them down the corridor towards a door at the end. They passed a room filled with banks of radios, and in the middle of the room was a metal crate full of ashes; the brown, unburned corners of papers still smouldered. The floor around it was littered with boxes full of documents waiting to be destroyed, but forgotten in the haste of departure. The Leutnant followed Max’s gaze. ‘When we’re done here, we’ll finish the job.’
He gestured towards another open door off the corridor. ‘Canteen. Your men can help themselves to some food. I believe we even have some coffee too.’
Max nodded to Pieter. ‘Go on. I’ll be back shortly.’
Pieter led Hans and Stef in and they proceeded directly towards a steaming steel urn.
The SS Leutnant tipped his head towards the door at the end of the corridor. ‘Come, please. Major Rall is waiting for you.’
‘Don’t forget to leave me a bit, lads,’ said Max as he watched his men eagerly helping themselves to the coffee and opening several tins of pork.
Max fell in behind the Leutnant as he eagerly proceeded the last few yards down the corridor to the door and knocked gently on it.
‘Major Rall?’
Max heard a muffled voice from beyond the door. ‘Come in.’
Leutnant Hostner opened the door and gestured for Max to enter. He closed the door behind him, leaving Max alone in the room with Major Rall.
The room was a small, windowless, concrete cell. The walls had at one time been painted a dull ‘waiting room’ green. Scuffmarks and scrapes on the walls indicated this room had once contained a lot more furniture. Now a single desk and two chairs stood in the middle, and a solitary filing cabinet in a corner made the room feel a lot bigger than it was.
Major Rall stood beside the desk. He was a man of average build and height, but his face was instantly striking because of a burn scar that stretched from below his collar, up and across the left side of his face to his hairline. His left ear was little more than a hole with a small rib of skin around it, and his left eye glistened with excess moisture. Rall, it seemed, had made no concessions to his disfigurement and quite happily boasted a well- maintained moustache that disintegrated as it crossed his lip towards the scar tissue on the left.
Max was relieved that Major Rall wore a Luftwaffe uniform.
Rall picked up a manila file from his desk and opened it.
‘Oberleutnant Maximilian Kleinmann?’
‘Yes, sir,’ answered Max.
‘Hmmm… you’ve served for the last two years on the eastern front, before that in France. You earned an Iron Cross, followed by a Knight’s Cross. It looks like I chose well.’
Max spoke up. ‘Permission to speak freely, sir?’
Rall smiled. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘My men and myself have been brought here and no information has been given to us. We have no idea what this is all about, sir.’
‘No, that’s quite right. Those were my orders… I’m sorry about that. It was a precautionary measure in case you were intercepted on the way here.’
Rall gestured towards the seat nearest Max. ‘Please, make yourself comfortable. Would you like something to drink, a coffee perhaps?’
Max nodded eagerly as he settled down into the seat and Rall walked stiffly across to the door, opened it and quietly ordered a coffee. He returned to the table and perched informally on the edge.
‘Nothing quite as satisfying as having an officer of the SS wait on you, is there?’ Rall smiled conspiratorially.
‘Never had the pleasure, Major.’
Rall took a deep breath. ‘Right.’ The small talk was over. ‘I was passed your name by your previous commanding officer, Major Schendtler. You — and your crew — have a very impressive service record. You came highly recommended.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘It’s rare to find a bomber crew that have been together for so long.’ Max nodded; he knew Rall meant ‘ survived for so long’. ‘Which is why I took the enormous effort to find you and your men. It really wasn’t easy, I can tell you. There seems to be very little logistical control over what’s left of our boys.’
Rall fell silent for a moment, it seemed he was pondering what to say next. His left eye, surrounded by scarred skin tissue and bereft of any lashes, leaked moisture onto his cheek. He wiped it casually away with his hand.
‘We’ve lost the war,’ he said out of the blue. Max instinctively flinched. True words, but recklessly dangerous spoken aloud. ‘We’ve lost, it’s over. Things may rumble on for a little longer, but we all know right now that this is finished.’
Max carefully guarded his response, suspicious of Rall’s candour. ‘There’s always a chance, sir.’
Rall smiled. ‘Kleinmann, relax, I’m not fishing for a treasonous statement. It’s just you and I, two airmen. Surely in these final days we can speak our minds freely, eh?’
Max remained silent, still wary of committing himself.
‘It’s over. The Russians are approaching the outskirts of Berlin and are settling in and making ready for an offensive to take the city. I’m sure they’re expecting as stiff a fight as we experienced in Stalingrad. But I’d say we have two, maybe four, weeks of fight we can give them.’
Rall left those words hanging in the air. There was a gentle rap on the door, and Leutnant Hostner entered awkwardly carrying a tray with two steaming cups of coffee on it. He placed it silently on Rall’s desk and left.
Rall waited until the door closed behind him before continuing. ‘We have an opportunity to end this war on our terms. One opportunity, but we need to work quickly to make it happen.’
‘A mission?’ Max asked uncertainly.
Rall passed a cup of coffee to Max.
‘Yes, a mission.’
Max looked down at the cup of steaming coffee, a delaying tactic; time to think carefully about what he had to say next to the Major. He owed that much, and more, to his men.
‘Sir, there’s no easy way for me to say this…’
Rall nodded. ‘Please, feel free to speak your mind, Oberleutnant.’
‘My men and I have fought in three campaigns. We have flown over three hundred sorties for our country… and maybe it’s God’s will or sheer blind luck that we’re all still alive. With respect, sir, we all feel we’ve done our duty for Germany, and I… ’ Max faltered, unsure how Rall would take his next words. ‘I can’t order my men to fly again, not with the end of the war only days away.’
Rall remained silent, impassive and motionless.
‘I can’t order them to. Sir, at the risk of a court martial, I won’t,’ Max added.
‘I understand,’ Rall said eventually, warming to the pilot’s loyalty to his men.
‘Which is why the mission is voluntary.’
‘Voluntary?’
‘Yes.’
Max looked up at Rall. The Major appeared to be sincere.
‘This mission is too… how shall I say?… delicate,’ Rall added, ‘to be undertaken by men under duress. Only if you and your men are willing, is this mission going to proceed.’
‘And this mission will end the war?’
‘Yes, it will. It will end this war in a way that guarantees Germany survives, that the Russians stop, turn around and leave our soil.’
Max looked back down at his coffee.
An end to the madness.
Now that the Allies owned the skies, any mission undertaken would surely be suicide. He guessed that this endeavour, whatever it was, had probably been hastily conceived by some ambitious staff officer desperate to extract a little glory from the final days of the war. A pointless and reckless gamble with the odds stacked heavily against Max and his men surviving it. Max had learned to despise those commanders who led from the rear and
