The Spandau Phoenix wwi-2 Page 2

  command. "Remove your hand from that pistol," he said quietly.

  For several moments Major Berger stood still as stone.

  Then, slowly, he let his hand fall from the Schmeisser's grip.

  "Jawohl, Herr ... Herr Reichminister."

  "Now, Herr Major! And be about your business! Go!"

  Suddenly Major Berger was all action,. With a pounding heart he hurried

  toward the Messerschmitt, his face hot and tingling with fear.

  Blood roared in his ears. He had just threatened to place the Deputy

  Fuhrer of the German Reich-Rudolf Hess-under arrest! In a daze he

  ordered the crewmen to speed their packing of the guns. While they

  complied, he harried them about their earlier maintenance.

  Were the wet-points clear? Would the wing drop tanks disengage properly

  when empty?

  At the edge of the runway, Hess turned to the man in the flying suit.

  "Come closer," he murmured.

  The man took a tentative step forward and stood at attention.

  "You understand about the guns?" Hess asked.

  Slowly the man nodded assent.

  "I know it's dangerous, but it's dangerous for us both.

  Under certain circumstances it could make all the difference."

  Again the man nodded. He was a pilot also, and had in fact flown many

  more missions than the man who had so suddenly assumed command of this

  situation. He understood the logic: a plane purported to be on a

  mission of peace would appear much more convincing with its guns

  disabled.

  But even if he hadn't understood, he was in no position to argue.

  "It's been a long time, Hauptmann, " Hess said, using the rank of

  captain in place of a name.

  The captain nodded. Overhead a pair of Messerschmitts roared by from

  Aalborg, headed south on patrol.

  "It is a great sacrifice you have made for your country, Hauptmann. You

  and men like you have given up all normality so that men like myself

  could prosecute the war in comparative safety. It's a great burden, is

  it not?"

  The captain thought fleetingly of his wife and child. He had not seen

  them for over three years; now he wondered if he ever would again.

  He nodded slowly.

  "Once we're in the plane," said Hess, "I won't be able to see your face.

  Let me see it now. Before."

  As the captain reached for the end of his scarf, Major Berger scurried

  back to tell them the plane was almost ready.

  The two pilots, enthralled in the strange play they found themselves

  acting out, heard nothing. What the SS man saw when he reached them

  struck him like a blow to the stomach. All his breath passed out in a

  single kasp, and he knew that he stood at the brink of extinction.

  Before him, two men with the same face stood together shaking hands! And

  that face! Major Berger felt as if he had stumbled into a hall of

  mirrors where only the dangerous people were multiplied.

  The pilots gripped hands for a long moment, their eyes heavy with the

  knowledge that both their lives might end tonight over foreign soil in

  the cockpit of an unarmed fighter.

  "My God," Berger croaked.

  Neither pilot acknowledged his presence. "How long has it been,

  Hauptmann?" Hess asked.

  "Since Dessau, Herr Reichminister."

  "You look thinner." Hess murmured, "I still can't believe it.

  It's positively unnerving." Then sharply, "Is the plane ready, Berger?"

  "I... I believe so, Herr@' "TO your work, then!"

  "Jawohl, Herr Reichminister!" Major Berger turned and marched toward

  the crewmen, who now stood uncertainly against the fuel truck, waiting

  for permission to return to Aalborg. Berger unclipped his Schmeisser

  with one hand as he walked.

  "All finished?" he called.

  , "Jawohl, Herr Major," answered the chief mechanic.

  "Fine, fine. Step away from the truck, please." Berger raised the

  stubby barrel of his Schmeisser.

  "But ... Herr Major, what are you doing! What have we done? "

  "A great service to your Fatherland," the SS man said.

  "Now-step awayfrom the truck!"

  The crewmen looked at each other, frozen like terrified game.

  Finally it dawned on them why Major Berger was hesitating. He obviously

  knew something about the volatility of aircraft fuel vapor.

  Backing closer to the truck, the chief mechanic clasped his greasy hands

  together in supplication.

  "Please, Herr Major, I have a family-2' The dance was over. Major

  Berger took three steps backward and fired a sustained burst from the

  Schmeisser. Hess screamed a warning, but it was too late. Used with

  skill, the Schmeisser could be a precise weapon, but Major Berger's

  skill was limited. Of a twelve-round burst, only four rounds struck the

  crewmen. The remainder tore through the rusted shell of the fuel truck

  like it was pap@r.-, The explosion knocked Major Berger a dozen feet

  from where he stood. Hess and the.captain had instinctively dived for

  the concrete. Now they lay prone, shielding their eyes from the flash.

  When Hess finally looked up, he saw Major Berger silhouetted against the

  flames, stumbling proudly toward them through a pall of black smoke,

  "How about that!" the SS man cried, looking back at the inferno. "No

  evidence now!"

  "Idiot!" Hess shouted. "They'll have a patrol from Aalborg here in

  five minutes to investigate!"

  Berger grinned. "Let me take care of them, Herr Reichminister!

  The SS knows how to handle the Luftwaffe!"

