Winter's Bullet (9 page)

‘An American B-24 Liberator bomber, before you ask,' said Krüger. ‘A lot safer for flying over enemy territory.'

The normal crew of eleven had been reduced to nine to accommodate the two passengers. The pilot walked across in light-blue Luftwaffe flying overalls. He was wearing a bright orange life jacket around his neck like a stuffed fox.

‘American?' said Tygo, staring at the plane.

‘
Ja
, captured in Italy, ran out of fuel,' replied the pilot, before saluting Krüger smartly. ‘Werner Baumbach, commander of Kampfgeschwader 200, at your disposal, Herr Oberst.'

Krüger returned the salute smartly. ‘A great honour,' he said. Tygo thought he sounded almost deferential.

‘And where do we have the pleasure of taking you tonight?' Baumbach asked.

Krüger reached into his jacket and took out a buff envelope, which he handed to Baumbach. ‘Your flight plan and instructions are here. How soon can we fly?'

‘We are almost ready for you now – perhaps a little more fuel, depending on the destination. Please climb aboard; we have fitted two seats in the waist gunner's compartments. I will have some coffee and sandwiches loaded for you.'

‘Thank you, Oberstleutnant. What about the package?'

‘There is a special compartment for it inside the plane. Do you wish one of my men to load it?'

‘No, we'll take it on board.'

‘We're going too?' said Tygo, surprised.

‘Didn't I mention that?' said Krüger with a thin smile.

Tygo and Krüger had been allocated the midsection of the bomber for their seats and the safe carriage of Krüger's cargo. There was a floor-mounted metal compartment into which the metal box fitted. It was armoured, one of the crew members said as he helped Tygo slot it in. After that, the crew member showed Krüger and Tygo their seats, which had been bolted just behind the large Perspex windows that served as firing positions for the plane's midsection pair of heavy-calibre waist guns. There were American AN/M2 .50 calibre machine guns with a gun heater near the breach and a K-13 compensating sight at the back near the trigger button.

The Perspex windows were latched closed, but the crew member demonstrated to them how, if the plane were to come under attack, they were to fix the windows open and slide the gun round into the opening. He showed them how to work the gun, the cocking handle and firing button, before sliding the gun back and relatching the window closed. Next, he helped them both to pull on their flying overalls, thick sheepskin coats and leather flying caps and goggles, and showed them how to put on the oxygen masks and work the radio. Finally he helped them pull on their parachutes and snap the stiff
four-point harnesses into the heavy steel buckles.

Tygo felt like some gigantic beetle in danger of toppling over and not being able to right itself. Krüger didn't look too comfortable either.

‘Don't worry about the parachute,' the crew member laughed as he climbed back down through the plane's belly hatch, ‘you'll be dead long before you ever get to use it!'

The hatch was slammed closed by their feet, and Krüger and Tygo sat in their seats on either side of the fuselage. Tygo found he was sweating. He managed to lean forwards and stare out of the window, the oxygen mask swinging loose from one side of his flying cap. Listening to the ground crew shouting final orders, and then the high-pitched whine of the starter motors, followed by the heavy cough of the big engines as they caught, and finally the blast of noise as each one burst into life, Tygo forgot all his fears and was caught up in the excitement of the moment. He had never in his whole life been on a plane.

He pressed his face against the window as the craft suddenly lurched forwards and then started to roll over the concrete, thumping over the ridges in it, gathering speed. After a couple of minutes, the tail of the plane suddenly swung round and the engines roared much louder. The plane accelerated hard, and Tygo could see a few lights flashing past . . . then, with a last thud, it was free of the ground and climbing up steeply into the darkness.

Tygo was pressed back into his seat. He gripped the arms and stared ahead as the plane ploughed forward at
an alarmingly steep degree; it almost felt like they were falling rather than climbing. He fumbled for the lap belt fitted to the seat, and managed to clip the two parts together.

