Chapter 9

SMITHY IN THE BALKANS

AUTUMN 1943

Lieutenant Herbert Vernon Smith and Captain “Jocky” Wilson bent low beneath the perimeter of the conning tower of the submarine HMS Ulster and examined a topographical map by the light of a torch. The two men were having a vigorous argument witnessed with growing impatience by the ship’s captain.

“For goodness’ sake, chaps make up your minds. Are we in the right place or not?”

They were stationed less than a mile off the shore of enemy occupied Montenegro, in the early hours of the morning. Captain Wilson maintained they were and Smithy, who prided himself on his map reading skills, said not. He knew, as Wilson, he thought, ought to have known, that their lives may depend upon being sure of the exact landing spot. Smithy held the map and tried to align it as best he could with the silhouetted landscape of the rugged coastline, despite the rocking of the ship.

“Look at this,” he said. “We should see this mountain just north shaped like a..like a ..” he searched for the descriptive phrase “tortoise sticking its head up,” he concluded.

“I see a mountain where it should be,” was the retort. “I’m satisfied. The navy knows what it’s doing,”

“I’m not satisfied,” retorted Smithy.

“Do I need to remind you who’s the senior officer here? Call the men. We’re going,”

To the obvious relief of the skipper, the 12 men of the Special Operations Squad assembled on the foredeck and prepared to launch the rubber dinghies.

“Now remember I shall be here at 0300 hours tomorrow. I shall wait no longer than 20 minutes and if you’re not here, I will assume you’re not coming. Understood?”

“Understood,”

They took to the dinghies and set off for the shore as the submarine quietly backing off on battery power faded into the night. Arriving silently onto the pebble shore, they dragged the boats up to the top of the beach and concealed them for use the next night. They then encountered an unexpected obstacle. A cliff. Wilson looked at this map again and said.

“There shouldn’t be a cliff here,”

Smithy, in the dark, just shook his head but, uncharacteristically, said nothing. 

“We’d better look for a way up,” said Wilson. 

Silently they walked along the foot of the cliff before finding a rockfall over which clambered, with difficulty in the dark, to the top. 

The two officers pored over a map by torchlight, and Smithy jabbed it with his finger. 

“That’s where we are” he asserted emphatically and glared, unseen, at Wilson who after a pause agreed and Smithy continued.

“Means that we’re 25 miles south of where we should be and then we have to move 5 miles inland making 30 miles in all,”

“We’ve two choices. Stay here and be picked up again or move to the target. If we do we won’t be able to make our rendez vous tomorrow night,” pronounced Wilson.

“Do you think we have a choice?”

“I suppose not. We’d better tell the rest what happened and get going,”

The rest of the party met the announcement with unspoken resentment and with Smithy guiding the way they began their trek. 

Their target was a radar station tucked in a valley and consequently difficult to locate and attack from the air. The Allies having invaded Italy were on the brink of taking airfields in the southeast of the country and intended to use them as a base to launch air raids on the Romanian oil fields in Ploesti, vital to the German war effort. It still constituted a long and dangerous flight, but shorter than the journey from Benghazi in Libya, thus far the main base for Allied air attacks. By destroying their radar bases, the ability of the Luftwaffe to intercept the bombers would be seriously impeded.  

And so, they set off paralleling the coast as best they could, avoiding villages and towns adding to the time taken. The original plan had been to reach the target, reconnoitre it during the day and attacking after nightfall. They would then return to the pickup point the same night. By sunrise they were still several miles away, so they laid up for the day in a small wood. They had a long tedious but uneventful day and as soon as nightfall came they resumed their journey, arriving at the target at 10 pm. 

They then reconnoitred the radar station, finding the layout as they had been briefed from aerial photos and information provided by the local resistance movement, the Chetniks. There were two round walls, within which were the radar antennae, and a further three outhouses, the accommodation blocks and equipment rooms. To their surprise there were no guards on the front gate and it was easily breached. Wilson paused and looked at Smithy querulously.

