He cleared his throat. “Out, now,” he shouted, hearing fear in his voice. Maybe one of his men would realise that something was wrong and… and do what? There was nothing they could do. “Come out…”
The commandos caught the handful of guards as they came out, searched them roughly and then bound their hands with plastic ties. Hugo’s captor did the same, grunting in distaste as he inspected Hugo’s sodden trousers, then marched Hugo over to the wall and positioned him against it. The charges affixed to the bridge, the charges Hugo was supposed to detonate if it became clear the bridge was about to be lost, were rapidly removed. He watched, helplessly, as the truck moved past them, crossed the bridge and vanished into the east.
He heard the dull rumble of engines and knew, with a sickening certainty that admitted of no doubt, just what was coming his way. Moments later, he recoiled inwardly as the first panzer came into view, a giant tank easily large enough to knock down his house without ever noticing the impact. Its main gun traversed threateningly as it hunted for targets, the smaller machine guns mounted on each side of the turret passing over the helpless captives before ignoring them. Hundreds of other tanks followed, their crews waving cheerfully at the commandoes as they headed westwards. Hugo closed his eyes in bitter pain, unable to shut out either the growing racket or the terrifying awareness that he had failed. The door was open, the SS was on the march…
…And it was all his fault.
His captor leered down at him as another lorry parked near the bridge and unloaded two platoons of heavily-armed soldiers. “I shouldn’t worry, Mein Fraulein,” he said. He patted Hugo on the shoulder, then hauled him to his feet and pushed him towards the lorry. “For you, the war is over.”
Marlene Johan kept her face expressionless as she peered into the squadron ready room, where thirty-two young men were laughing, talking or trying to get some sleep while they waited for the call to action. Four of them were already aloft, flying their ME-347s in Combat Air Patrol over the border between east and west, but the others knew they might have to grab their jackets and rush to their planes at any moment. There should have been four more men in the room, yet they were missing. Marlene had a feeling that they’d successfully managed to seduce some of her staff and talk them into the private bathrooms.
They’ll be in deep trouble if they’re caught, she thought with dark amusement, hearing the noise from one of the closed doors. And they will be caught, if they keep making that racket.
She smirked at the thought as she made her way into her office. The pilots were on duty. They weren’t supposed to be caught diddling the cleaning staff. She might even feel sorry for them, after the base’s commander finished tearing strips off their hides and threatening them with instant dismissal – and perhaps castration – if they allowed themselves to be distracted again. She would have had a word with her staff too, under other circumstances. No one really cared what the pilots did when they were off-duty – their uniforms were enough to attract any number of women from the nearby town – but when they were on-duty they were supposed to remain on-duty. If someone was shot down and killed because one of his comrades was late to his plane, they’d never hear the end of it.
Yes, they will, she thought, as she carefully removed the assault rifle from her locked cupboard and slotted the ammunition into place. None of them will survive this day.
She shook her head as she put the grenades into her pocket, wondering just why the guards hadn’t bothered to search her office. A pistol would have been hard to explain, let alone an assault rifle. But then, she’d been inside the wire – part of the furniture – long before the uprising had cast the shadow of civil war over Germany. Too old and unattractive to interest the pilots, too female to be considered dangerous… she’d kept an eye on the young men for disloyalty, even as she’d cleaned up the mess they left behind. They thought nothing of her, if they bothered to think of her at all. She’d take a certain delight in showing them the error of their ways.
If you survive the day, her own thoughts reminded her. And the odds are not in your favour.
She picked up the rifle, then opened the door and glanced outside. The noise of two bodies slamming together was growing louder, but there was no one in sight. Marlene smirked as she hurried out of the door towards the ready room, one hand taking a grenade from her belt and removing the pin. None of the pilots had bothered to think about the fact – it was hardly a secret – that she’d been born in Germany East. She might be a woman – old and ugly to them – but she’d been using weapons since she was nine. An assault rifle was nothing more than a tool to her.
Opening the door, she tossed the grenade into the room and braced herself. There was a shout – the pilots were sloppy, more used to showing off in the air than fighting for their lives – before the grenade detonated, shaking the building. Everyone would have heard the blast, including the guards. Marlene hefted the rifle and stepped into the room, her eyes scanning for pilots who had survived the blast. She put the handful of lightly-wounded survivors down with single-shots, ignoring the badly-wounded men. They’d be a drain on resources, if they were left alive…
She heard the sound of a door banging open behind her and hurried back out into the corridor. Isabel was standing there, her bare breasts bobbling as she looked from side to side in shock; behind her, one of the more odious pilots was trying to draw his pistol from his belt. Marlene shot him down without hesitation, then aimed at Isabel. The dark-haired girl crumpled to the ground, fainting in shock. Marlene was tempted to put a bullet through her head anyway – Isabel was too stupid to be allowed to breed – but thought better of it as she heard the sound of running footsteps. The guards were finally coming to stop her. No doubt they thought that one of the pilots had turned on his fellows.
Bracing herself, she took another grenade, removed the pin and hurled it down the corridor as the guards came into view. They were on the alert; two of them threw themselves to the ground as the grenade detonated, while another one hurled himself backwards. Marlene fired a long burst of bullets towards them, then turned and ran, using another grenade to cover her tracks. The explosion shook the building, sending pieces of debris crashing towards the floor. There were a handful of shots behind her, but none of them even came close.
No training for an internal assault, Marlene thought, gleefully. The guards had trained hard, she recalled, but all their training had been based around an external assault on the airbase. It hadn’t seemed to occur to them that one of the charwomen might be an SS operative, ready to turn on them when she received the signal. They’re not ready for me.
She ran through the door and onto the tarmac. It was dark – the sun wouldn’t be peeking above the horizon for at least another hour – but it was light enough for her to see the line of aircraft waiting for pilots. The ground crewmen turned to stare at her as she ran out, then ducked for cover as she opened fire, hurling the last of her grenades into the nearest cockpit before it could detonate. She’d hoped for a chain reaction – she’d imagined the line of planes exploding into fireballs, one by one – but only one plane caught fire. Someone was shouting behind her…
A hammer struck her shoulder, sending the assault rifle flying as she fell forward and slammed face-first into the tarmac. The impact dazed her; it took several seconds for her to realise that she’d been shot. She heard the sound of running footsteps as she tried to struggle to her feet, discovering to her horror that her body was no longer working. Blood – her blood – was pouring out of her wound.