The Organization of American States’ Carribean Regional Cybersecurity Symposium DR 2024

*** Simposio de Ciberseguridad de la OEA

Cyber Pirates of the Caribbean.
Sorry, couldn’t help myself.

In September I got an invite to sit on a panel at the GFCE’s annual meeting. Then the Organization of American States got in touch and asked if I’d sit on their emerging tech panel at the regional pre-meeting. I guess that went well because they then asked if I’d be willing to cover for their quantum cyber specialist who couldn’t make a Cybersecurity Symposium in the Dominican Republic at the end of the month. My approach to this sort of thing is to always say yes; that’s how I found myself in Ghana last year.


Most people think of Punta Cana and an all inclusive week on a resort when it comes to the Dominican Republic, but I was headed to Santo Domingo which can be a bit rough around the edges. It was an intense week of coming to understand the cybersecurity needs of a region facing the results of climate instability head on while also rapidly developing their digital economy.


Our panel was set to go on the first day, which was good – I like to get them done sooner. Co-panelist Heather happened to be coming in on a flight right behind mine so we met at the airport and shared a cab across the city to the hotel. Having not eaten since 5am, I sat in the empty hotel restaurant and ate a poor club sandwich that cost an eye watering $30USD while wondering what I was doing here. There is nothing like hunger and exhaustion to make you doubt yourself.


I finally got into the room and collapsed for a couple of hours and awoke feeling more like my usual, confident self; food and rest resolves most anxiety. I went for a wander around the hotel and found Heather on the pool deck watching the sun going down (dramatic sunsets in the DR). She works in AI research and we had a good chat about how it’s being used in cybersecurity and both left with enough context to take on the panel in the morning.

Our moderator got switched right before the event but Donavon was agile, knowledgeable and did a great job chasing down themes as they came up rather than following a script. The conversation dove into AI but also left space for IoT and quantum in a cyber context.

I came away from the GFCE event in DC earlier in the month cognisant of the need to keep technical detail out of these kinds of high level talks, especially if you’re talking to most of the people in the room through a translator. The technical side of cyber isn’t necessarily what you need to focus on because it doesn’t really change how most people interact with it. An easier to grasp example might be to ask if you need to have a strong understanding of the metallurgy involved in casting your car’s engine in order for you to drive it. This isn’t to say you need to simplify the the point of absurdity, but getting into the technical weeds tends to be an academic back-patting exercise rather than being helpful to the audience.


On this panel (as I’ve done in all of them), I don’t pretend I’m something I’m not. I’m a teacher, an I.T. technician and a cyber operations instructor and often refer to anecdotal cyber teaching situations to land a point. People seem to appreciate this approach because presenting material as a teacher is something everyone can relate to, and there is enough intellectual intimidation in cyber as it is. There is also enough marketing misinformation that a clear eyed, educationally focused approach resonates.

Our talk mainly focused on artificial intelligence but quantum did get some airtime, though many questions (as at the GFCE) orbited the complexities of trying to teach cybersecurity. As mentioned at the Serious Play Conference in August, teaching a subject that few people have the basic digital media literacy to even contextualize is a challenge. The fear that arises from this ignorance is real and makes teaching cyber especially difficult.

I’m always conscious of the Canadian perspective I bring to an international event like this. Canada seldom participates at the international cybersecurity events I’ve attended. We fund a lot of them (including this one), but finding Canadians willing to make the trip and talk the talk seems difficult. I was the only Canadian on any of the panels at this one too though I’m hoping to change that. If international cooperation is about relationships, having Canadians talking at events like these is paramount.

When asked about IoT threats I brought up two Canadian instances that resonated with the room (I was asked about them repeatedly across the week). One was my visit to the Canadian Institute for Cybersecurity in Fredericton last spring which included a look at their IoT lab. The curiosity this generated has me wondering if an OAS event in Fredericton at UNB wouldn’t go amiss. Does Canada ever host these things?

The second Canadian cyber challenge was the rash of car thefts Canada is experiencing. It’s tempting to define this under traditional criminal activity but these are new vehicles with ‘state of the art’ electronics that are being hacked, making this an IoT cyber problem. When you know enough about cybersecurity you start to think differently about how it’s integrated into your day to day life. My cunning solution is to drive manual vehicles that are ‘pre-smart’. They’re unhackable and also undrivable for most thieves. If you don’t expect technology to do everything for you, you’re not beholden to its weaknesses.

With our panel in the rearview, I made it a point of understanding the context through which Caribbean and Latin American states are tackling cybersecurity. Our very nice hotel provided bottled water because you’re not supposed to drink what comes out of the taps. It’s astonishing to me that people without available drinking water are going after digital transformation and the cybersecurity that enables it, but if you want to participate in the 21st Century economy that’s the price of admission. Perhaps digitization will solve the water problem too.

One of the first speakers at this event did a deep dive into misinformation and how it is generated using the latest in deepfake technology. Extremists are using this tech in propaganda campaigns. The corrosive effect this has on our shared media is interesting. I had a number of chats with Daniel throughout the conference and discovered that his motivating interest is in the nature of online communities and how they work in terms of social norms and expectations. This kind of decentralized, narrow (as opposed to broad) band media transmission is becoming the new norm, yet no one seems to be teaching how it is influencing society in media theory classes. It’s something I want to go after in terms of updating digital media education in Canada.


The theme of the symposium was, DisruptX:Redefining the future of cybersecurity in Latin America and the Caribbean”, so many of the talks revolved around the impact A.I. is having in cybersecurity. As in most places, it’s a force leveller. People writing phishing emails now write with perfect grammar and spelling, and don’t use form letters anymore because AI can generate targeted, articulate messages specifically for individuals. This enabling of cyber criminals by automated systems targets our existing cyber-illiteracy, but that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Automated malware as a service can be purchased by anyone who can turn a computer on. The days of technically talented hackers are far behind us as AI serves to elevate anyone looking to cause problems through online communications.

To further complicate the landscape, you’ve got state actors (including world superpowers) performing offensive cyber operations against governments, businesses and even individuals. At this cost-no-object end of the spectrum you’ve got cyber militaries operating on budgets in the billions possibly taking aim at your company or government.  If you’re a developing economy with minimal digital infrastructure, how do you possibly keep it secure against that? The short answer is you don’t, sometimes you just get pwned.


OK, so what do I do, you ask? You’ve got a couple of options when it comes to protecting your internet facing systems (in this case critical systems that make society work and provide things like electricity):


1) Put money up front building the most secure network you can, but this requires talented people who are in short supply (the cyberskills shortage isn’t just happening in Canada). It also means paying up front for something that hasn’t happened yet, and isn’t can’t be guaranteed secure no matter what you throw at it. The case for preemptive cyber capacity building remains a struggle and not just in the Caribbean, it’s a problem in Canada too.

2) The other option is to design full backup systems so you can recover when the inevitable happens, but this too requires technical talent, forethought and a willingness to invest in the future – all aspects of cyber that humans everywhere struggle with.
Like the GFCE event in Washington, a lot of time was given to thinking about governance and policy. These frameworks are vital, especially if we want to push back against the human nature that isn’t likely to invest in anything precautionary, but the nature of the cyber means also needing to be proactive and agile because of the asymmetrical nature of the threats. 
I hope there is room in policy and governance to ensure that there are resources left over to support this kind of agility. This work often happens in companies and government agencies rather than in university research labs and needs to be more accessible to the people on the ground doing the work. So much of the research funding in Canada is tied to post-secondary institutions. Agile action research in cyber by practitioners rather than academics is essential if we’re to retain any ability to deal with emerging threats in a timely fashion.
This confusion around the nature of cybersecurity (is it an apprenticeable skillset or an academic pursuit?) is another one of those evolving understandings still somewhat out of focus as we come to understand what cybersecurity it. It was nice to see one of my favourite cyber graphics come up in one of the first RICET education talks reminding everyone that cyber is a complete field of study ranging from apprenticelike hard technical roles to academic legal and human facing work in subjects ranging from HR to education.
Like any other field of study, cybersecurity is full of nuance.


*** Extracurriculars

Fascinating conversations and an opportunity to network without a schedule or talking points. These ‘extracurricular’ evening events are often the most informative!

The conference had a couple of extracurricular events where I often hear the most enlightening things. A delegation from the South Pacific was attending this event with the thinking they they are facing many of the same challenges that the Caribbean states are. Tim from the Cook Islands and I had many great talks about the sudden change they are going through. About two weeks before the conference Elon flipped a switch and suddenly everyone on the islands could afford high speed internet for the first time through Starlink. The rest of us have been in the digital pot as the heat has been slowly turned up over the past two decades and don’t realize it’s boiling. Can you imagine going from 90’s dial up to 2024’s AI/social media/fake-news cyber-nightmare in one week? Tim’s managing the IT there. Someone should be writing a book about this time travelling digital experiment.
The fortress in colonial Santo Domingo at sunset. The DR’s relationship with its past, like Canada’s, is complicated and unfinished.

On the final evening they took us out to the colonial tourist area and a look around Fortaleza Ozama. Being me, I found watching the chaos of the evening commute around the castle distracting. Like the evening social the night before, this was an opportunity to chat with people working in cyber from many different perspectives. I’d run into Franklin from Suriname who I’d met in Ghana last year and we picked up right where we’d left off. Suriname is about to go through some dramatic changes.

When you find yourself having a drink with the head of Mastercard’s security division and the entourage from Columbian cyber, you wonder how you got here. Tim from Cook Island’s wife messaged him asking what he was up to now. His response was, ‘I’m drinking rum at a castle at sunset!” Indeed.

The trip included a projection onto the fortress of the DR’s history. It reminded me of the projection show they were doing on the Houses of Parliament in Ottawa a few years ago and raised some interesting questions about how digital is insinuating itself into island life.
The seemingly incongruous VR experience at the fortress was complimented by animated digital projections throughout, to the point where it was easy to forget you were in a centuries old fortress, which is the point of being there, isn’t it?  A few times in the conference the corrosive effect of AI on regional culture was noted (AI’s fixation on large datasets tends to stamp out anything but the biggest producers of data). I suspect digitization (itself a byproduct of globalization) has a generally corrosive effect on people’s ability to be where they are. We spend an awful lot of our time taking photos to share online instead of being where we are (like the ones in this post? -ed).


*** RICET

The final day switched gears and became RICET, the Regional Initiative for Cybersecurity Education and Training, put on by the OAS and Florida International University. This focus on education and training is essential if we’re to establish sustainable and effective cybersecurity.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, the vast majority of cyber incidents are the result of human failure. No matter how you want to frame it, our current cyber woes arise from a multi-generational failure to develop effective digital media literacy of which cybersecurity is perhaps the most interdisciplinary and complex because it’s all about the edge cases. You can’t hack something you don’t fundamentally understand.
We’ve been fixated on coding as a solution to the digital skills crisis, but digital media literacy is about much more than coding. In cyber you need flexible, stochastic approaches with familiarity across a much wider range of digital technology. I’ve met too many compsci specialists who are sidelined by simple technical issues to believe that this is the epitome of digital literacy. I also heard the dreaded term ‘digital native‘ during some of these talks, but I’m not going to get into that nonsense again here. 
RICET panels talked about the usual worries around the lack of talent, though like everyone else they spent much of the time on bandaid solutions like adult retraining instead of looking at strategic fixes like implementing nationwide cyber skills talent discovery and development in public schools that would not only address the user negligence problem, but would also resolve our cyber-professional shortage.
We’ll never resolve this global digital skilling failure with stop gap solutions. We need both short term and long term strategies, but like the funding for seemingly obvious things like network security and data backups, getting anyone to fund that future is a struggle.
Watching these earnest cyber developers working on shoestring budgets trying to make this work while Canadians literally watch drinkable water go down the toilet has me wondering why we face so many of the same challenges they do. On my way back home I messaged a colleague in cyber education and lamented the fact that cyber expertise in Canada seems to be more about marketing than it does cybersecurity. I summarized the problem with genuine cyber-education in simple terms: there’s no money in it.  That observation extends to cyber in general. One of the reasons for the high burnout rate is asking the people who know what they’re doing to do it without needed resources.
I enjoyed learning about the regional challenges being faced in the Caribbean, but what always surprises me about these glimpses into international cybersecurity is just how similar the problems we all face are. In a discipline where the bad guys only have to get it right once but the defenders have to get it right every time, the only hope for cybersecurity professionals is to develop connections, build international cyber-diplomacy and work together. Circling the wagons and sharing intelligence, tools and best practices is the only advantage we have against the cyber pirates (it’s ok, I’m bringing it back) that surround us.  This event was a prime example of that kind of networking. I hope to be a part of future ones.

Winging out of Santo Domingo at sunrise on Delta’s A320 Airbus. What a beautiful country. Wish I’d had the opportunity to see more of it…

The Bermuda Triangle on a sunny Friday morning in October.

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SMART Adventures and Off Road Performance Dirtbikes

 Over the long weekend I got out to SMART Adventures again for my yearly knobbly tire exercise. If you’ve read TMD you’ll know I’ve tried to off road in South Western Ontario, but got stick for riding on hydro cuts and farmland and generally got nimbied right out of dual sport ownership. SMART is my release valve while thinking of ways to escape living in the one part of Canada that doesn’t make off road riding easy.


If I lived anywhere else I’d have picked up the DR650 I found on a farm a couple of years ago and that would be my dedicated off road machine. My neighbor picked up a new Tenere 700 and I’ve long had my eye on Honda’s CRF300 Rally – both of those would do the trick, though after this weekend I’m thinking a dirt focused specialist might be the way. 

Last year’s SMART was an apex experience for both Max and I as we got advanced individual instruction on the off road vehicles of our choice, I even got to ride an electric machine! This year we’d planned to meet with friends at Horseshoe Resort and that gave us a discount opportunity with SMART, so I signed everyone up for the busy Saturday afternoon on the long weekend.


I initially went out on the Kawasaki I rode last year, but the gear shifter had been banged about by a pervious rider and it wouldn’t go into gear, so I got to switch to a Yamaha WR250F with upside down forks, high compression and proper brakes. I’d never been bothered with any of that and always thought a trail focused machine would be what I’d get as a pure dirt bike, but this Yamaha changed my mind.