“This is too easy.” He whispered. Smithy just shrugged. 

Smithy, as planned, with three men, made his way to the operations room, keeping in the shadows. The rest, waiting a while, made towards the accommodation block, holding back until Smithy’s men had completed their mission. 

They burst in through the unlocked door and opened fire at once upon the four technicians – two at a desk and the others in front of electronic equipment. It was over in seconds. After the cacophony of noise, the shouting, shooting and screaming, silence reigned. There was a brief pause and then they heard a few shots followed by shouting from the adjacent building. Puzzled, Smithy ordered his men to secure the building, made his way to the door and peered out. The lack of any action surprised him. Seeing no movement, he rushed over to the other building and peered through a window. He saw Wilson and his men smoking and laughing with uniformed soldiers beside them. He went to the door, shouted in to avoid misidentification, and entered. 

Wilson and his men were sitting, relaxed, in a large barrack room, whilst standing around them, looking dishevelled and apprehensive, were a dozen Italian soldiers. In the corner were two recumbent figures in German uniforms. Wilson smiled at Smithy and explained.

“When we burst in, the Italians jumped out of the way, pointing to the Germans.”

Smithy looked puzzled, so Wilson explained

“Since the Italian Government surrendered, they’re in an odd position. They stayed here because the Germans threatened to execute them if they didn’t continue the fight. They now demand that as POWs that we repatriate them to Italy,”

Smithy grunted “Do they think we’re a bus service?”

“It explains the lack of any proper security. They see no danger from the local Jugs, and have no interest in protecting a German facility,”

“And they’re Italians,” added Smithy.

“We’d better get on with the job. Are you sure they didn’t have time to get a signal out?”

“Positive. They didn’t know what hit them.”

They planted explosives beneath the two radar installations and in the equipment building. Finding a large store of petrol in jerry cans they stacked them against the explosives and used most of the rest to spray the other buildings. From the garage they removed two lorries and a small touring car. 

“We could use the vehicles to get to the coast,” remarked Wilson.

The senior Italian Officer intervened, introduced himself as Captain Sarto, and told them in broken English that the only passable road brought them through a German stronghold manned by a mechanised unit of the feared Waffen SS Prinz Eugen division. The Italian shuddered even to mention the name. They had a reputation for brutality extreme even by SS standards.

“Ci sono multi auto blindate. E impossibile passare” he reverted to Italian and raised his voice to emphasise the point. No translation was necessary.

“That’s torn it,” muttered Smithy.

 The earnest concern of the Italian puzzled them until he added that since they were now prisoners of war, they were under the protection of the British. 

“The cheek of them. Still, they may have their uses. We’ll never make it back to the coast in time for the rendezvous,” said Wilson to Smithy.

“And it depends on our useless skipper actually making it to the wrong rendezvous again,”

“So, it’s Plan B then,”

 Turning to Sarto Wilson asked would he know how to contact the local Chetniks and could they drive to them. Sarto visibly brightened. 

“We show you the way. We are friend of Vojislav Lukacevic and he knows us,”

“What do you think Vernon Smith?”

“They’re far more afraid of the Germans than they are of us, or the Jug fighters. It’s a puzzle, but I think we can rely on them to get us up into the mountains,”

“We’d better get on with it then,”

They loaded the car and the lorries with weapons and munitions from the armoury, spare fuel, provisions and the dozen Italian soldiers. With reluctance, they decided the Italians could keep their weapons. They then set the accommodation block on fire and while they piled into the vehicles, the Sergeant set the fuses, ran back to one of the lorries and they sped off. Behind them several explosions, followed by an enormous fireball that lit the sky. Smithy commented.

“The Jerries won’t take long to work out what’s happened and be on the road after us.”

“They won’t know who we are and if they suspect a British unit, they’ll hardly expect us to head inland,”

“I hope you’re right,”

Sarto sat in the front of the car guiding the small convoy along the narrow winding roads up into the mountains. The cold and the jolting kept Smithy awake until after several hours the morning light silhouetted the snow-covered peaks ahead of them. Sarto suggested they take the vehicles and hide them in the woods in case the Nazis sent planes to locate them. This made sense, and all were hungry, exhausted and ready for breakfast.

