Black Cross

“That’s one reason.”

“There’s the signal!” cried the pilot. “Get ready!”

He pulled back on the controls and climbed, then circled around for a high-angle approach. All McConnell could see in the blackness below were three dim yellow lights in a line, with a red one off to the side, forming an inverted “L.” The red light appeared to be blinking a Morse code letter again and again.

The Lysander fell like a hailstone on the wind. McConnell gripped his seat and watched the “L” race upward. The wheels hit hard, bounced, then settled onto the bumpy ground and quickly rolled to a stop near the red light.

“Get out!” bellowed the pilot. “Go!”

Stern already had the hatch open. The roar of the engine filled the cabin. McConnell saw him drop his bag out, then jump down. McConnell hefted his suitcase across the seat and handed it out, then climbed down himself.

“You’ve left a bloody case!” the pilot yelled.

McConnell hopped back into the plane and with a groan lifted out the suitcase containing the anti-gas suits and stolen explosives.

“Good luck!” the pilot called. Then the black plane was off, turning quickly on the frozen earth and accelerating back in the direction it had come. Only the fading grumble of the engine told them anything was there at all.

“You’re the athlete,” Stern said in the darkness. “You carry the air cylinders.”

When McConnell reached down for the case, it was gone. A huge man with a black beard, heavy fur coat, and an old bolt-action rifle strapped over his shoulder stood less than a yard from him. The heavy suitcase hung from one hand as if it held only a weekend’s clothes. While McConnell stared, the flare path that had guided in the plane winked out, and two more figures quickly materialized out of the blackness. One was a tall thin man with a fisherman’s cap pulled low over his eyes, the other smaller and bundled to the eyeballs in a thick scarf and oilskin coat. The smaller man carried no weapon, but was obviously the leader.

“Password?” he asked in muffled German.

“Schwarzes Kreuz,” Stern replied. “Black Cross.”

“You are . . . ?”

“Butler and Wilkes. He’s Wilkes. You?”

“Melanie. Follow us. Schnell! We’ve been here all night. If we’re caught in the open at dawn, we’re dead.”

The shadowy escorts moved so quickly across the flat ground that even McConnell had trouble keeping up. Once, the leader dropped flat and motioned for everyone to do the same. McConnell thought he heard the faint rumble of an engine, but wasn’t sure. After three minutes, the leader got up and continued on.

Hurrying across the frozen fields, McConnell realized that the cold here was of an entirely different magnitude than that in Scotland. He should have prepared himself. Did it take a genius to figure out that in northern Germany, wind blowing from the north was coming from the Arctic? They were only twenty miles from the Baltic coast. The wind blasted across this plain like the fulfillment of a Norse curse, the uniforms he and Stern wore useless against its power.

He saw a few dim lights out to his left. A road? A rail line? To his right he saw nothing at first. Then the faintest corona of blue began to highlight the crest of a range of hills. He shivered. Beyond those hills the sun was rising.

As they rounded the foot of one of the hills, he saw dim yellow lights close ahead. The leader stopped and spoke quietly to the two escorts, who melted away into the shadows without a word. Stern and McConnell picked up their suitcases.

They were approaching a small village. Already they had passed two outlying farmhouses. A dog barked but apparently awakened no one. McConnell found himself recalling the advice Stern had given him about moving in hostile territory. First: never smoke in the field. Stern claimed the smell of cigarette smoke on the wind had saved his life many times. McConnell had made a joke then, but it didn’t seem funny now. As they neared the next cottage, the leader made no effort to circle around it. Instead he walked right up to the front door, unlocked it with a key and motioned them inside.

There was hardly any light, but McConnell could see that the walls of the narrow entrance hall were adorned only by a coat rack. Stern dropped his bags and sat down on them, breathing hard.

“Pick up those cases,” the leader ordered. “You’re going to the cellar.”

“Give us a moment, eh?” Stern pleaded in German. “That was some hike.”

The leader grunted in disgust and stalked out of the foyer. McConnell set down his bags and felt his way into a room that had to be a kitchen. He smelled coffee warming on the stove. It took great restraint to keep from feeling his way to it and drinking straight from the pot.

The leader lighted two candles and placed them on a wooden table at the center of the room. McConnell took in the sparsely stocked shelves and yellow-painted walls, then said, “Mein Name ist Mark McConnell. Thank you for meeting us.”

The leader shrugged and took off his hat. A mane of blond hair fell around his shoulders. He unwrapped the scarf from his face.

“My God,” McConnell said in English.

“I am Anna Kaas,” said the young woman, pulling off her heavy coat and revealing anything but a man’s figure. “Tell your lazy friend to take those suitcases down to the cellar. You’re in Germany now.”

“Ach du lieber Hergott!” Stern said from the doorway.

“You were expecting a man?” Anna said. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

McConnell watched in amazement as the young woman poured the coffee. She appeared to be close to his own age, and she had deep brown eyes — unusual in a woman who otherwise fit the Aryan stereotype of the flaxen-haired, blue-eyed Brunhild.

“You’re hours late,” she said. “You are trying to kill us?”

“Mechanical trouble,” said Stern, stepping into the kitchen. “You work in the camp?”

“Yes. I’m a nurse. There are six of us.”

“You enjoy your work?”

Even by candlelight, McConnell saw the woman color at this remark. “If I did, would I be putting up two rude Englishmen for the night?” she rejoined.

“I’m American,” McConnell told her.

“And I’m German,” said Stern. “I was raised thirty kilometers from here, in Rostock.”

“How wonderful for you,” Anna said. “Perhaps you can stay alive long enough to complete your mission.”

Stern walked to the kitchen window and peered through a crack in the curtains. McConnell could see the glow of daylight even from where he stood.

“If the wind lets up,” said Stern, “I’ll only have to survive half an hour or so to do that.”

“What do you mean?” Anna asked.

“I mean we’re executing the mission as soon as the wind falls off.”

“Not if you want to succeed.”

Stern turned from the window. “Why not? The daylight is a problem, but we’ve got the German uniforms. We’ll make it to the hill. Getting away alive afterward won’t be easy, but. . . ” He waved his hand dismissively.

“London didn’t tell you?” Anna Kaas shook her head in astonishment. “Major Schorner discovered the body of an SS sergeant today, buried in the hills. He’d been shot by a submachine gun. The SS found four parachutes buried with him. British parachutes.”

“Verdammt!” said Stern. “That’s what McShane meant by a ‘warm welcome.’ They killed someone during the preparatory mission. Smith must have ordered him not to tell us about it.”

“Terrific,” McConnell said.

“It’s a miracle we reached the cottage,” Anna told them. “Major Schorner has half the garrison out on patrol. A motorcycle unit stopped here five minutes before I left for the pickup point. If they’d returned while I was gone, we would be running for our lives now.”

“How far are we from the power station?” Stern asked.