Five Past Midnight - James Thayer [88]
Earlier in his reign, the Führer had used an open car so that he could stand to appear before crowds lining the roadways, but Heydrich's assassination in Prague in May '1942 had convinced him that an armored roof might be useful, and this Grosser Mercedes was enclosed.
Many of the automobile's parts—those not essential to the armor— were made of aluminum to reduce weight. Still, the heavy car seemed to plow like a ship across the soft ground, its tires sinking.
Two other automobiles followed the Mercedes, both black Horches. When the Fiihrer's limousine stopped near the airplane, bodyguards emerged from both trailing cars to surround the Mercedes. They huddled around the car, forming a human shield. Cray could see only dimly. The guards were a smudge against the trees at the end of the airstrip. Some of them might have been wearing uniforms—straps across their chests and helmets—but Cray could not be sure.
The knot of bodyguards began moving at a slow pace toward the plane. They cleared the automobile. An interior roof light was now on in the Mercedes, and allowed Cray to see that the rear passenger door was open, and the backseat was empty. When the guards reached the Fieseler Storch, one of them gripped the wing strut and stepped onto the landing gear. He opened the plane's passenger door. He, too, was forming a shield.
A man rose from the group of guards, many hands assisting him. Cray could make out nothing but a suggestion of movement. Partly hidden by the guard on the strut, the man climbed into the plane.
Cray was acutely aware of the risks here in the Tiergarten. He was acting hastily on information from Colonel Becker that could not be confirmed. But if Becker's news was accurate, Cray's target was fleeing Berlin, and in a few minutes Cray would have failed entirely.
He had done what he could in the past two hours, walking around and through the Tiergarten, dressed like one of the thousands of refugees camped there, trying to spot something amiss, but had detected nothing. Still, coming to the Tiergarten on such sparse intelligence was a gamble. Cray had weighed the risk against the chance of success and had decided to act. The Panzerfaust's backblast would pinpoint Cray for the guards, but he also accepted that risk.
The Storch's engine began winding up as soon as the guard on the strut jumped down. Propeller wash whipped his coat. He and the others quickly retreated to their cars, holding onto their hats, their pants blown tightly against their legs. The small plane lurched forward, then gained speed, bouncing on the rough runway.
jack Cray rose from his position, brought up a Panzerfaust, and placed it over his shoulder. The sight was a crude stick just behind the projectile. His hand found the trigger, and he centered the approaching plane above the aiming stick. The plane gained speed on the rutted runway. Cray's trigger finger came back.
Then the Storch's engine failed. At least, so it seemed to Cray, with the motor dying so suddenly. The plane slowed, tossing and swaying, and finally stopped, still a hundred yards short of Cray's position. For a brief moment Cray expected the doors to be thrown open, the pilot calling out his trouble to some mechanic, maybe back at the automobiles.
And then Cray knew his gamble was lost, that he had been set up. The Fieseier Storch—or, more accurately, the information that the German leader was leaving Berlin in a plane from this emergency landing strip—was the bait, and Cray had gone for it.
Cray slipped down into the crater, putting the Panzerfaust aside. He peered over the rim. The backlit refugees—black against the wall of fire to the north—had a new presence. New figures, also dark against the fire. The figures were forming up, solidifying out of the trees and refugees. A picket fence of men, surely soldiers, walked slowly