faces of his own men and realise his rash action had doomed them all.
The gunfire from the entire platoon of Americans lasted a little more than fifteen seconds, and many of the young men who emptied their weapons that morning would vividly recall in years to come the bloody mess that was left of the eight German soldiers.
As the smoke cleared, the medic raised himself up off Schenkelmann, whom he’d almost crushed with his own body weight.
‘You okay, fella?’ he asked.
Schenkelmann nodded in response. His mouth opened and he tried to speak.
‘Don’t… just relax. We’ll have you out of here shortly, buddy.’
Schenkelmann tried to speak again, but suddenly he felt light-headed and passed out.
Chapter 29
4 p.m., 28 April 1945, an airfield south of Stuttgart
The map was spread out on the floor of the hangar and around it sat the fighter pilots, Max and his men and Major Rall. Rall had a length of wood that served adequately as a pointer and was currently indicating the planned route for the bomber and its escort.
‘… across Lyon, towards the north-west coast of France.’
‘Unless my maths is hopelessly inadequate, that’s a long way beyond the range of our Me-109s,’ announced Schroder, backed up by murmurs of agreement from his squadron.
‘It is just over one thousand, one hundred and fifty miles, gentlemen. The drop tanks that are being fitted to your planes right now will give you enough fuel to get there.’
As if to confirm his assurance, one of the mechanics fired up a welding torch and a stream of white-hot sparks emerged from among the tightly parked fighter planes.
Schroder nodded. ‘So that gets us to the Atlantic, Major. But from the coast out to sea for the first three hundred miles, Max and his men will be on their own. I’m sure the Americans and British must have planes stationed in France now… it will only take one unlucky encounter and they will be in trouble.’
Rall’s smile caused the burn tissue on the side of his face to wrinkle like parchment. ‘Ahh, but you see, you boys will still be with the bomber.’
Schroder looked confused. ‘I don’t understand how. By the time we hit the coast, that’s us done. We’ll be empty. Perhaps if we’re lucky and fly at a low altitude we can push a few extra miles out to sea, but not the distance we’ll need to exceed their fighter range. Not unless we find somewhere to refuel.’
It was clear to Max now why the Major had specifically instructed him to put together a route across France to Nantes on the north-west coastline, instead of taking some other way.
‘That’s why we’re flying across northern France, isn’t it?’ he said.
‘What?’ said Schroder.
Rall smiled. ‘That’s correct. We could have picked a more remote route. An alternative might have been across Norway, and a refill on Bear Island, and then over the North Pole to Greenland, and then down their east coastline. But that would have taken us up through northern Germany, and right now that’s not a wise place to be. We’re going this way. It’s the long way round, but it’s safer, and more importantly, we have a place on the north- west coast of France where you and your men can refill your tanks.’
Schroder looked astounded. ‘We’re landing on a French airfield?’
‘A small airfield outside Nantes, it’s two miles outside the city and less than one mile from the coast. Our intelligence suggests this airfield has only a custodial presence of Americans. These are mostly support personnel, mechanics, ground crew.’
‘Even so, Major, we can’t just land there and refill if it’s not in our hands. Or am I missing something obvious here?’ asked Schroder.
‘Probably,’ grumbled Pieter quietly.
‘For a short time, the airfield will be in German hands.’
Rall paused for effect. He observed the look of confusion on the faces of the men around him.
‘A U-boat is presently five miles off shore from Nantes. Tomorrow, before dawn, a platoon of our boys will be dropped ashore. Their instructions are to take up discreet positions just outside the airfield, and while you are less than ten minutes away from your final approach, they will secure it and ready the air fuel for you. Obviously, this is only a narrow window of time. It won’t take long before any troops encamped nearby are alerted and attempt to retake the field, but this should buy you enough time to put down and fill up.’
Max exchanged a glance with Pieter; they both subtly shook their heads. This was new to them. Max had wondered about being instructed to pick a course across France, and had wondered how far their fighter escort could stay with them. Now here it was… and it sounded foolish.
Rall sensed the mood of the men; this was the part of the plan he knew he’d have difficulty selling to them. Flying over France, possibly fighting their way across some of it was going to be hard enough, but putting down on a strip that could well be in the middle of a hotly contested fire fight was something else entirely.
‘Aren’t we simply giving away our position, Major?’ asked Max. ‘Let’s assume the B-17 provides us the cover we wanted. We might fly comfortably across France unchallenged, only to find we’re attracting unwanted attention by taking this airfield.’
‘Flying under cover may get you some of the way. The skies over Germany are filled daily with B-17s. But France?… rarely these days. Some way across you surely will attract their attention and then you will be thankful you have Schroder and his men with you. Of course, if that happens, discretion will amount to nothing, and you will need fighter cover for at least a further three hundred miles after you leave France. Refuelling here will give them those extra three hundred miles. Beyond that, no one can touch you.’
The fighter pilots continued to look unhappy with the idea of the landing.
‘These soldiers taking the airfield. What are they, Falschirmjager?’ queried Schroder.
‘No, not paratroops, Gebirgesjager,’ answered Rall.
Max massaged his temples. Alpine troops. This only gets better.
Schroder’s eyes widened. ‘Snow soldiers? Good God, what do they know about this kind of operation?’
‘Leutnant Schroder… these are elite soldiers. They are every bit as good as our paratroops. These men have fought in the Metaxas line in Greece, the eastern front near Murmansk. Trust me, those men are the best we have. They’ll be dealing with a garrison of engineers and clerks who’ll be thinking of nothing more than going back home to America. It will be a quick and easy fight for them.’
Schroder looked at his fellow fighter pilots, seeking their impressions, and then at Max. ‘What do you think, Max?’
‘I don’t know. Flying west across France perhaps is our only option. We can’t fly north towards Norway and then over, that’s too dangerous. We can only head so far south before we’ll need to pull west. I think crossing France is our only choice. But I would think our fighters landing at this airfield… we could lose them all there, if the airfield is overrun.’
Schroder nodded in agreement and turned to address the Major.
‘These men and I are the best of what’s left of the Luftwaffe. We are all decorated men; we’ve flown with courage and honour. It’s not cowardice, believe me…’ Schroder looked like he was choosing his words carefully. ‘I am not prepared, in these last days of the war, to die for a mission that is ill conceived. The stop at this airfield feels like, excuse me, Major… a bloody stupid idea. You expect us to refuel our planes on an enemy airstrip, probably amidst a gale of bullets. If we aren’t shot to pieces as we come in to land, we certainly will be while we’re running around looking for fuel.’
Max studied the Major. It seemed he was going to have to work particularly hard to turn Schroder and his men around. Rall met Schroder’s challenging gaze in silence; he took the opportunity to pull out a cigarette and light it up. Max suspected the Major was buying himself time to think up a few well-chosen words that he hoped would win round the fighter pilot.