  Hess felt relieved; Berger was making it easy. Stupidity was something

  he had no patience with. "I'm sorry, Major," he said, looking hard into

  the SS man's face. "I cannot allow that."

  Like a cobra hypnotizing a bird, Hess transfixed Berger with his dark,

  deep-set eyes. Quite naturally, he drew a Walther automatic from the

  forepouch of his flight su I it and pulled back the slide. The fat SS

  man's mouth opened slowly; his hands hung limp at his sides, the

  Schmeisser clipped uselessly to his belt.

  "But why?" he asked quietly. "Why me?"

  "Something to do with Reinhard Heydrich, I believe."

  Berger's eyes grew wide; then they closed. His head sagged onto his

  tunic.

  "For the Fatherland," Hess said quietly. He pulled the trigger.

  The captain jumped at the report of the Walther. Major Berger's body

  jerked twice on the ground, then lay still.

  "Take his Schmeisser and any ammunition you can find," Hess ordered.

  "Check the Daimler."

  "Jawohl, Herr Reichminister!"

  The next few minutes were a blur of action that both men would try to

  remember clearly for the rest of their lives-plundering the corpse for

  ammunition, searching the car, double-checking the drop tanks of the

  aircraft, donning their parachutes, firing the twin Daimler-Benz

  engines, turning the plane on the old cracked concrete-both men

  instinctively carrying out tasks they had rehearsed a thousand times in

  their heads, the tension compounded by the knowledge that an armed

  patrol might arrive from Aalborg at any moment.

  Before boarding the plane, they exchanged personal effects. Hess

  quickly but carefully removed the validating item
s that had been agreed

  upon: three compasses, a Leica camera, his wristwatch, some photographs,

  a box of strange and varied drugs, and finally the fine gold

  identification chain worn by all members of Hitler's inner circle.

  He handed them to the captain with a short word of explanation for each:

  "Mine, my wife's, mine, my wife and son . . ." The man receiving these

  items already knew their history, but he kept silent. Perhaps, he

  thought, the Reichminister speaks in farewell to all the familiar things

  he might lose tonight. The captain understood that feeling well.

  Even this strange and poignant ceremony merged into the mind-numbing

  rush of fear and adrenaline that accompanied takeoff, and neither man

  spoke again until they found themselves forty miles over the North Sea,

  arrowing toward their target. As the plan dictated, Hess had yielded

  the controls to the captain. Hess now sat in the radio operator's seat,

  facing the twin tail fins of the fighter. The two men used no

  names-only ranks-and limited their conversation to the mechanics of the

  mission.

  "Range?" the captain asked, tilting his head back toward the

  rear-facing seat.

  "Twelve hundred and fifty miles with the nine-hundredliter tanks," Hess

  replied.

  "I meant range to target."

  "The island or the castle?"

  "The island."

  "Six hundred and seventy miles."

  The captain asked no more questions for the next hour. He stared down

  at the steadily darkening sea and thought of his family. Hess studied a

  sheaf of papers in his lap: maps, photographs, and mini-biographies

  secretly copied from SS files in the basement of the

  Prinz-Albrechtstrasse. Ceaselessly, he went over each detail,

  visualizing the contingencies he could face upon landing. A hundred

  miles off the English coast, he began drilling the pilot in his duties.

  "How much did they tell you, Hauptmann?"

  "A lot. Too much, I think."

  "You see the extra radio to your right?"

  "You can operate it?"

  "if all goes well, you have only a few things to remember.

  First, the drop tanks. Whatever happens, you ditch them into the sea.

  Same with the extra radio. After my time is up, of course.

  Forty minutes is the time limit, remember that. Forty minutes. "

  "Forty minutes I wait."

  "If you have not received my message within that time, the mission has

  failed. In that case@' There was a sharp intake of breath from the

  pilot, quiet but audible. Hess knew what caused that sound--the

  unbanishable fear of death. He felt it too. But for him it was

  different. He knew the stakes of the mission, the inestimable strategic

  gain that dwarfed the possible loss of two human lives. Like the man in

  the pilot's seat, Hess too had a family-a wife and young son. But for a

  man in his position-a man so close to the Fuhrer-such things were

  luxuries one knew might be lost at any moment. For him death was simply

  an obstacle to success that must be avoided at all costs. But for the

  man in the pilot's chair ...

  "Hauptmann?" Hess said, almost gently.

  "Sir?"

  "I know what frightens you now. I really do. But there are worse

  things than death. Do you understand me? Far worse."

  The pilot's reply was a hoarse, hollow gurgle. Hearing it, Hess decided

  that empathy was not the proper motivator for this man. When he next

  spoke, his voice brimmed with confidence. "Dwelling on that is of no

  use whatsoever, Hauptmann. The plan is flawless. The important thing

  is, have you been studying?"

  "Have I been studying!" The captain was obviously relieved to be

  talking about something else. "My God, some iron-assed SS

  Brigadefiihrer grilled me for two days straight."

  "Probably Schellenberg."

  "Who?"

  "Never mind, Hauptmann. Better that you don't know."

  Silence filled the cockpit as the pilot's mind drifted back to the fate

  that awaited him should his special passenger fail.

