A Thousand Suns

Chapter 23 Schröder’s Men

By the gathering light of dawn Major Rall watched the B-17 as it banked around and made its final approach towards the runway, just a silhouette against the pale grey skyline. The bomber’s immense wings wobbled slightly as her wheels came down. The plane steadied as she dropped the last few dozen feet and the tyres made a heavy first contact with the ground. She bounced high before making contact again. This time, the wheels stayed on the ground and gradually the weight of the bomber settled onto them and the plane was down.

‘Kleinmann won’t win any awards for that landing, sir,’ said Leutnant Höstner.

Rall was irritated by his jibe. ‘He won’t have to land her, just flying her will do.’

The B-17 rumbled down the concrete strip, wheels passing smoothly over craters that had recently been filled in. Rall smiled smugly at a conceit of theirs. The strip had been repaired under the cover of dark, but large crescents of dark grey had been painted on the ground where the craters had been to fool the reconnaissance planes that flew over periodically.

The plane rumbled past Rall and Höstner and finally came to a stop at the end of the runway. It turned in a slow arc and began to taxi towards the hangar.

‘Good lad… let’s get her inside quickly.’ Rall scanned the sky around the airfield. There were no planes to be seen.

The bomber taxied towards the hangar, and Max nodded out of the cockpit window at the Major as they trundled by.

‘Do you think they’ll be ready in time, sir?’

‘I think they already are,’ Rall answered, dismissing the SS officer’s question impatiently.

Max steered the bomber carefully towards the open door of the hangar, and a member of the ground crew guided them into the dimly lit interior. He brought the plane to a halt.

Pieter craned his neck to look out his side window. ‘I see we have three more 109s in the family.’

Max shut off the engines and pulled himself up from his seat to look out. Lined up nose to tail and packed tightly within the limited floor space of the hangar were a number of Messerschmitt Me-109 fighter planes. Over the last few days several of them had flown in under the cover of darkness and two more had been brought in by trucks and assembled inside the hangar.

‘That gives us a grand total of seven escort planes so far, not exactly an intimidating number,’ he said to Pieter.

‘Better than four,’ Pieter replied.

‘Well, yes, I can’t fault your logic there, my friend.’

They both climbed down the ladder into the bombardier’s compartment and out through the belly hatch. Hans and Stefan followed them out.

‘I can’t believe how much room there is inside her,’ said Stefan.

‘Don’t forget that they pack ten American airmen inside a plane that size, whereas there’s only four of us,’ said Max.

Major Rall approached Max and his crew.

‘Good landing, Max.’

‘Uh… not really, sir. I think it’s going to take a few more attempts before I can put her down, no bounce.’

‘How are you finding her?’

‘She’s a lot less manoeuvrable than I’m used to.’

‘That’s understandable, there’s a lot more there to fly than a Heinkel or a Junkers.’

Max nodded. ‘I notice we have three more 109s.’

Rall turned round to admire the tightly packed cluster of planes. ‘Yes. They arrived only half an hour ago, flown in by the pilot who is going to lead the escort squadron, and two wingmen. Perhaps now would be a good time to affect some introductions?’

Rall turned to Höstner. ‘Go and get our new arrivals, I want Max and his boys to meet them.’ Höstner turned and headed towards the cluster of fighter planes in the corner of the hangar.

‘The flight was unchallenged?’

Max nodded. ‘We did a fifty-mile circular trip, attracted a little flak from our boys north of here, but there were no other unwanted encounters.’

‘Good. For the foreseeable future, I think the Allies are going to be too focused on Berlin to bother us too much down here.’ He smiled reassuringly.

At the sound of approaching footsteps Rall turned around to greet the fighter pilots.

The three pilots stood to attention and saluted Rall. They were still wearing their flying jackets. Rall returned the salute and then reached out a hand towards one of them.

‘Hauptman Schröder, your reputation precedes you. It’s an honour.’ Rall pumped the pilot’s hand enthusiastically. His scarred face turned crimson either from the exertion or the exhilaration.

