More detailed information could not be obtained by simple visual observation. Company A obviously was in no shape to attempt an assault to get closer, however. Clearly, help was needed, but the company’s radio was out of commission. After a brief discussion, Nissenthall and two of his bodyguards raced back to Pourville, which was now under steady fire from Germans on the high ground to both sides of the town. At battalion headquarters, the three men learned that shore-to-ship communication was virtually nonexistent.

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Unable to enlist shipborne guns to soften up the Freya site as they had hoped, they gathered together a small mortar team. That effort was brutally aborted by a well-placed enemy shell. An unhurt but frustrated Nissenthall once more ran the gantlet of fire to rejoin Company A.

Less than two miles on the other side of the Freya cliff, the main invasion force, despite some initial successes, had bogged down and was being beaten back. The smoke of battle rose into a clear blue sky where dueling fighters fought for supremacy, raining empty shell casings over the countryside. From almost every direction came the thump of cannons and the chatter of small arms.

In desperation, Nissenthall made a second escorted return to Pourville to seek reinforcements. This time he returned with a mortar crew, which, while providing additional firepower, didn’t get the men any closer to their goal. The sergeant then decided to implement a suggestion made before his departure from England. If the Freya’s landlines to its command post and analysis center were severed, the radar crew would have to use radio to relay its information on Allied air movements. This radioed information could then be monitored to provide the British with a fairly accurate idea of the radar’s performance.

Nissenthall could see the critical telephone cables silhouetted against the sky about 120 feet away at the crest of the hill. On all fours, the sergeant left cover and started through the tall grass. He moved past a half-hidden machine-gun nest, the ground vibrating against his body from the weapon’s persistent chatter. Nissenthall made it undetected to a triple-pole cable support just outside the Freya perimeter, whose defenses were aimed to the front and sides but not the rear.

Nissenthall removed and pocketed two wire clippers from his haversack, and as he subsequently reported, ‘I wedged myself between the poles and worked my way to the top.’ There, 15 feet above the ground, he cut the Freya’s six outside communications wires. He quickly rejoined his companions, who apparently had been in no condition to weigh Nissenthall’s odds of evading death or capture.

Still hoping for a chance to take a closer look at the Freya, a haggard and sweating Nissenthall returned to Pourville for the third time. His intent was to commandeer a tank and batter his way into the radar site. (Original Jubilee planning, which had proved to be overly optimistic, had called for some of the Churchill tanks that landed at Dieppe to move inland toward Pourville and escort the raiders back to the seaport for evacuation after their mission was completed.)

This time, the Company A commander sent all seven remaining bodyguards to escort his’spook.’ After more than four hours of battle, Pourville was a shambles. The outgoing tide was exposing more bodies and discarded materiel. Nissenthall persuaded a number of Cameron Highlanders still in the village to accompany his small group as it set off to the southeast along a blacktop road on which the tanks were expected to arrive.

Reaching the village of Petit-Appeville about a mile away, the soldiers stopped at its crossroads to rest and wait. Before long, they heard the characteristic rumble and clank of approaching armor. The armor soon appeared–not British, but German tanks accompanied by bicycle troops. Nissenthall and the Canadians fled in panic as the enemy opened fire. Many fell en route back to Pourville, including another three of the sergeant’s bodyguards.

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