Having rested up for a couple of hours, with no sign of any Nazi planes, they were about to set off on foot when they spotted a party of armed Yugoslavs walking cautiously down the road. Captain Sarto said.

“I will shout in their language to tell who we are.”

From the cover of the trees, he did so. They scattered for cover, and then a reply came and Sarto said to Wilson.

“It OK. Friends,”

They emerged from the woods and met up with the band of Yugoslav patriots, the Chetniks, who chatted amiably to Sarto, who translated.

“They say village short walk away. We go there now,”

Wilson directed three men to stay with the lorries to guard against pilferage of the stores or munitions. Then they set off. After about 40 minutes they came upon the village where they found themselves surrounded by armed men in a variety of civilian and military clothing.

“They look like a band of gangsters,” muttered Smithy.

They were introduced to a taciturn large bearded man in his thirties who was introduced as the leader of the local Chetnik contingent called Matic. He looked at them without enthusiasm and asked.

“Why you come here?”

“Welcome to Montenegro” mumbled Smithy. Wilson gestured for him to be silent and responded irritably.

“Surely you must have known that we might come?”

Matic just shrugged “The major say something,”

“That’s Major Summers. He’s our contact should we have needed it. As we do,”

Matic said nothing, so Wilson continued conversationally.

“The Italians with us surrendered. They say they want to join up with you,”

Matic smiled and looked over at Captain Sarto.

“We know this man,” and spoke to him in Serbo Croat.

“There’s something here we don’t understand. They’re friendlier with the Italians, their enemy until recently, than us their allies,” remarked Smithy. 

Eventually the British soldiers were shown to a dilapidated hall, by unsmiling Chetnik soldiers, and provided with paliases. 

“You can bring your friends up from the lorries now. Our men will bring lorries up after dark,” Matic said to Smithy.

“No. They stay with them and will drive them. Our supplies and weapons and stuff we retrieved from the radar station are in them,” Smithy replied.

“But your men must be tired; They rest and we bring lorries later,” Said Matic with an ingratiating smile.

An unsmiling Smith replied curtly, “We look after our own equipment,”

Matic, the smile suddenly wiped from his face, nodded, turned and walked away. Local women brought them food, which they ate in the depressing surroundings of the hall. After Smithy and Wilson had eaten they searched for Matic, determined to get information from him. They found him sitting outside a small taverna sipping coffee in the company of Sarto. Uninvited, they pulled up chairs and joined them. Matic, unbidden, called to a waiter and ordered four glasses of a clear alcohol called Rajika, a local home produced spirit. He raised his glass and said

“Zivjeli”

Smithy responded, “Zivjeli. Here’s to the defeat of Germany”

Sarto and Wilson joined in “To the defeat of Germany,” but Matic just said

“Kraju Petru”.

Wilson repeated, “You must have known that we might turn up here,”

Matic in turn repeated, “The Major say something. He come soon to see you,”

Despite several more Rajikas, that’s as much as they could get out of him. When Matic and Sarto left, Smithy told Wilson that he had refused Matic’s offer to relieve the guards on the transport and move the vehicles after dark.

“I don’t trust him. He’ll take whatever he wants so we need to keep everything secure and guarded. There’s something funny going on, but what could it be?”

“I don’t know. Secure the lorries in the yard behind the hall and put a 24 hour guard on them,”

Over the next few days, Smithy and the others became increasingly restless. Questions directed towards Matic met with shrugs and indifference. His colleagues were equally distant, seeming to be more simpatico with the Italians. But then, for no discernible reason, they became more friendly, sharing drinks and attempting conversations in broken English. What was happening?