Pieter jabbed an elbow into Max’s ribs and whispered hoarsely, ‘Why’s the Major sucking this guy’s dick so hard? He’s just a captain, for fuck’s sake.’

‘I think he’s a fighter ace. The name Schröder sounds familiar.’

Rall turned to Max and Pieter. ‘Allow me to introduce Hauptman Klaus Schröder, one of the Luftwaffe’s golden boys. He’s our highest-scoring ace. Well, I should say the highest-scoring pilot we have left.’

‘Highest-scoring ace still alive and yet to be captured, to be fair,’ Schröder added.

Rall nodded. ‘That’s true. He is also a distant relative of Generalfeldmarschall Keitel, I believe?’

Schröder smiled faintly. ‘Yes, Major.’

Max caught a glimpse of his co-pilot’s face hardening. ‘Behave yourself, Pieter,’ he whispered.

Pieter nodded reluctantly.

Rall finished with Schröder’s hand and gestured towards Max and his men. ‘This is Oberleutnant Max Kleinmann and his crew. These men will be flying the American bomber.’

Max prepared to salute the superior officer, but Schröder swiftly extended a hand. ‘Oh, you don’t want to be worrying about the rank.’ Max uncertainly reached for his hand. ‘A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Max, and I’m sure it will be a pleasure and an honour flying with you.’

Max was taken aback slightly at his enthusiastic greeting. The pilot seemed like the type of over-cheerful, confident, aristocratic fop that seemed to start in the Luftwaffe at an ill-deservedly high rank. Usually fools like that died swiftly. But this one hadn’t. With a sky so dominated by Allied fighters, that made him a good pilot. He had the refined, almost feminine, Aryan features that one would expect from his aristocratic bloodline. His brow and lashes were blond, almost white, like an albino, and framed by a fringe that flopped down like a theatre curtain over one of his eyes.

‘Hauptman,’ Max responded formally, reluctant, and too weary, to match Schröder’s jovial tone.

‘So, I’ve yet to be told by the Major here exactly what fun and games lies ahead for us, but I understand it involves this brute of a plane?’

Max nodded. ‘Yes, but I’m afraid I can’t comment on the mission until you’ve been properly briefed by Major Rall.’

Rall stepped in. ‘Max is correct, Hauptman Schröder. I would prefer to brief you and your men first before we discuss it openly out here.’

Schröder looked at Rall. ‘Of course, my apologies for getting ahead of things there, Major.’ He turned and smiled conspiratorially at Max. ‘But I’m sure whatever it is the Major has up his sleeve will be an adventure, eh?’

Max smiled, unwilling to pass comment on the mission.

The two men finished shaking hands and Schröder offered his hand enthusiastically to Pieter.

Pieter stared silently at the extended hand a moment before reluctantly offering his. ‘Hauptman,’ he said drily. Schröder barely registered the coolness of the gesture before Major Rall decided to step in.

‘Hauptman Schröder, and your men, come with me and I will introduce you to the other pilots who arrived last night… and then perhaps I think it is time for you and your new squadron to be briefed.’

Schröder and his two wingmen turned smartly and followed Rall out of the hangar into the pale light of morning.

‘What the hell was that all about, Pieter?’ asked Max.

‘I just don’t like his type. Bloody stuck-up arseholes, the lot of them.’

‘Maybe, but he’s a bloody superior officer first.’

Max could sympathise a little with him. The Luftwaffe had an appalling reputation for snobbery, preferring to pick its fighter pilots from the ranks of the aristocracy. Following the example Göring set, the Luftwaffe saw itself as the latter-day equivalent of an exclusive, members-only cavalry regiment. Pieter had joined the Luftwaffe and passed examinations that would mark him out as pilot material, but he was never going to find himself flying a fighter, not unless they ran completely out of men like Schröder.

‘Take it easy, Pieter, we’re all on the same side.’