The Hornet's Sting by Mark Ryan Page A

radar installation. He negotiated the border checks unchallenged, and took a night train to Stockholm. Reaching the Strandvagen peninsula, he presented the precious intelligence to a grateful Denham and Fleet at the British Legation. The triumphant return journey, free of all incriminating evidence, was dampened only by the disappointing fact that he had received no guarantee that the British would send a Sunderland to Lake Tissoe to pick up the Danish officers who wished to serve the Allies.

    For Tommy Sum, meanwhile, the most dangerous part of his mission still lay ahead. He knew that the next time he trekked north to the Fanoe installation, he would face a stiffer challenge. To use the Leica was one thing; to use the Movikon right under the noses of the Germans would be quite another. And he didn’t think he would succeed without an accomplice to watch his back. He chose a fellow islander and resistance sympathizer known simply as Peter to act as an extra pair of eyes. For speed and mobility, they would travel to the vicinity of the installation on bicycles. The alternative, a long march with the large Movikon bulging under his jacket, would be asking for trouble.
    As they set out with their shotguns to kill some more props before they reached the trees and dunes of the north, Sneum began to wonder whether his objective was entirely realistic. To capture the early-warning devices in action, as they rotated and searched the sky for planes, he would need to stay in one position for a considerable length of time. The fir trees which bordered the installation on one side might provide the cover he required, but would they allow him an adequately clear view of the target for effective filming?
    Half an hour later Tommy and Peter were approaching the installation when the vast rectangular sensors started to turn slowly in the distance, probably as they followed a friendly Junker or Messerschmitt in the sky. Though the Danes hadn’t yet reached the cover of the trees, this was the moment for which Tommy had waited. On impulse, he decided to abandon his bicycle and begin filming immediately. At least he would have something in the can before he assessed whether it was feasible to film from any nearer. He removed the Movikon from under his windcheater, crept a little closer and turned round to give Peter an encouraging wink before he started up the camera. Crouching low, he then focused the lens. He heard a worrying rattle and then a gentle whirring that signalled the automatic rotation of the reel. Every second seemed to last a lifetime, but he had to hold firm and capture in full the revolving action of the German installation. Suddenly, fifty meters behind him, he heard a frantic scrambling. ‘There’s somebody coming,’ hissed Peter as he dashed for his bike and pedalled away for all he was worth. Sneum stopped filming, turned and tucked the Movikon back inside his jacket. Then he spun round to identify the source of his companion’s anxiety. A German guard, pointing a rifle menacingly, was marching directly towards him from less than a hundred meters away.
    Tommy recalled what happened next:
    I crouched down in the tall grass. In that squatting position, my knees were sticking out. That helped to hide the bulge created by the movie camera under my jacket. At the same time I pulled down my trousers and pants. The German officer came up with his rifle pointed at me. This was one of the most dangerous moments of my entire war. If he made me get up he would see the bulge of the camera and soon know I was a spy. He got close and shouted: ‘ Was machen sie hier? ’—What are you doing here? So I replied: ‘ Ich scheisse ’—I’m taking a shit. He looked embarrassed and said: ‘Oh, OK.’ Then he walked off.
     
    When the German had reterated, Sneum pulled up his trousers and walked briskly back to his bicycle. He pedalled off as nonchalantly as he could, amazed that he was still a free man. The radar installation had