A thousand suns

Pieter knew. Major Rall had instructed them both very carefully on this potential outcome. If damage to the plane meant they would be unable to reach America, they should arm and drop the bomb anyway. At the very least, the detonation of the bomb, albeit not on the required target, would still demonstrate to the world that the Germans had got there first and had a massive destructive capability. That alone might still be enough to cause the Americans to think things over.

‘What do you think about refuelling?’ asked Pieter.

‘Let me think, let me think.’

They were approaching the last waypoint before Nantes; from there they should be able to navigate their way by eye to the airfield. It didn’t give him much thinking time. Going down with the fighters to refuel hadn’t been a part of the plan. It seemed the Major hadn’t considered what they should do if fuel became an issue. The extra tanks had been internal. Rall must have assumed they were safe from damage there.

Now Max was alone in having to make the risk assessment of doing this. If they were overrun while they were on the ground, the bomb could fall into the hands of the Americans.

‘It’s risky, Pieter. They could get their hands on it.’

Max pushed the mask to his face and switched to the radio frequency for their men on the ground.

‘ Medusa calling, what is your status?’

He was about to call again when a reply came back.

‘ Medusa we are ready for you now, come in as quickly as you can.’

‘How long can you hold there?’

There was some delay in the answer; when it finally came, it was a different voice that answered. ‘Half an hour, possibly as much as an hour if we’re lucky.’

‘It’ll take about twenty-five minutes to refuel the plane, if we forget the extra tanks,’ said Pieter. ‘Would that get us there?’

Max let his mask fall away again, so that their conversation remained between them. ‘It should do, this plane has a 4000-mile one-way range without them. It should get us there, with very little to spare, though.’

He heard Stef’s voice over the interphone. ‘Approaching waypoint seventeen.’

Pieter looked at Max. ‘Come on, we can’t throw it away now.’

Time was running out, and Max felt the enormity of this tactical decision resting squarely on his shoulders. He cursed Rall for not anticipating this scenario and giving him a brief for it.

‘If we go down, we should refuel first, the fighters will have to wait.’

Pieter sure as hell didn’t have a problem with that. ‘Fuck… yeah, of course.’

Stef was on the interphone again, asking Max to confirm he’d heard the last navigation call.

Pieter shrugged, ‘Max? What are we going to do?’

Time is running out.

He tried to visualise Rall, to imagine what the Major would advise him under such circumstances. For what he knew of him, the Major seemed a cautious man, a meticulous planner, Max made a guess that he would reluctantly advise them to return home if they could make it, or if not, to drop the bomb right there. But then he could see Rall’s ruined face; a rakish smile on the good side suggested the man had gambled once or twice before in his life.

‘If we’re overrun, I’ll have to detonate it on the ground,’ said Max.

Pieter nodded with reluctant agreement. ‘You’ll have to.’

‘You understand what that would mean?’

Pieter nodded. ‘Yeah. There are worse ways to go.’

‘Fine, we’re going down, then.’

Max had made his decision; his hands loosened around the control yoke. He was relieved, almost elated to have cut through the last few moments of indecision.

‘All right, Pieter, let’s get ready.’

He pulled the mask to his face and spoke into the interphone. ‘Stef, Hans… we’ve got a fuel leak, which means we’re landing alongside Schroder and his boys so we can get a top-up.’

Chapter 42

Mission Time: 5 Hours, 50 Minutes Elapsed

12.55 a.m. EST, the White House, Washington, DC

Truman stared silently at those members of his war cabinet and the Joint Chiefs of Staff who had been recalled and able to attend at such short notice. Many of them, with the exception of Donovan and Wallace, looked as if they had been dragged out of their homes, their beds, or reluctantly from some social function.

‘Little more than an hour ago, I was informed of something very disturbing, gentlemen, an intelligence report from our people in Europe. Colonel Donovan, will you please…?’

Donovan nodded and picked up a piece of paper; he read from it. ‘At 2100 hours, Eastern Standard Time, we received a wire from our OSS operation in Germany. Yesterday, a platoon of our airborne troops discovered a partially destroyed laboratory on the outskirts of Stuttgart.’ Donovan looked up from his sheet of notes. ‘I should stress that, although these boys passed on news of their discovery promptly to the intelligence people over there, it took them a little time to work out what it was they had, and for the information to make its way back to the OSS over here. So this is nearly twenty hours old. Anyway, the laboratory appears to have been used to refine uranium, a cyclotron was discovered there and — ’