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Tommy and Kjeld were on a collision course with the Third Reich.

Chapter 8

A CLOSE SHAVE

AS SOON AS HE’D AGREED the take-off time with Kjeld, Tommy visited his wife and child, who were now living with Else’s parents in Copenhagen. He knew there was a fair chance that he would never see them again. But he was also aware that if he told Else about his escape plan, she would protest and try to stop him. She would probably also tell her father, who might even alert the authorities. So Tommy concocted a cover story: ‘I’m leaving for Aalborg,’ he announced. ‘I’ve been given work to do at the airfield there.’

‘What kind of work? And when do we join you?’ Else was one of the few people who could tell when Tommy was lying.

‘Maybe not for a while,’ said her husband. ‘Things have to be properly assessed there first, before the precise nature of my work becomes clear.’

‘Well, don’t be too long,’ warned Else, clearly unconvinced. She gave Tommy his baby daughter, and he held her for a while in his arms. Lovely as she was, he knew he wasn’t cut out to watch the war from a cosy domestic setting. All over Europe, he told himself, other husbands were making the same sacrifice for their country by turning their backs on their families. The difference, perhaps, was that he doubted he would ever be able to fulfil the role of doting husband and father. It had all come too soon. The war—along with Mr Jensen—had been responsible for that.

Tommy kissed his wife and baby one last time, and left Else fighting back her tears. Much later, Tommy said: ‘I loved the baby and still had some feelings for Else, but the cause was more important to me at that time than family.’

Focusing on the steps he had to take before returning to his beloved plane, Sneum went to see his old friend Kaj Oxlund in the northern suburb of Soeborg. The happy, carefree days the two men had enjoyed with their girlfriends before the war were now just memories, and Tommy was in serious mood. ‘Don’t ask me anything about the reasons for this,’ he begged. ‘The less you know, the better. But if I’m absent for a while, just continue the good work we started together. And do me one last favor. This is a letter for Else. I want you to see she gets it.’

‘If we hear you’re dead?’ Oxlund was trying to be helpful.

‘On the contrary,’ replied Tommy with a grim smile. ‘Don’t bother giving it to her if you hear I’m dead. She won’t need to read it then. But if you’ve heard nothing in the next two or three weeks, post it to her. Make sure you’re in Denmark when you send it.’

Trying to fathom his friend’s intentions, Oxlund dutifully took the letter and assured Tommy he would comply with the request. They embraced briefly, with Sneum wishing he could say more.

Then it was time to move the precious Leica and Movikon films of the Fanoe radar installation to the hangar in Odense. They just fitted into two suitcases, which would look less suspicious, Tommy decided, if carried by two men. Posing as brothers visiting relatives in the countryside, Tommy and Kjeld set out on this vital journey on the night of Thursday 19 June. They reached the plane without incident. In addition to the films, the cans of petrol were loaded into the back of the cockpit, along with a length of hose, an axe and a broomstick, to which they had attached a huge white towel. Life jackets were tucked away in the hangar for now, and everything was as it should be.

After working all night, Sneum and Pedersen left the barn and, with the sun already quite high, crept up the track that led through Andersen’s fields to the main road. Suddenly, six German officers galloped up on horseback and surrounded them. By now, Tommy was adept at suppressing his fear, but this crisis almost got the better of him: ‘This was one of the few moments I was really scared because the plane was ready in the hangar,’ he revealed later. Just meters away, the Hornet Moth was loaded with secrets which, if discovered, would provide enough evidence to have both men