Page 78 of Tides of Resistance
Lizzie decided it was best not to tell him more about the Eagle now. There would be plenty of time to talk after she had been debriefed. For now, she wanted to forget about her ordeal.
Her heart gradually returned to a steady beat, and she sat back down.
Jack stroked her hair, and she drifted off into an exhausted slumber as the pale light of dawn diffused the layers of night, heralding a new day.
‘Wake up. We’re nearly there, Seagrove,’ Jack said, sometime later.
Lizzie stirred and stretched and saw the coastline on the horizon, etched against the pink sky. Her whole body throbbed.
‘Where are we?’
‘Nearly at Lyme Regis, a small fishing port in Dorset. We are dangerously low on fuel and won’t make it to Southampton. Hopefully, no smart arse will shoot us out of the water when they spot a German boat approaching.’
Lizzie scrambled to her feet, intense pain ripping through her torn skin and aching muscles. ‘Ouch.’
Jack cursed. ‘You must hurt all over. Soon we’ll get you home and into a warm bath. And a doctor should check you over.’
‘I’m more worried about being shot out of the water as a German sailor!’
‘We’d better signal them,’ Jack said, stripping off the white shirt he still wore, and handing it to Lizzie. ‘Wave this about so they know we come in peace!’
Lizzie waved the shirt violently as they neared the harbour entrance, and Jack removed his white undershirt and waved that too, steering the German boat wearing only trousers and boots.
‘This is The Cobb,’ he shouted over the bluster of the early morning winds whipping up around them, referring to the curved wall that protected the harbour.
Lizzie saw a row of men positioned along the wall, their guns glinting in the rising sun as their voices carried across the water.
‘It’s the Home Guard on coastal defences,’ Jack said.
‘They look like they’re going to shoot us!’ Lizzie said. ‘Any ideas?’
‘Yes, there’s a megaphone down there.’ He pointed to a ledge. ‘Pass it to me. Then duck out of sight just to be on the safe side!’
Lizzie did as he said, praying they wouldn’t shoot Jack as they cut through the waves and into the line of fire.
Jack's voice echoed around the small boat. 'Hold your fire! British agents, Special Operations Executive! We work for Baker Street—contact Regional HQ!'
‘That should do it,’ Jack said, lowering the megaphone and steering the boat into the harbour. The engines cut out as they reached The Cobb. ‘And just in the nick of time or you would have been swimming to shore again!’
Lizzie got to her feet and watched the Home Guard, their guns still trained on them as they evaluated the incoming enemy vessel.
A voice boomed across the water. ‘How do we know you are British agents? Identify yourselves properly, please!’
Jack retrieved the megaphone. ‘Captain Jack King and Elizabeth Beaumont. Please confirm with HQ and allow us to disembark.’
Lizzie and Jack stood together, rocking back and forth to the rhythm of the sea as a member of the Home Guard placed a call to verify their identities.
The men finally lowered their guns, and Jack moored the boat with the guidance of two fishermen eager to help the special agents. Lizzie guessed this would be an iconic war story they would tell their children, who would pass it down through the generations.
Lizzie was shaky when she exited the boat, and her feet met solid ground. Jack’s quiet strength supported her as she climbed the old stone steps to the quay, and they dodged stacks of weathered sandbags and a machine gun nest.
‘Welcome to Blighty, sir. It’s an honour to meet you,’ said the Home Guard officer, striding to meet them at the top of the step and saluting. ‘Miss,’ he bowed his head and shook Lizzie’s hand. ‘Your people are sending someone to collect you.’
‘Thank you, Lieutenant,’ Jack said.
‘I imagine you would both kill for a cuppa after escaping the Boche in one of their patrol boats! Damned good show, if I may say so. I’d love to hear the details, but I appreciate it’s classified.’
The lieutenant led them into a small building on the quay, and as they entered, he commanded, ‘Put the kettle on, Briggs. Very important visitors incoming.’
