The British are amazed at the Norwegian ingenuity. Larsen tells everyone to take a two-hour nap.

At 9 a.m., Arthur is off, her crew above, all wearing revolvers. The wind drops, and the fishing boat sails into the fjord, past green fir trees, white-mountained peaks, amid total silence. The only sound is Arthur's engine. Shortly before 10 a.m., a German trawler moves in. Larsen sends the Britons below. Bjornoy says, "The breeze has dropped completely. They're sure to see our Chariots when we heave to."

The German trawler sails up to Arthur, and heaves to. Larsen casually greets the Germans with a sloppy salute and the words, "Good morning."

A German Sailor stares intently at the surface of the water behind Arthur. Larsen wonders if the German has seen the Chariots. At that moment, Johannes Kalve, of Larsen's crew, hurls a heaving line through the air. It falls neatly, but by chance, across the Sailor's shoulders. He frees himself while the other Sailors take the rope and secure it to a bollard. The Norwegians never learn if the German had seen the Chariots.

The German boat's skipper, a lieutenant, hops aboard with a briefcase, and demands Larsen's papers, including bills of lading for previous peat deliveries, and special authorization to sail into restricted waters. Larsen has all the papers. The German lieutenant studies them closely.

"I see you come from Kristiansund," the German says. "Would you know my friend the harbormaster, Lieutenant Ormann?"

"Yes," says Larsen noncommittally.

"We were born in the same town and went to school together. And how strange the hazards of war are! Both of us in the naval reserve and both sent to the same waters."

Larsen is far from eager to hear this German reminisce, so he mutters a few words in bad German. The German lieutenant smiles broadly, and fills out an Ausweis form for Larsen.

Before leaving, the German orders Larsen to open a sack to be sure its peat. It is. The lieutenant peers into the wheelhouse and engine room, then jumps back aboard his own ship, waving them to proceed.

Arthur cranks back up and sails down the fjord, beneath scudding white clouds, past fishing boats, cargo vessels, and a German destroyer. The journey takes all day. When the sun sets, there is no moon.

At 5:45 p.m., Arthur closes in on Trondheim. Larsen can just make out the town's cathedral's two spires in the gathering dusk. Blackout regulations are lax, and the town's lights come on. Arthur thumps onward, 15 miles from Tirpitz.

The four British frogmen go below and put on their diving gear. As Brewster screw on his oxygen bottle, the fishing boat jolts and nearly knocks him over. "Moonless night, a bit of a swell - ideal conditions for attack," he says to himself.

On the bridge, Larsen is not so sure. The waves are bigger and bigger, as a storm brews, tossing Arthur about.

Around 10 p.m., Arthur runs into two large waves, which drag the Chariots. When the first wave hits, one Chariot is taut at the end of its towing wire, but when the boat goes into the trough, the wire slackens, then becomes taut again. Larsen knows his boat's "feel," he suspects one Chariot has broken from its cable.

He and his crew heave to, and go astern. The Chariots are definitely gone. Arthur has made its voyage to Tirpitz, and Operation Title, within 10 miles of the objective, has failed. There is nothing to say. No one can even curse. Four British divers and 10 Norwegians are trapped in enemy territory aboard a fishing boat with phony papers and a dying engine.

Larsen sails Arthur to the island of Tautra, to scuttle the boat. His crew hurls the sacks of peat into the sea, and collect the boat's stores of guns and food. At the Frostaland shore, Bob Evans, in his diving gear, goes over the side. He confirms what Larsen and Brewster know - the shackles lie at the end of the wires, but the Chariots have slipped the shackles.

The passengers and crew go ashore, and Larsen takes out the augers he brought along to scuttle the boat. Arthur sinks half a mile from the coast, just before midnight.

At Stalingrad, fighting dies down. Both sides suffer from supply shortages. The Soviets must move all their men and equipment by ferryboat across the Volga River, often under German fire. The German 6th Army - largest in the Nazi order of battle - must draw its rations, fuel, and ammunition from thin chain of repaired railroads and roads across the steppes. The ferocity of the fighting and vast numbers of men and guns at the front mean that 6th Army uses up food and ammunition almost as soon as it gets it. There is little in reserve.

Meanwhile, Eisenhower cables to his wife to let her know, in strictest confidence, that he is headed for Gibraltar. "I hope you won't be disturbed or worried," Ike says. "War inevitably carries its risks to life and limb - but the chances, in my case are all in my favor - a fact which you must remember. Moreover - even if the worst should ever happen to me, please don't be too upset. I truly feel that what the United States and the world are facing today is so much bigger than anyone of us can even comprehend, that personal sacrifice and loss must not be allowed to overwhelm any of us."

