Flight of Eagles, page 13
There were two hangars and several huts. Two aircraft were on the apron, one a JU88S and the other a Fieseler Storch, both with Luftwaffe insignia. The mechanics working on them wore Luftwaffe overalls. Harry switched off, opened the door and he and Carter and Munro got out. It was raining slightly.
Munro said, ‘Recognize the Storch? That’s the one you checked out for us. To assuage your curiosity, dear boy, it’s useful on occasion in our line of work to use enemy aircraft.’
‘And the E-boat?’
‘Just the thing for jobs off the French coast, but not your business.’
A Jeep appeared, driven by a woman in her early thirties. She wore a sheepskin coat and her blonde hair was tied back. She had a calm and rather sweet face.
‘There you are, Brigadier,’ she smiled. ‘Jack, how are you?’
‘Julie Legrande, Harry Kelso, Air Vice Marshal West’s aide, so show some respect. However, his rather special talents mean he can be useful to us on occasion.’
‘Oh, the wing commander’s reputation goes before him.’
‘Enough of that. We’ll take the Jeep.’ He turned to Harry. ‘Straight back to Croydon for you. Just wanted you to see the place. Jack and I might be here for a couple of days. Get him a sandwich or something in the canteen, Julie, then see him off.’
The canteen was simple enough: a few tables and chairs, a bar counter, a kitchen.
‘Coffee?’ she said.
‘No, tea.’
Just now the place was empty. He sat down and waited and she appeared with a tray containing a pot of tea, crockery and a plate of cheese sandwiches. As he ate, she lit a cigarette and watched.
‘The great Harry Kelso. That Italian cruiser was something.’
‘Luck,’ he said. ‘One of the handful of times I was flying a bomber. I’m a fighter pilot.’
‘What’s that mean?’ she said. ‘If someone claims to be an artist, or an author or an actor.’ She frowned and scratched her head. ‘What do I mean? I’m suddenly at a loss.’
‘I get your drift,’ Harry said. ‘You don’t think flying fighter planes is an art form.’
‘I accept that it can be done superbly well. You and your brother are prime examples.’ She nodded. ‘Yes, Munro told me about you both. In our line of work, he thinks I should be kept informed.’
‘So, it can be done superbly well. What’s your point?’
‘What happens after? It’s a temporary condition. Wars come and go, but they always end sometime, isn’t this true?’
‘French philosophy on a wet morning in Cornwall? I don’t think I’m up to that.’ He finished the last sandwich and got up. ‘Time to go.’
‘I’ll see you off.’
As they walked to the Lysander he said, ‘Munro’s niece, Molly. Do you know her? She’s a doctor.’
‘Yes, she comes down here from London in the Lysander if there is an emergency.’
‘What kind of emergency?’
‘Oh, sometimes people arrive from the other side in a poor condition.’
‘I see.’ He took her hand. ‘Nice to meet you.’
‘And more often in the future,’ she said.
He climbed into the Lysander, closed the door, switched on and taxied away. As he rose up through the heavy overcast, he was thinking about what she had said and she was right. What was he going to do when it was all over? It suddenly came to him, with a sense of shock, that he’d never thought it would be over, not in his heart.
Eisenhower and Montgomery reached London in January. Ike stayed in Grosvenor Square, sometimes walking down to the Connaught Hotel where General de Gaulle had lived in some splendour for two years or more.
In that month the Luftwaffe started to bomb London again. The Little Blitz, it was called. It wasn’t as bad as the first time around, but bad enough and much more skilful this time. JU88s pathfinders operating out of Chartres and Rennes led the way in and pinpointed the targets and Max, having finally persuaded Galland to return him to duty, flew one of them.
It was the end of February when Munro presented himself at Hayes Lodge, Eisenhower’s temporary headquarters in London. He found the General in the library enjoying coffee and doughnuts.
‘Join me, Brigadier.’
‘Just tea if you don’t mind, sir.’
‘Help yourself at the sideboard. That report on Rommel’s intentions about the invasion was a real coup. I know it took some getting and I know some of your people at your Cold Harbour project suffered. I’m sorry.’
