The Valhalla Exchange - Jack Higgins [46]
'A charming prospect,' Ritter said. 'I congratulate you.'
When he leaned back, he realized that Strasser was awake and watching through half-opened eyes. He smiled and leaned forward, a hand on Berger's shoulder.
'He likes to talk, my young friend here. A conversationalist by nature. A good thing he's such a brilliant pilot.'
Strasser was smiling genially, but his fingers were hooked into the shoulder so tightly that Berger winced with pain. 'I'll take her up now,' he shouted. 'Try and get above this shit and see what's what. We should be nearly there.'
He pulled back the stick and started to climb, but the heavy cloud showed no signs of diminishing. Finally, he levelled out. 'No good. I'll have to try it the other way. Nothing else for it. Hang on and we'll see what the state of things is downstairs.'
He pushed the column forward, taking the Storch into a shallow low dive. The cloud became darker, more menacing, boiling around them, hail rattling against the fuselage, and Berger had to hang on to the column with all his strength. They were at 4,000 feet and still descending, Berger hanging on grimly, and Hoffer gave an involuntary cry of fear. And then at 3,000 feet they emerged into the light of day and found themselves, as Berger levelled out, drifting along the course of a wide valley, pine trees very green against the snow, the peaks of the Bavarian Alps rising on either side of them.
'Somebody on board must live right,' Berger said. 'Now have a look on the Luftwaffe area map and see if you can find Arnheim, Major.'
It was no more than a feeder station, had never been more than that. There was a single runway, two hangars. No control tower -simply a couple of single-storeyed concrete huts with tin roofs.
Snow was falling gently, but there was no wind to speak of and the Fieseler Storch came in from the north like a grey ghost, her engine barely a murmur. Her wheels touched and there were two puffs of white smoke as snow spurted beneath them.
Strasser said, 'Straight up to the hangars. I want her under cover.'
'All right.' Berger nodded.
When they were close enough, Strasser, Ritter and Hoffer all got out and opened the hangar doors between them. Berger taxied inside and cut the engine. He laughed out loud as he jumped to the ground.
'So we made it. The Victory Column to Arnheim in five and a half hours.' He helped Ritter pull the door across. 'Smell that mountain air.'
Hoffer had gone through the connecting door into the next hangar, and now he returned. 'There's a field car in there, Major,' he told Ritter. 'A basket in the back.'
'Good,' Strasser said. 'I've been expecting that.'
He led the way in and the others followed. The basket was of the picnic type. There was also a small leather suitcase with it. Strasser placed it on the bonnet of the car and opened it. Inside there was a radio transmitter and receiver of a kind Ritter had never seen before.
'Excellent,' Strasser said. 'The best in the world at the present time. Came to us by courtesy of an agent of the British Special Operations Executive.' He checked his watch. 'Five-thirty - am I right?'
'So it would appear,' Ritter said.
'Good.' Strasser rubbed his hands briskly. 'There's a nip in this mountain air. We'll have something to eat, a hot drink and then ...'
'Something to eat?' Berger said.
'But of course. What do you think is in the basket?'
Berger unstrapped it and raised the lid. Inside there were three loaves of black bread, sausages, butter, boiled eggs, two large vacuum flasks and a bottle of schnapps. Berger unscrewed the cap of one of the flasks and removed the cork. He inhaled deeply, an expression of delight appearing on his face.
'Coffee - hot coffee.' He poured a little into the cup and tasted it. 'And it's real,' he announced.