Matic, out of the blue, invited the two officers for a meeting at the Taverna. They sat there at an outside table. Smithy looked round the square, lit by the autumn sun. It was bounded on one side by the stone wall of a Muslim mosque, recently abandoned, desecrated and looted. A small municipal building now used as Matic’s HQ faced it. On the other two sides were several small houses, also in stone, and the taverna, now dispensing alcohol in contrast to its days as an adjunct to the mosque. The snow-capped mountains peered over the buildings and Smithy shivering in the chilly wind warmed himself with a coffee and Rajika. 

After they had been waiting, with increasing irritation, Matic approached with a tall bearded rather wild looking man in combat gear with a sub-machine gun slung carelessly over his shoulder along with an ammunition bandolier. 

“Looks a real desperado?” commented Wilson. As the two of them sat the desperado, to their surprise, addressed them in English with a West Country accent.

“Hello chaps, we were sort of expecting you,” A pause “but hoping you wouldn’t turn up,” he smiled “Nothing personal you understand” he added. As they looked at him querulously, he elaborated.

“Major Terry Summers – SoE.”

“I’m Captain Wilson and this is Lieutenant Vernon-Smith sir,”

“I know,” came the genial reply, “Now the problem is what’s to be done with you?”

“Get us back to Italy,” said Smithy.

“Easier said than done. As you can see there’s hardly room for a fly to land in these mountains let alone a plane – nor anywhere for hundreds of miles when you exclude the coastal plane. I hope Colonel Matic is looking after you,”

“We’re reasonably well looked after. But how long have you been here?”

“I was parachuted in three months ago,”

Smithy leant forward “And can you tell us what is going on?”

“I’ll speak to you later,”

Matic was trying to follow the conversation with his limited English and looked suspiciously from face to face so Summers added cheerfully.

“But we’re being rude to our host” and calling for a bottle of Rajika added’

“Let’s raise our glasses to our gallant allies” gesturing to Matic who raised his glass in turn.

After a further exchange of pleasantries, Matic left and Summers lowered his voice and became more serious. 

“I can’t hide the fact that you boys turning up when here is a problem,”

“We’re sorry to be in your way” said Smithy with more than a hint of sarcasm.

Summer looked sharply at him but deciding not to make a rejoinder asked.

“What sort of reception did you get?”

“A cool one” replied Wilson

“They seemed more pleased to see the Italians than us,” added Smithy.

“It’s been complicated since the Italians took over this part of Yugoslavia as a ‘protectorate’ in 1941. The resistance here is loosely under the command of Mihajlovic, the Chetniks loyal to the Serbian King Peter. Nothing is simple in this part of the world. They hate the other resistance movement, the communist partisans, under Tito so much so that they recently co-operated with the Italians to drive them out of Montenegro,”

“So that’s why they’re so pally. And we support them?”

“For the moment anyhow. The Italians were pretty rough on the locals when they first moved in, so it’s very much the enemy of my enemy is my friend. You turning up and taking on the Germans causes difficulties,”

“I’m even more confused now,” said Wilson.

“The local Chetniks have more or less adopted live and let live with the Nazis. The Germans’ interest is to secure their lines along the coast. So long as the partisans are kept out, they don’t much bother with the locals. So, anything that breaks the uneasy and unofficial truce isn’t popular. The last thing they want is a punitive German attack up here. Remember Hitler’s decree that for every German killed a hundred Jugs are to be killed in reprisal. So, I suppose you can understand why they are reluctant to take them on,”

“But the Germans have taken no action in response to our attack,”

“Fortunately, they know that the attack was by a British unit. And assume that you escaped. They know the Chetniks would never have mounted such an operation,”

“How do you know this?”

Summers just shrugged.

“Where does this leave us?”

“We’re expecting a parachute drop of supplies, for them, so you may have noticed that they have become friendlier. We may persuade them to help us get you to a pickup point on the coast. I’ll be in contact with Bari to see if we can set up an escape. But it may take time,”

“And what do we do?”

“Just hang fire. I’m leaving tomorrow to coordinate the parachute drop,”

“And we just hide here twiddling our thumbs?” interposed Smithy with irritation.