‘It’s the name of the game, General.’
‘Anyway, I’ll be using Southwick as soon as we get more involved in preparation for D-Day.’
Southwick House north of Portsmouth had been taken over by the Royal Navy Navigation School and selected as headquarters for Operation Overlord, the invasion of France. Ike and Montgomery were to have caravans in the grounds although Montgomery was also a resident at nearby Broomfield House.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ Ike said. ‘Backwards and forwards from London to Southwick by road will eat up my time. Is there an airstrip at Southwick?’
‘Grass runway. Small but suitable for a Lysander. You could fly from Croydon in half an hour.’
‘Perfect. Your Special Duties people can handle it.’
‘Certainly, General. Anything else?’
‘Not at the moment. Our greatest secret will be the landing beaches. If Rommel gets that information we’re sunk because they’ll be able to concentrate everything they’ve got in just the right spots.’
‘It’s hardly likely he would find out, General. We wrapped up every Abwehr agent in England in 1940. Most of them we turned and they sent false information to the Reich.’
‘Let’s keep it that way.’ Ike shook hands. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’ve got a pile of work.’
Harry once again found himself flying Munro, on his own this trip, down to Cold Harbour. The weather was even worse this time, with very low cloud and as he swept in at five hundred feet, he realized that the E-boat had gone. Instead, a Royal National Lifeboat Institution boat was tied up at the quay. When they landed, there was no sign of the Junkers although the Storch was still there.
As he opened the door, he said, ‘There seems to have been some changes here.’
‘As I told you before, it’s none of your affair, Harry,’ Munro said, as Julie Legrande appeared in the Jeep.
‘Fine by me.’
‘You may be required for some essential courier work soon. You could even find yourself flying Ike down from London to Southwick House.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Yes, it is. Remember rank has no meaning in a Special Duties Squadron. A pilot is a pilot.’
‘I’m suitably reprimanded, Brigadier.’
‘Back to Croydon. I’ll send for you when I need you. Morning, Julie. I’ll take the Jeep. See to the wing commander,’ and he climbed behind the wheel and drove away.
In the canteen, drinking tea and smoking a cigarette, Harry said to Julie, ‘What happened here? Munro wouldn’t tell me.’
‘The Junkers and the E-boat were lost in action,’ she told him. ‘That’s all I can say.’
‘Isn’t war hell?’ Harry got up. ‘I’d better get going.’
‘It’s pretty foggy. Shouldn’t you wait?’
‘I walk on water, Julie, didn’t you know that?’ He got into the Lysander and switched on, took off fast and climbed out of sight.
She stood there for quite some time before she turned and walked away.
9
It was a day or two later that Abe Kelso found himself back in the Oval Office with the President. It was a fine sunny morning this time, the atmosphere totally different.
‘Time to go, Abe,’ Roosevelt told him. ‘A week, no more. Winston’s agreed to see you. Listen to what he has to say, listen to all of them – Ike, Montgomery, Patton, the lot. All I’m seeking is your opinion, honest and un biased, about the way they all see the invasion of Europe.’
‘I’ll do my best, Mr President.’
Roosevelt fitted another cigarette into his holder. ‘This bombing of London, the Little Blitz. It seems to have run its course.’
‘That would appear to be so. There was never more than sixty or seventy planes at a time according to the War Department,’ Abe said. ‘Plenty of damage and people killed, but not on the old scale.’
‘That may be, but one report I had from our intelligence people suggests that the good citizens of London are getting rather impatient. They want to see some action. Always remember, the British have been at this war since 1939. Another thing – this Nazi rocket programme, the missiles we know they’ve been constructing. Get me a profile on that. I need to know what people are saying, but it’s your opinion I need.’
Abe smiled. ‘In other words, what the politicians and top brass over there are really thinking.’
‘Exactly.’ The President smiled. ‘On your way, Abe. I know I can rely on you.’
Crossing the coast of New England later that night in a Flying Fortress on its way to join the 8th Air Force in England, Abe made himself comfortable with the army blankets and pillows the crew had given him and accepted coffee from the young sergeant waist-gunner.