Unlike the 230 I started off on or the Honda and Kawasaki 250s I rode last time, the Yamaha demands more but rewards you for it. If you can appreciate the difference between an appliance car and a sports car you can understand the difference here too. Those upside down shocks will get you across pretty much everything with incredible feel, and the brakes are precision tools, but it was the engine that took me to my next level, and eventually let me slip the surly bonds of earth and fly (!).

Trail bikes tend to be tuned for torque low down without worrying about stalling. This higher compression motor needs more revs, but when it comes on song (the exhaust snarls when you get there), it’ll pull you up any hill or over any obstacle. If you’re riding over whoops, it’ll get both wheels off the ground too.

This turned out to be just the bike I needed just as I needed it because I probably wasn’t skilled enough to appreciate it before now.  SMART put me with Adam, the brother of my instructor from last year, who did a great job of testing my limits without overwhelming me. We covered a lot of miles through the fall woods. That’s a SMART hack: if you know what you’re doing say you’re ‘expert’ on the intake form. If gets you out of the kids-who-think-they-can catagory and lets you focus on improving your craft, usually one-on-one with an instructor.



The Kwak wasn’t up for it, but that gave me a chance to explore the competition ready Yamaha…

Passed these guys while out on the trail – that’s the dream setup.

Adam and I got deep into the forest – he’s the red smudge down the trail that I’m keeping up with (because he kepts slowing to check on me). Every 10-15 minutes we’d stop and talk about technique, and then go exercise the talk.

Everyone had a good day out. The girls got out in a side by side and discovered that off roading in one of these is well within their skillsets and not at all uncomfortable. The only complaint came from Max who wanted a more extreme ATV experience as he’s now expert in that. Next time he’ll be sure to stress that he wants to be in the advanced group.


That Yam is the bomb! It’s on my wishlist now.

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Taking a 955i Tiger from Triumph Engineers to Vintage Ownership

 I’m bound and determined to keep the old Tiger in motion. Triumph has abandoned me in
terms of parts support, but there is another way and Classic Bike Magazine shows you how to find it. I used to depend on Practical Sports Bikes for keeping these pre-classics in motion, but they killed it.


Rick Parkington writes a lot about the transition from standard manufacturer supported bike ownership to vintage bike ownership, but what he’s really on about is keeping a bike in motion when the plug-and-play relationship with modern bike parts isn’t an option any more. For a modern Triumph that happens about 20 years after they build it (I’ve had older Kawasakis and Hondas that kept providing parts, but I digress).

The biggest thing to get your head around is being ready to find alternatives that meet the needs you’re facing rather than following the manual and hoping for parts to arrive that you can swap in. One of my issues on a 90k+ bike is slack in the machine. The throttle stop has worn down over the many miles so I’ve been playing with putting a spacer nut on there.

When I had it apart today I used the grinder to try two different cuts of nut to get my idle back to where it should be. The middle one gives me perhaps a mm of recovered space on the pin that catches the throttle when it returns to idle at a point that doesn’t make the engine struggle.


Another one of those vintage approaches is around battling fasteners. You can never assume something will come off as it should. In this case the fastener on the throttle casing on the handlebar creates swear words.


While I had it apart today I put in two new cables (throttle and clutch). Thanks to Rogx in Germany (who are still producing new cables for the 955i Tiger which was popular in Germany), I got two new cables with hardware and it arrived early and with no headache (love dealing with Germans!).

The clutch cable was fraying by the transmission so it was well past time. My thought is that if this one lasts as long as the first one (over 90k), then I’ll be happy. I ran both cables next to the existing ones to get the runs right and then removed the old ones afterwards. It was a satisfying Sunday afternoon in the garage.

No complaints (other than Triumph not supporting its own machines when they are less than 20 years old). These cables both did over 90k in brutal Canadian temperature changes.

A satisfying Sunday afternoon getting the Tiger sorted. I think another couple of hours and I’ll have it back in motion for the end of the riding season here.

I wrote this as I was catching up on the Indonesian Grand Prix in MotoGP after a crazy (but awesome) week at work. I lost Marc after the Valentino incident back in 2015, but I’m starting to find my Marquez fandom again…

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The Global Forum for Cybersecurity Excellence (GFCE)

 I got an invite to speak on a panel at the Global Forum for Cybersecurity Excellence‘s Annual Meeting last week. It was my first time in DC since I went on a trip there with Air Cadets in the 1980s, so it was an exciting prospect. More so when I saw it was going to be taking place in the Organization of American States’ building.

Attending these things is a high wire act for me as it looked like I was going to have to self fund my way there, but then the OAS’s Cybersecurity directorate got in touch and asked if I’d sit on one of their emerging technology panels for the region of the Americas pre-GFCE meeting too, so I managed to get hotel and flights covered.

I got in on Sunday and my hotel was in Georgetown, so I got out and about and soaked up some Washington area history – the place is thick with it! 

That night I met up with Dr Juan from Mexico who I did a presentation with in June and we enjoyed some Potomac wings at the local Irish pub (as you do) and caught up. The last time I’d seen him was as we passed through US customs on our way back from Ghana last year so we had a good chat. The opportunity to solidify these connections was impressed upon me as an important consideration later in the week. Never underestimate the appreciation inherent in making an effort to see people live, especially post-pandemic.

Day 1

The next morning, after breakfast at the Fairmont (!), we walked to the Organization of American States building only to discover it was the wrong one. We ran into Alex from Ghana who was on the OAS panel with me later that morning and he knew where we needed to go, so we all backtracked four blocks ot where we should have been in the first place.

I got there sweaty (DC got up to about 30°C each day) but cooled off and our talk that morning about emerging technology impacting cybersecurity was wide ranging. Kerry-Ann, our moderator, surprised me with a question about how approaching cyber challenges as a technician gives me a different (and valuable thanks to how she framed the question) insight into the rapidly changing state of things.

Talking to engineers and the legal experts doing policy is one thing, but talking to the trades people who do the operational work of keeping the lights on does offer an interesting angle. I’d been expecting to talk about quantum technology emergence, but an opportunity to talk about the value of hands-on, applied skills in the field was appreciated and well received.

Many of the panels focused on the clear and present danger in cyber at the moment: artificial intelligence. From the automation of big data analysis that humans never excelled at on the defensive side to how criminals are leveraging GenAI to produce customized phishing material well beyond grammatically incorrect emails (stretching to include deepfake video, voice, photos and other digital media), these talks were designed to assist policy makers with understanding what has come out of Pandora’s box of AI.

One theme that resonated with me was how people don’t want deep technical explanations of these emerging technologies. What they want is an easy to grasp explanation of how these technologies will affect the digital spaces they work in. This remains a problem in cybersecurity and an even bigger one in the quantum world I just finished my secondment. The urge for academics to obfuscate and complicate their explanations of these rapidly emerging technologies doesn’t make them ideally suited for presenting on them, especially to the operations and policy people who are entirely focused on real world impacts and couldn’t care less how the maths goes.

I’ve gotten a lot of static for how I’ve simplified deep technical details in quantum in order to get concepts across, but you honestly don’t need to start neck deep in linear algebra any more than you need to have knowledge of the metallurgy involved in casting your car’s engine in order to drive it. Guess what background is really helpful in bridging this information divide: 22+ years as a teacher! Early in my career I came across a quote that described teachers as, “public facing intellectuals” and took that to mean we’re not about ivory towers and knowing more and more about less and less, but about democratization of knowledge. Part of that comes with knowing what to keep out of the mix in order to keep people engaged.

My age is also handy. Being a genuine digital immigrant who remembers a time before personal computers and the internet (I got my first PC, a Vic 20, in 1979 when I was 10), I have a big picture outlook that those who have always lived in this chaos find helpful. My other secret weapon is a university background focused on thinking and communications (philosophy & English).

After the OAS event we had an evening meet and greet at the Museum of the Americas right behind the main building, which had a permanent collection of powerful pieces looking at colonialism and culture. Upstairs they had a Spanish diaspora collection featuring the people who fled Spain during the Franco period; powerful stuff.

At the meet and greet I got to introduce Juan to Michelle and Nina from CyberLite, one of my favourite international cyber education organizations. We did an around the world webinar with them for Safer Internet Day in February, but it’s always nice to see people in 3d rather than on a screen, and introductions like this are what GFCE is all about.
A good example  of this networking was running into Christina from Global Affairs Canada. From our talks I’ve come to understand the complexities and difficulties of international cyber policy. I’m also particularly aware of how important it is to shed better light on the work our federal government does internationally. Some of this needs to be kept on the down low for security reasons, but much of it (and especially on the diplomacy side) needs more media coverage so Canadians better understand the work that their representatives are doing on their behalf. Being purely insular and defensive doesn’t work in sport and it won’t work in cybersecurity either. If we can help other countries develop better cyber capacities, we all win, and that starts by developing trust..

Day 2

The next day we were up early again and this time took an Uber to the right building (kind of, it still took us to the wrong one first), and began the Global Forum for Cybersecurity Expertise Annual Meeting.
Our panel came up quickly and Juan brought in a fantastic angle focusing on the Global South and the formation of a ‘quantum divide’ that will, like the digital one, further separates developed countries from everyone else. I’ve seen this happening with tightening restrictions on public facing quantum education resources. In some cases this may be under the auspices of national security, but the end result remains: countries that have the resources to develop quantum technologies will have capabilities that the others can only dream of.
After our panel, which was quantum focused and couldn’t have happened without a secure internet because our moderator was virtual in Europe and one of the Panelists was in Central America, I showed Juan the William Gibson quote about the future already being here, but not evenly distributed.The idea of a growing quantum divide is another indicator of the state of maturity of rapidly improving quantum computers. I’m motivated to continue building ‘technology literacy for all’ which includes quantum and AI because no one should make the technologies that have the best chance of saving ourselves from ourselves proprietary. I also have a nagging urge to help everyone reach their maximum potential regardless of how much they have in their bank accounts.
The end of day event on day two was both fantastic (it was a retirement party for founding
GFCE president, Chris Painter), but also profoundly insightful. When someone with extensive, top draw international research resources tells me that they aren’t worried about AI taking us down because climate collapse will get us first, I listen. Moments like this make me vividly aware of just how fragile the house of cards we’re standing on is.

This observation wasn’t helped by the book that a colleague suggested that I’m two-thirds through. The idea of long term thinking in a world that only rewards short term gain is a challenge, but the most recent chapter is about how all civilizations collapse. Historically this happened regionally (Roman Empire, etc), but the global civilization we’ve build this time is going to crash harder, and when it collapses we’re going to be wishing we had made some of Asimov’s Foundations in order to recover more quickly (assuming we don’t make our only habitable planet uninhabitable in the process). That’s the thing about attending a GFCE event – it makes you reflect on the big things.

Day 3

All of the delegates from dozens upon dozens of countries coming together in DC to make digital transformation secure and accessible to everyone.
Day three began with the women in cybersecurity breakfast. The moderator at our table told hair raising stories of her being the first female cohort in engineering in South Africa and the overt sexism they faced. I told them about Canada’s tragic history with this kind of sexism, which the table found astonishing – Canada is considered forward thinking until we’re a bit more forthcoming about the dark currents in our history. I also told the story of the quiet sexism that made founding the first all-female cybersecurity team in our school so difficult. It amazes me that half our population still experiences these systemic prejudices and that equality isn’t something we’ll get to before the 22nd Century.

These GFCE events are thick with insights and opportunities that lift your head out of your personal context and prompt you to consider the big problems we face. I’ve tried to cover the main pieces here, but there are so many more that I’m still subconsciously noodling on.

The emerging tech panel on AI towards the end of the day was another of those eureka moments. The policy expert from France’s advanced technologies department had a good response to my question about how we devise policy for near future AIs that will have the agency and resources to ignore them, not out of spite, but because even considering them isn’t in their programming. She referenced the US Section 230 law that let social media run rampant and pointed out that if we recognized this cautionary tale we’d be able to better direct AI use now. A sharp response, but I think the AI horses are out of the barn and will shortly have the capabilities to do real damage to our digital infrastructure. I remain curious as to when AI policy to try and restrict development turns into defensive policies designed to mitigate the damage that self-directed AIs will do to our piecemeal digital infrastructure.

I ended the event having lunch with Abdul, my swimming buddy from Accra, and Juan, my co-conspirator. What do you talk about at a Nigerian/Canadian/Mexican table? Abdul told me he is in ‘legacy mode’, which is a great way of framing your closing professional years. I enjoyed our talks in the pool at Accra City Hotel because Abdul always seems to see beyond the horizon. Taking a minute to soak up that wisdom is never wasted time. He was going to see his friend’s grave and visit his cousin after the event. These seemingly technical meetings can be profoundly human, if you let them be.

We wrapped up our time at the OAS HQ, but we weren’t quite done yet. At the museum event Monday night we met a Spanish attaché and that prompted an invite to the embassy for a Wednesday evening networking event. It was a short walk from the hotel and I talked to a lot of people but really got into it with Jose Manuel who runs telecoms and startups in Spain including a new one that helps you park your boat in a marina you haven’t visited before. We also had a good chat about the innovative quantum key distribution research he is a part of. I’m hoping to follow up and develop some transatlantic partnerships to move us all forward there.

***
I must have covered 20+kms on foot over the week (in dress shoes!), but I have no regrets about the schlepping or having to self fund some of this. Hope is hard to find in 2024, but the GFCE exhales it like plants give off oxygen. Just as Ghana did last fall, my mind is left turning over the complex challenges and opportunities that this meeting highlighted. If you’re looking for organizations that improve your practice, expand your context, and challenge you to take on the seemingly insurmountable global issues we face, meeting the OAS and experiencing my second GFCE event has done just that.
DC looking like a post card on the ascent out of Reagan Airport.

Just over 500kms as the crow flies from DC, I was back in The Six before I knew it!

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The Serious Play Conference and a Canadian Solution to Cyber-Education in Canada

The Serious Play Conference took place in August at University of Toronto’s Mississauga (Erindale) campus. Even though I’d fallen off the end of my secondments, gamification has also been a central tenant of my teaching practice and I’ve been actively researching cyber-education using immersive simulations for the past four years, so I took this opportunity to present what I’d found.

Paul Darvasi runs this conference. I met him last summer when we did a quantum training week together at UBC in hopes of building a quantum game that takes the academic privilege out of how the subject is presented. That hasn’t yet come to be, but I did manage to recently get our quantum arcade idea funded (from Finland because finding that kind of support for emerging technology education in Canada isn’t easy). Canada likes to be surprised by emerging technology in education rather than getting in front of it.



