On a grim morning in September 1940, two German gunners sat watching the air armada heading across the Pas de Calais en-route to beleaguered England.

Within less than a year, the victorious Wehrmacht had taken Poland and most of Western Europe and now seemed poised to land in the kingdom of knights and heroes.

As the armada droned overhead, Stine made a comment.

“Just look at that Yohann. Heinkel 111’s, Dornier 17’s and Stukas all protected by our fighters,the ME 109’s. The damned English don’t stand a chance.”

His friend chuckled.

“I hear that Goering has been at it again.”

“What has he been saying then?”

“That when Britain fell, he would invite Churchill to his country home for a drink and cigar.”

Stine laughed.

“That would be worth seeing my friend. Do you think our invasion is imminent then?”

Yohann pointed to the nearby port.

“See those barges and the troop tents?”

“What about them?”

“They get more numerous by the day my friend. That can only mean one thing. That Sealion is pretty damn close.”

Over the channel, Spitfires and Hurricanes rose to do battle as a squadron of Whitley and Wellington bombers began their approach. As sirens warbled their alarm, the two gunners cursed.

“Here we ruddy well go again. Obviously the RAF are still in the fight.”

Yohann nodded.

“Why don’t they simply surrender? Enemy at twelve o’clock.”

The anti-aircraft gun was raised by its wheel to the new position, and soon after began spitting out its deadly shells.

The bombers were a bit too high for that. They roared overhead, as their cargo’s whistled down upon the invasion port. As the gunners fired furiously, the barges and tents took a terrible pounding.
“Watch out!” Stine yelled suddenly.

Two Spits had broken off and were swinging in their direction. The two gunners ranged their targets and let off a lethal volley. One aircraft’s wing was blown off completely, sending it corkscrewing into the port.

The second fighter was struck amidships and blew apart, as the gunners cheered with undoubted relief.

“One to us mate,” Yohann said calmly.

As the fierce battle continued, all was peaceful in the Reich capital of Berlin.

Himmler, the former chicken farmer now Reichsfuhrer SS, sat behind his magnificent desk reading the latest security report when his door was unexpectedly rapped.

He glanced up through his small glasses and said, “Enter.”

Standartenfuhrer Gluck marched in wearing the gleaming black uniform of the SS. As he gave the salute, the Reichsfuhrer smiled.

“What can I do for you Gluck?”

The officer approached and handed over a sheath of papers.

“Naval intelligence has come up with a plan to end the war quickly sir. Admiral Raeder thinks you should take a look at it.”

Himmler opened the document and began reading as the officer watched with interest.

“He wants to land a squad near Dover by U-boat?”

“Yes sir. They picked up a secret message from London. Churchill plans to visit on Wednesday.”

“Two days hence. That’s a damn tight schedule.”

“They need the Luftwaffe to strike Dover hard so that the defenders will have something else to think about sir.”

The humourless SS leader actually grinned.

“I’ll arrange that. Tell the boys that they can go ahead. Our glorious Fuhrer loves audacious plans. He won’t object.”

When Glucks saluted to leave, the Reichsfuhrer said quietly, “Go get me Churchill.”

As the moonlight glinted down upon the choppy channel, the U 34 finally surfaced one mile from the English coast. As the four troopers climbed into their rubber attack boat, German bombers pounded the fortified town.

“I wish you luck,” the captain said. “If any of you survive, send us the agreed message.”

“Don’t worry about us sir, we will get our target.”

He climbed into the small craft and his team started rowing frantically. As the sub vanished beneath the dark waves, weapons were checked.

“Now remember boys, when we hit the shingle beach make for the upper scrubland.”

Despite mines and barbed wire, the little craft hit the beach as planned and the special unit scrambled for the bluff.

The commander gazed ahead at the small farmhouse across the way.

“At least the recon photos were accurate for a change. I think the coast is clear.”

As he made to move, a cyclist rattled into view and he froze.
“Ruddy LDV’s. He better keep going.”

The local defence volunteers, or dad’s army, had been formed as a last ditch defence unit. Mainly consisting of the over fifties, these brave souls never expected to meet the actual enemy.

The cyclist stopped and unfastened his rifle. He turned a torch upon the deserted beach and began humming to himself.

Just a few feet off, the commander was getting jittery.

“Wolfgang, deal with him eh?”

The squaddy grinned and moved to the right. As the torchlight swung overhead, he dashed out and gripped a palm over the startled Brit’s mouth. Almost at once, a knife was plunged into his kidney.

Lowering him quietly to the ground, his comrades dragged it toward the waterline as another grabbed the cycle.