He went over again his conversation with Roosevelt. In fact, he went over it several times. He had to get it right, it was as simple as that. In any event, the prospect of meeting some of the most important people in the Allied war effort face-to-face filled him with joy, but also a kind of fear.
After a couple of hours, one of the pilots, a young lieutenant named Miller, came back with a thermos of coffee and sat beside him. The lieutenant filled two cups and gave him one.
‘Sorry, it’s not comfortable, Senator. You won’t be too familiar with military flying.’
Almost without thinking, Abe replied, ‘Maybe not me, but it’s in the family. My son was a fighter pilot with the British in the First War.’ He hesitated, then left Max out of the equation. ‘And my grandson’s a fighter pilot with the RAF now.’
‘With the RAF? Shouldn’t he be flying with us by now?’
‘Yes, he should, is the answer to that,’ Abe told him. ‘But he seems to be a fairly stubborn fellow.’
Miller laughed. ‘Fighter pilots are like that – a funny breed. Know what they call bomber pilots? Truck drivers!’
‘Actually, he flew bombers for a little while, too, in the Middle East. Sank an Italian cruiser.’
It didn’t register with Miller, who simply nodded and got up. ‘Good for him. Well, I’ve got work to do now, Senator. I’ll see you later.’
Abe sat there thinking about it as the Fortress droned on into the night, then hitched a blanket around his shoulders and went to sleep.
In Berlin, Max reported to Galland at Luftwaffe headquarters and found him in the canteen having sandwiches and beer. He looked up, genuinely pleased. ‘Good to see you, Max.’
‘I thought we should talk.’ Max sat down. ‘Now that our latest escapade over London has run its course, I’d like to return to 109s. The Junkers is all very well, but it’s not my cup of tea.’
‘Well, you took one to London fifteen times and brought it back in one piece.’
‘That’s not the point. Come on, Dolfo.’
Galland sat there looking at him, frowning slightly and then nodded. ‘I’ll make you my personal aide in the general area of the French coast. You’ll have your own ME109. What you do with it when my back is turned is your business. Is that acceptable?’
‘Perfectly.’
‘Good. I must go. By the way, I hear the Gestapo lifted Generals Prien and Krebs the other day, also Prien’s aide, Colonel Lindemann and some junior people.’
‘Why?’
‘The whisper is there was a failed bomb plot against the Führer. They were all members of that bridge club at the old Adler Hotel.’
‘So?’ Max said.
‘Doesn’t your mother play there?’
Max was thunderstruck. ‘I’m not certain.’
‘I think she’d be advised to go to another club,’ Galland said. ‘These are troubled times,’ and he turned and went out.
Max immediately tried Bubi at his office, but he was out, Trudi Braun said. He told her he wanted to meet him and would be in the Adlon Bar at six. She put the phone down and Bubi, the extension in his hand, replaced it.
‘Is this bad?’ she said.
‘It could be.’
‘Should you get involved?’
‘He’s my friend.’ He straightened his uniform. ‘I’m going to sound out the Reichsführer. Give me that report on French Resistance activity on the West Wall. It will give me an excuse to talk.’
She was worried now. ‘Be careful.’
Himmler examined the report and nodded. ‘Very thorough. All these terrorists will be instantly shot when rounded up. No exceptions.’
‘Certainly, Reichsführer.’
‘And now, I have to meet with the Führer in the Bunker. I just got the call.’
‘Anything in particular?’ Bubi Hartmann asked carefully.
‘I’m not sure although he is hardly pleased by that abortive attempt on his life the other day. Naturally my special unit arrested all involved. A bridge club, would you credit such a thing? They were all executed at once – Prien, Krebs, Lindemann and some junior officers and a couple of women.’
Bubi turned pale. ‘Firing squad, Reichsführer?’
‘Too honourable a way out for such scum. No, the Führer’s orders were clear. Execution with piano wire, the whole process to be filmed. Such a record has its uses,’ Himmler added. ‘And no, Colonel, your friend’s mother, the good Baroness, was not among them. At the moment, there isn’t enough proof.’