Games have played a central role in my life. I got into Dungeons & Dragons in a big way in my teens and my first long distance road trips were with friends to GENCON in Milwaukee in the late 1980s (where I got to play a tournament round of D&D with Gary Gygax!!!). As a result my teaching practice has always been informed by those early years dungeon mastering. If I have an opportunity to create a simulation or immersive gaming experience in my classroom, I’ll go out of my way to arrange that rather than falling back on worksheets of one way knowledge transmission. My experience has shown me that suspension of disbelief can be a powerful learning tool if the gamified learning experience is pedagogically viable.

My presentation at Serious Play was specifically about how immersive simulation can help learners tackle subjects that might scare them into disengagement. By using suspension of disbelief, subjects like cybersecurity can be approached without out the risk aversion prompted by worries about breaking technology almost no one understands because we seem to have given up on modern media literacy about two decades ago.

I’ve put students on Field Effect’s Cyber Range in classrooms across Canada. In some cases they were competitive CyberTitan teams containing students with the top 1% of digital skills in the country, but in most cases it was with the other 99% who had never touched cybersecurity at any time in their learning journey. With the right scaffolding and support even the newest of n00bs can get their hands dirty iteratively learning essential cyber skills in this digital sandbox:

Engaging Canadian education with cybersecurity remains an uphill struggle, but cyber sandboxes like Field Effect’s Cyber Range offer a solution.

The Serious Play Conference had a wide range of educators working in digital and analogue simulation across a staggering range of subject areas. From museums engaging patrons to a think tank designing war games for the Canadian Forces, it was a tour de force of what immersive simulation and gaming can do to engage and teach in pretty every learning context.

I was absolutely thrilled to learn that our all Canadian made simulation that offers a key to cyber-education – one that is more advanced than the systems we use when our CyberTitans take part in CyberPatriot south of the border because it allows for interactive networking between virtual machines instead of just putting students into isolated desktop VMs – won the gold medal for K12 immersive learning simulation.


ICTC and Field Effect have worked hard to get this world class immersive learning opportunity in front of Canadian students. The trick now, as it has always been, is to get insular Canadian education systems who have taken a head-in-the-sand approach to cyber education to pick up this federally funded, world-class tool we’ve built and use it to get past their own fear and ignorance and begin teaching essential defensive 21st Century digital skills.

***

Sign up for CyberTitan, Canada’s national student cybersecurity competition, is open until October. Teams of girls and other under represented groups in the field are fully funded. The early rounds are on individual virtual machines through CyberPatriot in the US, but if you push on you eventually get to Field Effect’s Cyber Range and get a taste of the future of cyber-education.


Check out the interactive team signup map here. You can ask yourself questions like, why one of Canada’s smallest provinces (New Brunswick) has more student teams than Ontario and Quebec combined, or wonder why Saskatchewan and Nova Scotia have no teams at all. Perhaps they don’t use the internet?


The vast majority (over 90%) of cyber attacks on Canadian systems depend on user ignorance and lack of education to succeed. We can’t build a secure Canada if oblivious Canadians keep opening all the doors. You don’t have to pretend it isn’t happening, it can start here:

Join the competition and sign up student teams of 4-6.
There are middle and high school divisions and community groups are also welcome to participate.

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Turtles all the way Down

I tried to get AI in front of Ontario teachers at
the ECOO Conference in 2019, but it was a
pretty empty room.

I’ve been working with generative artificial intelligence with students in my computer technology program since 2018 when we were fortunate to get a new grade 9 whose dad was on the team that brought IBM Watson to Jeopardy. That got us connected to IBM cloud and building AI chatbots five years before the “AI revolution” everyone has been caught out by.

That wasn’t our first point of contact with AI though. I’d been keeping an eye on AI dev as far back as 2015 because we launched our gamedev course in ’15 and getting handle on building intelligent responses to player actions in our games immediately became our biggest challenge. Thanks to Gord and IBM we were able to get our juniors familiar with AI prior to asking them to take on significant software engineering challenges with it in the senior grades.

I presented on AI use in the classroom at the ECOO conference pre-COVID in fall of 2019. Gord from IBM even came all the way down to Niagara Falls to offer world class suppport. The room was all but empty:

This is how many Ontario educators (already interested in edtech because this is ECOO!) you get in an introduction to gnerative AI in 2019 (yes, it was four in an otherwise empty room). Ahead of our time (again)? Four years later it’s an emergency and suddenly there are education AI experts everywhere. I wonder where they were in 2019.

If you ever wonder why education always seems two steps behind emerging technologies that will have profound impacts on classrooms, here’s a fine example. Except you won’t even see four people sitting in an empty room in 2024 because all edtech conferences like ECOO focused on teacher technology integration have evaporated in Ontario.

***

OK, so I’ve been banging my head against pedagogically driven AI engagement in education for almost a decade only to see it swamp an oblvious education system anyway, so what’s happening now? I’m ressearching the leading edge of this technology to see if we can’t still rescue a pedagogically meaningful approach to it.

In the summer Katina Papulkas from Dell Canada put out a call for educators interested in action research on AI use in learning. I’ve been talking to Aman Sahota and Henry Fu from Factors Education over the past year looking for an excuse to work on something like this, so I pitched this idea: De-blackboxing AI technology and using it to understand how it works.

Our plan is to use the Factors AI engine that Henry himself has built and Aman administrates to build custom data libraries that will support an AI agent that will interact with students and encourage them to ask questions to better understand how generative AI works. As mentioned before on Dusty World, GenAI isn’t intelligent and it’s important that people realize what it is and how it works to demystify it and then apply it effectively. Getting misdirected by the marketing driven AI tag isn’t helpful.

So far we’ve built modules that describe the history and development of AI, how AI works and the future of AI. In the process of doing this I’ve come across all sorts of public facing research material that breaks down generative AI for you (like Deep Learning from MIT Press), but it’s technically dense and not accessible to the casual reader.

During the last week of August Factors had a meeting with interested educators through UofT OISE (their AI system came out of the OISE edtech accelerator). I demonstrated in the presentation how the AI engine might be used to break down a complex article for easier consumption through agent interaction. The example was WIRED’s story on how Google employees developed the transformers that moved generative AI from a curiosity to real world useful in the late teens. I picked this one because it explains some of what happens in the ‘blackbox’ that AI is often hidden in.

With some well crafted prompting and then conversational interaction, students can get clear, specific answers to technical details that might have eluded them in the long form article. The reading support side of GenAI hasn’t been fully explored yet (though WIRED did a recent interesting piece on cloning famous authors to become AI reading buddies as you tackle the classics which is in the ballpark).

What have I learned from working directly with building an AI library of data and then tuning it? AI isn’t automatic at all. It demands knowledgable people providing focus and context to aim it in the right direction and maximize productive responses with users. An interesting example of this was finding documents that provided focused data on the subjects we wanted the AI to respond to. When I couldn’t find specific ones Henry suggested using Perplexity, an AI research tool that coalates online sources and then gives you concise summaries along with a bibliography of credible sources.

I thought I was being perverse asking them to design an AI that expalins AI using AI, but Henry’s always a step ahead. He wants to use an AI to build a library of information to feed the AI engine that then uses AI to interact with the user… about AI. It’s turtles all the way down!

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It’s a War Out There

In the beginning of July the Communications Security Establishment (CSE-CST) produced two news briefs that many Canadians remain oblivious to. On July 9th a warning was published describing a Russian government backed foreign interference project that uses artificial intelligence to create false social media output from many different countries designed as propaganda for Russian state interests. By using these tools Russia hopes to direct national discourse in democratic countries, including Canada, in its favour.

The day before, on July 8th, CSE posted a warning about Chinese state sponsored cyber intrusions across public and private networks in many countries, including Canada, designed to give the Peoples Republic access to sensitive state and industry data. What is most concerning about these warnings is that they aren’t unique, they aren’t even rare.

We have come to depend on networked digital information in all aspects of our lives. For many this means social media on their phones, but our dependence on networked digital information runs far deeper than that. Essential systems like the power grid and water supply (and regular classroom activities) are managed through networked digital systems, as are our supply chains. This offers us tremendous opportunities for efficiency and oversight, but it also brings with it the danger of cyber-attack, and not by the stereotypical lone hoodied hacker.

Incredibly, in 2024 most Canadian schools do not teach any cybersecurity education at all. With the exception of New Brunswick there is no curriculum in Canada that even mentions cybersecurity. This has put us in a difficult situation as Canada faces a generational shortage of cyber-talent. But the real danger isn’t our failure to get students interested in working in the field, it’s the apathy and  ignorance Canadians seem to revel in.

The vast majority of successful cyber-attacks depend on user ignorance to find a way in. Canadian defensive technologies are world class, but if the people using them are dangerously oblivious, that’s where the opportunity for abuse lies, which is why Russian and Chinese government organizations are focusing their attention there. If you want to destabilize a democracy, you create division in its people, and with most people going online wearing a blind fold of apathetic ignorance, it’s the easiest opportunity.

If you provided your military with state-of-the-art weapons but didn’t train any of them in how to use them, you wouldn’t have a very effective fighting force, yet that is how we approach cyber-readiness in Canada. Connected digital technologies have become central to most aspects of life, yet the vast majority of Canadians take no responsibility for the dangers these digital opportunities present.

Meanwhile, countries with vested interests in Canadian destabilization have created enormous offensive cyber-attack groups. China’s offensive cyber military arm – just their offensive cyber personnel – number more than the entire Canadian Armed Forces. But the threat doesn’t end there. In addition to large cyber-military capabilities, many foreign powers have also hired private companies to conduct foreign cyber-espionage. If you think the threats we face online are lone hackers trying to make a buck or two you’ve failed to grasp how cyber operations have evolved in the past decade.

Allied Western powers have built defensive systems in partnership with industry, but our ability to perform cyber-attacks on the scale that Russia and China do is anything but equal. If this were a ‘hot’ war the map would be dominated by those countries while Western responses are minimal in response. Unlike a conventional war, there would be no lines with safe zones behind them. In cyber-warfare you see malevolent skirmishes happening in every region of Canada; nowhere is safe because connected infrastructure is everywhere.

Around the edges of these state sponsored cyber-attacks partner organizations are leveraging similar tools for cyber-crime, often in an effort to fund the state sponsored attacks. The ransomware attack your company just paid to try and resolve may well be going to fund the next round of state sponsored digital violence.

Thinking that this is all someone else’s problem is one of Canada’s greatest weaknesses. ‘Loose lips sink ships’ was a common reminder during World War Two. It reminded people that you never knew who is listening and that your blabbing may well get people killed. The Twenty-First Century equivalent is ‘careless clicks can hack everything you depend on.’ Not as catchy, but terrifying.

One of the scariest parts of attending a cybersecurity conference is listening to the people trying to hold Canada together talking about how razor thin that line is. I’ve heard people who are defending against these wildly asymmetrical attacks say things like, “I’m amazed the lights are still on”, and “in the next five years we will have a cyber-attack that takes out critical infrastructure for weeks at a time.”  Perhaps when we’re all sitting in the cold and dark wondering what happened we’ll also start to wonder why we didn’t so something about it when we had the opportunity.

Saying it’s a war out there isn’t hyperbole. Thanks to artificial intelligence many cyber attacks have become fully automated. These A.I. automated attacks iterate their approaches allowing even the most digitally illiterate criminals access to leading edge cyber incursion tools, and many foreign powers are more than happy to support that chaos for their own ends.

What’s a democracy to do? Start taking cyber-education and digital citizenship seriously. Instead of graduating students that only add to the cyber skills gap, we should be making all students (and the families they come home to every day) aware of this secret war we’re all on the battlefield of every time we pick up a device and access the interwebs. How many times have you amplified a social media post that may well have been written by a Russian A.I. bot with the intent to damage Canadian interests? Time to stand up to this hidden war.

I presented on using state of the art cloud based cyber simulation to teach essential cyber skills at the Serious Play Conference at UofT Mississauga this month. We have the tools to address the cyber-literacy gap in Canada and make our country cyber-secure, we just have to make using them in classrooms a priority.

You can sign up for CyberTItan now – it’s Canada’s biggest student cybersecurity competition. There are divisions for middle and high school students and youth groups can all join up. Teams are 4-6 students and you learn real world defensive cyber skills. Support is also provided if you need mentors. www.cybertitan.ca


Want to read more?

Why State-Sponsored Cyber Attacks are a Global Threat

It’s not human error if it’s wilful ignorance.

Russian State-Sponsored and Criminal Cyber Threats to Critical Infrastructure

National Cyber Threat Assessment 2023-2024

Cyber Operations Tracker

The Cost of a Breach: 10 Terrifying Cybersecurity Stats Your MSP’s Customers Need to Know


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Under Dark Skies Chapter 4

Chapter 4. Previous chapters can be found in previous posts. 

British Expeditionary Force
Monday, May 13th, 1940
Reims Aerodrome – Northern France

 

As was so often the case, Bill was
back in Scotland in the Trials. He was exhausted and the bike was hanging
together by a thread, but neither of them were going to stop. The smell of the
ancient mud and heather from highland moors filled his nose, then suddenly he
was in the pub in Fort William, and everyone was cheering as they hung his
medal above the bar. The backslapping turned to slaps. In an instance he was
back home in Norfolk, fired for taking the week off to compete and looking at
an RAF poster.

“All I’ve got to give you is blood,
toil, sweat and tears,” it said, and then he was laying in his bunk, grey
morning light filling the room. Bill was the only one in the NCO bunky, but
next door in the common room the radio was turned up. Through the static came a
familiar voice.

“We have before us an ordeal of the
most grievous kind. We have before us many, many long months of struggle and of
suffering,” static surrounded Churchill’s familiar voice.

Bill swung his legs over the edge of
the bunk and slipped on his boots. In the common room half a dozen junior NCOs
were sitting at the table listening to the radio.

“…what is our policy? I can say: It
is to wage war, by sea, land and air, with all our might and with all the
strength that God can give us; to wage war against a monstrous tyranny, never
surpassed in the dark, lamentable catalogue of human crime,” Churchill
continued. He sounded like he was warming to his subject and the words were
rolling out of him like thunder.

The men in the room were motionless,
hanging on every word.

“…what is our aim? I can answer in
one word: It is victory, victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror,
victory, however long and hard the road may be; for without victory, there is
no survival.”

