A thousand suns

‘Let’s get ’em!’ Buller rose from behind the stack of crates and fired a volley from the hip as he ran. His men emerged behind him, quickly spreading out and racing towards the two guards who now were beginning to sluggishly react to the alarming sight of ten German soldiers only a few dozen yards away and rapidly approaching them. One of them was swifter than the others in coming to his senses and swung his rifle down, firing in rapid succession four unaimed shots towards them. All of them missed wildly, thudding harmlessly into the wet ground. The other guard seemed to have woken up now and dived for cover behind a small sandbag bunker beside the barricade. The first guard dropped to his knee and prepared to fire some aimed shots this time. Buller found himself feeling a fleeting instant of sympathy for the guard as he aimed his sub-machine gun at the young man. It seemed like he’d been the only American on the airfield with his wits about him. He squeezed off half a dozen rounds in a short burst. Three puffs of crimson appeared in front of his chest and the young American was pushed backwards off his feet. Buller’s men covered the ground quickly and no more than three or four seconds later they were vaulting over the sandbag bunker. The other guard instantly dropped his weapon and threw his arms up quickly.

The hut.

Buller looked towards the open door of the hut and saw a flash of movement from within. The door to the hut slammed shut with a bang.

‘Someone inside!’ he shouted.

One of his squad, Bergin, rushed the door and kicked it violently open. From inside Buller heard several shots being fired and Bergin dived back out of the doorway.

There were another three shots that followed the direction Bergin had thrown himself in and ragged holes appeared in the flimsy wooden wall of the hut, one of them inches above his head.

Screw this.

‘Down!’ Buller shouted at Bergin and swung his MP-40 towards the hut. He emptied his magazine at the wall at about waist height. The rest of the squad followed suit while Bergin hugged the ground as a shower of wood splinters fluttered down onto him.

The firing ceased a few seconds later, their ears rung from the noise. The wall of the hut looked like a cheese grater.

Buller took a few steps forward and kicked at the door. It swung in quickly and bounced off a desk inside with a flimsy rattle. Buller raised his weapon and sidestepped into the hut.

As the acrid smoke cleared he could see the body of the third guard slumped over the crackling, hissing remains of a radio. The body slowly slid to the floor with a thump. One hand still holding tightly to the radio receiver.

‘Shit… I think we’re in for some company.’

Chapter 40

Leaving Town

It was a good five miles along the coast road before Mark eased his foot off the pedal and another one before he was happy enough to slow down and pull over. He brought the Cherokee to a standstill down a slip road hidden from the main coastal interstate and applied the handbrake. He left the engine running, though.

‘You going to tell me what’s going on?’ he managed to calmly ask after a while.

‘Jesus, Mark. Those bastards were going to kill me!’

‘I noticed.’

Chris shook his head. ‘My God, if you hadn’t come in when you did

… Jesus.’

‘Yup,’ Mark answered drily. There was anger bubbling up in his voice. ‘You sure you’re telling me everything, Chris? Because all of a sudden, this has escalated from being an interesting find to being, well… I’ll be honest here, a fucking hazardous situation!’ He took a deep breath to compose himself once more.

‘You’re right, there’s a little more that’s gone on, Mark. I’m sorry, I should’ve kept you in the picture. But then, I honestly didn’t expect something like this to happen. I mean, for crying out loud, whatever happened with that plane out there, it was over half a century ago! Why the fuck does someone want to kill us for finding it?’

‘This is America, Chris… not good old England. The goons over here don’t box by the Marquis of Queensberry rules, if you know what I mean.’

‘Shit, yeah, I noticed already.’

Both men sat in silence for a moment, both still recovering from the experience.

‘So you going to tell me what’s been happening, then?’ said Mark finally.

Chris told him as quickly as he could about the call from Wallace, the old man on the beach, McGuire, and then the two men he’d seen down by the jetty. The disjointed events over the last few days, each on their own, had seemed much less disturbing in isolation, but putting them together now for Mark’s benefit, they tied together in a chilling way.

‘Jesus, Chris, it sounds like we’ve stumbled on something we probably shouldn’t have.’

‘I know, and I’ll be honest, this is really making me shit myself. Who do you think those guys were working for?’

Mark scratched his beard. ‘I dunno. CIA? Some other government agency?’