“Did he go back to his grandfather?” The boy was captivated, his eyes wide.
“No, he couldn’t. You see, he couldn’t bear to face that old man who was right all along.”
“What happened to him, then?”
“Well, he drifted around the country for a while, working on farms here and there. Then the war broke out in Europe. A lot of people from Rhodesia joined up to fight the Germans and he saw it as a chance to get away from the past. He enlisted with the RAF and came to England.”
“Was he very upset about the girl?” Penny asked.
Kruze turned round and looked at her. There was the trace of a smile upon her face.
“It all happened a long time ago.”
Billy frowned, lost in thought.
“Did you ever hear from your grandfather again?” he asked.
Kruze laughed and shrugged his shoulders. Billy’s enthusiasm showed that Kruze was more than his saviour now. He was an ally, someone who understood.
“I tried to write to him from England a few times to explain, but the words always seemed to come out wrong and no letter ever got sent. He never will get any explanation now, because he went and died a few years back; a lonely old man in the African bush. I was all he had and in the end, he had nothing.”
The old nurse walked back in and put a thermometer in Billy’s mouth.
“I’m afraid it’s time for rest now,” she said.
As Kruze rose to leave Billy held his hand out and Kruze shook it.
“Will you come and see me again, Kruze?” The thermometer became dislodged from under his tongue. The nurse clucked irritably and put it back in place.
“I’ll be back, feller. Don’t worry.”
When the nurse pulled the thermometer from Billy’s mouth, she was surprised to see that he was smiling.
Staverton picked up the folder. The words “Arado Ar234 Blitz” were printed across the top left-hand corner. He opened the file and read the first paragraph. It was a resume of the detailed report that would follow in the ensuing pages.
This twin-engined German jet bomber, conceived by the Arado Flugzeugwerke Company of Brandenburg during the closing months of 1940, is not only 100 mph faster than anything the RAF can muster at present (February 1945), it can also manoeuvre in rings around our own fighter aircraft. When fitted with the detachable MG 151 20mm belly-mounted cannon pack, it becomes a lethal adversary and we estimate here at Farnborough that, provided it is given a reasonably skilful pilot, it will score a kill eight times out of ten when provoked.
Staverton closed the folder on his desk and tried to rub some of the weariness from his eyes. The Arado was a production bomber for God’s sake and yet it was better than their own Spitfires and Tempests. And the Arado dossier was only one such report that Staverton could remember having seen in recent weeks. There were plenty of others. The Me 262 and He 162 jet fighters were now both operational and offered the Luftwaffe a phenomenal new capability. All the RAF had to throw into the fray in the way of jets was the Gloster Meteor, but it was slower and less manoeuvrable than its German counterparts.
Then there was the Komet rocket-fighter, the most radical combat aircraft of them all. The prospect of a new, long-range variant had allowed him little sleep.
Staverton poured himself another cup of coffee. Churchill’s reaction to Fleming’s report had been succinct and to the point. The Prime Minister’s grasp of technical and operational matters never ceased to amaze him. His support for Staverton’s plan of action had been unequivocal.
He looked at his watch. Nearly nine o’clock. When Fleming arrived, things would really start popping.
Fleming had never seen his boss look so bad this early in the morning. His tunic was rumpled, he was unshaven and his tie and collar were loosened.
“Come in, Robert, and get some coffee. Some for me too, while you’re about it.” Fleming called in the WAAF orderly from the adjoining office and asked for two — both black.
“Had a bit of a late night, as you no doubt guessed.” Staverton gestured at the state of his clothes. “I didn’t finish with the Prime Minister until the early hours. He’s very concerned about your 163 report and has communicated the need for direct action. It turned out that he was seeing Tooey Spaatz last night. Spaatz is heading back to America tomorrow and was getting the treatment over at No. 10. It’s his boys who are going to catch it in the neck if you’re right about this rocket fighter.”
Fleming did not often rub shoulders with the top brass, but he knew of almost all of them. General Carl “Tooey” Spaatz, Commander of the US 8th Air Force, was one of the most influential men in Allied High Command. He had openly come into conflict with the British Air Staff over the strategy for the bombing of Germany. Spaatz favoured precision bombing by day. The British argued that it was saturation bombing by night that would bring Germany’s
population and its industry to submission. Spaatz had got his way for his own forces, but at immense cost to the B-17 Flying Fortress wings in East Anglia. Until the long range escort fighter had come into service in the previous year, many US day missions had ended in decimation for the Fortresses. The new 163 was set to start that process all over again.
“Anyway, about an hour ago, this arrived.” The AVM held up a piece of paper bearing the seal of Churchill’s office. “This makes it official. The General and the PM feel the long range 163 could severely damage the morale of the American Fortress crews.”
“I think that’s putting it mildly, sir. If that aircraft out there is what we think it is, it could destroy the 8th Air Force. It gives the Luftwaffe the ability to hit the Americans almost all the way to the target and back.”
“Yes, I’m inclined to agree with you,” Staverton said. “But Churchill’s main concern, based on the latest intelligence reports from Germany, is that the Nazis have a plan to pull their armies back from Northern Europe and Italy and get them dug into Southern Bavaria and Austria. Basically, it would terminate the possibility of a swift conclusion to the war. Personally, I’ve never bought the idea of Hitler’s Alpine fortress. Now I’m not so sure.”
Fleming’s mind raced. “The performance of this new 163 — let’s call it the ‘C variant, because that’s what it must be — suggests that it could operate from small strips in the Bavarian and Austrian mountain valleys and deal out a hell of a lot of punishment to any bombers trying to locate and bomb their airfields from high altitude.”
Staverton nodded. “We cannot take any chances. Reconnaissance photos show they’ve been steadily pulling their forces back into the region. There’s evidence of intense tunnelling activity in the mountains, too.”
“But even if they do manage to establish fighter squadrons in the mountains, surely it would be impossible to get any large-scale manufacture of the 163 going?”
“One of our chief faults in recent weeks has been underestimating the capability of the Nazi as he retreats into his corner. Our armies have constantly been coming across empty factories throughout their advances into Germany. The Nazis have just moved the entire operation lock, stock and barrel further on down the road, if necessary. There is no reason why they shouldn’t move it just that little bit further away into the Bavarian and Austrian Alps.”
“But could they build even short runways in time?”
“With their infuriating ability to hide things away underground, they could build hangars for these aeroplanes deep into the mountains and launch them off straight country roads. It would be a nightmare even trying to find their bases, let alone destroy them.”