“Now for the damn farmhouse,” the commander hissed.

He led his men across the gravel spit until they almost crashed into the rear wall. He gingerly checked for the rear doorknob and found it unlocked.

Placing a finger to his lips, he levelled the machine gun and burst through. Automatic fire briefly sounded, as the elderly couple were cut down whilst listening to the radio.

The commander now paused.

“Okay, stuff their corpses in one of the bedrooms and we’ll check the map again.”

By the time his men returned, the small map had been rolled out upon the small coffee table.

“We are here,” he said pointing. “As you know the town is protected on three sides by anti-aircraft batteries and machine gun nests. Therefore if we take this path here, we should break through from the south.”

“Sounds like a foolproof plan,” Wolfgang noted.

“The fool Churchill plans to stay at the Golden Arms pub located here and that is our next target.”

“If I was him,” Spitz chuckled. “I would stay at the Citadel.”
The commander smiled.

“I sometimes admire him you know. The castle would certainly be safer. This is one bit of Bulldog bravado that he will quickly regret.”

“How many are you taking?” Spitz asked.

“Just Wolfgang and myself. “You two can hold on here until we return. Then it’s back to the beach where Sparky can contact the sub.”

“In broad daylight?” Sparky asked. “The RAF will pounce.”

“There is no other way.”

Spitz shook his head.

“After killing their PM, you’ll never get out alive.”

The commander smiled.

“When I was in Norway, I found myself surrounded by twenty British Tommies. Only I walked away. This requires nerve and daring. With luck and the Fuhrer’s wishes, we shall return.”

As the team gazed upon their brave leader with some admiration, a lone dog walker had ignored the warnings by breaking onto the barbed wire beach.

“Go on Larky and get the stick.”

As the poodle dashed along the shingle, a paw struck one of the landmines and was blown to smithereens. As the sound reverberated across Dover, the squad dashed to the window.

“Probably some fool with a shotgun,” the commander whispered. “You know what these English are like.”

His team chuckled as he and Wolfgang headed for the front door.
Dashing south across the level ground in a southerly direction, they expected to meet no resistance to their dastardly plan.

The explosion had attracted the attention of the town garrison and as the terrified dog walker waited in abject terror, a small squad soon spotted him.

“What the hell are you doing there,” the captain demanded.

“My pooch needed the loo.”

The captain glanced across the gravel.

“I see no mutt.”

The poor civilian pointed to bits of tattered flesh as the captain cursed.

“Serves you bloody right mate. Don’t you know what minefield means?”
As he nodded, the captain shook his head.

“Find me a ruddy branch. I’ll have to get this idiot out.”

With the branch, the brave trooper prodded his way towards the petrified man. When he reached him, he cuffed his ear.

“I’ve got a damn good mind to push you onto one of those. Now follow me.”

The rescue operation had gone quite well with the grateful civilian promising never to be as foolish again. They were about to leave when the eagle-eyed corporal spotted something.

“Shine your light over there.”

As the torch beam swept the beach, the cycle and body came into view.
“Ruddy Nora,” the captain exclaimed.

“What do we do sir?”

The captain thought quickly.

“The blighters must be ashore mate. We need to call the Citadel quickly.”

The corporal pointed to the nearby farm cottage.

“Right you lot follow me,” the captain ordered. “The castle boys will have to clear this up.”

Within the farmhouse, the two enemy troops were unaware that danger was hurtling toward them. They were sitting upon the floor by the kitchen hearth, when the knock came.

“We need to use your phone. Ruddy Jerries landed!”

The troopers glanced at each other.

When a fist banged loudly, the men stood and levelled their weapons. Spitz gripped the handle tightly as Sparky prepared.

“Now!”

When the kitchen door swung open, a wall of lead cut the soldiers down.

“Now pull them inside,” Spitz ordered and the bodies were hauled into the sitting room.

As soon as their weapons were retrieved, the door was quickly locked.
“They will be missed,” Sparky warned.

“I know but, we had no choice. We just have to hope that the commander returns before the Home Guard finds out.”

His colleagues however had a few problems of their own.

As they made their frantic way to the south side of Dover, a passing patrol had spotted their running forms.

“What else can go wrong?” the commander hissed. “How many are there?”

As Wolfgang looked, he ducked back down.

“Six sir. Not Home Guard either.”

The suspicious Tommies had taken up the standard defence position.
“We know you are there. Come out with your hands up.”

“What the hell will we do sir?”

“Find a way out of this Wolfgang of course. Let me try something.”

The commander knew some English and gave it his best shot.

“Just been out mate. We had a bit too much to drink that’s all.”

