Alex Scarrow - A thousand suns

‘You think he’s going to make it?’

‘I don’t know. If he doesn’t lose any more, he might. Just keep an eye on his leg. The blood’s drying up now. If it looks wet again, then he needs to be tightened up some more.’

Max passed through the bulkhead into the bomb compartment, and stopped for a moment to look down at the small bomb, still resting snugly in its cradle. It appeared untouched by their skirmishes.

You’d better do what you’re supposed to do, you little shit.

He made his way into the cockpit, plugged into the comm. and disengaged the autopilot. He noticed that they had lost one of the Me-109s.

‘Schroder? You still there?’

‘Yes, Max. Gunter had to turn back, his fuel was running low.’

‘How are you doing? Surely you’ll need to head back soon?’

‘No… it looks like I’ll be staying alongside you for the duration.’

Both of them knew what that meant for Schroder.

‘How long have you got?’ Max asked.

‘Just under a half an hour’s worth, I would guess. Maybe less.’

‘You don’t think it’s worth a go turning round and trying for land?’

‘If I fly slow and low?’

‘There’s a chance for you, isn’t there?’

‘No. I think I’d be swimming the last bit, and to be honest with you, Max, I’m not a big fan of swimming.’

‘I understand. Anyway, we’re still within range of their P51s.. you might yet need to save our skins one more time.’

‘While I’ve fuel, I’ll do my best.’

Ten minutes passed with merciful peace as Max watched Schroder’s Messerschmitt hovering to their left, less than a hundred feet away, abreast with the bomber’s cockpit. He watched the man checking his instrumentation, occasionally looking up at the sky, around, keeping an eye out for any pursuing planes. Time and fuel ticked away too quickly and presently Max heard the engine of Schroder’s Messerschmitt cough and misfire.

Schroder looked across at him, and he heard the pilot’s voice. ‘I’m all out now. The engine’s beginning to skip.’

Pieter looked across at the fighter pilot. His distaste for the man had been replaced with a muted, begrudging respect at some point over the last twelve hours.

‘Poor bastard,’ he muttered to Max.

‘With your permission I’m going to take her up,’ said Schroder.

Max knew what the fighter pilot was up to. ‘Of course. You do what you have to, Schroder.’

‘Thank you. Well, it’s been an honour, gentlemen. I should think you’re now clear of any trouble from this side, good luck with the rest of it.’

‘Thank you. It was our honour too.’

Schroder nodded and waved at them and pulled his plane up and away into a steep climb.

‘What’s he planning to do?’

‘He’s going to throw her into a dive. The impact will give him a quick finish, I think that’s what he’s after.’

They watched him climb above them to 10,000 feet and level out. He held that position for a few seconds and then waggled the wings a couple of times before dropping the nose into a steep dive. The Me-109 plummeted through the sky half a mile away, and twenty seconds later it plunged into the sea. They watched a small, pale plume of water rise and fall, and a circle of foam fade away, leaving no trace of the airplane behind.

Pieter shook his head.

‘Better than bailing out here. Freeze or drown, they’re not great options.’

Max watched as a dark plume of oil began to stain the water where Schroder had hit. It blossomed on the calm ocean like a dark rose. He hoped it had been the quick finish the pilot was after.

‘Just us now, Pieter.’

‘Yes,’ he replied. His response was muted. ‘I suppose we’re all that’s left of the Luftwaffe — the last operational plane.’

‘Probably.’

He checked his watch and their airspeed. They had about twelve hours’ flying time to New York ahead of them. They were clear of any fighter threat now, and Pieter deserved a chance to spend some time doing something. It was time to hand over to him, and, in any case, he was suddenly aware of how tired he felt.

‘You can take her for a few hours,’ he said to Pieter. ‘I’m going to try and get some rest, if that’s possible.’

‘You do that, you look like crap,’ said Pieter. ‘We’re going to make it now, aren’t we, Max?’

‘I think we are. There’s nothing left they can throw in our way now.’

It was nothing but deep blue sea all the way to America.

Max unplugged from the comm. and climbed out of the pilot’s seat, suddenly aware of how stiff and drained he felt now that the danger was all behind them, and the adrenaline that had been pounding through his veins since take-off early this morning had finally subsided.

‘I’ll see how Stef is and get a dead reckoning off him before I get some shut-eye.’

‘All right.’

Max ducked through the bulkhead into the bomb bay and ducked again as he passed from the navigation compartment into the waist section. Stef was sprawled on the floor between the gun portholes where he’d left him, but was now covered in a thick grey blanket.

‘I found it in a storage locker,’ said Hans, sitting beside Stef, tucked up into a ball and hugging himself to stay warm.

‘Go sit up front with Pieter if you want,’ he said. It was much warmer in the cockpit, not having any openings to the cold wind outside and bathed in the sunlight streaming in through the cockpit windows.

‘Thanks.’ Hans clambered forward through the bulkhead.

The young man was still sleeping. Spread across Stef’s lap was the map he’d been using since they’d left the airstrip outside Nantes. He’d calculated a dead reckoning and circled it on the map with the time of the estimate. It was only fifteen minutes old.

Good boy.

Max laid the map out flat on the wooden-plank floor and calculated the course to the next waypoint. He then plugged himself into the comm. beside the starboard porthole.

‘Pieter, we’ve drifted north a little, new heading two-fifty-five. ’

‘Two-five-five.’

He looked at the young lad; he was pale, but breathing steadily. He lifted the blanket and studied the pale silk material of the parachute wrapped around the wound. Some more blood had soaked through, but it looked dark and dry. He could see no new blood.

He might yet make it, if they could get him to a doctor over there.

He felt exhaustion creeping up on him.

When I wake up, it’ll be time to ready the bomb.

His hand automatically slid beneath the leather flying jacket and felt anxiously inside his tunic pocket for the envelope Rall had handed him.

Still there.

He slid up beside Stef and pulled the blanket over them both, the heat of his body, for what it was, would help keep the lad warm.

The hardest part of the mission was over. Max realised now how dangerous the decision had been to land the B-17 on the strip. The enemy had nearly overrun those Alpine troops, and the bomb might have fallen into the hands of the Americans. It had all so nearly gone horribly wrong.

He wondered what the Americans would do with such a weapon in their possession. They would study the explosive formula and produce bombs like theirs in the thousands. It was too late in the day for them to drop them on Germany; there was no point. Russia possibly? That seemed probable. He imagined there must be growing fault lines between those two large countries. One capitalist, one communist, such a huge difference there must be in the way both countries, both people would view how the world should be after this war was done. He wondered how long the unlikely alliance between the two would have lasted if Germany had had the resources to hold out for another year.