“Quite,” Sergeant Michaels said,
taking a sip of his tea.

Bill walked over to the pot and poured
himself a cup and leaned back against the wall to listen.

“… I feel sure that our cause will
not be suffered to fail among men. At this time, I feel entitled to claim the
aid of all, and I say, ‘come then, let us go forward together with our united
strength.’” There was a silence at the end of the speech before the announcer
cut in explaining that this had been recorded this morning in an emergency
meeting of Parliament.

Bill looked around the room.
Everyone was stony faced. The radio announcer suggested that Churchill had
forced Parliament to open for that speech.

“Is Churchill Prime Minister now?”
Bill asked.

“He got the job last Friday, mate,”
Michaels laughed. “Where have you been?”

“In Belgium,” Bill replied absently,
sipping his tea.

The junior NCOs exchanged glances.

“Why on earth would you want to go
there?” Michaels asked.

“Someone asked me to give them a
hand blowing up a bridge,” Bill replied. He was still a bit foggy after the
long sleep.

“Did you manage it?” Michaels asked,
sharing an incredulous look with the other NCOs.

“One less bridge for Gerry to supply
petrol over,” Bill repeated what he’d said to Grimes the evening before.

“Meet any Germans?”

“A few too many, actually.”

“Right, give us the details!”

“I was the rabbit; I made a
distraction and drew them away so the demolition boys could finish the job.”

“Jolly good, Corporal,” Michaels
raised his mug.

“How are things here?” Bill asked.

“Lost three Hurricanes over the
weekend. Another two are on fire outside this morning, but the weather’s closed
in so hopefully we’ll have a day or two to get ourselves sorted.”

“Are we winning?” Bill asked,
looking at the white faces.

“If we’re not, we’re making them pay
for each step,” Corporal Allings said. The other men in the room murmured in
agreement.

“Bloody right,” Bill replied,
raising his cup to the room of tired men. “Want to see the latest in Nazi
fashion?”

Everyone’s eyes lit up, so Bill put
down his mug and dug the SS uniform out of his barracks box. Laying it out on
the table it was a grand looking thing, though a bit grotty from the long ride.
Say what you will about Nazis, but they design smashing uniforms.

“This is SS, isn’t it?” Allings
asked, running a finger over the shoulder badges.

“It is,” Bill replied, “it’s a
Scharführer SS uniform. They told me the equivalent of a sergeant.”

The men looked over the uniform with
interest. After months in country this was the first time any of them had seen
an enemy uniform up close.

“Got the hat with it?” Rawlings
asked.

“Just the big stormtrooper helmet,
but I left it with the bike.”

“BMW R12?” Corporal Smith asked.
He’d been one of the first to take the two-wheel training and had gotten into
motorcycling magazines since.

“Yep, boxer twin, telescopic forks.
It handled better than it should have and flatters the rider. If you’re ever
being chased by one you want to get a move on, or they’ll catch you up.”

“Did they let you hang on to it?”

“No,” Bill said with some regret. “I
had to leave it on the grounds of a Belgian castle.”

“It happens,” Michaels laughed.

Someone had gotten a tray of bread
and bacon from the mess and were putting together sandwiches with the tea. Bill
fell in with them for breakfast. After such a mad weekend it was nice to see
familiar faces and chat.

 

Even
with the weather closing in the airfield was a constant buzz of activity. So
many planes weren’t returning or were landing in pieces that it was becoming
obvious to everyone at Champagne-Reims that things weren’t going well. Being
centralized with bomber squadrons made the members of Seventy-Three aware of
just how badly things were getting as the bomber crews were constantly being
swapped for fresh faces.

Bill sorted out the bikes and then
lent a hand moving fuel bowser around. Midafternoon, under low cloud and heavy
drizzle, he was filling up a bowser when the drone of German bombers sent
everyone into a frenzy. Bombs started dropping across the airfield, concussing
the air, and flattening the wet grass with each explosion. Bill kept the spigot
on. If one landed on the trench you were in you were done anyway, and
Hurricanes couldn’t intercept if they were empty. The raid had been well timed
as most of the squadron had just returned from patrol after the morning rain
had lifted.

No buildings were hit but two of the
runways were damaged. Ten minutes later they were being filled. Bombing was an
inexact science. It did more damage to morale than the apparatus of war,
perhaps that was reason enough to do it.

Bill finished the refill and
navigated the heavy lorry over the rutted earth, staying clear of where the
planes taxied and took off. Pulling up to the squadron’s line of Hurricanes,
pilots were either jumping out of their planes to take a comfort break before
going up again or were necking a sandwich and a mug of tea, often both. The
ground crews swarmed around the bowser, running lines out to the nearest plane
and began refueling. Bill climbed out of the cab and stepped aside. Nothing
worse than a bystander in the way.

“Corporal Morris,” Flight Sergeant
Grimes was striding across the wet grass towards him. “Got a minute?”

“Yes, Flight,” Bill replied, wiping
his hands on a rag, and walking over to meet him.

Grimes glanced around to make sure
they were out of earshot, but everyone was too busy to listen in any case.

“Bit of bad news,” Grimes began
quietly. “We’ve lost an entire squadron of Battles in one go. They went down at
the Belgian border just northeast of Sedan in the Ardennes.”

“The Germans hold Sedan, don’t
they?”

Grimes nodded, “They’re well behind
enemy lines. At least two of the planes landed with full crews. They managed to
radio in before going down.”

Grimes was poker faced which left
Bill wondering what the ask was.  Grimes
seemed to be struggling with it himself.

“The squadron senior NCO is an old
friend,” Grimes finally continued. “He’s taking this badly. They’ve already
lost their entire squadron once before and this one will break them. They need
a win. I thought you might be able to think of something.”

“How many crews are we talking
about?” Bill asked.

“Two-Two-Six had all six of their
Fairies on a bombing raid near Les Mazures on the Meuse River. If they all
survived it would be eighteen men, but that’s an optimistic estimate.”

As ridiculous as the question was,
Bill was already trying to work out how to do it.

“In a pinch, that Citroën TUB could
hold that much weight. It wouldn’t be comfortable, but it’d hold them,” he
finally replied.

“It’s not an order,” Grimes said,
“but if you’re willing to try and get them, we have coordinates that’ll get you
close.”

“I don’t want to see that many
airmen left behind,” Bill replied. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you, Corporal. Good luck,”
Grimes turned and walked briskly back to the temporary HQ.

 

With the rest of the squadron doing
double duty to keep planes in the air, Bill was able to run around behind the
scenes putting together a plan with notes heavily cribbed from Biffy’s bridge
adventure. He fueled up the Citroën and the Tiger and took everything else out
of the nondescript civilian van. It would make him invisible, but the real
trick was to avoid any German entanglements, he knew a man who might help with
that.

Bill rode the Tiger around the
perimeter of the massive aerodrome to the main French HQ. It was lunch time so
hopefully he’d be able to find Pierre in the officer’s mess. Stepping in from
the rain, he brushed himself off and looked around. Several French officers had
stopped eating and were looking at the damp RAF corporal standing in the door.
From the back of the room by the window a familiar voice rang out.

“Corporal Morris!” Pierre stood up
smiling with a wave. “Join me!”

Bill smiled back in relief. He’d
gotten the distinct feeling that he was about to be yelled at in French.
Walking past the annoyed stares, he took the empty seat across from Pierre.

“You look worried,” Pierre noted
over a meal that put the RAF mess to shame. “Want some coffee?”

“Yes please,” Bill replied,
shivering from the damp.

Pierre filled a porcelain cup with
spectacular smelling coffee. Fighting a war in your own country had its perks.

“What can I do for you, damp
Corporal?” Pierre asked, handing him the cup.

Bill took a sip and then looked
Pierre in the eye.

“We lost an entire squadron of
Fairey Battles this morning. They’ve gone down in the Ardennes northeast of
Sedan.  My Flight Sergeant is wondering
if I can go get them.”

“That’s thirty kilometres the wrong
side of the German line,” Pierre said, “and a lot of people to try and fit on
the back of a motorbike.”

“I’ve got a civilian Citroën TUB
that should hold them,” Bill replied.

“Of course you do.”

“What I’d really like to do is avoid
any enemy entanglements. Do you have any idea where they’re concentrated up
there?”

Pierre took a sip of coffee and gave
it some thought.

“I can find you some of the latest
reconnaissance from the area, but they won’t be happy to see an RAF enlisted
man in there. Wait in the Quartier General front office. Tell them Captain
Clostermann has asked for you and they should leave you alone.”

“Thanks, Pierre.”

Both men drained their coffees and
stood up. Bill followed Pierre out of the officer’s mess as many eyes followed
them.

The Quartier General was a permanent
building with heat, which Bill found magical after a winter living in various
forms of temporary shelter. The officious git at the front desk could speak
English but was determined not to. Bill finally got a dismissive gesture
towards chairs in the lobby and went and sat in one. Pierre appeared a few
minutes later with a notebook full of scribbled details. He sat down next to
Bill in the waiting area and started a rapid fire debrief.

“Most of the German activity is on
the east side of the Meuse. That river, eh? They have a major supply line
running down the road from Hargnies that we’ve been trying to hit for the past
week, but they provide strong air cover over it. Maybe head north to Vervins
and then come in from that way, you’re only likely to meet light patrols. Their
main push is into Sedan and then south.”

Pierre hesitated, closing the
notebook, “Just because they are looking the other way doesn’t mean this will
work William. Are you sure you have to do this?”

Bill smiled tightly, “I don’t have
to do anything, but I don’t want people feeling hopeless and that’s how things
are starting to get over our way. If I can nip in and get a few boys back home,
it’ll help.”

Pierre nodded, “Bonne chance, mon
ami.”

They stood together and shook hands.

“I’ll pop by later in the week and
tell you how it went,” Bill smiled.

“I’m sure you will,” Pierre replied,
though the worried look in his eyes didn’t go away.



 

With everyone running about putting
their planes back together again, the barracks and mess were empty. Bill ate
alone before dinner was scheduled. The ceiling had dropped to only a few
hundred feet making visibility poor and grounding the planes, it was going to
be a cold, damp evening. After getting food into him, Bill filled a thermos
with tea and put together a sandwich to bring along. As everyone else was
coming in for dinner, Bill headed out into the rain. The Citroën had
non-descript grey paint that faded into the wet landscape. It was going to be
such a handful unloaded that driving it in the wet made Bill distinctly
uncomfortable. That’s when inspiration struck. Why not put a bike in it and
ride back? If he vacated the van and let the aircrew drive it back, more of
them would fit in the van.

The obvious choice was the only
non-RAF bike he had: Louis Jeanin’s Tiger. The brace of Nortons and the lone
Triumph were all sitting under a dripping tarpaulin. The Tiger was still
cooling from the ride over to Pierre. Bill eased it out from under the tarp and
rolled it over to the van. Dragging a plank from the bike shed and setting it
as a ramp, he pushed the Tiger up into the van and tied it to the side with
bits of rope. If the Citroën stopped bouncing about so much, he might not end
up in a ditch.

With another couple of hours until
dark, Bill shut the doors and double checked that the radiator was full, and
that the engine had oil. He also went over everything with an oil can and
checked and filled the tyres. The strange layout of the TUB made this a bit of
an adventure but knowing where everything was seemed prudent, though doing it
half under a tarp in pouring rain wasn’t fun. 
Watching Biffy check the details and put his bridge demolition plan
together had given Bill some idea of how to ensure success when a job had so
many potential surprises.

As everyone else went back to
putting their planes back into service, Bill hit his bunk and tried to sleep.
He must have had a kip because the next thing he remembered was the sound of
the other junior NCOs coming in after a long day on the field. He sat up and
began putting his civilian clothes on. When he came through out of uniform the
conversation around the card table stopped.

“That looks like trouble,” Michaels
observed, putting his cards down.

“Off to see if I can bring some
Fairey Battle crews back,” Bill replied, snagging a mug, and filling it from
the ever-present tea pot.

“Long way to go?” Michaels asked.

“Ardennes,” Bill said, sipping his
tea.

“Isn’t it full of Nazis?” Allings
asked with a look of concern.

“That’s the tricky bit,” Bill
replied, draining the tea.

“What’s the plan?” Michaels’
curiosity mirrored the room’s.

“Drive the Citroën van up there.
Pretend I’m French and hope any Germans I ran into aren’t because my French
won’t take it, find the crews, hand them the van and then ride back providing
cover.”

“Think it’ll work?” Michaels asked.

“I’m about to find out,” Bill
smiled, pulling on his dark blue fishing gansey and stepping out into the rainy
night.

The hand knitted fisherman’s gansey
was a gift given to him the day before he enlisted. It was a reminder of
someone special at home, and it was remarkably good at repelling water, which
would be handy tonight. She’d made it in her family pattern, and it was a
unique thing. In the uniformed world of war, he had little chance to wear it.

The TUB fired up even though it had
been sitting in the wet. As weird as the van was, you had to admire the
engineering. Bill looked over his shoulder. The Tiger crouched in the back of
the van staring back intently with its slotted black out headlamp. The chance
to ride it again, this time possibly in anger, sent a thrill up Bill’s spine.

He put the van in gear and bounced
over the rutted, wet field toward the gate. If they gave him any stick, he’d
have them contact Grimes, but the bored French MP at the gate gave him a wave
when he pulled up and he was through into the kind of darkness you only find in
the countryside at night in the rain.

With
the Tiger in the back the Citroën was manageable. Bill made good time north
through the weather which was more tedious than terrifying. He pulled into
Signy-l’Abbaye, on the edge of the Ardennes Forest just before midnight and
turned off the lights. Sedan was east of him, and Pierre’s notes had suggested
that this was where all the German attention was. He hadn’t seen another
vehicle on the road having stuck to small back roads all the way up.

Using a torch, he scanned the map.
Les Mazures was a village deep in the forest just west of the Meuse River, the
same waterway they’d crossed in Belgium, but down here it was a much smaller
river. With the rain and now a forest, Bill couldn’t have asked for better
cover, but good cover also meant poor sight lines. He could easily round a
corner to discover a hundred Nazis having dinner.

He
turned the headlamps on and put the TUB into gear before rolling under the
deeper shadows of the trees. The road followed a tributary that would
eventually feed the Meuse. The running water was producing its own mist,
cutting visibility even further. He passed through Villaine, another forested
village where all the cottages and shops were dark, but on the outskirts, he
saw a light ahead and pulled off the road onto a dirt path and turned
everything off.