“Exactly. Do nothing. Those are your orders. But be ready to leave at a moment’s notice,”

Herbert Vernon-Smith was not built for inaction, and over the next couple of days he prowled the village streets like a caged animal. One morning sitting, alone at a table in the taverna savouring a drink, he was joined, uninvited, by a Chetnik soldier. Smithy raised his eyebrows as the other placed his drink on the table.

“My name is Majika,” he offered.

Smithy just grunted in reply but undeterred Majika continued.

“I see you in village. You fighting man, no?”

Smithy looked at him and sized him up. He was a solidly built man of about 5 foot eight, dark and unshaven with piercing blue eyes. Smithy thought he saw something of himself in the man a recklessness, unwillingness to be restricted by other people’s rules, so he replied.

“I see little show of fighting around here,”

Majika shrugged, “You like action?”

Smithy sidestepped the question “How is your English so good?”

“I work in New York two years on the docks,”

“Why did you come back?”

“For the good of my health,”

“Police trouble?”

Majika smiled “Worse than Police. The Union. All Italians,” he spat “They hate us so I fight and…” 

He left the sentence unfinished. 

“So, you came home,”

“I come home,”

Smithy smiled and raised his glass to a kindred spirit.

“You want action?” repeated Majika

“Perhaps,” was the cautious reply.

Leaning further forward he continued

“I know that in two days General Pavalic will move from his HQ to Podgorica,”

“Who’s he?”

“He general of Ljoticevci operating here,”

“Who?”

“Dey Serbs work with Germans. Dey kill my brudder,”

“I’m sorry. But why are you telling me this?”

“He travel along dis valley; I know. Good for ambush. You and me,”

“Why me?”

“You look like fighting, man. Not like de people here,” he spat contemptuously.

“And you get guns and plastique,” he continued.

Majika went through his plan. It appealed to Smithy’s sense of adventure and so he said.

“You’re on,”

Their destination was a day’s walk away, and they planned to leave early the next morning. Smithy had decided not to tell Wilson, his senior officer, on the spurious grounds that he couldn’t find him (he didn’t look). From the lorries he took weapons for them including hand grenades and, most importantly, plastic explosives.

He met up with Majika who nodded in approval.

“Bring warm clothes,” he advised.

They set off at dawn. It was a hard slog. Initially they followed the road leading further up into the mountains, then along tracks worn smooth by countless generations of humans and their animals. They trekked northwards going ever upwards as the temperature dropped, Smithy was grateful for the advice about warm clothing. They stayed overnight in an empty hut, used by shepherds in the summer, and before dawn they rose and headed off into the semi-light. 

“That de valley,” Majika pointed after an hours walk.

They descended through the tree line and upon emerging saw half a mile away a narrow road that bisected the valley. Underfoot the ground was boggy and made for hard going. The valley itself, below the treeline was featureless, with a carpet of thick brown and green grass with windblown bushes dotted around. No buildings disturbed the monotony of the landscape.

It was stilI early morning when they reached the road. They worked their way along looking for the perfect spot.

“Dis is it,” pronounced Majika.

A small culvert ran under the tarmac into which they placed the explosives, inserted the detonators and then ran a wire, concealed as best they could, in the short grass, to a firing position behind a sparse bush 50 yards from the road.

“Dey come from that direction,” Majika pointed to the right.

The road ran in a straight line for a mile in the direction they expected the General to appear from before taking a sharp left turn.

They waited for two hours and an irritated, Smithy, cold and stiff, asked.

“Are you sure they’re coming?”

“Dats what I was told,”

Smithy was coming to the end of his patience, not a long journey, after another hour. Then they heard motor vehicles in the distance. Since the only earlier traffic had been a few horse-drawn carts, they knew this was it. The convoy, as predicted, comprised a light armoured troop carrier followed by a German open touring car. As it came closer, they could see two men in the front of the car and the General in the back seat.

