As a soldier, he could hold out some hope that he wouldn’t be killed, that, instead, he would be taken prisoner and someday returned to America. He might live, and where there is the possibility of life there is hope.
But what about Lis and the boy? Pauli would probably be lucky. He would likely be killed outright. But Lis? He had heard the stories. Most of the German women in Potsdam had been raped by Russians and had made plans to kill themselves before that happened again.
Lis hadn’t mentioned anything-some topics were still taboo-but he knew she must have considered it. He could not bear the thought of her spread-eagled on the ground while a line of grinning Russians waited their turn.
He had to get her out of Potsdam. How? he bitterly asked himself. They were surrounded by a river and tens of thousands of Russians. If she could sprout wings she might have a chance.
“Did you say anything?” she asked groggily, and he realized he must have said something out loud.
He kissed her on the forehead. “Nah. Must’ve been mumbling to myself.”
Elisabeth shook her head and roused herself. “I have to get up and see your dear Sergeant Krenski.”
Logan chuckled. He saw nothing dear at all about First Sergeant Krenski, who seemed to worship Lis. “Why?”
She stood and stretched like cat. “Because I am teaching the nice man how to read. He isn’t dumb, you know. He just was too embarrassed to do anything after he succeeded in leaving school without learning a thing. Really, you ought to do something about your schools.”
Jack swatted her on the rear and she stuck out her tongue. Lucky Krenski, he thought, and what the hell is he doing with my girl?
Burke and Godwin waited in the chill dawn alongside the hastily built airstrip. It was long, very long, and Burke wondered just what the hell needed so much real estate for takeoff and landing.
Godwin was there as a representative of the RAF, and Burke was there because it was presumed he was an emissary from Marshall. Basically, this was an American Eighth Air Force show, and scores of air force personnel ranged the area. Antiaircraft guns pointed skyward, although their crews stood several feet away from their weapons lest there be some tragic mistake.
“I still can’t believe this is happening,” Godwin said.
Burke chuckled. “Hasn’t happened yet, now has it?”
“If this is a trap,” Godwin said. “We are dead.”
It wasn’t a trap, Burke reassured himself. There weren’t that many important people present to make it worth a trap or a betrayal. At least that’s what he hoped.
A large flight of P-51s flew overhead with a roar. They were the van of the escort. Even though unseen, a multitude of other American fighters provided flank and rear support.
Godwin jabbed Burke’s arm. “There.”
A dark shape had descended from the clouds and was approaching the landing strip. Instead of the roar of a propeller plane, this had more of a singing sound. “Oh my God,” muttered Burke.
The strange plane touched down gently, showing the pilot’s obvious skill. “I can’t even get into bed that softly,” Burke said.
They openly gaped at the plane. It more resembled a shark than anything else. And there were no propellers. The plane was a jet, the dreaded ME-262.
Behind the first plane came a second and a third, and others queued up for their turn to land. The hatch of the lead jet opened and a man in his thirties wearing the rank of Luftwaffe general climbed out and jumped down. He looked around and spotted Burke. Godwin stepped behind. The turnover was to be from the Germans to the Americans.
Burke was a little befuddled. He knew what was supposed to happen, but there was an air corps general a mile away who was in the wrong spot and wondering how the hell to get to the right one without losing his dignity. Additional German jets were landing and lining up alongside the first one.
The German held out his hand, and without thinking, Burke took it. He’d never shaken hands with a Nazi before. But then, this general was supposed to be one of the good guys. That is, if there really were any good Germans.
“Colonel, I am Lieutenant General Adolf Galland, and you Americans will soon have all the German jets I commanded. At least those that survived,” he said sadly. “I trust you will use them wisely. I also trust you have fuel for them.”
Godwin responded. He noted that Galland was not shocked by his face. Obviously, the Luftwaffe had its own share of burned wretches.
“General, we have fuel for our own jet program and our scientists are confident it can be modified for your jets.”
Development of the British Meteor jet lagged well behind the ME-262. “I hope so,” said Galland. “If not, we might as well have blown them up on the runway.”
CHAPTER 24
Natalie Holt responded impatiently to the sound of the doorbell. It was ten o’clock in the morning, and she was up and about cleaning the large apartment. Ordinarily on a holiday like the Fourth of July she would be preparing to visit friends, and she still intended to see her mother later in the day, but so much of the time this morning was being spent in busywork to keep her mind off of how much she missed Steve Burke.
“I’m coming,” she hollered, and she heard a muffled masculine response. She opened the door a crack and saw the grinning face of Special Agent Paul Forbes.
“Can I come in?”
Natalie opened the door. Forbes had been with her when they had discovered Walter Barnes’s suicide, and the shared experience had helped an easy bond to form. The fact that neither was too fond of his boss, Tom Haven, was another plus. She noted he was wearing a dark business suit on Independence Day, so the visit was not social.
“Paul, unless I miss my bet, today is Wednesday, the Fourth of July. I know there’s a war on, but don’t you people get any time off at all?”
“Rest is only for the wicked. Not good guys like me.”
Natalie offered coffee, which he accepted, and she slightly regretted that she was dressed so casually in old white tennis shorts and a T-shirt that said U.S. Navy. She had been mopping the floor, not preparing to be a hostess.
“I’m assuming the obvious, Paul, that your visit is official and rather in a rush.”
“Very true on both counts. I got a call at home about an hour ago from your favorite lecher, Agent Tom Haven, who informed me that I had to leave my wife and children and see you immediately, Fourth of July or no Fourth of July.”
“How charming. About what? Have you discovered another closet homosexual or unrepentant socialist in the State Department?”
“I hope not. I want to talk about Steven Burke.”
Natalie was shocked. “Good lord, why? He hasn’t gotten into any trouble, has he?”
The only thing she could think of was that he might have blabbed something. It seemed unlikely. Steve understood the need for secrecy as much as she did. The only reason they talked about their mutual interest in the Soviet Union was that both had equal security clearances. Even his letters, which implied that he was doing something important for Eisenhower since he hadn’t returned with Marshal, had been appropriately circumspect.
Forbes shrugged. “I admit it’s a possibility, but not a very good one. If he was in trouble, he would be under guard, if not arrested, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation on a holiday. Frankly, Natalie, I really don’t know the reason for either the questions or the haste. I was just told to do a quick review and do it now. I think there is the possibility that he might be being considered for higher clearances than he now has.”
“I thought he was as high as he could be.”
“Nope, within security clearances, there are degrees within degrees. Now, let’s get this done so I can go home and burn hamburgers. How long have you known him and so forth?”
Natalie quickly answered all the statistical questions, and Forbes wrote her responses on a small pad. She stumbled at only one point. “Paul, I just realized I don’t know his birthday.”