Looking at his map again by
torchlight, he was less than ten miles from where the Fairey crews had gone
down. As he double checked the map a heavy-duty vehicle rumbled past on the
road behind him. The lightless TUB sitting in the shadows hadn’t drawn any
attention. That had been a big, military lorry, possibly a troop carrier. A
familiar sound followed as a pair of sidecar outfits passed by, and then Bill’s
heart jumped in his chest, the mechanical groan of a treaded tank was getting
louder.

Staring at the rear-view mirror,
Bill sat motionless in the shadows. He’d seen tanks but never up close, he was
in the wrong branch of the service for that sort of thing. A Panzer heaved into
view behind him, making quick progress down the country road. It had a bright
spotlight on it that was scanning the forest. Bill could make out the manned
heavy machine gun mount on top next to the spotlight. That gun would turn his
van into Swiss cheese in seconds. The light swept across the Citroën as the
Panzer rolled down the road, but it didn’t hesitate; a nondescript French
delivery van was the best possible camouflage.

Behind the Panzer another large
lorry passed and finally something smaller, maybe one of those little square
Kübelwagens he’d seen at the Luxembourg border last week. Was that only last
week? As the convoy of mechanized soldiers thundered into France unimpeded,
Bill’s heart started to slow down. The dirt road continued into the forest
ahead. He’d intended to fire up the TUB and drive hard into the woods had they
stopped, but his civilian camouflage and going to ground had done the trick.

He gave it a minute more and then
started up the van and backed it out onto the road. The pavement was in rougher
shape after being churned up by the Panzer, so slow and steady it was. Knowing
that mechanized unit was blocking their way out was something to keep in mind.
Along with the heavy machinery, there must have been dozens of men in those
vehicles.

Chapter 5 can be found here.

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Under Dark Skies Chapter 3

Chapter 3 (earlier chapters can be found in previous posts)

British Expeditionary Force
Sunday, May 12th, 1940
Operation Chokepoint: Infiltration into Belgium

 

Biffy wasn’t joking about moving
quickly. Just past midnight they crossed the border into Belgium. A civilian
police car and a military staff car were waiting for them there and they
crossed in moments. Shortly after they were flying north again in the darkness.
The crescent moon was growing and shed a bit of light, but Bill was depending
on the slitted headlamp and the lights of the car to show him what the roads
were doing. Several times they had to slow due to bomb damage and work their
way around some rough bits, but they were often doing better than sixty miles
per hour nearly blind.

The Mercedes was making quick time on
empty, Belgian roads. The man at the wheel knew how to handle a car and was
winding it out whenever he could, sometimes pulling right up behind the
civilian police car which then redoubled its efforts to stay in front.

Bill trailed along at the back on
the BMW which had long legs for this kind of work. Those telescopic forks were
so good, they felt like the future, and the engine and gearing were such that
the bike could easily roll along at sixty miles an hour. Bill wondered if it
had been breathed on since the R12s he’d read about topped out at sixty. This
one was happy looking at the other side of it.

The Belgian countryside flew by in
the shadows. By 2am the fast-moving group found themselves east of Liège and
within striking distance of their target. Castle Selys-Longchamps was a Belgian
operational centre for the front, so they pulled into the grounds. Several
Belgian military vehicles were packed under the trees. A young man in full
field kit carrying a rifle waved them into the area and silence swept over them
as ignitions were cut.

Bill swung a stiff leg off the BMW
and stretched in the damp grass. The men in the staff car were also getting out
and stretching after an intense blast through the dark. Whether Biffy was any
good at planning was put to rest as one of the military lorries revealed
another carafe of steaming black coffee. Biffy waved everyone over, and they
stood in a circle around the warm metal container with camp mugs in hand.

“We’ve made good time, gentlemen,”
he began, a voice in the dark. “The main rail line crosses the river that
divides Belgium and The Netherlands just northeast of here. Latest Belgian
intelligence shows multiple German units on this side of the river, the Dutch
side doesn’t seem to have any special attention. We’ll do this as under the
guise of a rabbit hunt. The staff car will park under the cover of the bridge
and you two will wire it to blow. Bill, you get off the road a hundred yards
back. If we draw any attention, we’ll explain we’re looking for a saboteur on a
motorbike. If things look like escalating, you pop out, fire a couple of shots
over our heads and then make for back here with all possible speed. We’ll do a
bad job of following you with the Germans. Questions?”

Bill liked the bit where he never
had to try and have a conversation with anyone because he didn’t speak any of
it. If riding quickly was his main job, he had a handle that. He nodded curtly
along with everyone else.

“The Belgians are supplying us with
a crate of dynamite, so we need to load that into the trunk of the Mercedes and
then avoid big bumps,” Biffy continued. “It’s half past three now. If we can be
ready to go by four, we can be at the target before dawn. We can have it wired
on a timer and be out of enemy territory before the sun comes up. Check your
kit and get yourself sorted. We move in thirty.”

The two younger, dangerous looking
fellows in lieutenants’ uniforms immediately went over to a Belgian vehicle
that was parked a distance from everything else and began removing a wooden
crate carefully. Bill finished his coffee and then took a nature break.
Returning to the BMW he looked it over, but it seemed perfectly happy after its
prolonged, high speed night flight through Belgium. The German uniform he was
wearing included a service revolver, a newer model of the same Luger he’d found
in the crashed Dornier. It was amazing to think that happened only yesterday,
and he still hadn’t slept yet. The coffee must be what’s keeping him on his
toes, but eventually he’d have to put his head down somewhere and have a kip.

He unclipped the Luger and removed
it from the holster. They’d done basic firearms training when he joined the
RAF, but guns weren’t his focus. Biffy was watching them load the crate into
the back of the Mercedes and pack straw around so it wouldn’t shift.

“Um, sir,” Bill began, holding up
the Luger.

“Ah, not so familiar with German
handguns, eh?”

“Haven’t had much opportunity.”

Biffy took the pistol and
demonstrated how to turn off the safety and open the chamber.

“Testing firearm!” he shouted.

No one stopped what they were doing.
Biffy turned to face one of the large trees in the area, aimed the Luger at it
and pulled the trigger. The concussion from the shot was stunning in the quiet
night.

“This
one shoots straight, they don’t always. You’ve still got six more bullets in
it. If things go cock-up, pull out on the bike, fire your shots then toss the
gun and go.”

“Yes, sir,” Bill replied, taking the
smoking Luger back and turning on the safety.

“Hopefully, it won’t come to that.
Is the bike alright?”

“Yes, sir. Once I’m moving, I can
get it to dance.”

“Perfect!” Biffy’s eyes glinted in
the dark. “Part of me is hoping you have the opportunity to dance!”

Biffy turned and walked over to a
senior officer. They began talking in German. He was the one who would be doing
the majority of the talking if they ran into the enemy.

Preparations were wordless and
quick; these men had done this before, which made Bill feel even further out of
his depth. The Belgian soldiers supplied more petrol for the vehicles and Bill
took the panniers off the bike, which included a heavy jerrycan full of fuel,
and left them under a tree. Given more time he would have stripped it down
further. The fenders on it looked like they were made from cast iron and
weighed a ton. Biffy called them all together one final time.

“Gentlemen, this is a quick in and
out. Our captain here will do the talking if we run into any German military.
You two look unapproachable,” he nodded to the two-man demolition crew. “Since
he doesn’t ‘
sprakenzee
Deuch’
[1] , our sergeant will be down the road
out of sight on the bike. If things look tense, he’ll pop out and provide a
distraction. When we get to the bridge, we’ll park under the arch the road
passes through. Demolitions will rig the girders where they leave the
foundation over the river. Ten minutes to set up a basic circuit?”

The taller of the two young men
nodded.

“Once we’ve got the bridge wired, we
make haste back here. If you get separated, you’re on your own. Get back over
the river. There’s an intact bridge five miles south of the target we’re going
to cross to get in. Eleven miles north is another bridge, but there is a lot of
activity up that way so I wouldn’t suggest it. If you’re on foot, an
alternative might be seeing if you can find a rowboat to get back into Belgium.
Off we go!”

Bill returned to the bike and kicked
it to life. The men folded themselves into the Benz and carefully made their
way back to the dirt road that led to the castle, going out of their way to
avoid bumps. Bill fell in behind them, a bit further back than before.

The road bridge into Lise in the
Netherlands was the first goal. Even in the bottom of the night the Belgian
military were active, and a number of vehicles were in motion on their way to
the bridge. The Belgian army staff car leading them got them waved through two
roadblocks when they finally crested a ridge and saw the river wreathed in fog.

The Belgian car led them down to a
fortified placement on the west side of the bridge. Another military vehicle
that had seen better days was waiting there. Biffy jumped out of the Mercedes
when they pulled up and everyone killed engines and lights. After a brief chat
with the front-line officer, they shook hands and Biffy returned to the Benz.
The beaten-up army vehicle moved aside and let them onto the bridge, lights
out.

They crossed through the thickening
river fog and stopped again. The Belgian officer handed Biffy a map through the
window. Bill kept an eye out but there wasn’t much to be seen in the grey wall
of fog. Bill hunkered down on the BMW, feeling the heat from the engine rising
up around him. After another brief discussion and a handshake. The German staff
car started up and took a right up the road next to the river. Bill kicked the
BMW over and followed. As he passed the front-line officer the man gave him a salute
and Bill nodded awkwardly in return.

This was one of those strange parts
of Europe where the borders followed a tortured history of conquest and take
back. This pocket of Belgium bulged over to Germany, but The Netherlands was
now north of them. Because of this it was a nightmare to defend and had been
quickly conceded, but the rapid advance meant things were still chaotic,
especially in the countryside where they were headed. German paratroopers had
taken Eben-Emael so quickly it had made a mess of any plans.

The
Mercedes’ taillights shone red through the thick fog, providing the only source
of direction as they followed the river. The road was paved and clung to the
edge of the Meuse. They crept north moving slower than they’d planned, but the
fog also provided excellent cover. Finally, the massive rail bridge appeared as
a monolithic shadow in the mist. The staff car pulled into the even darker
shadow of the arch and went dark. Bill pulled up at the entrance. The plan was
going to have to change if visibility was this poor.

“Go through to the north side of the
bridge and keep an eye out,” Biffy said quietly as Bill pulled up.

He kicked the BMW into gear and
pulled through to the other side. When he killed the engine, his blood froze.
German voices could clearly be heard through the fog. Still sitting on the
bike, he shifted it into neutral and made a three-point turn, so he was facing
south, and then, leaving the bike there, crept back through the bridge tunnel
to the Mercedes.

“German voices, north of the
bridge,” he whispered to Biffy.

The two young men were lifting the
crate out of the back of the car and paused after hearing that, waiting for the
next order.

“We proceed,” Biffy said quietly and
calmly. “Hauptsturmführer Müller and I will stay up that way. If we run into
anyone, we’ll delay them as long as possible. Take the bike just south of us.
If you hear voices being raised, take your shots, and then get south back to
the bridge as planned.”

The two demolition boys took the
crate between them and carefully made their way down the south side of the
muddy riverbank into a darkness so absolute Bill couldn’t understand how they
could work in it, but it didn’t seem to bother them. The German speaking French
soldier dressed as an SS Captain and Biffy in his SS Major uniform both
followed Bill back to the north end of the tunnel where the German voices
echoed hollowly through the fog. It sounded like they’d made a camp by the
river.

Bill rolled the BMW quietly back
through the tunnel and past the Benz. He stopped when he could just make out
the bridge in the darkness. Minutes passed by. He eventually stepped off the
bike, pulled it up onto its stand and went for a stretch and a pee by the
river. If anything, the fog was even thicker now, with rolls of it blowing
through.

The bridge and river along with the
dense fog made for strange sound distortion. The end of this long night was
wearing on Bill as he alternately sat against the warm BMW and occasionally got
up to stretch. At one point he nodded off for a moment and was woken up by
unfamiliar voices. The tunnel amplified the voices of the people standing in
it. The French officer’s upper-class accent was clear even though Bill couldn’t
understand the words. Standing up, Bill threw a leg over the bike and waited
tensely. The mist was a lighter tinge of grey; sunrise wasn’t far off.

The two figures of the French
officer and Biffy loomed in the shadows under the bridge, followed by way too
many silhouettes. Bill’s adrenaline surged. The French officer was speaking
with one of the figures and gesturing around the area. This was it, time to do
his bit. Bill pulled out the German handgun and turned off the safety as he’d
been shown. Aiming at the top of the arch with a shaking hand, he was about to
pull the trigger when he remembered the bike wasn’t running. Getting caught
trying to start it wasn’t the way. Holding the Luger awkwardly, he stepped down
on the kick starter and the BMW thudded to life. Bill pulled it off the stand.
The figures in the mist had frozen at the sound.

Bill held up his shaking hand and
began pulling the trigger. The gun jumped in his hand and the figures in the
mist scattered for cover. When he stopped firing, Bill threw the gun into the
mud and spun the heavy bike on the wet road before roaring away with a handful
of throttle. Behind him shouts of “achtung” and “halt” and then sporadic gun
fire erupted. One bullet sizzled through the mist nearby but by then Bill was
thundering through the fog as fast as he dared.

The small town of Vise lay ahead
where the road bridge back over the Meuse lay. It had been stone silent when
they passed through earlier but now in the predawn there were people out and
about. The fog was patchier a couple of miles south of the bridge and when Bill
could see better, he urged the BMW forward. The bridge back to free Belgium
loomed in the grey morning light and Bill aimed for it. Skidding to a stop at
the intersection, he turned right to cross the river. Several locals looked
wearily at the madman in the SS uniform on a Nazi bike.

Behind him vehicles roared in the
fog and a moment later a sidecar outfit and Biffy’s Mercedes staff car burst
out of it. The two German army types in the sidecar looked grim. The French
officer in his SS uniform was yelling at them and pointing at Bill while
hanging out of the back window of the Benz.

Bill gunned the motor and tore off
over the bridge. The outfit gave chase with the Mercedes right behind. As Bill
got onto the bridge, he looked back up the riverside where two panzerwagens
were catching up with them. Ahead of him the Belgian military was on full
alert, watching the pale motorcyclist thunder towards them. A bullet whizzed by
from the Belgian side.

