The airfield itself was really nothing more than a back-up for other airfields, located to the north or the east. Kurt had been on several airfields in his career, but he had to admit that the emergency airfield was easily the least impressive of them all, really nothing more than a pair of runways designed for heavy bombers, a couple of empty hangars and a single mid-sized control tower. He was surprised that Germanica thought the airfield was worth the trouble of guarding. But the radar network covering Germany East had been taking a battering ever since the civil war began — and hadn’t been designed to track aircraft coming from the west in any case — so he supposed the radar station had needed some protection.
But not enough, he thought, as he searched the control tower to make sure that no one had been missed during the first sweep. We practically walked in and took the place.
He shrugged. The airfield had been practically abandoned for months, perhaps years. There were no signs of individuality in the handful of rooms, save for a pornographic magazine someone had dumped on the floor before leaving. Nearly all of the supplies, save for a medical kit, had been cleaned out as well. Kurt was surprised the fuel dump had been left intact — he could think of some other uses for aviation fuel — but he knew better than to question their good fortune. It was about time something went their way.
“The base is secure, Herr Hauptmann,” one of the soldiers said.
“Very good,” Kurt said. He sucked in a breath. “Send the signal. Tell them we are ready for them.”
“Jawohl.”
“And then check the runways,” Kurt added. “We want them completely free of ice.”
I’m too old for this shit, Herman thought.
He’d been a paratrooper, true, but it had been over ten years since he’d last jumped out of a plane. It wasn’t something he’d had to do as a policeman. But everyone with paratrooper training — save for the handful who were too old or infirm to make the jump safely — had been called to a secret airbase, told they were being prepped for a mission and then warned that they weren’t allowed to leave on pain of death. If there hadn’t been nearly a hundred young men — with far more recent experience — included he might have seriously considered trying to get out of the mission.
He shuddered awake as the plane started to descend. Nothing had changed, it seemed, in the last ten years. The planes were still uncomfortable, the pilots were still crazy, and the racket was just barely short of unbearable. He’d been told that the planes were designed to encourage the paratroopers to jump as quickly as possible, but he’d dismissed it as obvious nonsense. Even if someone wanted to ensure that the paratroopers jumped out without hesitation, the pilots would still be in the planes. Unless something went spectacularly wrong, of course.
The entire airframe shook, violently. He cursed under his breath, reminding himself sharply that turbulence just had to be endured. He’d never been entirely comfortable flying through heavy turbulence, even though the pilots had often reassured him that turbulence was largely harmless. He liked to be in control and being in a plane, one that felt as though it was being tossed around the sky by an angry god, was the exact opposite of being in control.
They should have recalled more young men from South Africa, he thought, as the plane hit the ground and bounced. They’d have more experience in landing on top of an enemy position.
He gritted his teeth as the plane came down for a second time and landed properly, skidding along the runway as if there was nothing slowing it down. The engines whined loudly as they went into reverse, the plane careening from side to side before finally slowing down enough to turn right and get off the runway. Herman sighed in relief — the other aircraft would be landing within a very tight window — and forced himself to relax. They’d landed safely, no matter how unnatural it felt…
“You’ll have ten minutes to walk around and stretch your legs,” the CO said, briskly. “But don’t go beyond the fence.”
Herman nodded as he joined the line of soldiers hurrying towards the rear doors and scrambling down to the ground. The air was bitterly cold, the ground coated in grit designed to keep the runaway from icing over. It looked deserted, save for a handful of armoured vehicles sitting near the control tower. A low roar echoed through the air as the remaining aircraft landed, one by one. Thankfully, they all made it down safely.
Maybe not so old after all, Herman thought. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed the life until he returned to it. There was something about being in the military, even during a civil war, that was more honest than being a policeman. It feels almost like coming home.
He pinched a cigarette from one of the younger men and lit it, taking a deep breath. His wife would disapprove of him smoking — particularly on an airfield — but he needed something to help calm his nerves. Besides, there was a very good chance they wouldn’t be returning. The briefing had made it clear that they either had to win completely or die. And if they lost, no one would remember their names.
“Father,” a voice said.
Herman spun around. Kurt was standing there, wearing a Volkssturm uniform that looked to have been sewn for a man two or three sizes bigger than him. Herman stared, then reached out and gave his son a tight hug. It had been too long since he’d seen Kurt…
“She’s alive,” Kurt said, as he led Herman away from the others. “Father, she’s alive!”
“Thank God,” Herman breathed. “Are you sure?”
“I asked… our contact to ask her something only she would know,” Kurt said. “And the correct answer came back.”
“Good,” Herman said. He trusted Kurt to get it right. He’d always been close to Gudrun, closer than Herman had ever been to his own sisters. But then, Gudrun and Kurt weren’t that far apart in age. “I hope you’re sure.”
“I am,” Kurt said.
Herman hoped he was right. His children would have been horrified by just how much their father knew about them, even though he had to admit that he’d missed the signs that Gudrun was involved with the protest movement. Secrets weren’t always secrets in small households, no matter how closely they were kept. But Kurt and Gudrun probably had some shared memories that no one else knew. He just hoped they weren’t being set up for a nasty fall.
Kurt met his eyes. “How is mother? And the brats?”
“Your younger brothers are fine,” Herman said, sternly. He’d hoped that Kurt would be a decent older brother to Johan and Siegfried, but they were really too far apart in age for genuine friendship. Johan and Siegfried looked up to Kurt, he knew, and that was about the best anyone could hope for. “Your mother is… is still politicking, I’m afraid.”
“Oh,” Kurt said. “I’m sure she’ll do well.”
Herman shrugged. Really, he was too old to care about what others thought of him. Or at least he should be. And he’d survived the occasional snide remark about his daughter smoothing out his career path. But the part of him that was too stubborn to change was reluctant to accept that his wife had changed. He didn’t know if he’d ever get used to it.
“The world is changing,” he said. “And some of the changes are better than others.”
He looked back towards the aircraft. There was no way he’d be allowed to stay in the military after the war, no matter what happened. And he doubted he would be able to return to the police force. But perhaps he could join the Volkssturm…