The Hornet's Sting_ The Amazing Untold Story of World War II Spy Thomas Sneum - Mark Ryan [5]
For a proud patriot, the situation was so absurd that it rivalled the farce of 9 April itself. Tommy had rebuilt his self-esteem by showing a distinct lack of respect for his own country’s conduct on that momentous day, and in particular for the decisions of his military superiors. Since then, word had spread among the occupying forces that a feisty individual had stood out during the meek capitulation, and might yet require careful handling. Hauptmann Meinicke, Hitler’s plump, middle-aged commander on the island of Fanoe, expressed some sympathy when he heard how the young Danish pilot had been grounded on the morning the German forces had swept in. The commander, a professional soldier without a Nazi bone in his body, seemed genuinely impressed by the local man’s defiant spirit, and had the opportunity to tell him so when the pair were introduced by an administrative official in nearby Esbjerg, Denmark’s most westerly port.
Although Sneum wasn’t particularly tall, there was something of a fighter in his rugged features. He hadn’t been given the chance to test himself, and that had obviously hurt, even though he would surely have been killed if his plane had been allowed to engage the enemy. Meinicke heard how the fiery Dane had conveyed his disgust to his superiors in Fleet Air Arm. First he had protested at the decision not to defend the country. Then he had asked to leave the service. Finally, when asked to put in writing a valid reason for his discharge, he had scribbled: ‘The shit behavior of the Danish Navy on 9 April.’ It was blatant insubordination.
As spring turned to summer on Fanoe, Meinicke clearly enjoyed the rapport that developed between them. The glint in Tommy’s eye and the cheeky smile were never more evident than when he refused to accept what Meinicke personally regarded as inevitable—that Germany would win the war by Christmas.
‘I don’t think you’ll win the war this year, next year or the year after that,’ insisted Tommy bravely.
Meinicke scoffed and said: ‘You can’t be serious.’
But Sneum was adamant. ‘Look at Napoleon,’ he pointed out. ‘He had all of Europe and never got to England. You’ll lose too, when the English and the Americans get together.’
They bet a bottle of whisky on the war being over by New Year 1941. Since the Americans were officially neutral and looked set to remain so, Meinicke confidently predicted that his new friend would never taste a drop of that Scotch. As a small consolation for Germany’s occupation of his country, however, he gave Sneum permission to use a firearm, if only to hunt near his family’s home. On this pretext, Tommy had edged towards the sinister-looking installation as it took shape between the dunes and the trees. He wondered what menace this new facility represented to the British across the North Sea. And if his suspicions were correct, he knew he would have to find a way to warn them. But now the only challenge he faced was how to stay alive long enough to get himself out of this mess.
With the Nazis sweeping all before them in 1940, Tommy could have taken a back seat like so many of his fellow countrymen. But he wasn’t built that way; he had to be involved somehow. And when, soon after the invasion, Reichsmarschall Hermann Goering invited Flight Lieutenant Thomas Sneum to join his mighty Luftwaffe, some very troubling ideas began to form in Tommy’s head. Although he had been outraged by the invasion, Sneum had nothing against the Luftwaffe’s commander-in-chief