“Marvelous,” Bill thought. “If I slow down, I get shot by
Nazis and if I keep going, I’ll get shot by Belgians.”

He could see the officer who’d
wished him luck waving his arms and yelling to the Belgian soldiers on the
bridge, so he kept going, hoping for the best. Approaching the roadblock, he
held up a hand and the officer pointed him through a gap in the vehicles and
Bill took it.

By this point the Germans on the
sidecar outfit had slowed, but the Benz surged past them onto the bridge and
drove right at the Belgians. The sidecar seemed to think better of it and
turned around back to the east side where many German vehicles were now parked
with troops swarming around. As the Mercedes filtered through the gap in the
Belgian line the Germans on the east bank began to fire and everyone ducked for
cover. The Benz pulled up next to Bill behind one of the heavy Belgian military
lorries.

“That went well,” Biffy laughed,
sticking his head out of the window of the car. “When you fired your shots the
demo boys had just returned. There was a whole regular army regiment north of
the bridge! We told them to aid us in capturing the deserter when the bridge
lit up. We didn’t take it down, but it’s severely damaged. Follow us back,
Corporal, good job!”

Bullets were being exchanged across
the river behind them. Both sides were bolstering their forces and it looked
like it was going to turn into a pitched battle, but there was little they
could do dressed as SS, so they made their way back east to Selys-Longchamps.

The ride back was the hardest bit.
Bill kept dozing off as the early morning sun hit his face. They pulled back
into the castle grounds they’d left only hours before to find the officer’s
mess was in full production and breakfast waiting for them. Bill got off the
bike feeling a hundred years old, but the smell of eggs and bacon were calling.

 

Biffy thanked them for their work
over breakfast, eaten off metal trays and drunk from steel camp cups; it was
one of the best breakfasts Bill had ever had.

“The main structure of the bridge
got damaged when the demolitions went off. Can you confirm that, Pierre?” Biffy
asked around a mouthful of eggs.

“Oui,” the German speaking French
officer replied with a quirky grin. “They won’t be running trains over that any
time soon.”

Biffy nodded vigorously and turned
to the two demolitions men, “Are you two headed to Achnacarry?”

They glanced at each other before
the taller blond one replied, “nothing confirmed, but it looks a good site.”

“Achnacarry in Scotland?” Bill
interrupted, surprising himself.

“And how would a Norfolk lad like
you know where a remote castle in Scotland is?” asked the younger dark-haired
demolition man.

“I did the Scottish Six Days out of
Fort William in ’38. Achnacarry’s just up the loch from there. We spent a day
bouncing across the grounds,” Bill replied, sipping his coffee.

“Did you finish it?

“Silver medal.”

“Impressive! I watched a day of it
last spring while on leave. It’s a ferocious thing.”

“What the corporal is not telling
you is that he also rode from Norfolk to the Trials, competed on his bike, and
then rode it back again,” Biffy interjected.

The hard men at their make-shift
table were appraising Bill now in a different light. Things had relaxed at
mission’s end, and everyone seemed more comfortable with each other. This
latest revelation had Bill’s stock rising.

“We’ll have to stay in touch,
Corporal,” the taller blond man said. “We’re aiming to bring in bike training.”

Biffy smiled and raised his mug,
“that was a good night’s work, gentlemen. I’m off to Antwerp for some things
and Pierre and Bill must get back to the war. I’ve arranged with the Belgian
Army to run you both back to France after you’ve finished breakfast.”

Biffy was an efficient eater and had
already cleared his plate. Leaving it on the hood of the staff car they stood
around he gave them all a nod and turned to go, “Get yourself some sleep
gentlemen, you’ve earned it.”

The remaining four quickly finished
their breakfasts and necked their coffee. A Belgian NCO appeared and directed
Pierre and Bill into the car they were eating breakfast on.

“Sirs, I’m to take you south to the
French border at Cendron where the French military will take you back to your
units,” he paused for a moment looking a bit emotional. “Thank you for your
service today, for Belgium.”

Pierre and Bill glanced at each
other, both taken aback by the emotionality in his voice.

“It has been our pleasure,” Pierre
said, stepping forward and taking the man’s hand in a firm shake. “We are all
in this together, eh?”

“Yes, sir,” the man replied, almost
in tears.

Their little action in the night had
evidently buoyed up the troops. It hadn’t occurred to Bill that what they did
might help these exhausted soldiers keep up their fight. The sergeant ushered
them into the back of the staff car and then ran around and jumped into the
driver’s seat before driving them through the camp and out to the road.
Exhausted, grotty tough-as-nails Belgian regular army types smiled and waved as
they passed by.

“It’s a relief to be out of the
wind?” Pierre asked as the car bounced across the wet lawn and onto the gravel
driveway.

“Usually, it’s all I want to do,”
Bill replied with a tired smile, “But this morning all I want to do is sleep.”

“Oui, moi aussi!” Pierre laughed.

They drove south on winding roads
through the morning sunrise, but soon both were sound asleep. The sun was high
when the driver shook them awake.

“Sirs, we have arrived at the
border,” he said, opening the car door to let warm morning air in.

Bill and Pierre rubbed their eyes
and stretched while getting out of the car. At the border crossing a French
military Citroën was idling and its driver was standing by. They changed cars
quickly and were soon moving through the French countryside back to Reims.

Bill asked after a moment, “Sir, are
you a translator?”

Pierre’s easy smile returned, “Ah,
non. I fly bombers pour l’Armée de l’Air. We have been flying over eastern
Belgium for the past two weeks, so I knew the area.”

“Ah,” Bill replied. “I’d assumed you
were a translator because your German is so fluent.”

“I’m not sure how Biffy knew about
that. My mother is German.”

Bill hesitated for a moment before
asking, “Is it difficult fighting your own people?”

Pierre looked him in the eye, “Nazis
are not my people. My mother is Jewish. If we don’t stop them, I doubt there
will be many of ‘my people’ left in Europe.”

There were a couple of Jewish
fellows in Seventy-Three. Nice chaps. Bill couldn’t understand what the problem
was with them, but Nazis seemed to talk about little else given a chance. Bill
pressed on.

“Why do Nazis hate Jews so much?”

Pierre seemed taken aback by the
question and paused to consider his answer.

“I think Hitler had bad experiences
when he was younger and now it has become one of Nazi Germany’s main
distinctions. A common enemy has a way of making people blind to other things.”

“Sorry if I offended…” Bill began,
but Pierre waved off his apology.

“My friend, it’s people not asking
these questions that caused the problem to begin with.”

They drove in silence for several
minutes. The Citroën was much newer than the old Belgian car and silently
glided over the pavement. It occurred to Bill that they were driving for hours
away from the war to get back to the war. This wasn’t his father’s war of
trenches and mud. Pierre seemed to read his mind.

“This war is like no other. I worry
that we aren’t fighting it the way the Nazis are. Have you read about what
happened in Poland?”

“Only that is was over before it
began,” Bill replied.

“Blitzkrieg is what the Germans call
it, ‘lightning war’. They use mechanical support to move much faster than their
opponents. Poland had a good army, but it was swept aside in only a few weeks.
I fear the same may happen with us.”

“But the allied countries have so
much man-power,” Bill replied.

“Oui, but we respond slowly to this
Nazi lightning.”

Bill was surprised to hear this from
a French officer, not that he spent a lot of time talking to French officers.

“Isn’t the Maginot Line
impregnable?” Bill asked.

“It may be, but I’ve flown over it
many times and it has never slowed me down,” Pierre hesitated again, but Bill
was starting to realize it was his way of thinking through a difficult topic in
a foreign language. “It would have been invaluable during The Great War, but
this isn’t that war.”

Any time an officer had talked to
the squadron they had been absolutely certain of victory, but maybe that was
just for show. It had never occurred to Bill that the people running things
doubted what they were all doing. They drove on in silence into an overcast
afternoon.

 

Reims-Champagne was running at full
chat as their car pulled up to the gate. Pierre rapid-fired French to the guard
and in seconds they were bouncing over the grass towards the main French
buildings.

“My squadron has been scrambled and
I missed it,” Pierre said, worry in his voice. “I’ll have the driver drop you
off at the RAF north field.”

He collected the Belgian overcoat
they’d given him and pulled it on over the rumpled SS uniform.

“What should we do with these?” Bill
asked, gesturing at his own German outfit.

“Souvenir, I suppose?” Pierre
smiled. “I’m going to fold mine up, keep it in my barracks box and hope I never
have to use it again.”

He opened the door of the car as it
rolled to a stop in front of French HQ.

“Bon chance, William, it has been a
pleasure meeting you,” Pierre said, offering his hand.

The two men shook, and Pierre turned
to face the busy airfield. As he walked away a bomber limped in trailing smoke
and hit the ground hard beyond the control tower. The car jumped into gear and
bounced over the field to the north end of the sprawling air base where the
RAF’s temporary buildings had been growing like mushrooms in Bill’s absence.

He thanked the driver and made sure
to get his Belgian overcoat on before getting out of the car. Things looked
hectic. Two of the squadron’s Hurricanes were refueling and another was a burnt
husk beyond the busy hangars. Men were running to and fro rearming and
refueling. A squadron of Fairey Battle light bombers were lining up for takeoff
while a group of Hurricanes, two of them trailing smoke, were landing behind
them on the rutted field.

Bill pushed through the busy
entrance to the operations hangar and found Flight Sergeant Grimes orchestrating
field maintenance under the heavy clouds. Bill waited while he directed
mechanics and support staff with questions. When the last left, Grimes looked
over at Bill.

“What have you been up to,
Corporal?”

Bill undid the top button of his
Belgian great coat showing the SS uniform underneath. Grimes’ eyebrows shot up.

“Belgian coat, SS uniform
underneath… did it go well?”

“One less bridge for the enemy to
supply petrol with,” Bill smiled through a grotty face.

“Jolly good,” Grimes replied, eying
Bill’s grey face. “When was the last time you slept?”

“I might have had forty minutes in
the car ride back.”

“We’re busy but we have a lot of new
bodies, and everything is where it needs to be. Drop by the mess and then hit
your bunk. The war will still be here for you tomorrow.”

Bill stood to attention and then
went to look for a place to lay down.

Chapter 4 can be found here.

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Under Dark Skies Chapter 2



Part 2 (Part 1 can be found here)


British Expeditionary Force
Saturday, May 11th, 1940
Rouvres, Thionville

             Bill lay on his bunk for the better
part of an hour. He should have fallen back asleep, but his mind was racing. He
finally got up quietly, dressed and went by the mess which had breakfast
underway. One of the cooks made him a quick plate of eggs and bacon and he ate
it alone in the dark tent with a hot cup of tea.

The bike shed loomed grey out of the
pre-sunrise mist. A quick wipe down of the dew and the Norton he’d been on
yesterday cleaned up well. The military blue paint was in good shape, only the
stenciled registration and British Expeditionary Force markings gave it away as
a military bike. Bill spent a few minutes with a brush and painted over the
white stenciled paint. It wouldn’t hold up to scrutiny, but from a distance it
was just another old Norton.

By the time the sun rose, the
squadron was in top gear. Temporary structures where being broken down and
packed into a convoy of lorries that had shown up from Reims. The squadron had
passed through there on their way to Rouvres and were currently the most
easterly operational allied airfield closest to the German border. Behind the
incredible fortifications the French had built along the Maginot Line, they
were safe from ground attack, but Seventy-Three’s forward location had already
taken a hammering as the wrecks of two German bombers and three Hurricanes in
the surrounding fields attested. With their location known, today was likely to
see a never-ending stream of German bombers, it was time to move.

Still early morning air was broken
by the bellow of a Rolls-Royce Merlin engine as a Hurricane readied for
takeoff. They used to wait and take off as a wing, but things had become
frantic in the past two days and getting planes up now happened on a case-by-case
basis. They formed up once airborne. This Hurricane looked in good shape. The
twin bladed prop spun up, sending a wash of air rippling across the wet grass.
The plane spun to its right with surprising agility and began picking up speed.
In moments it pulled cleanly into the morning air, its wheels folding up
neatly. Another of the massive V-12 aero-engines barked to life, ready to
follow their flight leader into another day of uncertainty in the sky.

The orders for the Reims move come
in at 5am, but by then Bill had the van loaded with four Nortons along with his
spares and tools. That left another six to get to Reims. A waved down MP
returned with a list of six men who were available to pick up the remaining
bikes and ride them to their new home. Bill fueled everything and looked them
over, but they were ready for action.

“Corporal, I’m here to ride one of
the motorbikes to Reims,” Jenkins, the new fellow from the guard hut appeared.

“Do you know the way?” Bill asked.

“I was told to follow the convoy,”
Jenkins replied.

“They’ll be taking the main road,
but there are some nice back roads that’ll get you there faster. I’ll make you
a map,” which he did on the workbench.

“All the heavy gear will be on the
A4 heading west,” Bill began, pointing to the map. “There are some good country
roads north and it would be handy for me to hear if there is any traffic on
them. We’re on the edge of the Ardennes here, so you get forested hills and
valleys the further north you go. If you get lost just cut south until you hit
the A4 and head west.”

Jenkins nodded and took the map.

“Do you have something for your
head?” Bill asked. Most of the riders went out bare headed, but Bill found he
could ride longer if he wore one of the leather aviator caps and goggles.

Jenkins shook his head.

“Look in the bucket over there.”

Jenkins peered in and saw several
well-worn pilot hats. Trying a couple on he found one that fit.

“Hang on to that, they do a good job
of keeping your head warm.”

Jenkins took one last look at the
map and then kicked a 16H over. It started after he tickled the carbs and gave
it a second kick.

By 9am all the working planes were
airborne and would land at the big base in Reims rather than return to their
farmer’s field in Rouvres. The burnt hulk of one Hurricane was left behind, and
another salvageable one was placed on a flatbed transport. Seventy-Three had
spent their time in northern France moving about and had become dab hands at
picking up and moving. This wasn’t even their first trip to Reims; the squadron
had been based out of there twice already.

The experienced members of the
squadron had the fresh faces working hard to remove any traces of their time in
Rouvres. As the last heavy vehicles began to move into convoy, Bill started the
Citroën TUB van and followed them to the now empty gate.

Loaded down with bikes and spares,
the Citroën TUB was much more manageable, though it
still felt odd sitting in a vehicle with no engine in front of you. Bill drove
it off the field and onto the road, following the last of the convoy west. It
was a partially overcast morning and cooler than the day before. He wound the
window down to let some air through. He’d miss Rouvres, it was a lovely bit of
France.

