The display showed only 25 aircraft, there were more around but those were the only ones that mattered. Nine were American bombers, heading into Berlin now. Flying in three V formations. Going up to meet them were sixteen Ju-635 heavy fighters. Four “finger” formations each of four aircraft. Looking at them, Herrick was irresistibly reminded of two groups of medieval knights out to joust in the name of chivalry. Only chivalry had nothing to do with what was going on now. The Americans had simply ignored the German defenses and smashed the country without giving it a chance to defend itself.
The Ju-635 was the last chance to save something from the carnage. Most of the four engined-freaks were lost now. Some had landed only to be destroyed on the ground, others had been too close to the mushroom clouds when the American Hellburners exploded. Such an apt name, one of the fighter pilots had overflown Mainz, said all the fires of hell were burning in the city and the American bombs had picked up the name, Hellburners. But there were 16 Ju-635s left, low on fuel and that was good. Most of the four-engined freaks had been unable to even get close to the American bombers and had had to watch them cruise past. A couple had claimed their missiles had got close to their targets and caused the big bombers to head west, streaming smoke. In his heart, derrick guessed that was optimistic. But the 16 defending Berlin were flying light, on his orders they'd fired off their cannon ammunition and done everything else they could to lighten their load. 16 Ju-635s, 3 missiles per aircraft, surely almost 50 missiles could achieve something against nine targets? Couldn't they?
Herrick watched while the plot developed. It was the usual pattern now, the American bombers heading straight for their target, relying on their speed and altitude to evade the defenses. The Ju-635 pilots had learned from earlier battles, they'd spread out to catch the American bombers in a web. Their problem was they were stalling out of their climb a full 2,000 meters below their targets. The Americans were using the same evasive tactics they'd used earlier, wait until the enemy fired then used their aircraft's astounding high-altitude maneuverability to turn inside the weapons. Of course now it didn't help, the missiles followed them into the turns but each turn drank up the missile's energy. The American bombers ducked and weaved around salvo after salvo. One by one, the missiles all fell short of their targets. The last one gone, the big Junkers turned away, they'd shot their bolt. And missed.
There were gasps, a few whimpers then a profound silence in the operations center as the plot showing the German fighters separated and left the American bombers to their runs. The three formations of bombers were splitting now, their intent obvious, they'd make three parallel runs over the city beneath them, Herrick found himself having trouble breathing, the despair in the air was so thick.
“So how many Hellburners do you think they will drop on us?” Reichsmarshal Goering sounded almost obscenely cheerful. “I think nine. One from each bomber. Anybody else got a guess? I'll give a prize to anybody whose guess is closer than mine. Anybody?” There was a deafening silence.
“I think twelve sir. Munich had six bombers and got eight Hellburners. We have nine so I think twelve.” The woman sounded hesitant and nervous about speaking to somebody ranked so high but Goering smiled at her. “And what is your name my dear. It appears nobody else wants to play.”
“I am Sunni Sir. Sunni Brucke.”
“Are you married Sunni?”
“No sir, I was hoping to marry my fiancé on his next leave. He is in Russia. With the Panzers. But...”
“Not one of my fighter pilots.” Goering shook his head as if he couldn't believe a woman would want to marry anybody other than a fighter pilot. “We'll make this a little bet between us then. If your guess is closer than mine then you and your fiancé can have your honeymoon at Karinhall.” There was an intake of breath around the room. Karinhatl was Goering's legendary hunting lodge, named after his first wife.
A fabled palace of extreme luxury filled with treasures looted from all over Europe. Several of the other women mentally kicked themselves for not joining in, they'd missed the chance of a lifetime, “if I win Sunni, you give me that bracelet you are wearing. We have a bet?”
Sunni nodded, the bracelet was a cheap and worthless piece of costume jewelry. Herrick watched fascinated. With a simple exchange Goering had made people think about the future again, about surviving and what to do if they survived.
The plot showed the American bombers were approaching fast now. “How tightly can we seal this place down. And once we have done so, how long can we stay down here?” Herrick realized Goering was speaking to him now. And the voice was solid ice, it wasn't the genial banter he'd used with the girl. The friendly good humor had gone from the eyes, replaced by piercing, glacial command. Herrick reminded himself that Old Fatty was not a clown or a buffoon; if he gave that impression, it was because doing so served his ends. To be frightened of this man was very wise.
“Sir, we are deep down here, protected by reinforced concrete. The air supply is from outside but it’s filtered by a system intended to defend against poison gas. We have our own generators and a good supply of fuel. Not a great supply but we can economize by cutting out non-essential systems. We have food for at least two weeks. Not good food but it will keep us running.”
“Then we can ride out the attack?”
“As long as a Hellburner does not land right on top of us, yes sir.” Herrick was aghast, he mentally flayed himself, he had been so hypnotized by the destruction he'd forgotten to think out how to survive. He'd been so fixated with the failure of his air defense system, he'd forgotten to capitalize on what it could do. How many RCCs and LCCs had been lost because their staff had done the same? A few simple things might give them a much better chance of surviving. “Kill all the unnecessary lights, make sure the air system filters are in place. Make sure that whatever is loose is fixed down. And hold on this will be rough.”
It could be minutes, perhaps seconds until the Hellbumers started to fall. It seemed like hours were passing yet the plot of the bomber approaches had coincided with the city already. A few people were praying, others writing notes or last letters. Goering's words had broken the air of utter despair and demoralization but nobody really believed they could survive.
Then, there was a massive blow that filled the room with dust and smoke, panels from the ceiling crashed down; people were knocked from their feet as the room shook. Herrick saw the floor was actually moving in a rippling wave, the maps flexing and arcing on their tracks. There was a roar, a deep threatening growl that seemed to fill the room from all around, no particular source but surrounding them in a cocoon of noise. Over in one corner, the cups and saucers shattered into fragments. Herrick felt himself falling, landing on his butt in an undignified squat. The lights went out completely and there was utter darkness.
That made the second shock all the more terrifying even though it was much weaker than the first. By now, everything that could be broken had broken and everybody who could fall over was on the ground. Instead they were just shaken and the wreckage was spread around. That shock lasted longer that the first and was still fading when a third, weaker and longer, struck. Weaker was still a relative term though, the NAIADS operations center had been built to withstand attack even though nothing like the Hellburners had even been imagined when its specifications were drawn up. Springs, Herrick thought, next time we'll put the whole structure on springs to absorb the shock. Then the fourth Shockwave hit, stronger than any except the first.