A Thousand Suns (20 page)

The American soldiers remained in their positions, guns aimed, ready at a moment’s notice to resume firing. One of them, Bösch recognised the stripes of a sergeant, pointed towards the Germans and shouted. ‘Levy! Round ’em up and shake ’em down!’

From one of the warehouse doorways a young man emerged, and he trotted at the double towards them, his kit rattling like so many pots and pans in a bag. As Levy passed the Jew’s body, the prone form moved and they heard a faint moaning.

‘Sir! We got a live one here!’

Amongst the Americans the call for a medic rippled down the street, and moments later a medic appeared through one of the arches and slid to a halt beside Schenkelmann. Levy continued towards the Germans with his rifle raised at them, while the medic began his work.

Bösch watched the medic; he was fumbling with a compress applied to the wound to slow down the blood loss.

The Jew mustn’t fall into enemy hands alive.

Hauser had muttered this a countless number of times to him over the last few days, every time he’d heard the sound of artillery, or been spooked by the crack of gunfire.

The young American soldier now stood only feet away from them. ‘Okay, you shitheads, get down on the road!’ he shouted at them, pointing to the ground.

Bösch and his men stared defiantly at the young man; their eyes drawn to the Star of David pinned prominently on his uniform. Levy jerked his rifle to the ground repeatedly and jabbed one of the prisoners in the ribs to make the point.

‘Yeah, that’s right, you Nazi shit-holes, I’m Jewish. Now get the fuck down!’ he yelled angrily.

Bösch looked anxiously towards Schenkelmann. The medic treating him seemed satisfied that the compress was working and was now applying a bandage to hold it in place. Bösch nodded to his men, and they began to kneel obediently, albeit slowly. Another futile gesture of angry defiance.

The Jew can’t fall into their hands alive.

He gritted his teeth and gave one of his men a hard push to the side. The man fell awkwardly to the ground. The young American swung his rifle towards the prone man and Bösch reached for it, yanking hard at the barrel and freeing the gun easily from his hands. He grabbed the waist of the rifle with his other hand and shoved the weapon backwards, the butt smashing into the young man’s face with a sickening thud.

Levy dropped to the ground unconscious as Bösch spun the rifle round, aiming it squarely at Schenkelmann.

He had only a fleeting half-second, as he racked the weapon, to register the look of surprise and alarm on the faces of his own men and realise his rash action had doomed them all.

The gunfire from the entire platoon of Americans lasted a little more than fifteen seconds, and many of the young men who emptied their weapons that morning would vividly recall in years to come the bloody mess that was left of the eight German soldiers.

As the smoke cleared, the medic raised himself up off Schenkelmann, whom he’d almost crushed with his own body weight.

‘You okay, fella?’ he asked.

Schenkelmann nodded in response. His mouth opened and he tried to speak.

‘Don’t . . . just relax. We’ll have you out of here shortly, buddy.’

Schenkelmann tried to speak again, but suddenly he felt light-headed and passed out.

Chapter 29

Via Nantes

4 p.m., 28 April 1945, an airfield south of Stuttgart

The map was spread out on the floor of the hangar and around it sat the fighter pilots, Max and his men and Major Rall. Rall had a length of wood that served adequately as a pointer and was currently indicating the planned route for the bomber and its escort.

‘. . . across Lyon, towards the north-west coast of France.’

‘Unless my maths is hopelessly inadequate, that’s a long way beyond the range of our Me-109s,’ announced Schröder, backed up by murmurs of agreement from his squadron.

‘It is just over one thousand, one hundred and fifty miles, gentlemen. The drop tanks that are being fitted to your planes right now will give you enough fuel to get there.’

As if to confirm his assurance, one of the mechanics fired up a welding torch and a stream of white-hot sparks emerged from among the tightly parked fighter planes.

Schröder nodded. ‘So that gets us to the Atlantic, Major. But from the coast out to sea for the first three hundred miles, Max and his men will be on their own. I’m sure the Americans and British must have planes stationed in France now . . . it will only take one unlucky encounter and they will be in trouble.’

Rall’s smile caused the burn tissue on the side of his face to wrinkle like parchment. ‘Ahh, but you see, you boys will still be with the bomber.’

Schröder looked confused. ‘I don’t understand how. By the time we hit the coast, that’s us done. We’ll be empty. Perhaps if we’re lucky and fly at a low altitude we can push a few extra miles out to sea, but not the distance we’ll need to exceed their fighter range. Not unless we find somewhere to refuel.’

It was clear to Max now why the Major had specifically instructed him to put together a route across France to Nantes on the north-west coastline, instead of taking some other way.

‘That’s why we’re flying across northern France, isn’t it?’ he said.

‘What?’ said Schröder.