As the convoy moved through Étain, Bill took a right turn east
toward the German border. The partial overcast meant a less clear view from
people on high who might want to kill him, though being in a French civilian
vehicle was the best protection of all. The road to Louis Jeannin’s shop on Rue
de la République in Knutange was empty until he got closer to Thionville.
French military vehicles were out in force, and the roads to the Maginot fort
were busy. Bill took the less travelled country roads north and came into
Knutange from the northeast. Rue de la République was the main thoroughfares
and was easily found. The shop was also evident as there were a number of
motorbikes parked out front, including a new Triumph Speed Twin.

Bill pulled the TUB up
in front of the shop and stepped out. He was wearing regulation turtleneck and
fatigue trousers, which were uniform but looked less like it as they had no
insignia on them. His black hair was combed back and oiled. The shop was closed
but the big door to their service area was ajar, and the sound of mechanical
work emanated from within. Bill stuck his head in the open door and saw a
middle-aged man disassembling the back end of what looked like a grand prix
motorcycle.

“Excuse me,” Bill began.
“Do you speak English?”

The man looked up. Bill
recognized him from magazine articles, this was Louis Jeanin, the 1932 Grand
Prix champion.

“I speak English,” he
replied warily.

“I’ve been given orders
to meet you today,” Bill replied.

“Ah, you are Corporal
Morris?” he brightened.

Bill nodded and stepped
through the door.

“I know of you. I read
an article about you on the Scottish Six Days Trial. It was impressive that you
medalled on such an old machine, and after riding it the length of Bretagne.”

“Thank you!” Bill
blurted, feeling his colour rise. He’d caught all sorts of stick at home for
taking a week off work to ride up to Scotland and attempt the event but having
a grand prix racer compliment you on it made it all go away.

“Your Miss Downey is a
very convincing woman. She is also well funded,” Jeanin stood up and wiped his
hands on a rag.

“I’m sorry Monsieur
Jeanin, well funded?”

“She said you’d be along
today and that I should provide you with a civilian moto. They wired cash. I
think we have just what you need.”

“I’m getting a
motorbike?” Bill asked, struggling to catch up.

“Oui!” Jeanin smiled.
“Downey said for you to leave whatever you can’t fit behind. We’ll find a use
for it.”

Jeanin was getting on in age but was still fit.  He stepped to the back of the shop floor and
rolled a new Triumph Tiger out from behind a storage rack, it had obviously
been fettled. The stock fenders had been cut short and the bike looked like it
had been prepared for a trial with all the heavy stock bits either gone or
replaced by something simpler and lighter. The gleaming silver paint Bill had
seen on these new models in magazines was gone, replaced by a dull grey, though
even that minimalist paint couldn’t hide the purposeful stance of the thing. It
was called a T100 because it could do 100mph. All Bill could think of was how
jealous his sister would be when he sent her a photograph.

“You’ve prepared this
for racing?” Bill asked, excitement slipping into his voice.

“Oui!” Louis laughed.
“These Tigres are quick, but now it is plus rapide, eh? We have taken cinq
kilos of weight from it, and the engine has higher compression pistons. Do you
use the essence d’aviation?”

Bill gave him a
quizzical look.

“The, um, petrol for the
aeroplanes?”

“Ah, oui!”

“Tres bien! This will
use it well. I had it well beyond cent huit kilomètres par heure, um,
one-hundred and eighty K.P.H.”

Bill’s eyebrows shot up.
He’d never been that fast on a bike before.

“You should take it out
for a ride,” Louis had a gleam in his eye as he gestured for Bill to take the
Tiger in hand.

The bike was shockingly
lighter than the old Norton, which itself was based on a twenty-year-old
design. This Tiger was new in every way and it managed to look both simpler and
more complex all at once; it was like looking into the future.

Bill rolled it to the
entrance as Louis pushed the door wider.

“It has racing fuel in
it, but that will be similar to your aviation petrol, yes?”

“I think so, yes,” Bill
replied, throwing a leg over the machine. “Any trick to starting it?”

“Non, it is a unité
fiable, um, dependable moto. Tickle the carb, choke, and kick.”

The Tiger barked to life
immediately. These were not stock pipes and while it was quiet at idle, when he
cracked the throttle, the big twin blew dust back into the shop.

“Fantastique!” Bill
shouted over the engine. Louis gave him a thumbs up and ushered him out onto
the road.

“The road to Fontoy and
back is a bien, return and we shall have café!”

Bill kicked the bike
into gear and let the clutch out slowly. The Tiger was remarkably tractable
considering how high strung it sounded. He rolled through town keeping the revs
low. The road northwest out of the village followed a small river as it twisted
and turned through the valley it had cut. Once clear of the houses, Bill opened
it up and in a blur of curves suddenly found himself four miles up the road in
Fontoy, grinning like an idiot. Standing up on the pegs he turned across the
empty road and thundered back to Knutange, crouched low behind a smaller custom
headlamp with a blackout grill over it. The grey Tiger rolled to a stop in
front of the shop.

“What a thing!” Bill
exclaimed breathlessly as he cut the ignition.

“I am happy to help the
cause,” Louis said, handing Bill a mug of strong coffee.

Bill glanced up and down
the empty main street.

“Is it usually this
quiet on a Saturday?”

“Ah, non, the people are
worried and staying in their homes. Something wicked this way comes, eh?”

Bill nodded through the steam of the
hot coffee. Both men sipped their coffee quietly on the empty street, wondering
about what was to come. The Tiger ticking and popping as it cooled down.

Louis finally broke the silence, “I
have some équipement pour vous.”

“Right,” Bill replied, pulling the
bike up onto its stand and finally stepping off it. “Lead on!”

Louis had collected oil, a tire
patch kit, inner tubes, tires and a toolbox together in a pile inside the door.
It was all new and still packaged. Bill gave him a questioning look.

“Dans la prix… in the price, I
thought you might need some spares.”

“Thank you, Louis,” Bill replied,
grinning. It all looked like stuff he sold out of the shop anyway, but it’d be
handy to have.

Bill opened the back of the TUB and
Louis saw the old Nortons packed in there.

“Ah, bien! The 16H, spécification
militaire! A dependable old hack,” he looked them over. “Considering current
events, perhaps the one without RAF markings would be the one to leave behind?”

Bill’s go-to all-blue Norton was the
last one he’d wheeled in, so getting it out was easy. He had a pang of regret,
but the lusty Tiger sitting on the pavement made it easy to get over. With a
bit of wiggling, the nameless Norton was rolled out of the back of the van and
into the shop.

“This has been a dependable bike,”
he said, giving it a pat.

“I imagine one of my mechanics will
be happy to have it,” Louis smiled, looking it over. “Do you maintain them toi
même, um, yourself?”

“Always have,” Bill replied.

“Oui,” Louis replied, “the Scottish
Six Day story Downey shares tells the story of your riding over two thousand
kilometres in ten days and medalling too! 
In French we say, indomptable.”

Bill smiled, “indomitable! I like
that!”

They wheeled the Tiger into the van
and Louis invited Bill back to the office. Rows of trophies lined the wall. The
1932 grand prix championship had a place of honour. Bill looked closely at it.

“That was an indomptable year for
me,” Louis smiled, tapping the trophy.

“I read about it in Motorcycling,
the British magazine. Your Jonghi was a French bike, wasn’t it?”

“Oui,” Louis smiled wistfully. “We
were not a big factory, but it was a tres belle machine.”

A young mechanic’s apprentice
appeared in the doorway with a basket.

“Please eat with me,” Louis gestured
to the office desk.

Bill sat down and talked bikes with
the former grand prix champion. Working for Downey had its perks. He got a few
questions in about riding the grand prix circuit on the continent, but Jeanine
had a fixation about the Scottish Six Days and wanted all the details from
Bill’s brief time in the highlands.

 

By early afternoon Bill was heading
east towards Reims amongst a lot of military traffic. It was then that he
discovered just how useful his new identification card was. Driving a civilian
vehicle, it didn’t take long for an angry MP to wave him over. He was British
Expeditionary Force army and surprisingly officious for an Australian. When he
demanded to know why Bill wasn’t giving right of way to the military traffic
Bill was tempted to pretend to be French but thought better of it when he
couldn’t think of any French words. Instead, he handed the irate, red-faced
Aussie his ID without saying anything.

The MP’s face drained as he looked
the card.

“Right, Corporal. Sorry to bother,
the unmarked civi-vehicle and all…” he trailed off, handing back the card.
Suddenly Bill was on his way again.

The BEF shared the Reims Aerodrome
with the French Air Force, and it wasn’t really in Reims, but north of the
ancient cathedral city in Bétheny. The roads south into Reims were a zoo. Bill
knew the logistics types would have everyone on the shortest route on the
biggest roads, so he turned north at Sainte-Menehould onto empty country
tracks. His farm van was invisible in this environment, the perfect camouflage.
French farming villages came and went until he got to Savigny-sur-Aisne where a
just crashed Dornier 17 was burning in a field. Bill pulled the van to the
verge and shut it off.

He’d seen his share of crashes in
the on again off again aerial battles of the early spring. There were seldom
survivors, but if the plane wasn’t engulfed in flames, it might provide some
valuable information. This Do17 had its wings shot off. Dorniers had wing fuel
tanks that seldom let them down, and this one’s missing wings meant the fuel
wasn’t where the fuselage came down.

Bill approached the wreck
cautiously. It had a long, thin fuselage designed for speed more than raw
carrying capacity and was remarkably intact considering how it had come down.
The glass nose was cracked and broken open, so Bill had a look inside. It was a
horrific mess, with blood everywhere. The impact must have meant instantaneous
death for the crew.

Moving the forward gunner’s torso to
the side, Bill climbed into the smoking ruin. The pilot was above, still
strapped into his seat, though his head hung at a terrible angle. Bill moved
quickly, trying to breathe through his mouth. The cockpit reeked of charred
flesh and blood, and thin smoke filled the cabin. Climbing up to the pilot he
rummaged through his flight suit and found a notepad with handwritten scrawl in
German. Pocketing that, Bill moved over to the FuG radio set, which had come
clear of the fuselage where it was mounted. He was able to lift it, so he
heaved it up to the broken nose and dropped it out into the farm field.

While down in the nose he had a look
around the bombardier’s station and found another notepad along with a
targeting map on it. That would be useful – Grimes always sparked up when he
was able to bring them evidence of how the Germans were seeing allied troop
movements.

The bombardier also had a strange
bit of personal kit on him. Most of the bomber crews didn’t carry personal
firearms, but he had a Luger in a holster. It wasn’t a new model though, and it
had German naval insignia on it. Bill unclipped the holster and took the gun.
Smoke was starting to fill the cabin, so he clambered back out of the wreck and
picked up the radio laying in the mud, it was heavy but manageable. One of the
benefits of working in coal delivery before the war was that Bill had physical
strength most people couldn’t imagine.

With the radio on the passenger seat
and the documents stuffed underneath so they wouldn’t blow away, Bill fired up
the Citroën and made a note of the Dornier’s location before pressing on. It
was another twenty miles going the north route, but as he pulled into the
Reim’s-Champagne Aerodrome in late afternoon he discovered that even with his
side trip to see Louis, he’d still arrived ahead of most of Seventy-Three’s
heavy gear.

Showing his papers at the gate to a
jumpy French MP, Bill was told to park at the north end of the airfield where
the RAF Advanced Striking Force squadrons were operating. Seventy-Three was
joining One squadron and Bill noticed Hurricanes from the Five-Oh-One as well.
Having lost several planes the day before, seventy-three was re-kitting its
remaining planes and bringing new ones up to operation in the late afternoon
sun, though they were having to rely on other squadron’s ground crews to help
them get sorted.

The Advanced Air Striking Force was
spread across northern France, but they had a big station in Reims.
Seventy-three had passed through here before moving out to Rouvres, so Bill was
familiar with the place, though last time he was here he was driving fuel
bowsers rather than a Citroën full of motorbikes.

Flight Sergeant Grimes would have
set up a temporary office in one of the storage hangars, and Bill found him in
the middle of doing exactly that.

“Beat the slow movers back, eh
Morris?” he said, eying the beaten-up radio at Bill’s feet. “Bag yourself some
German electronics, did you?”

“Yes Flight, there is a Dornier down
southeast of the D21/31 intersection in Sainte-Marie, visible from the road. I
got there right after it came down and was able to get some useful bits out of
it.”

Bill put the radio down on a chair,
removing the maps and notepads from his trouser pockets before handing them to
Grimes who opened them up and began reading the German.

“Very good corporal! This isn’t just
information on their last mission, but everything they’ve flown in the past
week. These’ll find their way up to command right quick,” Grimes then unfolded
the maps and looked them over. “They were targeting the main roads between
forts on the Maginot Line, that’s interesting. I know people who will want to
see these too. What do you think about the radio?”

Bill looked at the unit. Considering
the shock of the impact it was in surprisingly intact, “If we can get it going
it might be handy to listen to what German bombers are saying to each other.”

“Indeed. Run that over to the repair
bench and see if they can sort it out,” Grimes turned back to the maps, so Bill
picked up the radio and walked it over to a workbench in the same hangar where
a couple of airmen in overalls were working on a machine gun assembly.

“Hey boys,” Bill said, putting the
radio on the bench. “Fancy a change in work for a bit?”

“’Ello,” the older man replied,
looking at the radio with interest. “Where’d you get that?”

“Out of a Dornier that came down
about 20 miles west of here. I’m Corporal Morris,” Bill offered a hand, and
both men quickly wiped theirs before shaking.

“’Oim Riggles ‘n ‘ees Dumfry,” the
older fellow said, but both only had eyes for the radio.

“Nice to meet you Riggles and
Dumfry, think you can get this thing chattering again? Might be interesting to
hear what the Germans were saying.”

Both men’s eyes lit up and they
immediately went to work. The radio was steel framed in an aluminum box. The
cover was dented but intact. Riggles flipped the unit on its side revealing
flat bolts on the bottom. In seconds, the cover was off revealing neat wiring.

“There’s the power in,” Riggles
muttered, nudging a bunch of cords that came out of an opening at the back of
the unit. He quickly traced the wiring and discovered one of the grounds had
been broken where it bolted to the unit frame. “Let’s try and hook it up to a
battery and see what happens. They’re direct current, like ours.”

