Alex Scarrow - A thousand suns

‘Yes, sir, covering fire.’

The truck was only about thirty feet back from Scholn’s position; Koch decided it should be relatively easy to get to the driver’s cabin and start her up. Once the truck started rolling, the movement would attract everyone’s attention and it would quickly become the Americans’ favourite target. He hoped the covering fire would last long enough for him to drive the truck out of range of those bastards up at this end of the airfield.

‘Scholn… make sure you keep their heads down as long as possible so I can get the truck away, all right?’ The man nodded. ‘Use up your ammo if you have to, but keep it going as long as possible.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Right… pass the order on.’

Scholn bellowed the instructions out to the other men nearby, while Koch took a moment to steady his nerves. Running for the truck would be nasty, but bearing down on the men at the far end of the strip in a vehicle still carrying several thousand gallons of aviation fuel while they all concentrated their fire at him… that was going to be even nastier.

‘We’re ready when you are, sir,’ said Scholn as he slid another magazine into his MP-40.

Koch slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Once the planes are up, the job’s done. You make sure you boys surrender, right?’

He nodded.

‘Fine. Then I’ll see you and Buller later.’ He got to his feet, crouching, waiting for a pause in the sporadic fire of the Americans. The pause came, and Koch rose quickly, sprinting towards the truck. He reached the door to the cabin only a few seconds later, having attracted no shots whatsoever.

Just you wait until this thing begins to move.

He tugged the door open and pulled himself up inside. Despite the half a dozen or so dents and bullet holes in the vehicle’s engine hood, she still started easily. He threw the truck into gear and the truck began its journey towards the far end of the strip.

‘He’s off!’ said Max.

‘What’s he going to do?’ asked Pieter, leaning forward in his seat to look down from the cockpit window.

‘I think the plan is to drive it down there and blow it up. If nothing else the smoke will hide us from them until it’s too late.’

‘Shit, we’re taking off through smoke? What if we hit something?’

Max shrugged. ‘There isn’t much else we can do.’

‘True.’

‘Let’s just get ready.’

Koch threw the truck into third gear and pushed the accelerator to the floor. The truck’s suspension bounced him up and down without mercy as the wheels found the occasional dent and bump in the grass strip. Over the laboured whine of the engine he could hear the splashing of gasoline in the fuel tank behind the cabin. Ahead he could see the enemy soldiers pointing towards the truck, bringing their weapons to bear on him. Some of them started firing, but the range as yet was still far enough that most of the shots were off-target. With one hand, Koch pulled the three grenades out of the hip pocket of his camouflage jacket and laid them on the scuffed and torn leather of the passenger seat. He put the truck up another gear, and the whine of the engine dropped to an unforgiving moan that rose in pitch as he pushed the accelerator down again. The truck rolled over another small bump; its flaccid suspension bounced Koch out of his seat and the three grenades up into the air. Two landed back on the passenger seat, the third clattered onto the floor of the cabin. Ahead the Americans were now close enough to fire on him, and in well-trained unison, under the orders of an officer, they let rip.

Koch lay down on his side, still holding the steering wheel with one hand as the windscreen imploded and showered him with glass. He heard the engine hood and the radiator grill clang and shudder as a multitude of bullets began to shred the front of the vehicle. He stole a quick look over the dashboard. The men ahead of him were now the size of a thumb at arm’s length, no more than forty or fifty feet away.

Now’s as good a time as any.

With his knees he held the steering wheel, with his hands he grabbed one of the grenades, unscrewed the cap and grabbed hold of the fuse-string inside the handle.

Here we go.

He pulled on the string, and the grenade’s fuse commenced its ten-second burn. He dropped it on the passenger seat and reached for the handle on the driver-side door.

From where they were at the top of the strip, it looked like the truck was now almost amongst the soldiers at the bottom. Max wasn’t sure if the young captain had intended to blow the vehicle up or simply drive it through to distract them momentarily. If he’d intended to blow it up, Max thought, he’d have done it by now. Whatever his plan, he decided it would be best that they start their way down the strip now and take advantage of the distraction and confusion the truck was currently causing.

Of course, there was the added danger that the truck was going to blow up just as Max lifted the plane over the top of it. The way things had gone here this morning, he wouldn’t have been surprised if that was the way this mission was going to come to a messy end.

Go now or not at all.

He set the tail-wheel lock to ON, and turned to look at Pieter.

‘We’re going,’ he said as he eased his foot off the brake and opened the throttle. The plane’s four powerful engines roared angrily at 3000 rpm, and the bomber began to roll forward down the grass strip, hungrily consuming the distance between it and whatever consequence lay ahead at the end of the strip.

‘Stupid damn thing’s stuck!’ Koch shouted aloud as he fumbled with the door handle, lying flat across the seats with one foot still down on the accelerator. He pulled hard enough on it to crack the ceramic handle, but the door remained closed.

‘Shit!’

The driver-side door had taken a volley of bullets, which had dented and buckled the metal outside. The truck was still bouncing along on suspension that had given in while the truck’s hood and cabin rattled and clanked with the impact of small-calibre bullets raining in. He quickly stuck his head up to snatch a glimpse through the shattered windscreen. They were no longer ahead of him; he was now amongst them. Both the passenger- and driver-side windows exploded as bullets whistled in from the left and the right of him. He instinctively dropped back down onto the passenger seat as bullets slammed into all sides of the cabin. He looked down at the stick grenade in his hand.

Five… six…

For a moment he considered throwing it out through the passenger side window and aborting his plan to detonate the truck. But then there was the bomber to think about. Already he could hear it approaching, its engines roaring loudly, pulling the giant plane rapidly towards him, the truck and the American soldiers.

No, the truck needed to go up. There wasn’t time now for foolish indecision.

He smiled, it might not have been a Gran Sasso, but today’s fun and games had done the regiment proud.

… Seven… Eight…

He was intrigued about the last thing the pilot had said to him. The thing they were doing was going to win the war for Germany… so, it wasn’t just an escape plan for some cowardly general. The pilot hadn’t seemed like the kind of man who would part on a lie.

… Nine…

He was curious, though — how a single stolen American bomber was going to do that, win them the war.

… Ten…

Ahead, Max could see the fuel truck slowing down amongst the American soldiers. It had almost come to a full stop when it was suddenly ripped apart by an immense explosion.

‘Bloody hell,’ Pieter muttered, instinctively bringing his hands up to cover his face.

A brilliant ball of flame rolled upwards into the grey overcast sky, while flaming gasoline rained down around the carcass of the truck.