  "Herr Reichminister?" he asked at length.

  "Yes?"

  "How do you rate your chances of sudcess?"

  "It's not in my hands, Hauptmann, so I would be foolish to guess.

  It's up to the British now." My advice is to prepare for the worst,

  Hess thought bitterly. The Fuhrer's bankers have been since January.

  "Just concentrate on your part of the mission," he said. "And for God's

  sake, be sure to jump from a high enough altitude to destroy the plane.

  It's nothing the British haven't seen before, but there's no need to

  make them a present of it. Once you've gotten my message, just jump and

  wait until I can get you released. It shouldn't take more than a few

  days. If you don't get the message Verdammt! Hess cursed silently.

  There's just no avoiding it. His next words cut with the brittle edge

  of command. "If you don't get my message, Hauptmann, you know what must

  be done."

  "Jawohl," the pilot murmured, hoping he sounded more confident than he

  felt. He was sickeningly aware of the small, sticky cyanide capsule

  taped against his chest. He wondered if he could possibly go through

  with this thing that everyone but him seemed to consider simply business

  as

  usual. said earnestly. "You

  "Listen to me, Hauptmann, " Hess know why your participation is

  necessary. British Intelligence knows I am coming to England ..."

  Hess kept talking, trying to fill the emptiness that would give the

  pilot too much time to think. Up here, with Germany falling far behind,

  the concept of duty seemed much more abstract than it did when one was

  surrounded by the reinforcing order of the army and the SS.

  The captain seemed sound-and Heydrich had vouched for him-but given

  enough time to consider his position, he might do anything.

  After all, what sane man wanted to die?

  "Cut your speed!" Hess ordered, his voice quickening.

  "Hold at 180."

  The miles had melted away before the Messerschmitt's nose. They were a

  mere sixty miles off the Scottish coast.

  On a clear evening like this, the RAF radar stations would begin to pick

  up reflections from the fighter at any moment.

  Hess tightened his parachute harness, then set aside his maps and leaned

  backward.

  "Stay high and clear!" he shouted to the canopy lid. "Make sure they

  see us coming in!"

  "Where are you going out?"

  "We should make landfall over a place called Holy Island.

  I'll jump there. Stay high over the mainland for a few miles, then dive

  and run like hell! They'll probably scramble a whole squadron once they

  realize what you're flying!"

  "Jawohl, " the pilot acknowledged. "Herr Reichminister?"

  "What is it?"

  "Have you ever parachuted before?"

  "Nein. Never."

  An ironic laugh cut through the drone of the twin engines.

  "What's so funny, Hauptmann?"

  "I've never jumped either! That's a pretty significant fact to have

  overlooked in the planning of this mission, don't you think?"

  Hess permitted himself a wry smile. "Perhaps that fact was taken into

 
account, Hauptmann. Some people might even be counting on it."

  "Oh ... my God."

  "It's too late to worry about that now. We don't have the fuel to make

  it back to Germany even if we wanted to!"

  "What?" the pilot exclaimed. ",But the drop tanks-"

  "Are empty!"

  Hess finished. "Or soon will be!"

  The pilot felt his stomach turn a somersault. But before he could

  puzzle out his passenger's meaning, he spied land below.

  "Herr Reichminister! The island! I see it!"

  From sixty-five hundred feet Holy Island was a tiny speck, only

  distinguishable by the small, bright ribbon separating it from the

  mainland. "And ... a flare. I see a flare!"

  "Green or red?" Hess asked, his face taut.

  "Red!"

  "The canopy, Hauptmann! Move!"

  Together the two men struggled to slide back the heavy glass.

  Parachuting from a Messerschmitt was not common practice-strictly an

  emergency measure-and quite a few aviators had died attempting it.

  "Push!" the pilot yelled.

  With all their strength the two men heaved their bodies against the

  transparent lid of the cockpit. Their straining muscles quivered in

  agony until all at once the frame gave way and locked in the open

  position. The noise in the cockpit was deafening now, the engines

  roaring, the wind a screaming, living thing that struggled to pluck the

  men from their tiny tube of steel. Above it all, the pilot shouted,

  "We're over the gap now, Herr Reichminister! Go! Go!"

  Suddenly Hess looked into his lap. Empty. He had forgotten to ditch

  his papers! No sign of them in the cockpit; they must have been sucked

  out the moment the canopy opened.

  He prayed they had found their way down to the sea, and not to the

  island below.

  "Jump, Herr Reichminister!"

  Hess struggled into a crouch and faced the lethal tail fins

  of the Zersts'rer. The time for niceties had passed. He reached behind

  him and jerked the pilot's head back.

  "Hauptmann!" he shouted. "Heydrich only ordered those drop tanks

  fitted to make sure you came this far! They are empty! No matter what

  happens, you cannot turn back! You have no choice but to follow orders!

  If I succeed, your actions really won't matter! But if I fail, you

  cannot! You know the price of failure-Sippenhaft! Never forget that!

  Sippenhaft binds us both! Now climb! Give me some draft!"

  The Messerschmitt's nose pitched up, momentarily creating a small space