Dumfry left and returned wheeling a
cart with a big lead acid battery on it, the top still wet from being refilled.
He sparked the two ends together and then handed Riggles the positive before
clipping the ground to the large black wire. A similarly thick white wire was
separated and clipped to the power, the moment it did the radio lit up and all
three men grinned.

“We’ve got a loudspeaker, hang on!”
Dumfry turned and darted out of view, returning with a gutted RCA radio with
wires hanging out of it.

“Wish we ‘ad the headset,” Riggles
said, eying the input jack.

“I might!” Bill replied, turning on
his heel and running out of the hangar. He returned moments later with the
bloody headset. “It was smashed in the crash but was still attached to the
radio, so I just grabbed it all.”

Dumfry looked at the mangled headset
with a green face.

“You just need the plug, though,
right?” Bill asked, holding up the end.

Dumfry nodded and removed the end by
cutting the wire with a knife. He split the insulation and separated the wires
inside. In moments he had them connected to the speaker in the civilian radio.
The sound of static filled the room.

“We’re in business!” Bill laughed,
patting Dumfry on the back.

“Let’s see who’s chatting,” Riggles
began moving the knobs.

German voices emerged through the
crackling static.

“Keep listening, boys. If you hear
any place names make a note!” Bill turned and pelted across the hanger to find
Grimes.

“Flight! You’re going to want to
hear this,” Bill said, interrupting a phone call.

Grimes signed off immediately and
followed him back. Dumfry held up a scrawled and oily piece of paper with
‘Verdun and Metz’ written on it. The staticky, distant German voices had been
cleared up a bit as Riggles continued to fiddle with the unit. Bill didn’t say
anything but turned to look at Grimes. 
After listening for a moment, the Flight Sergeant nodded abruptly.

“Outstanding work, gentlemen!” He
paused to listen for a moment. “These are Dorniers currently over northwestern
France. They’re not being very coy; they believe their radios to be secure.
I’ve got to get people in on this right quick, we don’t know how long this will
work.”

Within ten minutes half a dozen
people had arrived in the hangar, bringing with them folding camp seats and
clipboards, pencils and paper. Two of them were in French uniform. They quickly
set up, taking the greasy note from Dumfry and began making notes of their own.
Grimes waved the three over to the entrance away from the hive of activity.

“I imagine they’ll change their
frequencies when these missions are over, but perhaps not. In the meantime, we
need to keep that radio chattering. What do you need to do that?”

Bill looked to Riggles, who was
already working it out.

“If I kept the battery charged from
the mains, it would it all running, Flight,” he replied. “Other than that, we
just need to make sure it isn’t leaking too much and stays topped up with
water.”

“Right, see to it airman!” Grimes
replied. “And excellent work. Let me know your immediate superior and I’ll put
in a good word for you.”

Bill followed Grimes out of the
hangar where the shadows were growing long. The airfield was buzzing with
returning allied planes, some of them trailing smoke. Seventy-three’s crews
were finally arriving and had started pitching up in the empty fields behind
the permanent buildings.

“I’m not sure how you keep managing
to bring this sort of information in, but keep doing it, Corporal,” Grimes
said. “Get yourself squared away in one of the temporary hangars and then hit
the canteen, you’ve had a busy day.”

 

Returning to Reims meant access to
the standing mess hall which was always in full production. The room wasn’t
busy as most of the RAF crews were working into the evening getting their
planes sorted out and food had been run out to them. Bill was sitting at a
table alone, working his way through a pile of mash with a tiny pork chop on
the side when he was surprised to see a dashing, middle aged man walk into the
mess wearing an SS uniform. The man had a bemused look on his face as he looked
at the half empty room of exhausted airmen staring at him in enemy uniform.

“Hello gentlemen!” he said loudly
with a Scottish brogue. “Sorry for the attire, my uniform got blood on it.”

A few of the men smiled, but most
still looked confused.

“Go back to your pork chops,
gentlemen. I’m with the DMI. I was never here.”

With a gallic shrug, everyone went
back to eating their dinner. A Scottish SS officer walking into the mess wasn’t
the strangest thing many of them had seen in the past couple of days. He
collected a tray from the empty counter and made a beeline for Bill.

“Corporal Morris?” the man asked as
he approached. “Mind if I join you?”

“Certainly,
Gruppenführer,” Bill said, pointing to the seat across from him with his fork.

“How does an RAF lorry driver know
SS ranks?” the man asked, sitting across from Bill and placing his peaked SS
cap on the table before tucking in.

“Probably the same way you’re
wearing an SS uniform,” Bill replied.

“How’s that?”

“I ran into some SS fellows
yesterday, so I made a point of looking up who’s what. The fellow running
things yesterday at the Luxembourg border was a Hauptsturmführer, but I didn’t
know the badges then.”

“That’s why I’m here, actually.”

Bill put his fork of pork down and
sat back. His intuition was prickling. Fellows like this were good at getting
other people killed. The man took a mouthful of mashed potatoes and made a
face.

“We’re not going to win a war
feeding people this!”

Bill waited, watching the man with
mounting suspicion.

“We have a little job to do and I’m
hoping you can help.”

“Is it voluntary?”

“What
is these days, eh?” the man smiled, cutting off a piece of stringy pork.

“What’s the little job?”

“Ah, that’s the trick. I can’t tell
you unless you’re in. I was having lunch with Miss Downey in Paris when your
name came up, so here I am.”

“It’s starting to sound more like a
command,” Bill said, finally shovelling the pork into his face.

“Right, that’s the spirit!” The man
grinned, sitting back, and pushing the tray away.

“We’ve gotten our hands on a German
communique. It has the schedule of a major fuel shipment by train into Belgium.
Do you know Fort Eben-Emael?”

“Isn’t that up near the Dutch?”

“Indeed, it is. The Nazis have taken
it with paratroopers, so their mechanized ground troops are moving quickly into
Belgium. They need fuel to do this. The rail line from Cologne to Maastricht in
the Netherlands is how they’re going to, and tonight is when it happens. There
is only one operating rail bridge over the Meusse River into Belgium from The
Netherlands. I intend to blow it up.”

“It’s a long way into Belgium.”

“I’ve got Belgians at the border
ready to assist. If we left by ten and take a northern route through Namur, we
could be in Bassenge well before sunrise. We then pop over to the river, blow
the bridge and get out before anyone knows we were there.”

“Couldn’t we just bomb it?”

“Germans have piled up anti-aircraft
defences around it, but they’ll be looking up instead of sideways. In any case,
our bombs don’t find their targets very often.”

Bill considered the energy this man
was putting into convincing him. His crazy idea was sounding plausible, which
made it even more crazy.

“Why do you need an RAF lorry
driver? Bill asked.

“Ah, but you’re not just a lorry
driver, are you?” the man had an infectious smile. “It’s your other talents
that might come in handy. Have you ever ridden a BMW?”

“They don’t come my way very often,”
Bill said, an involuntary grin creeping onto his face.

“We’ve gotten our hands on some Nazi
kit. I’ve selected a driver for our staff car, along with another couple of
handy fellows who are fluent in German to sit in it with me, but the motorbike
is sitting empty. We were going to leave it behind, but Miss Downey suggested
you might be up for it. I can’t honestly order you to do something like this.
It works better with volunteers in any case. Are you up for it, corporal?”

“Yes, sir.  I am.” Bill paused, the man still hadn’t
given his name or rank. “Are you a sir?”

“Let’s not worry about all that rank
malarkey,” he smiled. “Just call me Biffy for now. Once we’ve gotten everyone
assembled and dressed up, we’ll work out German names on our way north. Do you
Sprichst du Deutsch?”

“Only enough to get shot at,” Bill
replied.

“If you’re an enlisted escort you
won’t be doing much talking. I’ll have one of the fellows teach you some basic
phrases. Are you about done with that lovely dinner?”

Bill nodded, and both men stood up.
Every eye in the place was on them.

“You’re making lots of friends with
that uniform,” Bill noted.

“Thought it might pique your
interest,” Biffy replied, putting on his officers’ hat. “Never hurts for the
men to know we’re playing every angle to win this thing though.”

Bill shrugged and followed the SS
officer out of the mess. A Rolls Royce was parked out front and the driver,
seeing them appear, ran around to open the door for them to get in.

“Do I need to get any kit?” Bill
asked, hesitating before stepping into the car.

“All will be provided! You’ll not
need any RAF issue on this trip.”

The inside of the car was opulent.
Bill felt a bit filthy sitting in it but tried to lean back and relax. The
driver ran around to the driver’s door and jumped in. He handed Biffy some
scrawled notes on office paper. The bottom paper was typed and had ‘eyes only’
stamped on it in red ink.

Biffy glanced up from the papers,
“do you know MI6?”

“Military intelligence?” Bill
guessed.

“Indeed,”
Biffy replied. “We usually focus on gathering intelligence, but we sometimes
act on it. You boys are busy dealing with Hitler’s blitzkrieg, so we thought
we’d hop in and give you a hand. If we can stop this fuel shipment it means our
pilots see a lot less of their pilots in the sky for the next few days.”

“How do we get from France to the
Dutch border in German vehicles?” Bill asked when Biffy finally put down the
notes. The Rolls Royce was making quick time on dark French country roads
heading due north toward the Belgian border.

“The French and Belgians are helping
with that. Here’s our stop.”

The
Rolls pulled up into a field on the side of the road. In the shadow of the
trees that lined the side a heavy lorry was parked. A big Mercedes Benz staff
car with German military markings was parked behind the lorry, and next to that
the motorbike.

“Get familiar with that R12. Once
everyone gets here, I’ll do introductions,” Biffy said before walking off to
the front of the lorry.

The BMW was a big old thing.
Throwing a leg over it, Bill was reminded of the Norton, but this machine was
modern in ways the Norton couldn’t imagine. The first thing that struck Bill
was the telescopic front forks. This thing would handle on rough ground, even
though it did weigh a ton. Bill hopped off it and had a look at the back end.
Heavy duty framing held panniers over the massive rear wheel. Compared to the
kinds of motorcycles Bill was familiar with, this was more a bomber than a
fighter.

The final bit of technical wizardry
was to be found on the back wheel. The bike had no chain or belt drive, only an
industrial looking closed unit, a shaft drive. Bill had read about them in
trade publications but had never ridden one. They were sturdy things that made
a bike heavier but more dependable. On the upside, the BMW was comfortable to
sit on and looked like it would ride forever. He could see why the German
military was full of them. He could also see why he would be able to stay well
ahead of them, especially on that Tiger.

Bill threw a leg back over and
pulled the bike forward off its stand. For something as heavy as it was it held
its weight low making it easy to manage. The bizarre boxer engine layout meant
a piston was poking out of each side of the bike in front of his shins. It
really did feel like foreign technology unlike any he was familiar with.

“Can you manage it?” Biffy asked,
appearing out of the dark.

“It’s bulky but it feels lighter
than it should,” Bill replied.

“Take it for a spin around the
field. Radio says we have about twenty minutes until our team gets here.”

Bill located the kickstart on the
wrong side of the bike and stepped on it awkwardly with the wrong foot. The big
motor fired immediately before dropping into a rocking idle where you could
feel each cylinder pumping. He kicked it into gear and let out the clutch. The
bike pulled away with ease. In moments Bill was standing on the pegs and
weaving around the trees. Pulling it out onto the road he goosed it, causing a
spray of gravel, and started kicking it up through the gears. The big twin
handled astonishingly well, especially once it got going. He did a hundred- and
eighty-degree turn, noting how much steering lock it offered, and then thumped
back down the road to the lorry parked in the shadows.

“That’s managed,” Biffy laughed, as
Bill slid to a stop in front of him. “I was worried the German technology would
make it difficult to operate.”

“It’s not my kind of motorbike,”
Bill said, killing the ignition. “But it’s interesting.”

At that moment, the dim, slitted
lights of a military vehicle came into view.

“Here are our compatriots, time to
get dressed!” Biffy waved Bill back to the lorry.

The approaching vehicle was a French
officers’ saloon. It was painted grey with black military markings. Four men
got out of it once it came to a stop in the field next to the lorry. One was in
British army fatigues, the other three were wearing French uniforms. Biffy
walked over and shook hands with all four. Bill put the BMW on its stand and
joined them.

“… on our way shortly,” Biffy finish
as he approached the group. “Gentlemen, this is Corporal Morris, but for the
duration of the evening he is Scharführer Wilhelm Meyer. He’s handy on two
wheels and will be operating our borrowed BMW. Bill, these gentlemen will all
be wearing officer ranks and will do the talking. We’re pressed for time, so
we’re going to get kitted up and make some miles.”

A red light was switched on in the
back of the lorry and a variety of German uniforms could be seen hanging
inside. Biffy jumped up into the vehicle and handed Bill an enlisted man’s SS
uniform.

“Congratulations on the promotion,”
he laughed.

Scharführer Meyer was a bigger man
than Bill and the clothes were too large, but it was a cool night and Bill
elected to put on the German kit over top of his RAF fatigues, which made the
uniform a closer fit. The other men were busy changing into officer uniforms
like Biffy’s.

“We want to make sure we’re up that
way well before dawn, so have a coffee,” Biffy pointed to a carafe that had
materialized next to the lorry in the dark. Mugs were passed around and
everyone filled up. It was scalding and black, but bracing, though Bill found
his adrenaline was doing an excellent job on its own. What was he doing here
with these men?

“Gentlemen,
we’ll make proper introductions later. As of now I’m Gruppenführer Schmidt.
Pierre here speaks the best German, so he’s Hauptsturmführer Müller and will do
most of the talking. You other two are more likely to kill people than start a
conversation with them, so you’re both junior officers Wagner and Becker in the
front of the car. The key to this is to look like we’re supposed to be doing
what we’re doing, so look confident and do what you’re told. With any luck,
we’ll be in and out without needing to chat with anyone.”

The German staff car had a
retractable roof so the two killers, who certainly looked the part, were
pulling it up against the cool night air. Bill had no such luck on the BMW, but
with goggles, the big German helmet, and a scarf, he was well muffled for the
long, dark ride ahead.

“Stay close, we’ll be moving
quickly,” Biffy said, taking a last hit of coffee. “We have an escort to the
border and then the Belgians will escort us north quickly and quietly. After
we’ve done the business, we’ll be on our way back here for a late breakfast.

Part 3 can be found here.

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