Rall smiled. ‘That’s correct. We could have picked a more remote route. An alternative might have been across Norway, and a refill on Bear Island, and then over the North Pole to Greenland, and then down their east coastline. But that would have taken us up through northern Germany, and right now that’s not a wise place to be. We’re going this way. It’s the long way round, but it’s safer, and more importantly, we have a place on the north-west coast of France where you and your men can refill your tanks.’

Schröder looked astounded. ‘We’re landing on a French airfield?’

‘A small airfield outside Nantes, it’s two miles outside the city and less than one mile from the coast. Our intelligence suggests this airfield has only a custodial presence of Americans. These are mostly support personnel, mechanics, ground crew.’

‘Even so, Major, we can’t just land there and refill if it’s not in our hands. Or am I missing something obvious here?’ asked Schröder.

‘Probably,’ grumbled Pieter quietly.

‘For a short time, the airfield will be in German hands.’

Rall paused for effect. He observed the look of confusion on the faces of the men around him.

‘A U-boat is presently five miles off shore from Nantes. Tomorrow, before dawn, a platoon of our boys will be dropped ashore. Their instructions are to take up discreet positions just outside the airfield, and while you are less than ten minutes away from your final approach, they will secure it and ready the air fuel for you. Obviously, this is only a narrow window of time. It won’t take long before any troops encamped nearby are alerted and attempt to retake the field, but this should buy you enough time to put down and fill up.’

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 Schröder 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, Falschirmjäger?’ queried Schröder.

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

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

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

‘Leutnant Schröder . . . 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.’

Schröder 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.’

Schröder 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 . . .’ Schröder 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 Schröder and his men around. Rall met Schröder’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 Schröder 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,’ Schröder 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 Höstner. 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. Höstner 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 Höstner to the doors of the hangar.

Quite the motivational speaker
, thought Max.

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

Chapter 30

Arrival

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.’

‘Indeed, but we’ve had to guess the fuel calculations -’

‘Major, the bomb is only small. It is heavy, but far less than any normal bomb. I’m sure your calculations will be fine.’

Hauser looked around the airfield. ‘Is there somewhere we can talk in private?’

The Major nodded towards the bunker. ‘My office is down there.’

He led Hauser into his office and offered him the chair. Hauser sat down.

‘Major Rall, you are aware that in recent days there have been many changes in Berlin? You are aware that Albert Speer is no longer overseeing this project?’

Rall nodded, he had heard indirectly, and only within the last couple of days, that the Armaments Minister had been ‘relieved’ of the duty and assumed Hitler himself was now personally steering things. It had caused him some concern. Speer, he felt, was an intelligent and a rational planner. Rall had spent the last six months reporting directly to him on the setting-up of the operation. There were, however, concerns that had troubled Speer in recent weeks, concerns that the Minister had only mentioned in passing to Rall. Concerns about the design of the bomb itself.

‘Yes. I was informed indirectly about Speer. Why did this happen?’

Hauser took his time answering. ‘The Führer and Speer did not see eye to eye on this project, Major. And so the Führer has decided to take control of it himself.’

‘I believe Speer had some concerns about the design of the bomb, Doctor. He did say that there was an element of risk in the bomb’s design.’

Hauser sat stiffly in his chair. He wondered just how much this Major Rall knew. Speer had asked to look through the Jew’s research notes - perhaps out of curiosity, but there must have been something he’d seen, read and understood that had worried him. The damned Jew Schenkelmann had made plenty of references throughout his research notes to the potential risk of the infinite chain. Hauser had vetted the man’s notes as best he could given the short notice Speer had given him. But it seemed that maybe he hadn’t been thorough enough.

‘Major, there is always an element of risk in new technology.’

Rall nodded. ‘Yes, I understand that. But my question is . . .’ he locked his eyes on Hauser, ‘this
risk
you mention . . . this
risk
- is
that
why Herr Speer abandoned this project?’

Max stood up, leaving the others to continue studying the map spread out on the floor of the hangar. Stefan was relaying the navigation points to Schröder and the fighter pilots. The other two, Pieter and Hans, were kicking a ball about with a couple of the ground crew in one corner of the hangar. He decided to head outside now that the gathering darkness of late afternoon made it safe to linger beyond the great sliding doors and enjoy a smoke.

As he walked towards the hangar door he passed by the truck that had recently arrived, guarded by the SS men. Inside, he presumed, must be the weapon, the bomb that Rall had only talked about once or twice since their first meeting. The Major had been surprisingly vague on the weapon itself, while being so specific on all the other details of the operation. It was a ‘new technology’ was all Rall had been prepared to offer up to Max. Perhaps that was all the Major knew. The Major had been refreshingly candid about everything so far. He suspected that if Rall knew any more about the bomb, he would have told them.