2nd/48th suffers, too. One company is reduced to five men. Sgt. Kibby takes command of a company whose CO is killed, and leads a dozen men to attack a German position. German fire drives Kibby and his men to ground. Kibby leaps up and hurls grenades at the post, silencing the defenders. German fire cuts Kibby down. He receives a posthumous Victoria Cross. 2nd/48th is down to 48 men.

2nd/24th, despite its massive losses, is ordered to see if Thompson's Post is unoccupied. Col. Weir, the battalion CO, leads 15 men in the patrol. He and his men move silently through the dark, penetrate the outer wire - and then come under German fire. Thompson's Post is occupied. Weir withdraws.

The Germans counterattack the two battered battalions, who are fighting with about 120 men. The Australians fire and fall back, taking 200 POWs with them, to the Saucer. Among the wounded is Col. Weir.

There the Australians find 2nd/32nd and the Pioneers have been able to dig some positions, and two batteries of 6-lbr. anti-tank guns, one of them Rhodesian, are deployed. The Australians have taken heavy casualties, but neither reached the sea nor Thompson's Post.

At 4 a.m., the Australians are ready to attack again. Among their leaders is Captain Rosevear, whose official biography says he was born in 1900, but adds: "When he enlisted under the name of H.G. Brown in 1916 Rosevear gave his year of birth as 1895."

The Australian forces, now the extreme right flank of the entire 8th Army, resume the drive to the coast, supported by artillery. The attack fails. German machine guns and rifle fire stop the Australians cold. The Australians dig in.

After an hour, a German officer 200 yards away walks towards the Australians, under a white flag. He tells the Australians that further resistance is futile, and that surrender will be no reflection on their courage. The Australians answer with remarks that are "not in the best of taste."

Meanwhile, the 40th Royal Tank Regiment, under Lt. Col. J.L. Finigan, picks its way past the Fig Orchard on the west side of Thompson's Post, to reach the railway line. Finigan meets up with a wounded Col. Hammer and finds that 40th RTR is east of the Australians. The tanks head for the Saucer, and join the defense. The seven-foot high Valentine tanks, armed only with 2-lbr. guns, are highly visible and vulnerable.

Rommel is aware of the situation, and he drives straight to Sidi Abd el Rahman, west of the Saucer, to personally lead the relief operation, using troops from 21st Panzer and 90th Light Divisions. Rommel personally leads the attack. The vehicles and men assemble at 11 a.m. and the RAF arrives at 11:05. Rommel's charisma keeps the German attack rolling, and they rumble towards 40th RTR's Valentines. The German tanks have a range of 1,200 yards. The British, 400. The British tanks pack 37 mm guns, the German, 50 mm weapons. But the British tanks are backed up by Australian infantry and Rhodesian anti- tank guns.

At 11:30, the Germans attack with 15 tanks and infantry. Before they get in range, RAF A-20s streak in, blasting tanks and scattering infantry. The Germans swing left and charge into the defenders. The Germans wreck two Rhodesian anti-tank guns, while the Valentines try to maneuver against the enemy, screening them away from the Saucer through maneuver, bluff, and the occasional well-aimed shell. The Valentines knock out an 88 mm gun and its trailer, but most Valentines are shredded.

All afternoon the battle rages, with smoke and sand swirling around the Saucer. Sometime in the afternoon, the Germans run out of ammunition, and retreat, leaving behind four wrecked tanks and several other vehicles. 21 of the Valentines and 44 crew members lie dead. The surviving tanks have damaged radiators, fuel tanks, and batteries, so only 10 can rumble back.

The Australians are impressed by the British 40th RTR, and call their action "one of the most magnificent of the war."

The plight of the Saucer's defenders is not lost on Leslie Morshead, who knows his battalions have been fighting for 18 hours straight. That evening, he sends in the 24th Brigade to relieve the Saucer's defenders.

Brigadier Godfrey's Australians move into position, and dig in. The defense of the Saucer continues on into midnight.

Meanwhile, Rommel watches the battle. He notes that the RAF attacks his positions 34 times in eight hours. However, he re-opens the link to Thompson's Post. Rommel's has 230 tanks left - 90 German and 140 Italian - against Monty's 800.

Montgomery, aware that his troops are massing slowly, postpones Supercharge until the evening of November 1.