‘I see, Reichsführer.’
Bubi made for the door and Himmler called, ‘I’d advise you to consider your friendship with the Baron, Hartmann. You are valuable to me, but no one is indispensable.’
In the bar at the Adlon Max sat at his usual table, drinking cognac to steady his nerves. He was afraid, but not for himself, only his mother. How stupid she had been, how incredibly stupid. Hartmann came in and joined him, waving the waiter away.
‘Thank God you came,’ Max said.
‘The last time, Max. I can’t take chances any more. This is a very bad scene.’
‘Tell me.’
Which Bubi did in graphic detail. ‘So now you know.’
‘God in heaven, that they can do such things.’
‘They can, believe me. So, your mother must walk very carefully.’ He stood up. ‘We won’t meet like this again, Max. Himmler himself has warned me off.’
Elsa was in her suite, sitting on the couch by the fireplace enjoying a drink, when Rosa opened the door for Max.
‘My darling boy, how marvellous. Just in time for a cocktail.’
‘Never mind that. I’ve news for you. Your friends Generals Prien and Krebs? Colonel Lindemann and the others plus a couple of women, all members of your Adler bridge club? Does any of this mean anything to you?’
She was almost petulant. ‘I heard a whisper that there had been some difficulty.’
‘That’s one way of putting it. The difficulty was an attempt to blow up the Führer which, of course, failed. Your friends, the people I’ve mentioned, are all dead, Mutti, hung by the neck by piano wire and their sorry end filmed for Himmler’s files.’
She was visibly shaken. ‘That can’t be true.’
‘My good friend Bubi Hartmann has risked his own neck to warn me. The only reason Himmler hasn’t had you arrested is that he lacks solid proof.’
‘God damn him!’ Elsa said and there were angry tears in her eyes. ‘They can’t do this to me.’
The dressing-room door flew open and Rosa appeared. ‘Is everything all right, Baroness?’
Rosa’s eyes were swollen with weeping and Max said, ‘What’s wrong?’
‘They’ve arrested Heini again and sent him to Auschwitz,’ Elsa said.
‘Is that so? How could that be, Mutti? You just told me “they can’t do that to me”, wasn’t that your phrase?’
‘Damn you, Max.’
She hammered at his chest and he took her wrists. ‘Stupid, arrogant, vain. You think being Baroness von Halder is important? Not in the Third Reich. You think Goering will help you when you’re in a mess like this? Not in the Third Reich. You were always window dressing, Mutti, just like me. The Black Baron in flying clothes with all the medals.’
‘Max – please.’
‘I’ve had it. You carry on down this road, as I’ve said before, and you’ll take everyone with you.’ He turned to Rosa. ‘So they took your Heini? Never mind. The way my mother’s behaving, they’ll have you too before long. Perhaps even me.’
He walked to the door. Elsa called, ‘Max – listen.’
He turned. ‘And it was for this that we left Boston? It was to support the arrogance of a von Halder that I lost my brother?’
He opened the door and went out and she collapsed on the couch in tears.
Himmler’s Mercedes turned out of Wilhelmplatz and into Vosstrasse and drove towards the Reich Chancellery. Beneath that incredible building the Führer had had a bunker constructed. It was his underground headquarters protected by thirty metres of concrete, proof against any bomb the Allies could drop on Berlin.
The Mercedes drew into a car ramp and an SS sentry approached. That it was the Reichsführer, he knew full well, but Himmler had rigid standards so the sentry demanded his identification papers. He examined them and saluted and Himmler got out and went below.
Through dim lighting, endless corridors, the gentle droning of electric fans in the ventilating system, he finally came to a door manned by another SS sentry. He nodded, the sentry opened it and Himmler passed inside, to find Goebbels, von Ribbentrop, Martin Bormann and Admiral Canaris standing at what was called the General Map Table. He could hear the angry sound of the Führer’s voice from his private study.
‘What’s going on?’ Himmler asked Bormann.
‘He isn’t pleased.’
The door opened and Field Marshal von Rundstedt, Rommel and Field Marshal von Kluge emerged, the Führer behind them.