As he approached the truck, the guards warily drew up their guns and watched him carefully as he passed by and headed towards the hangar doors. Max let himself out through a small hatch door and nodded to the guard standing outside.

He wasn’t in the mood to make small talk and so he wandered a few dozen yards away from the hangar, across the pitted concrete and grass tufts towards the sandbagged roof of another empty and unused bunker. He sat down heavily and watched the sky to the north flicker and listened to the distant rumble of his country being torn apart.

In about seven or eight hours they would finally be airborne and on their way. It would take at least that long for the engineers to construct an appropriate holding cradle for the weapon. He knew his boys, Schröder and his pilots would all be keen to count those hours down as quickly as possible.

It was the waiting that was the killer.

He pulled out the packet of Russian cigarettes from his breast pocket only to find that it was empty. There weren’t so many left now. Rall had done a great job getting in the supplies he had, but there hadn’t been any more, and the stash of cigarettes, along with the coffee, was all but exhausted. He decided to try his luck and see if he could find any remaining packets that might have been left in the canteen. The next few hours were going to drag, much more so without some smokes.

‘As far as I know, his removal from this operation is nothing to do with the weapon, Major,’ Hauser answered testily. ‘You have to understand, things are becoming difficult for the Führer. He has been let down by many of the other ministers. They are betraying him. If I’m honest, I suspect Speer is one of them. He has deserted him, fled Berlin.’

Major Rall studied Hauser in silence. The man was lying to him. It was apparent in his demeanour, the way he was holding himself, in his voice. The man was an appalling liar.

‘Doctor Hauser, since being called in to work on this project, I have struggled to obtain any meaningful information about this weapon from you. It has been difficult to plan, not knowing the weight or size of this weapon. What is more, the answers I have received from you via Speer’s office about the damage potential and blast radius have been vague and inconsistent. So now I hear that Speer has been removed from his role at this late stage, all this fills me with concern.’

Hauser attempted a consoling smile. ‘And you have done a commendable job, Major, with the limited resources at your disposal.’

‘You are evading the point. Speer was concerned about the technology of the weapon, this he made known to me. And now I find he has been replaced at this late hour. I respectfully ask that you be honest with me.’

Hauser’s smile faded, his patience finally reaching its limit. ‘You were charged with planning a way to deploy the weapon over New York, and my responsibility has been to produce the weapon. It is not your business to know how this weapon works -’

‘It
is
my business to know everything about this operation!’ the Major snapped. ‘In the absence of the Armaments Minister, I am the senior military authority, and that means you will -’

‘Ahhh, I wondered when it would come to this,’ replied Hauser quietly. ‘Major, things have changed,’ he continued, producing a piece of paper from inside his coat. ‘Hitler sends you his gratitude for everything you have done thus far. But he has entrusted it to me to ensure that this operation is concluded in a satisfactory manner.’

He handed the paper to Rall, who studied the brief handwritten order with a growing sense of disbelief and anger.

‘As you can see, he has authorised me to act directly on his behalf. On this matter, there is no one with greater authority than myself, other than the Führer, of course. That means, Major, I do not have to explain to you anything at all.’

The hastily scribbled order and the signature were unmistakable. Hauser was right. With this kind of authority, albeit temporarily assigned, Hauser could have him dragged out and shot on a whim. And, of course, the Doctor had been careful enough to bring with him from the bunker half a dozen soldiers.

Leibstandarte.

Knowing Hauser was working on Hitler’s direct orders, they would follow any instructions he gave without hesitation.

‘However, Major, I will be candid with you. I think you deserve that. The bomb uses an energy that is new, untested and untapped, an energy that lies all around us. We are in the position to be the first men to use it in war. And, if it isn’t we that use it, then it will be someone else who does. Be sure of that.’

Hauser stood up and approached the door to the room.

‘Of course, there is an element of risk in using this technology, but it is a calculated risk. If we turn our backs on this opportunity now, then we’re all dead men. The Russians will finish us all. And in time, they no doubt will attempt to use this energy on the Americans. That is a certainty.’

Hauser turned to face him. ‘It will happen, Major. This energy will be discovered and used by someone. Why not let it be us?’

‘And how great is the risk?’ asked the Major.

‘The risk, Major, is small, but remains a possibility.’

‘What exactly
is
the risk in using this weapon?’ Rall asked again.

Hauser closed the door gently and spoke in a hushed voice. ‘That the energy we use to destroy New York will destroy us all.’

In that moment, the cigarettes were forgotten.

Max could hear now only the murmur of voices from inside Rall’s study. The last words he’d heard before the door had closed had been Rall’s. Max silently left the canteen, walked up the bunker’s central corridor, up the stairs and outside into the dark of night.

What exactly
is
the risk of using this weapon?
he had heard the Major say. There had been uncertainty in the Major’s voice. And that fact alone troubled Max.