The Hornet's Sting by Mark Ryan Page B

been recorded in action, but filming it had almost cost Tommy his life. Had the guard been more experienced and refused to accept his story, there would have been no way out.
    Tommy could have quit at this stage, while he was ahead. But he imagined the reaction of Denham and Fleet if he crossed over to Sweden with no more footage. ‘It’s good work, old chap,’ Denham would say. ‘But it isn’t very clear from that distance. Would you mind going back for us and getting in closer?’
    Even before he reached Soenderho that night, and registered a familiar, disapproving look from Else, Tommy knew that he would have to return to the installation. ‘I’d chosen this business now and I had to see it through,’ he explained later. This time, however, he would face the threat of the German guards and their dogs alone.

    Three days later, just before dawn, Tommy set off again with his shotgun and Movikon, bagging some ducks and rabbits on his way north. Would he too know what it was like to become prey before the day was out? All his life, he had been taught to suppress his fear. Now, though, as he approached the installation in a wide loop, he was finding it harder than ever to hold his nerve.
    About fifty meters from the radar station, on a small, natural mound, stood a water tower, which was often used by the Nazis as a lookout point. However, ‘I thought I might still be able to reach it unnoticed, because the trees came right up to the tower on one side,’ Tommy said later. The installation was crawling with Germans, but there was one place the guards wouldn’t be looking: ‘Their blind spot was at the foot of the water tower itself,’ Tommy remembered. ‘When you are up in the tower, you are not going to be looking directly below you for the enemy, in your own area. You are going to be looking out to sea for ships or aircraft. It wasn’t easy for them to look down anyway, because they had fortified the water tower like the wall of an old castle.’
    As he crouched behind the trees, Tommy could see the outlines of guards moving in the tower and could even hear them talking and laughing. Although they were only silhouettes, he felt he knew when they turned around because their voices grew fainter. Reckoning they were facing away from him, he sprinted for the base of the tower, grateful that the sandy soil cushioned his approach. But the tone of the German voices above suddenly changed dramatically, as if someone had seen or heard something. Very gingerly, Tommy peered upwards. The guards were looking out in almost all directions—everywhere but directly below. He hardly dared breathe as he carefully reached into his jacket to extract the camera. The sun was still rising, but by now there was enough light in which to work. The radar station was directly in front of him, and it looked even more impressive at close quarters. It was about to demonstrate its intimidating power again.
    Tommy heard a faint drone in the sky as a patrolling German Junkers set about its morning business, though he couldn’t pinpoint its position. However, the vast rectangular sensors turned immediately in the direction of the plane’s engines. They had spotted their potential target long before Sneum could see anything specific. Though the giant, revolving structures seemed to be performing a dance just for him in the perfect morning light, Tommy knew he had to pick the right moment to take advantage.
    The guards seemed to have calmed down, perhaps assuming that the noise below had been caused by a frightened rabbit. Impatiently, Sneum waited to hear some German voices again, and he was delighted when the majority began to poke fun at whoever had reacted to the sound of his approach. The increasingboisterous conversation was the cover Tommy had desired. He clicked on the Movikon. Action! Frame by detailed frame, one of Hitler’s most precious secrets was being stolen from under German noses. The stakes were unbelievably high. This time,