Then, a wild ride through the sea. Through the spray and noise, Wijnand saw one of the helicopters backing up, dragging all three of them through the waves, away from the suction of the sinking wreck. Whoever these guys were, they knew what they were doing. Then it clicked. He'd heard the Amis had set up an organization to pick up pilots who'd put their aircraft into the sea. they must think he was one of theirs. He started to turn to see the swimmer holding him and froze as a pistol muzzle pressed against his right ear. No, they didn't think he was one of theirs. Floating in the North Atlantic with a US Navy swimmer holding him with one arm and pressing an Ml911 Al into his ear with the other, Wijnand decided it was a very good time to go with the flow.
He wasn't doing that for long. The first helicopter had dropped its line and moved clear. The other came in now, trailing a line with a collar on the end. The second swimmer caught it and swam over. Wijnand could see an emblem on the black suit now, a cartoon seal balancing a ball on its nose. And a name tag, Jeff Thomas. Thomas slipped the collar over Wijnand's head, settled it under his arms and backed off. He made some sort of gesture and Wijnand was suddenly plucked out of the sea. A winch on the helicopter, these guys really did know what they were doing. He was up by the hatch on the helicopter now and strong arms reached out to pull him in. Two more black clad figures with seal insignia. One was getting him out of his collar, the other, Hedges according to his name tag, was pointing one of the ugly Ami machine pistols straight at him. On reflection, Wijnand decided that he'd never realized .45 of an inch was so big.
He could see the other helicopter using its winch to pick up the swimmers then the sea suddenly spun around him and they were moving. There was another roar as the Bearcats passed, the operation fitted together now. the Bearcats had found him and called the helicopters in. The Luftwaffe had never seen many Bearcats, the type had been in very limited production. Jets were better interceptors and the Goodyear could carry larger loads further. They were approaching a four-funneled Ami carrier, swinging over the deck and landing. On a deck that gave way under them almost immediately. Wijnand realized it was a lift and his helicopter was on its way down.
The hangar deck was crowded with Bearcats and helicopters. And people who'd come out to see the German prisoner. And four more of the seal-men. With machine pistols. Wijnand was grabbed and hurried along the hangar deck. “Take him to sickbay then throw him in the brig” a voice said. Sickbay that made sense but what was a brig? Through the confused chaos of a hangar deck, Wijnand compared it with the calm studied efficiency of a Luftwaffe repair shop. There everybody worked methodically and quietly, doing their work exactly to specs. Here people were yelling and shouting at each other. Wijnand saw one man was having trouble getting the cowling panel on a Grumman fixed. A German mechanic would have patiently adjusted it until he fit, did this man? No,
he just took a hammer from his belt and hit it until it popped into place. And the way the treated tools? In the Luftwaffe, precious tools were treated with respect, carried from one man to another with great care for if one was damaged, nobody knew how long finding a replacement would take. But here, the crews just tossed tools backwards and forwards. Almost as if it was a game.
Then through a hatch and down a twisty maze of little passages all alike. Through a hatch. White compartment, beds, and a man wearing a white coat. Nametag read Ganning. Must be sickbay. One of the four seal men saying 'Hi Doc, got a live one for you to experiment on'. That did not sound good. He saw Ganning speak quietly to a seal-man who went away. The other three remained, lazing up against the compartment sides, their machine pistols never wavering. Ganning waved at Wijnand, the obvious meaning. Sit. Then light shone into the eyes, feeling around his head. Wijnand had crash-landed often enough to know this drill. Checking for concussion.
It was then that the seal-man, the one called Hedges returned. With a tray. A tray with a mug of real coffee. And a sandwich. A bacon sandwich. Hot, freshly made. Dared he try? Wijnand considered his options and decided it was worth the risk. He had little to lose anyway. Putting on his best English, he looked at Hedges and “Excuse me, do you have mustard?” The seal-man grinned and pointed at small paper cups containing red yellow and white spreads. “Catsup, mayo and mustard. Those cream and sugar for your coffee.” There was a small wooden spoon. Wijnand decided that he would not attack four seal-men carrying machine-pistols while he was armed only with a wooden spoon. At least, not until after he'd eaten his sandwich. A fresh bacon sandwich with mustard and a mug of fresh-brewed real coffee. Wijnand suddenly understood that his luck hadn't run out after all.
Flight Deck, B-36H “Texan Lady” over the Bay of Biscay
“Have a good sleep?”
Colonel Dedmon slid back into the pilot's seat and nodded. In the old days, the B-36 had bunks and the crew could sleep in what amounted to proper beds. The featherweight program had put an end to that. Now, off-duty crewmen had to sack out in sleeping bags on the deck. Major Pico would be heading aft soon for his rest period. Then, all three pilots would be awake for the run on Berlin. Which reminded him. He had something to do.
“Sitrep?”
“We're on course sir, on schedule. Over the Bay of Biscay, approaching the coast of France. Altitude 48,500 feet, ground speed 236 miles per hour, fuel consumption a little below normal, we have a slight tailwind helping us. We're running on all six piston engines and the jets are shut down. All systems working. You know sir, we haven't had a single failure since we took off, it’s uncanny. Barbie Doll and Sixth Crew Member are holding station. We went to full Hometown about 30 minutes ago sir.”
Full Hometown meant they were in radar-avoidance mode. The three aircraft were flying in a carefully-calculated formation with the spacing held religiously. The six engines had been set to run at rigidly-defined RPM settings, all slightly different. The effect of the combined positions and blade rates of the engines was to create resonances and side-bands in radar pulses that struck the formation. Nobody could hide an aircraft the size of a B-36 but the Hometown formation made it hard to get a precise reading. And when there were a lot of Hometowns, that translated into a blur on the radar plot, rather than a precise track. And there were a lot of Hometowns out today.
Back in the aft compartment, their electronic warfare officer, Captain Mollins, was warming up his equipment. A full-time EW crew was a new addition for the B-36 force; they had arrived only after the deletion of the guns had freed up crew space. Now, the RB-36s up ahead of them would be intercepting enemy radar transmissions and relaying the data back to the bombers. Captain Mollins could jam up to three spot frequencies at once, the other two members of the Hometown could do the same. That meant they could take down up to nine radars at once and one of Captain Mollins's jobs was to make sure they took down nine radars, not the same radar nine times. In addition, they carried chaff to further confuse the enemy radars. The EW suite also contained a radio jamming system. This was primarily a defense against the German Wasserfall anti-aircraft missile, one of the few weapons that could reach the operating altitudes of the B-36s. Wasserfall was a threat but its radio guidance system was ludicrously easy to jam. Still, nobody was taking any chances.