He tried to adjust to this new sensation of flying. It was like nothing he'd ever experienced: he felt tethered but at the same time strangely weightless. There was no clacketyclack of train wheels over points, just the throb of the engines and the faint whistling sound of rushing air.

But then the plane started to bounce, like a speedboat hitting a swell. The engine roared louder. Tygo cried out in alarm.

‘It's just turbulence, Frettchen,' Krüger yelled across to him. ‘It's nothing.'

But it didn't feel like nothing as the giant bomber suddenly shot up through the air. Then it was over; Tygo could see that they were above the clouds now. He felt his heart hammering inside his chest. He glanced over at Krüger, who was smoking a cigarette, taking in deep lungfuls of smoke. Of course, he'd probably been on planes lots of times, Tygo thought.

After about ten minutes the plane performed a long, slow bank, rolling on to its left side. Leaning forward, Tygo thought he could see the sea shifting below them, the tops of the waves iridescent. He wondered what it must be like to crash into it at hundreds of kilometres an hour.

He turned and checked on Krüger again. He had wedged a blanket between the fuselage and his seat and was resting his head on it, his eyes closed. His nonchalance
made Tygo relax. Everything would be all right, he told himself.

He stared ahead down the fuselage, past the gun positions. There was a solid bulkhead with a small hatch to allow a crew member to crawl through to the next section of the plane. It started to get very cold, and Tygo clipped on the oxygen mask and pulled on a pair of heavy fleece-lined mittens, pulling the goggles down over his eyes. He felt a lot better now. He didn't have a pillow, but he propped his head against the side of the plane and closed his eyes. It had been a very, very long day.

He slept fitfully, waking every half-hour with a sudden start, gasping at the oxygen in the mask, feeling like he was being pushed underwater. When he opened his eyes again, it felt like the plane was descending. Tygo looked out of the window, but could see absolutely nothing, just a thick white fog. They must be in cloud, he realized, but there was a gentle pressure on his back, pushing him forward against his lap belt, and the floor of the plane was tilting down.

‘Soon be there!' Krüger yelled to him from the other side of the fuselage. He had a steaming mug of coffee in his hand and another cigarette in the other. He put the cigarette in his mouth, leant down and rolled the Thermos flask across the plane. Tygo unscrewed the cap and tried to sip the hot liquid inside. It wasn't coffee after all, but it was very sweet and hot and it perked him up a bit.

He looked out of the window again. They seemed to be descending faster, and Tygo heard a whizzing of hydraulics and grinding of gears as the undercarriage was
deployed. Below him he could see the sea again, and the lights of a city, bright lights twinkling in their thousands. It was incredible – where on earth could they have reached that had no blackout? You could see streets and individual buildings all lit up, and ships, hundreds of them all along the docks. It was amazing.

The name on the main airport building said ‘Aeropuerto de Barcelona'. Spain. They had flown to Spain! That would explain the lights: Spain was a neutral country in the war.

They taxied past the airport building and continued until they reached a part of the apron far from the rest of the planes and buildings. Tygo unstrapped his belt and stood up, a little wobbly, but feeling excited at this turn of events. The plane came to a final halt and the engines were switched off, the propellers starting to wind down. Krüger unlatched the hatch door and dropped down through it.

‘Hand me down the package,' he shouted up to Tygo.

Tygo did as he was told, unlashing the metal box and carefully handing it down through the hatch. He waited there, and Krüger looked up at him.

‘Well? What are you waiting for?'

Tygo dropped through the hatch on to the tarmac. It was a little after midnight, but the night air was completely different to Amsterdam. There was still a smell of the aero spirit and rubber, but also the briny tang of the sea and something else, like a spice, almost. It was so much warmer too, perhaps ten degrees.

Baumbach had climbed down from the cockpit and
was walking across to them.

‘Congratulations, Oberstleutnant,' said Krüger, ‘you got us here in one piece.' The two men saluted each other.