The troopers laughed.

“Come on then and we will give you both a lift.”

The commander removed two grenades and primed them. As he stood, he threw them at once. As he ducked back down, the explosives detonated.

“Now come on!”

The commander dashed past the mutilated bodies and made it safely to the southern road. As they scampered into town, a lone policeman turned the corner.

“Hello there.”

Wolfgang lashed out with his fist and the copper crashed onto the pavement.

“Drag him into this alley,” the commander ordered.

Once dumped, they sprinted along the road until the Golden Arms came into view.

“Nearly there,” the commander gasped.

As they reached the front door, they found it bolted. Wolfgang rapped loudly, and the landlord was heard coming down the stairs.

“When it opens, cosh him.”

As Wolfgang nodded, the landlord called out.

“Who’s there? Don’t you know that we are closed?”

“Sorry mate, Home Guard.”

“Hold on then.”

When the door opened, a fist sent him reeling. As he gazed up from the floor, he recognised the battle clothes.

“Ruddy hell!”

“Keep quiet and get upstairs. One sound and it is curtains mate.”

Wolfgang led the startled man upstairs as the commander locked the door. When his comrade returned he said, “He’ll make no trouble. Thinks the invasion has arrived.”

The commander smiled.

“I wish that it had. So, we have almost made it. When Churchill arrives he is in for one hell of a shock.”

That Tuesday night, a lone vehicle was trundling through the gloom heading for Dover. Within the back seat, their target was chuckling with his security officer.

“The general thinks we are arriving tomorrow sir. He will be none too pleased.”

“I like to take people by surprise Dawson. This’ll shake them up.”

“What if the pub is closed?”

Churchill just gleamed.

“Then you sir will wake them up.”

As the car drew up, the elderly but fit PM stepped out as Dawson
knocked softly.

“Try harder man!”

Dawson fairly banged until an unfamiliar voice called, “What do you want?”

The PM suddenly became livid.

“That’s a fine way to treat me sir. Open the damn door!”

They heard it being unlocked, and a gun barrel suddenly confronted them.

“Inside now!”

The PM glanced at his guard.

“Seems the rats are here Dawson.”

They were shoved into the back room and ordered to sit, as the commander smiled.

“Where is the landlord?” Churchill asked.

“Upstairs,” the commander said. “He is unharmed.”

“Glad to hear it,” the PM muttered. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

Wolfgang smiled.

“Go ahead. It will be your last.”

The PM pulled out the cigar and calmly lit it. As his guard watched, he started blowing smoke rings.

“Welcome to Britain young man.”

The commander smiled.

“Thanks.”

He watched as his comrade said, “We should get it over with sir. That sub captain is a rather nervous type.”

“Let him smoke for a moment. The poor geezer deserves it.”

Remembering some of his English he said quietly, “You should have retired Winnie.”

Churchill shook his head.

“I love the bustle of politics too much.”

Then he glanced at his worried guard.

“This reminds me of my escape from that Boer camp years back.”

“I read your account,” the commander said happily. “Was a bestseller
in my country.”

Churchill smiled back.

“In Britain too,” he said winking to Dawson.

As the cigar neared the last puff, the PM suddenly groaned and fell off his chair clutching at his chest. As Dawson went to his assistance the Jerry asked, “What’s up with him?”

“He’s having a ruddy heart attack mate!”

Wolfgang was not that fooled by these antics.

“We finish now!”

As Dawson watched, he cocked his weapon and pointed.

“We don’t shoot ill men soldier. Go get a glass of water.”

Wolfgang hissed and dashed toward the kitchen. As he entered, the PM
groaned loudly. Dawson understood and slipped him his handgun.

“I need to sit up Dawson.”

The commander gazed toward the kitchen where his colleague was taking his time.

“What the hell are you up to?”

“Coming sir.”

As Wolfgang walked into the room, two shots rang out. As he fell Churchill hissed, “Drop the carbine now.”

The startled commander stared at the sitting figure.

“That was a rouse.”

“When you read my account you obviously missed a page. Get the weapon Dawson.”

The relieved guard did so and the German raised his arms high.

“Now my friend,” the happy leader said. “What is this about a sub?”

The commander replied by stating his name, rank, and serial number.

“Tie him up Dawson. I need to make a call.”

When Winnie found the phone, he called the town castle.

“This is Churchill from the Golden Arms. Issue Cromwell.”

This codeword was the command to respond to imminent invasion. The PM knew what havoc it would cause.

Within ten minutes of the invasion alert, church bells rang across England and the army and Home Guard rushed to their deployment areas.
Within the Citadel, General Ramsey was also active.

