The Valhalla Exchange - Jack Higgins [41]
Hoffer fell asleep; Strasser, who was sitting next to Berger, made notes in his diary in the light from the control panel. Ritter smoked a cigarette and watched him, wondering what was going on behind the eyes in that calm, expressionless face, but that was a pointless exercise. Just as much a waste of time as asking himself what in the hell he was doing here.
It was like a chess game. You made a move in answer to one. A totally open-ended situation. No means of knowing what the end would be until it was reached. And in the final analysis, did it really matter? He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.
He came awake instantly in response to a hand on his shoulder. Strasser said, 'We're close to Plauen now. Berger's trying to raise the airstrip.'
Ritter glanced at his watch and saw, with a slight shock of surprise, that it was three o'clock. He turned to Hoffer. 'How are you?'
'Better, Major, much better, now that there's nothing left to come. I never could stand flying - any kind of flying. Remember that transport plane which brought us out of Stalingrad?'
Berger was talking away, using his throat mike. 'Red Fox, this is Valhalla. Do you read me?' There was only the confused crackling of the static. He tried again, adjusting one of the dials. 'Red Fox, this is Valhalla.' A moment later a voice broke through the static. 'Valhalla, this is Red Fox. I read you strength five.'
'I am coming in now for refuelling as arranged,' Berger said. 'What is your situation?'
'Heavy rain, slight ground mist, visibility about 150 yards. We'll put the landing lights on for you.'
'All the comforts of home,' Berger said. 'My thanks.' A moment later, two parallel lines of light flared in the darkness to starboard. 'I can see you now,' he called. 'I'm coming in.'
He turned into the wind and started his descent. Ritter said, 'Do we stay here for any length of time?'
'For as long as it takes to fill the tanks,' Strasser said. 'We've still got a long way to go.'
They drifted down through the rain and mist into the light, there was the sudden squeal of the tyres biting as Berger applied the brakes, they slowed, the tail going down.
And then Berger gave a cry of dismay for the trucks that raced out of the darkness on either side, converging on them, had red stars emblazoned on their sides.
'Get out of it!' Strasser cried.
Berger increased engine revs. The soldiers in the trucks were already firing. A bullet shattered one of the side-windows. Ritter shoved the barrel of a Schmeisser through and loosed off a long burst. And then they were really moving again, racing towards the end of the runway, the trucks trying to keep up with them and losing. Berger pulled back the column, they climbed up into the darkness.
He levelled off at 3,000 feet. Strasser said, 'Now what?'
For the first time his composure seemed to have deserted him and he actually looked worried. For some reason Ritter found the spectacle strangely comforting.
'The only thing I'm certain of at the moment is that I've got fuel for forty minutes, and that includes the reserve tank,' Berger said. And in the crisis it was Ritter he turned to. 'Have a look at the Luftwaffe area map, the one on top. See what there is close to our line fifty miles south of here.'
Ritter spread the map across his knees and switched on his torch. 'There's a place called Plodin marked with a red ring. Perhaps forty miles. According to the key that means reserve feeder station. What's that?'
'Part of the back-up system for night-fighters. The sort of place they can put down if they run into trouble. A hangar and a single runway, usually grass. Probably a private air club before the war. I'll see if I can raise them.'
'You raised somebody last time,' Strasser said. 'They answered in excellent German and look what happened.'
'All right, what do you want me to do?' Berger demanded. 'I can't see what we're getting in to unless I go down because you won't get even a