The Hornet's Sting by Mark Ryan

to reveal the internal workings in all their glory. So that the ferry could leave without too much delay, the control cabin was secured rather hastily with ropes at an awkward angle. Crucially, the door was left open in the rush. The excitement was still visible in Tommy’s eyes decades later when he said with a smile: ‘I couldn’t believe it. This was too good to be true, and I wasn’t about to miss my chance.’
    He peered down from the upper deck at this priceless piece of intelligence then looked around him carefully. No one seemed to have noticed the attention he was paying to the cargo. But there was no time to waste as he reached for his Leica, pointed it at the control cabin and prayed that he had focused correctly. With adrenalin racing through his veins, he snapped three pictures. He winced at every click of the shutter, hoping the stiff sea breezeould carry the sound away before it reached the wrong ears. Holding his nerve, he took a few paces to the right and left, taking more shots from a variety of angles before deciding to quit while he was ahead.
    With the Leica tucked safely back inside his cloak, Tommy sat down and tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. Combat, he imagined, could scarcely be more exhilarating than this. As he disembarked at Fanoe without so much as a second glance from the Germans waiting to unload their control cabin, he felt as though he had achieved a massive victory in his one-man war. ‘It was one of the most dangerous moments but also one of the most satisfying,’ he observed later.
    Encouraged by such a dramatic change in fortune, Sneum was soon ready to take the Leica to the Fanoe installation. Before he set out, he hid the camera under his windcheater jacket, leaving his arms free to carry his shotgun. He thought nothing of risking the wrath of the occupiers by sporting a shotgun again so soon after dispatching the Alsatian. And it was still vital that he had a cover story to explain his presence so close to the installation, so he bagged himself a few rabbits on the open heathland. They made handy props, though Tommy suspected that any guards who remembered him from the previous year might not be easily fooled.
    Using the trees and dunes as cover, Sneum observed the routine of the guards as they patrolled the fences that surrounded the installation. The plane-tracking devices were only just inside the perimeter, so in theory they could be photographed without even breaking in. Tommy waited for a window of opportunity. When one guard walked past, there was a gap of a good minute before another came into view, marching from the opposite direction. If that pattern remained consistent, he thought he could get the pictures he wanted; but if there was any unexpected variation in the Germans’ routine, he feared he would be caught with the camera. Thumbscrews, pliers and whips were all favored tools when German interrogators questioned suspected spies. An agent who couldn’t cope with the pain, and revealed his mission to the Nazis, could then expect a firing squad at the end of his ordeal.
    Tommy watched the first guard disappear out of sight, and raced forward to take pictures of the huge towers through the fence. Then he reterated in the nick of time, and waited for the next gap in the German patrol. With growing faith in his hit-and-run technique, he photographed the giant contraptions from a variety of angles. But he knew this was a high-risk strategy, and decided it was better to escape with what he had than to look for the perfect picture. Hiding his camera for the last time, he began his reterat. Each step towards safety filled him with elation and relief. By the time he had returned to the Sneum family home in Soenderho, on the southern tip of the island, Tommy couldn’t wait to contact Kaj Oxlund with news of what he had achieved.
    In April 1941, Oxlund arranged a hasty business trip to Sweden and took with him scores of superb still pictures of the Fanoe