“I need thirty men to accompany me to the Golden Arms at once. The PM must be in trouble. Bring the ruddy armoured car too.”

“What if Jerry lands sir?” the sergeant asked.

Ramsey shrugged his shoulders.

“Invite him in for a pint man.”

The convoy streamed out of the ancient castle as the machine gun nests looked skyward for the expected paratroops. As it reached the pub, the door opened.

“Hello Ramsey. You took your time.”

Ramsey blushed and stammered, “Sorry Prime Minister.”

When his men entered, they found the surviving enemy tied against
the banister.

As Churchill fingered his handgun he said, “Sorry for the alert but
I needed some attention.”

“I understand sir. You dealt with them nicely I see.”

The PM grinned.
“We had an absolutely lovely time general. He spoke off a sub though. That tells me there is another group in the area.”

The general turned to the prisoner.

“Is he right?”

The commander kept silent.

“We’ll never get it out of him general,” Churchill said.

“So what do you suggest sir?”

“I used to be head of the admiralty as you know. Dover shoals protect this area, which means the sub’s movements are restricted to
a certain area.”

“I see what you mean sir. The shoal ends not far from here. Around two miles I’d say.”

The PM smiled.

“Shall we take a look?”

“What about the prisoner sir?” Dawson asked.

Churchill shook his head.

“Leave him to rot. We’ll collect him later.”

The convoy set off north toward the coast as Churchill contacted the RAF.

“A squadron of Spits are on their way general. As for his accomplices, what do you think?”

The general thought quickly.

“I would look for an out of the way place sir.”

The PM agreed.

As they approached the spit, the general spotted the farmhouse.

“How about there sir?”

“Stop the car!”

The convoy halted as Churchill gazed upon the blacked out building.

“For all we know innocent civilians may live there. Tell your gunner
to target the outhouse.”

The armoured car swung around and lined its muzzle up. When it fired, the chicken coop went up in flames.

For those inside the home, this was bad news indeed.

Scrambling to the window, they spotted the armoured vehicle and the convoy.

“Oh ****!” Sparky hissed.

Spitz smashed a window and opened up.

Within his car, Churchill was unperturbed by this response.

“I want them alive General. Tell your men!”

“I’ll try sir.”

As the rearguard deployed, the worried General joined them.

“He wants them intact.”

Another volley of fire pummelled the ground.

“I don’t think Jerry agrees sir,” the sergeant said.

“Send half your men to the left. We’ll cover you.”

The sergeant smiled.

“A pincer movement sir?”

“Naturally.”

As they dashed, the general’s men opened up at once. The intensity
forced the enemy to duck down.

“We should try to run for it,” Sparky suggested.

“Never. We fight till we win!”

He heard the shooting cease and crouching once more, fired again.

“I think we have got them,” the general hissed. “Right, cover me.”

He dashed forward towards the wall as the first group joined him.

“Ready sir.”

“Great. Now after three. One, two...”

His boot smashed the door open and he dived inside. Rolling over he
levelled his weapon.

“Drop it!”

The startled enemy promptly did so, and were hauled up. Moments
later a beaming Churchill walked inside.

“You’re still alive,” Sparky groaned.

“Of course I am. This Bulldog has teeth yet you know. Find the radio
sergeant.”

The satchel was soon located and handed over.

“You’ll never work it,” Spitz boasted.

The smiling PM grinned.

“I know enough German to bluff my friend.”

He turned it on and set the frequency. As he did so he quipped
offhandedly, “This should be fun.”

As it crackled into life, he thought quickly.

“Of course, a code.”

Spitz smiled.

“You’ll never guess it.”

The PM pressed the button and said in perfect German, “The cigar is finished.”

As everyone waited, a reply came through.

“Well done commander. See you at the shoal.”

The PM cut the signal and grinned.

“It had to be that you know. We’ll let the RAF deal with the sub.”

Staring at the soldiers and his bodyguard he suddenly hissed, “Not a word of tonight’s antics is ever to get out. You understand?”

“What about the invasion alert?” Dawson asked.

“Tell them some nuns were mistaken for paratroopers.”

As the enemy was led away at gunpoint, a silent bow broke surface.

“Hatch clear sir.”

The captain smiled.

“The Fuhrer will be pleased. I’ll go on deck and greet them.”

He only reached the conning tower in time to see twelve Spitfires
hurtling down with cannons blazing.

For the record of this event, none exists. Churchill it seems had his way.

However, the press and radio did report his visit to the heavily bombed port, and the successful attack upon an enemy U-boat. The general public remained ignorant of how close they came to losing their leader, and the war.