Suddenly a submarine broke the surface and from it came a dinghy containing six men. They rowed silently to the shore and landed. The dinghy was deflated and buried in the sand beneath a rock. Ropes were produced and the men set about to climb the cliff. It did not take long for them to reach the top, for they were highly trained.
The first man to reach the top cautiously raised his head above the edge of the cliff and looked around. It was all clear and he scrambled on to the top. The rest followed and the ropes were hidden. The men took their sub-machine guns off their backs and proceeded, in single file, along a hedge.
Heinrich Bimmler was in conference, in his own home, with other top German leaders. For the past two days ideas had been suggested, some had been accepted, others rejected, but all were ideas in how to extend the Nasti empire.
“Why don’t we just concentrate all our fire power on one country, until it has been blown to smithereens?” asked Ron Vibbentrop.
“It would be too expensive,” replied Adolph Hilter, “and anyway, we have to defend the empire from the Americans and British.”
“I suggest we use my Luftwaffe and bomb the major cities,” suggested Hermann Boering.
“You bore me, Boering. You and your Luftwaffe are all you think about,” said Johann Gerbils.
“We should brainwash all the British soldiers in our POW camps, and make them fight for the S.S.” said Bimmler.
“My dear chap, and just how many British soldiers do you think we have in our POW camps?” asked Hilter. “Why, I should think it goes into the tens of thousands, and brainwashing all of them would take too long!”
Outside the mansion, six figures crept cautiously to the back of the house. The coal chute entrance was opened and one by one the men slid down into the coal cellar. A pocket torch was brought out and it swept the walls of the room, looking for a door. There was a small flight of stone stairs leading up to it, and Corporal Gibson opened it slowly. He peered out of the small crack and when he was satisfied that there were no guards about, he stepped into another room, which was well lit, but seemed to be the cellar. He went up some more steps and was just about to open the door when he heard someone talking. “Obviously the guards,” he thought to himself, hoping the door wasn’t locked. He snatched open the door, whipped his hand around the guard nearest the door and knocked him down the stairs, where one of the others, Maltby, dealt with him. The other guard did not have time to move before the butt of Gibson’s sub-machine gun cracked into his temple and drove half of his skull, in the form of pointed shards, inward and through his brain.
Gibson went back down the stairs, told the rest to ‘mind the mess’ and they all went up the stairs. They did not know in which room the meeting was, so they split into two groups to search the house. Gibson, Young and Shannon would search upstairs. Maltby, Maudsley and Knight would search the ground floor.
The first guard that Gibson met died of a broken ribcage, broken with a size eighteen army boot. Unfortunately his scream of pain had alerted the other guards in the house, and they came to investigate the reason why. The first two to arrive has their brains shot out. The next to arrive had their guns at the ready but they were not behind cover and they too joined their comrades.
Shannon had opened the door nearest to them and saw inside suitable cover to protect themselves. He went in, and the other two followed, shutting the door behind them.
“Any Germans through that door… and BANG!” announced Gibson.
Maltby’s group was having better luck, for they were taking advantage of the diversion supplied by Gibson. When they heard the scream, they realised that the guards would be going to investigate, and so they had gone through the nearest door, which led them into a storeroom. A few minutes after the firing had started, they emerged and proceeded to check all the rooms. They came to one marked ‘Privat’ and as they burst their way into the room, they were greeted by a hail of bullets. The three men rushed out and shut the door.
“They’re all in there. All the leaders. I recognised Hilter,” said Maudsley.
“They daren’t come out I suppose, so we’ve got ’em,” said Knight.
“We need a plan,” said Maltby. “Any of you two got one?”
“We came to kill them, so let’s burst in there with guns blazing,” said Knight.
“No, it’s too risky,” said Maltby. “Here’s my plan…”
“My God!” exclaimed Adolph Hikemann. “So that’s what the shooting was about. British commandos in the house!”
“Quick, you fools, put the table against the the door so they can’t get in. I don’t know what the guards are doing, but they had better hurry!” shouted Hilter.
Martin Normann and Rudolph Cress moved the table, while Gerbils drew the curtains. “We don’t want them coming in the window,” he announced.
They all had their pistols at the ready in case of another attack, and it came sooner than expected. The window was smashed and at the same time bullets were fired through the door. The men in the room had their attention taken by the smashing of the window and three of them were killed with the burst of firing that came through the door. The curtain was swept aside and the room was sprayed again. Two more men fell leaving just Hilter, Normann and Cress.
Normann, the quick thinker, dropped to the floor and pretended to be dead. Hilter knew he was the most wanted and hated man of the English speaking people and so he shot himself. Cress just raised his hands above his head and said “Ich übergabe.”
Cress was tied up and left in the room, while Maltby, Maudsley and Knight went to look for their friends. It wasn’t so easy for there were still some guards around, but they seemed in confusion, all were running for the door to the outside. Maltby and co. found where their friends were because of the many German soldiers’ bodies lying outside one particular door. They entered a bullet ridden room and found the bodies of their comrades also bullet ridden, and they also saw the reason for the Germans to be in disorder.
[Annoyingly, that’s where it ends. The final page(s) is missing]
(c) M. Robert Gibson
This is a school essay.
It was written well before the internet. It is full of inaccuracies and assumptions; bad punctuation; bad grammar and a woeful lack of research, but, it is also a first draft. It was also hand-written in an exercise book, none of your fancy electronic gizmos back then.
And don’t forget, it was written by a schoolboy in a time before political correctness.
It is published here for purely selfish vanity reasons, so read it at your own peril and do not expect any great revelations.