As the vehicles approached, Smithy gripped the sten gun and placed it at his side, ready for action. The armoured carrier came closer and closer, and just as it was reaching the culvert, Smithy pressed the plunger. The explosion lifted the vehicle. It lurched to its right and into the ditch. Simultaneously, Smithy and Majic leapt up. Smithy ran towards the car, which had screeched to a halt and fallen into the crater left by the explosion. As he ran, Smithy opened fire on the two troops at the front, who, still stunned by the explosion, slumped forward. Majika took two grenades, advancing to the rear of the carrier, threw them through the dislodged rear doors. He then ran towards the car and took shelter while Smithy bodily dragged the uninjured general from the car and pushed him to the ground. Two muffled explosions followed in rapid succession and all was quiet. 

The three men stood up. The General an insignificant figure, Smithy thought, was ashen faced and very nervous.

Smithy addressed Majika “Tell him I’m a British officer and that he’ll come to no harm but that he’s coming with us and if he doesn’t give any trouble, he’ll be fine,”

Majika translated and General Pavalic blanched and looked even more nervous.

“What did you say to him?”

“I tell him you say dat he come with us, any trouble and I stick dis bayonet up his arse,”

“That’s close enough. Now we better get underway,” chuckled Smithy.

Progress was hampered by General Pavalic, who was unable, rather than unwilling, to keep pace with the two younger men. It was a relief when they reached the treeline unhindered. Majika following the tracks and trails, retraced their steps. After three hours they heard a light aeroplane flying low along the line of the valley. 

“Dey look for their friends,” commented Majika.

The trees hid the plane from view, but from the sound they deduced it was circling the scene of the attack. Then it approached their side of the valley.

“Get down and cover your faces” Smithy instructed as the plane flew over them at a height of about 500 feet. It swept on past. They could hear the drone of its engines as it went along both sides of the valley before fading away. The rest of the journey to the village was uneventful, and they arrived mid-morning with an exhausted General Pavalic in triumph. 

“My people should be pleased now,” said Smithy.

“P’raps dey make you General,” agreed Majika affably.

“You bloody idiot Vernon Smith,” Major Summers was apoplectic with rage.

“Didn’t I tell you to sit tight and do nothing? Did nothing I say register with you about the sensitivities of this place?”

“But sir, surely…”

“No, surely anything! You’ve made life very difficult by your unwanted meddling,”

“But why should…?”

“You don’t get it, do you? When I ordered you to stay put, it’s because I know what’s going on here and you don’t. The Brigadier’s furious so you may expect a Court Martial when you get back to Italy. And thanks to you, it’s urgent that we get the lot of you back there as soon as we can. Get out of my sight. You stay in the village and that’s an order. Do you understand?”

A chastened Smithy replied “Yes sir”

“And you’re not to mention this business to anyone. By that I mean anyone, including Captain Wilson. You understand?”

“Yes sir,”

“You better had. Any further insubordination and I’ll save the bother of a Court Martial and shoot you myself,”

Events moved with surprising speed. They were instructed to be ready to move with two hours’ notice and were confined to quarters in the meantime. There was much curiosity about Smithy’s responsibility for this change. His colleagues were aware that his three day absence was in some way responsible. Even the wilful Smithy knew he had to keep his own counsel. He didn’t meet Majika again.

Three days later, accompanied by guides, they made an uneventful way back to the coast and that night they were ferried to a fishing boat just off the coast.

The next morning, they landed in Bari and were directed to their quarters; except Smithy.

“I’ve been ordered to direct you to HQ, sir,” an MP said to Smithy

“Am I under arrest?”

“No sir,”

With a face like thunder, he accompanied the MP to the office of his commanding officer, Colonel Dalston, who asked him curiously.

“What have you been up to, Vernon Smith? The Brigadier is hopping mad,”

As Smithy was about to reply, he added.

“No, don’t answer that. Consider yourself under open arrest and don’t leave this building until further notice,”

A furious Smithy was shown to his quarters. Although not physically constrained, it felt as if he was in prison. The next day an orderly came to his room.

