken in the village shops with grim satisfaction and faint horror.
She swallowed, and reached for him then.
He held her tightly, conscious of time passing in heartbeats.
“Lie with me!” she breathed. “Let me feel your body against mine once more! Let me feel you ins - ”
Before she could finish, he swooped her up in his strong arms, pushed his way into her bedroom, and kicked the door shut behind him. There was no time for a mattress to be brought to the fire.
He did not stay long after that - he could not. When he stepped back into the night, she caught his sleeve. “You’ll come back again?” she whispered. “To actually see me?”
He hesitated. “Yes. But exactly when, I don’t know,” he whispered back. “Check the peat shed every day. I’m so sorry my love, but I won’t be able to see you at Christmas.”
“I understand. Please Oskar, stay safe!” she pleaded.
“I will.” He gave her a final kiss, then walked away and down to the beach without looking back, feeling her presence in the doorway until he was lost from her sight. On the shore, he pushed the little boat into the tide and rowed out towards the waiting darkness.
Ahead, the Freja lay silent in the loch, a neutral trader on paper, an intelligence vessel in truth. By dawn she would be under way again, carrying one man who charted anchorages and observed patrol routes, pretending to measure Scotland’s western edge.
And Rachel would wake to the morning light, wondering whether the night had been real at all.