he was virtually empty, with only the unreliable promise of another half an hour’s flying time, at best.
Max kneeled beside Stef and inspected the wound.
‘We’re going to need to tie this wrench in place so the tourniquet doesn’t unwind if you lose consciousness. Pieter, go find something we can tie this up with.’
‘What?’
‘Anything! Just look around.’
Max turned back to Stef. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘The tourniquet’s painful, sir, really hurts,’ he said between gritted teeth.
‘Well, it’s got to stay tight, Stef. There’s a severed artery in there, which we’ve got to keep the pressure on for the next thirteen hours. I’m going to tie up this wrench to the side of your leg so this thing doesn’t unwind, and you’re going to need to sit as still as you can until this thing is done and we can get you to a doctor, all right?’
The young lad nodded.
‘We need you to get us there. While you can still focus I need you to navigate. Think you can do that?’
He nodded once more.
‘Hans?’
The big man stepped forward. ‘Yeah?’
‘You’ll need to get Stef’s things; the map, his navigation tools, and bring them all here.’
Max looked around the waist section. The wind whipped noisily in through the gun portholes and numerous punctures along the metal fuselage. ‘And see if you can find something to put over him to keep him warm.’
‘Yeah,’ he said again and stooped through the bulkhead leading to the navigation compartment.
‘What’s the damage, sir? Are we going to make it?’ asked Stef.
‘We’re doing fine, don’t you worry about the plane, they built these things to take far worse than we’ve taken today.’
One engine had been hit and begun to splutter and Max had turned it off, fearing the engine might cause the fuel feeding it to ignite. They could make their way across on three. Apart from that, they had fared well, all things considered. The landing gear was damaged, possibly even ripped off completely. None of these things would prevent them completing the mission. Max’s only worry now was whether they had the fuel to get them there.
That’s all that mattered now, fuel… everything else was secondary.
Pieter returned with an open parachute bail. ‘I found it in the bombardier’s compartment. It’s useless, cut to ribbons.’
‘That’ll do,’ said Max, taking it from him and hastily ripping a long strip from the silky fabric. He held the wrench against Stef’s thigh.
‘Is that still tight?’
Stef nodded, gritting his teeth. Max wound the parachute fabric firmly around his leg and the wrench, binding them tightly together.
‘This should hold up if you don’t move around. If you start leaking, for God’s sake give me a shout and we’ll tighten this thing up again.’ He patted him on the cheek. ‘We need you with us, right?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Max’s eyebrows knitted in a mock frown. ‘Call me “sir” one more time and I’ll undo it and let you bleed to death.’
Stef grinned. ‘Yes, Max.’
‘When Hans has brought you your things, I need you to give me your best guess on our position now. Think you can do that?’
Stef gave Max a thumbs-up. His leather glove was black with drying blood.
‘Good lad,’ Max replied and then made his way forward, squeezing past Hans in the navigation booth. ‘Keep your eye on him, Hans, he’s lost a lot of blood,’ he muttered under his breath.
‘You think he’s going to make it?’
‘I don’t know. If he doesn’t lose any more, he might. Just keep an eye on his leg. The blood’s drying up now. If it looks wet again, then he needs to be tightened up some more.’
Max passed through the bulkhead into the bomb compartment, and stopped for a moment to look down at the small bomb, still resting snugly in its cradle. It appeared untouched by their skirmishes.
You’d better do what you’re supposed to do, you little shit.
He made his way into the cockpit, plugged into the comm. and disengaged the autopilot. He noticed that they had lost one of the Me-109s.
‘Schroder? You still there?’
‘Yes, Max. Gunter had to turn back, his fuel was running low.’
‘How are you doing? Surely you’ll need to head back soon?’
‘No… it looks like I’ll be staying alongside you for the duration.’
Both of them knew what that meant for Schroder.
‘How long have you got?’ Max asked.
‘Just under a half an hour’s worth, I would guess. Maybe less.’
‘You don’t think it’s worth a go turning round and trying for land?’
‘If I fly slow and low?’
‘There’s a chance for you, isn’t there?’
‘No. I think I’d be swimming the last bit, and to be honest with you, Max, I’m not a big fan of swimming.’
‘I understand. Anyway, we’re still within range of their P51s.. you might yet need to save our skins one more time.’
‘While I’ve fuel, I’ll do my best.’
Ten minutes passed with merciful peace as Max watched Schroder’s Messerschmitt hovering to their left, less than a hundred feet away, abreast with the bomber’s cockpit. He watched the man checking his instrumentation, occasionally looking up at the sky, around, keeping an eye out for any pursuing planes. Time and fuel ticked away too quickly and presently Max heard the engine of Schroder’s Messerschmitt cough and misfire.
Schroder looked across at him, and he heard the pilot’s voice. ‘I’m all out now. The engine’s beginning to skip.’
Pieter looked across at the fighter pilot. His distaste for the man had been replaced with a muted, begrudging respect at some point over the last twelve hours.
‘Poor bastard,’ he muttered to Max.
‘With your permission I’m going to take her up,’ said Schroder.
Max knew what the fighter pilot was up to. ‘Of course. You do what you have to, Schroder.’
‘Thank you. Well, it’s been an honour, gentlemen. I should think you’re now clear of any trouble from this side, good luck with the rest of it.’
‘Thank you. It was our honour too.’
Schroder nodded and waved at them and pulled his plane up and away into a steep climb.
‘What’s he planning to do?’
‘He’s going to throw her into a dive. The impact will give him a quick finish, I think that’s what he’s after.’
They watched him climb above them to 10,000 feet and level out. He held that position for a few seconds and then waggled the wings a couple of times before dropping the nose into a steep dive. The Me-109 plummeted through the sky half a mile away, and twenty seconds later it plunged into the sea. They watched a small, pale plume of water rise and fall, and a circle of foam fade away, leaving no trace of the airplane behind.
Pieter shook his head.
‘Better than bailing out here. Freeze or drown, they’re not great options.’
Max watched as a dark plume of oil began to stain the water where Schroder had hit. It blossomed on the calm ocean like a dark rose. He hoped it had been the quick finish the pilot was after.
‘Just us now, Pieter.’
‘Yes,’ he replied. His response was muted. ‘I suppose we’re all that’s left of the Luftwaffe — the last operational plane.’
‘Probably.’