“With compliments sir, you are to report to Colonel Int. in room 103 at 1000 hours,”

Smithy nodded and putting on his uniform, grimly set off to room 103. Eventually he came to a door marked, in chalk, Colonel Int, which he knocked and a strangely familiar voice said, 

“Come in,”

Smithy opened the door and saw, behind the desk, Harry Wharton in full Colonel’s uniform.

Smithy betrayed no more than a flicker to show his surprise.

“Lieutenant Vernon Smith, sir” as he came in, stood to attention and gave a smart salute.

Wharton looked at him closely. Smithy could by exaggerated politeness convey a sullen rebelliousness which was impossible to reprimand. Wharton recognised the technique practiced so often on masters at Greyfriars, in particular Mr Quelch. Wharton gave a casual salute in response. 

“Please take a seat,” he invited

“I prefer to stand…..sir!”

Wharton breathed hard and his eyes glinted as with a commanding voice said.

“I said sit down Lieutenant,” emphasising the word Lieutenant. 

Smithy hesitated briefly and then taking his cap off, put it under his arm and with exaggerated stiffness sat on the chair opposite Wharton and stared fixedly in front of him.

“You know why you’re here?” asked Wharton.

“No sir,”

“Don’t you? Your one man war in Montenegro against orders caused quite a flap. The Brigadier is furious and wants a court martial,”

“But why? It was a successful operation. Maybe it’s now against regulations to take the war to the enemy,” he added with a sneer.

“You disobeyed a direct order. Appropriated munitions without authority and went off on an unauthorised operation. Is that not enough? It’s certainly more than enough to get you in a heap of trouble,”

“And what is your role in this?”

“It’s enough for you to know that they’ve directed me to investigate the matter and make recommendations,”

“And why don’t you just get on with it I’m sure you’re enjoying this,” Smithy raised his voice and started to rise from his chair 

“You’ve finally got the ultimate power over me. Don’t pretend you’re not enjoying it,”

Wharton, red faced, raised his voice “Sit down Vernon Smith. Hear me out.”

Smithy hesitated, but then retook his seat.

Wharton continued “I was about to say that I’ve persuaded the Brigadier to leave the matter where it stands. There will be no court martial. But he wants you out of his command with immediate effect. You’re to return to Blighty. No doubt when the invasion of Europe comes you’ll have plenty of opportunities to take the war to the enemy,” he repeated Smithy’s own words back to him. 

Smithy had the grace to be embarrassed.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know,”

Wharton shrugged “Your wilfulness has always got you into scrapes.”

“And you’ve a habit of getting me out of them,”

“This was the most difficult of all”

“But what’s the great secret? How have you persuaded the Brigadier?”

Wharton hesitated “I shouldn’t tell you this but since you’re leaving this command and if I have your word never to repeat this,”

“You have,”

“The General you were at such pains to kidnap was one of ours,”

“What?”

“Yes. We had turned him by a combination of bribes and threats against his family in Serbia. He was providing us with valuable information about German dispositions. You can see why the Brigadier was furious,”

“What changed his mind?”

“It’s a strange war over there. We swapped General Pavalic for a couple of our men. So, he’s back where we wanted him to be. He wasn’t happy about it I may say. He was quite pleased to have been captured,”

“I’ll say,”

“I persuaded the authorities that it worked out for the best. The Germans were getting rather suspicious of Pavalic and his kidnapping and near death, there was a survivor of your attack who reported back, has reinstated his bona fides. I persuaded the Brig that your court martial might seem extremely odd in the circumstances. It might raise suspicions about the operation and jeopardise Pavalic should word get out. He agreed with some reluctance,”

Smithy smiled, “It’s quite a laugh. We go to all that bother to kidnap our own man,”

“It’s not funny,”

“You must admit it has its humorous side,”

Wharton relented and smiled “Well I suppose so….”

“And if I’m no longer under restriction, I think I owe you the best meal Bari can afford…Harry?”

Harry relaxed, smiled “I rather think you do Smithy,”