Five Past Midnight - James Thayer [87]
Cray studied one of the Panzerfausts. It was a simple weapon, with a steel launching tube containing a propellant charge. At the business end of the tube was a bulbous three-pound bomb that had spring-loaded folding stabilizer fins that would release as the grenade left the tube. On the tube was ACHTUNG FEUERSTRAHL (BEWARE FLAME JET) to remind the operator of the backblast. He had never before fired one, but it looked easy enough. Point and shoot, and stay away from the back end of it.
He was facing north, midway along the airstrip. An airplane taking off would have to pass within forty yards of Cray's position. The neighborhood to the north, across the Spree, had been hit by bombers that day and was still burning, a mile-long bank of fire that churned with liquid peaks and valleys. The inferno backlit the park, and black and broken trees stuck out from the ground at all angles. Refugee campfires dotted the Tiergarten, and low shapes huddled around meager flames. Other refugees moved between the blasted trees looking for shelter, blankets over their shoulders, a few pushing wheelbarrows, some leading children. Ash fell steadily, and Cray let it land on him, appreciating another layer of camouflage. Wind drew smoke from the fire and layered it over the park. Clouds of ash were kicked up by the wind, and drifts of it were growing against the bulldozer and grader and tree stumps.
A gray movement caught Cray's attention, something at the edge of the smoke, at the eastern end of the airstrip. A spark, then an orange flare, an intense point of light that instantly lit a soldier wearing a coalscuttle helmet and a rifle over his shoulder who had a flare in his hand. The soldier walked several paces to the corner of the airstrip, placed the flare on the ground, then retreated out of the cone of orange light and was swiftly hidden by smoke and night.
A second flare came to life, carried by another soldier, again off to Cray's right. The flare was planted into the turned ground, and the soldier stepped away. Quickly two more flares were lit and set on the ground, these to Cray's left, at the west corners of the airstrip. The soldiers slipped out of Cray's sight. Flares now framed the landing field.
Cray looked at his wristwatch. Midnight. The low drone of an airplane could be heard above the fire's distant seething. The sound of an engine grew louder, and was soon a hollow pounding. Cray looked skyward, but saw only black haze and a weak moon. Then the plane slid out of the night at the west end of the airstrip and was almost on the ground before it formed out of the smoke. It passed Cray as it slowed.
It was a Fieseier Storch, a wing-over, single-engine plane with a fixed undercarriage. The model had proved itself scouting for Rommel in Africa. This plane had been reserved for the Führer. The engine gained power to turn the plane around, and then it taxied west along the airstrip, passing Cray again, its propeller blowing up dust and ash. A black national cross was on its fuselage and another under its wing. It bounced over stones as it made its way along. Cray could not make out the pilot.
The sound of other engines came from the southwest, from behind Cray and off to his left. The strident howling of motorcycles. Their headlights had been taped over to allow only slits of light to escape. Cray could see nothing but narrow beams that drifted across the park. Behind them was an automobile, it too sending forth only restricted shafts of light. This was a touring car,