Pierre Frei - Berlin - A Novel

She was grateful when Tom Glaser invited her out to dinner that evening. The flight captain was in Barcelona for two days. He was waiting for a spare part for the plane to come from Madrid. 'Is it bad?' he asked with sympathy. She was silently weeping, and he didn't try to comfort her. He had something even worse to tell her. 'Do I get a coffee?' he asked at her front door.

Another time, Tom. I'm very tired.'

'I have news of Hans-Georg,' he said quietly.

Detta was electrified. She let Tom in. It was months since she had heard anything about her brother. After the failed assassination attempt on Hitler, he had disappeared without trace. A secret special mission to the Eastern Front,' was the story spread by the family, although they knew better.

'He joined the Wehrmacht's successful putsch against the SS in Paris, and after that operation was abandoned he went underground at first, with the help of the French Resistance,' Glaser told her. 'I know that from an Air France colleague who's in the Resistance too. But he soon looked like being discovered, and he reached Germany with a transport of wounded men. Somehow or other he made his way home. Even the Gestapo didn't think he'd be crazy enough to hide at Aichborn. That's been his good luck so far. But they've been there twice already looking for him. Detta, it's no use pretending, he's in a hopeless situation. It's only a question of time before they capture him and kill him.'

'Can you get a message to him?'

'I can phone your parents from Berlin. They'll understand me, even if the message is coded. What shall I say?'

'Tell them I'll get Hans-Georg out.'

'You're crazy,' exclaimed the flight captain.

Detta's mouth was set in determination. 'Very likely.'

Dr Kessler had never addressed her by her first name before, nor had he ever spoken to her so frankly. 'Henriette, you can't leave. Germany is in rubble and ashes. The end is just a question of weeks now. Friends in the government have promised that even after we've lost our consular privileges we won't be expelled. It's simple for you. Your family in Madrid is very influential, they'll protect you. You are young, you have plenty of time ahead of you. Everything will get back to normal at home some time.'

'I'm still applying for short-term leave, Consul-General.' said Detta firmly. 'I have to go to Berlin. I'll be back in a few days' time,' she added optimistically.

The Mercedes with the pennant of the German Reich and the CC plate of the Corps Consulaire took Vice-Consul Henriette von Aichborn to Prat de Llobregat airport on the outskirts of Barcelona. The driver carried her bag to Departures. 'You'll be back, won't you, Dona Henrietta?'

'Yes, of course, Pedro. This is just a little business trip.' She took her bag from him and showed her diplomatic pass at check-in. The official gallantly opened the barrier for her.

The four-engined Junkers 290, numbered D-AITR, was waiting on the runway. Detta looked up at the cockpit. Tom Glaser was busy making preparations for take-off. Things had changed since her last flight. No one had cleaned the cabin. The seats were sagging and their covers worn. Instead of a steward, a man with a stubbly haircut and ill-tempered expression received them on board, introduced himself as Flight Engineer Bichler and handed out parachutes. 'Instructions for use are on your seats. Enjoy your flight.' It sounded derisive.

Detta sat by the front left-hand window. Tom had told her you felt turbulence least there. Slowly the engines roared into life. The heavy commercial plane rolled slowly forward and swayed into position for take-off, quivering with the force of a thousand horsepower. The four large three-winged propellers cut through the air and hauled the giant plane forward. At rapidly increasing speed it shot down the runway, pressing the passengers back in their seats. The airfield sank away below them. DLH-Flight K22 was on course for Berlin.

A year ago the plane had been well staffed, and champagne had been handed round. Now there was no on-board service: you got a sip of water at the most. She counted six passengers. They were a Swedish couple going on to Stockholm from Berlin, a Siemens representative flying home, a major in the Spanish 'Blue Division' who wanted to go to the Front, and an elderly German husband and wife from Valencia whose daughter was expecting her first baby in Frankfurt an der Oder. 'Going to Frankfurt an der Oder? You think you'll make it before the Russians get there?' scoffed the Siemens rep, launching into a lengthy assessment of the situation which interested no one.

Detta closed her eyes, because the talkative Siemens rep looked as if he intended to sit down beside her. She had to think, she had to go over her plan, checking for weak spots. Her brother's life and hers depended on it. Of course the plan was total madness, yet at the same time, it seemed to be wildly simple. So simple that nothing could go wrong.

She would take a train from Berlin to Aichborn. She would wrap HansGeorg's head in bandages and take him back to Barcelona by Lufthansa, disguised as Fernando Mendez, the Spanish embassy secretary who had been injured in an air raid. She had made out an official order for her mission on the consulate's letterhead and with the consulate's official seal. She had the dead Mendez's diplomatic pass with her. It would stand up to any amount of checking. His injury would make it impossible for the supposed embassy secretary to speak, so her brother's German accent couldn't give him away to Spanish passengers on the flight. No, nothing could go wrong if they both kept calm. Oh God, don't let them find him before I can get him out, she prayed silently. For that was the one real danger: that the Gestapo would turn Aichborn upside down, or someone would denounce Hans-Georg.

'Chocolate?' Tom Glaser brought her out of her thoughts. As always, he was wearing immaculate Lufthansa uniform.

'Oh, hello, Tom. Yes please. I'll take it with me as iron rations. How do things look?'

He had been in Berlin yesterday. 'Bleak. The city is at its last gasp. Everything's bombed or burnt out. No one knows exactly how far off the Russians are. Some people hope the Americans will arrive first.' He lowered his voice. 'I could phone. But I do suggest you hurry.'

'When do you fly back to Barcelona?'

'In two days' time.'

'That will be enough for me to carry out my consular task. I've booked two seats for the return flight.' The flight captain nodded. He had understood.

'Contact with the enemy, captain!' shouted the stubble-headed Bavarian from the cockpit in agitation. Glaser hurried forward. Confusion and alarm spread through the cabin.

'Have a nice day,' said the Siemens rep, getting his parachute ready.

A dot appeared in the blue sky, quickly getting larger. She could see a slender, two-engined aircraft with English markings making straight for them. Flashes shot from its wings, from the mouths of the aircraft cannon. The enemy dived under them, turned and prepared to attack again, but Captain Glaser wasn't waiting. He dived and dropped almost vertically. Passengers and baggage were tossed about the cabin.

Detta braced herself in her seat. Her stomach rebelled as they raced towards the earth. A few metres above ground the pilot brought the plane up. They raced ahead, flying very low, with trees and farmhouses sometimes not under but beside them. She guessed that the pursuer was behind them. Mortal terror came over her. This is the end, she thought. But the JU 290 gained height and went into a sharp curve. Below them a mushroom of black smoke rose in the air. The enemy pilot had shown less skill than Tom Glaser in flying at low-altitude.

An RAF Mosquito,' said the Siemens rep, quickly recovering his loquacity. 'Must be the first case of an unarmed commercial plane winning a victory in the air. A tour de force on our pilot's part. The man deserves an order.'