Alex Scarrow - A thousand suns

Max exchanged a glance with Pieter; they both subtly shook their heads. This was new to them. Max had wondered about being instructed to pick a course across France, and had wondered how far their fighter escort could stay with them. Now here it was… and it sounded foolish.

Rall sensed the mood of the men; this was the part of the plan he knew he’d have difficulty selling to them. Flying over France, possibly fighting their way across some of it was going to be hard enough, but putting down on a strip that could well be in the middle of a hotly contested fire fight was something else entirely.

‘Aren’t we simply giving away our position, Major?’ asked Max. ‘Let’s assume the B-17 provides us the cover we wanted. We might fly comfortably across France unchallenged, only to find we’re attracting unwanted attention by taking this airfield.’

‘Flying under cover may get you some of the way. The skies over Germany are filled daily with B-17s. But France?… rarely these days. Some way across you surely will attract their attention and then you will be thankful you have Schroder and his men with you. Of course, if that happens, discretion will amount to nothing, and you will need fighter cover for at least a further three hundred miles after you leave France. Refuelling here will give them those extra three hundred miles. Beyond that, no one can touch you.’

The fighter pilots continued to look unhappy with the idea of the landing.

‘These soldiers taking the airfield. What are they, Falschirmjager?’ queried Schroder.

‘No, not paratroops, Gebirgesjager,’ answered Rall.

Max massaged his temples. Alpine troops. This only gets better.

Schroder’s eyes widened. ‘Snow soldiers? Good God, what do they know about this kind of operation?’

‘Leutnant Schroder… these are elite soldiers. They are every bit as good as our paratroops. These men have fought in the Metaxas line in Greece, the eastern front near Murmansk. Trust me, those men are the best we have. They’ll be dealing with a garrison of engineers and clerks who’ll be thinking of nothing more than going back home to America. It will be a quick and easy fight for them.’

Schroder looked at his fellow fighter pilots, seeking their impressions, and then at Max. ‘What do you think, Max?’

‘I don’t know. Flying west across France perhaps is our only option. We can’t fly north towards Norway and then over, that’s too dangerous. We can only head so far south before we’ll need to pull west. I think crossing France is our only choice. But I would think our fighters landing at this airfield… we could lose them all there, if the airfield is overrun.’

Schroder nodded in agreement and turned to address the Major.

‘These men and I are the best of what’s left of the Luftwaffe. We are all decorated men; we’ve flown with courage and honour. It’s not cowardice, believe me…’ Schroder looked like he was choosing his words carefully. ‘I am not prepared, in these last days of the war, to die for a mission that is ill conceived. The stop at this airfield feels like, excuse me, Major… a bloody stupid idea. You expect us to refuel our planes on an enemy airstrip, probably amidst a gale of bullets. If we aren’t shot to pieces as we come in to land, we certainly will be while we’re running around looking for fuel.’

Max studied the Major. It seemed he was going to have to work particularly hard to turn Schroder and his men around. Rall met Schroder’s challenging gaze in silence; he took the opportunity to pull out a cigarette and light it up. Max suspected the Major was buying himself time to think up a few well-chosen words that he hoped would win round the fighter pilot.

‘Listen… you’re right. There is no part of this mission that is without risk, from the moment you take off here until the bomb is released over the target, there are a million things that could go wrong.’ Rall paused to ensure the point he was about to make had the impact he wanted. ‘But this represents the last possible chance we have to save our country. This is it. If this fails, or we don’t try, then, gentlemen, the alternative is unthinkable.’ Rall looked pointedly at them all. ‘We try, and maybe we die… we do nothing, and we certainly will.’ Rall shrugged. ‘Even after Berlin falls, mark my words, the killing will go on.’

He let them dwell on that for a few moments.

It was Schroder who broke the silence eventually. ‘So, Major, tell us about this bomb that will be dropped on New York,’ he asked quietly, his voice lowered almost to a conspiratorial whisper.

‘It is a bomb, gentlemen, that is a thousand times more powerful than any bomb dropped in this war so far.’

Max had heard Rall’s description of it once before, but he sensed perhaps today the Major would go a little further and reveal more of what he surely must know about it.

‘I’m no scientist, so I can’t describe in detail how this bomb does what it does. All I do know is that it is a new formula, a new technology that the Americans are only beginning to understand and use. But we have beaten them to it. One bomb, with the explosive potential of one thousand bombs… the equivalent of the payloads of fifty of those,’ he said, pointing towards the bomber.

‘My God,’ Schroder uttered in response.

Beyond the hangar’s closed door, Max could hear the muted rumble of a truck rolling across the concrete and the shrill of poorly serviced brakes bringing the vehicle to a standstill. A moment later the door to the hangar rattled open wide enough to admit Leutnant Hostner. The glare of daylight was momentary and disappeared as the doors were slid shut again. Max’s eyes slowly adjusted as he listened to the approaching click of heels. Hostner gently touched the Major’s elbow. Rall turned round to face him and the Leutnant muttered something under his breath. The Major nodded and then turned back to the men to excuse himself.

‘There are risks, gentlemen. The airfield, I agree, is a big one. Why don’t you think about this for a while?’

Major Rall followed Leutnant Hostner to the doors of the hangar.

Quite the motivational speaker, thought Max.

Schroder looked towards his men. ‘Well, gentlemen… what say we give the Major’s plan a go?’

Rall blinked at the glaring white sky — his eyes had grown accustomed to the dim interior of the hangar. After weeks of rain, the cloud cover had thinned to form a pale white veil across the sky through which the midday sun shone strongly.

A truck was parked with its rear end towards the sliding doors. Standing beside the tailgate was a slight man, pale, thin and with fine, light-coloured hair that was receding. He wore civilian clothing and stood amidst a group of six SS men — Leibstandarte, Rall noticed, spotting the insignia on their collars.

Hitler’s very own bodyguards.

Rall approached the group of men. ‘Dr Hauser, I presume. At last we meet,’ Rall said, reaching out a hand and offering what he hoped looked like a sincere welcoming smile.

‘Major Rall, is it?’ Hauser replied.

‘Yes.’

Hauser nodded, glad that he had the right man, and extended his hand to shake the Major’s. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.’

Both men watched as the truck was driven through the open hangar door, the SS guards walking inside with it. The large sliding door closed hastily afterwards.

‘The bomb cradle will need to be built into the plane’s bomb bay tonight. I had been hoping for details on the weight and dimensions beforehand, Doctor,’ said Rall.

‘I know. The assembly was only completed last night. A rushed task, our technicians did an excellent job.’