‘And I will get you back in one piece too!' He grinned jauntily, his flying cap askew. Tygo noticed the Iron Cross with Oak Leaves around his neck. He looked very handsome and brave, he thought.

‘Excellent,' replied Krüger. ‘We need to leave in two hours – you will be ready?' He started to strip off all his flying gear and Tygo followed suit.

‘Of course – we might even have time for a little paella and a jug or two of sangria, eh, boys?' The rest of his crew, who had gathered round, shouted their approval of that idea.

They all turned at the sound of vehicles approaching. The lead vehicle was a large Hispano-Suiza J12, a four-door luxury car. Behind it were an army jeep and truck. The vehicles stopped, and soldiers clambered out of the back.

Baumbach began to unhook the retaining button on his holster.

‘Please, Commander, don't be alarmed,' said Krüger, ‘they are here to protect us. It has all been arranged. It is not often an American bomber lands on neutral territory.'

The soldiers fanned out around the plane, taking up picket duty. From the Hispano emerged a small, very distinguished-looking man dressed in the robes of a Catholic priest. He had a large silver cross on a chain around his neck and he was wearing a biretta, a stiff, square-shaped silk hat with trim and tuft. It was purple,
the colour for a bishop – Tygo knew that. He walked with a silver-topped cane.

‘Welcome to Barcelona,' he said in German. His skin was the colour of caramel, his voice like butter. ‘The señorita is expecting you.'

CHAPTER 12

I
t was going to be a long night of firsts for Tygo. First time on a plane, and now first time inside such a ludicrously luxurious motor car. The interior was lined with the softest calf leather, the doors fitted with rose-wood panels, and dark-blue Wilton carpet lay on the floor. There was a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket and two crystal goblets. A polished silver voice trumpet connected the passengers in the rear seat to the driver up front.

The chauffeur started the engine and they pulled away. The car was whisper-quiet and super-fast. They whistled out of the airport and along the deserted streets of the city. The metal box sat between the two men on the rear
seats, Tygo facing them on a fold-down seat behind the driver's partition.

The two men talked occasionally in mutters, with a lot of nodding on Krüger's part, and Tygo was content to stare out at the houses, so different from those of his home town. How wonderful it was to be in a city at peace.
No death, no destruction, just like it used to be back home,
he thought.

He didn't even notice how long it was before the car pulled to a halt outside a grand-looking French-style building of ten or more storeys. The bishop picked up the speech trumpet and spoke to the driver, and the car moved off again, turning the corner and making a series of further turns until it pulled into the alley behind the hotel.

‘A little more discreet, don't you think?' the bishop said to Krüger. ‘We don't want any prying eyes to report your arrival, do we?'

‘British?'

‘British, American, French, Russian, they're all here. The place is crawling with spies.'

The chauffeur opened the door and they climbed out.

Tygo had been in quite a few fancy hotel rooms in his time. His father was sometimes called out – before the war, of course – when a rich guest lost the key to their strongbox or couldn't remember the combination to their safe. But Tygo had never seen such a hotel room as the one they were ushered into now by the chauffeur. It wasn't a room at all, but a series of rooms: lounges filled with exquisite furnishings, huge crystal chandeliers and thick, rich carpet. It was like being inside a royal palace.

The bishop had left them both standing in the first
room and disappeared through one of the interconnecting doors. Tygo was still looking round in amazement when another door on the opposite side opened and a woman in a dazzling gown appeared.

She looked around forty and held a cigarette in a long ebony holder. Her blonde hair was tied back, and for some reason she was wearing dark glasses, even though it was the middle of the night. Tygo noticed the four strands of diamonds she was wearing round her neck. Perhaps that was the reason she was wearing the dark glasses, to shield her from the dazzle when the stones hit the light. Tygo felt drawn to her presence; she exuded some sort of power, like a film star. Yes, that was what she was like.