The Nazi Hunters Read Online Free PDF

World War. Captured German weaponry was also much in demand, especially the Schmeisser sub-machine gun. Once such a weapon had been seized, SAS operators tended to be loath to give it up.
    Personal kit was stowed in a canvas Bergen – a military rucksack – with an external steel frame. The heavier British ‘Compo’ rations had been replaced by twenty-four-hour ration packs containing tinned sardines, cheese, meat dripping, oatmeal biscuits, soup cubes, tea, sweets and chocolates. A new and super-efficient lightweight stove had been developed, one that burned solid-fuel Hexamine blocks, similar to firelighters.
    Each parachutist’s Bergen-load of gear was stuffed inside his canvas ‘leg bag’, which was strapped to his right leg for the jump. The leg bag was held in place by clips, and would be released and lowered once the parachutist had jumped, to be left hanging some 15 feet below him. That way, the bag would land first, taking the impact of its own weight.
    Or at least, that was the theory. In practice the leg bag had proved cumbersome to deploy, and was more often dangerous rather than helpful to the parachutist. It had a habit of snagging during exit, or failing to release and lower properly, with disastrous consequences for the jumper.
    Writing in the Operation Loyton war diary, Colonel Franks commented on the leg bag as being ‘utterly useless. This has been proved and pointed out time and again. Present leg bags MUST NEVER be taken on operations again.’
    Unfortunately, the Op Loyton advance party was saddled with the leg bags. One of those figures strapping on this ‘utterly useless’ contraption was Captain John Hislop, in effect Druce’s second in command. As he prepared for the jump, he reminded himself of the somewhat cumbersome code words to be exchanged with the Resistance – more commonly known as the Maquis.
    ‘ Nous sommes les guerriers de Malicoco ’ (we are the warriors of Malicoco), the SAS soldiers were to declare, though no one had the slightest idea where ‘Malicoco’ might be.
    ‘ Bamboula vous attend ’ (Bamboula awaits you) was the expected reply, though who on earth ‘Bamboula’ might be was anyone’s guess.
    As Hislop was well aware, some of the less erudite of the men had struggled to master the unwieldy exchange. Mostly, they were fighters, not linguists – their new commander, Captain Druce, being the obvious exception. Hislop wasn’t overly happy about their last-minute change of command, and he wondered what kind of man Druce might prove to be on the ground.
    ‘At the time we had no idea why this change was made, and found it disconcerting,’ Hislop remarked. As Druce had only joined the SAS recently no one knew him well, or was particularly aware of his capabilities.
    Hislop wasn’t entirely an SAS man, and he was, if anything, even more of a colourful character than Druce. With his remarkably boyish face, swept-back dark hair and laughing slits of eyes, Hislop was the archetypal dashing Englishman, and he revelled in such an image. His was a slight, polo player’s physique, compared to Druce’s rugby player’s robustness but, on the coming mission, both would prove themselves to have the hearts of lions.
    He and Druce had met only once before, at 2 SAS’s then headquarters, which was situated at the end of Prestwick golf course, in Ayrshire, Scotland. Of course, Hislop had heard stories about Druce’s epic escape from the enemy, one that had taken him on foot across half of occupied Europe in ‘phenomenally short time’. It had ended with Druce reaching London and checking himself into Piccadilly’s Berkeley Hotel, as if he’d just been out for a short stroll in Green Park.
    As the powerful figure of Druce braced himself beside the Whitley’s uncertain exit, he was trying his damnedest to memorize all the names of his men. Goodfellow, Dill, Lodge, Crossfield, Hall, Stanley . . . he repeated the names like a mantra. Hislop, by contrast, was