“Thought we’d come and keep you company, you ungrateful swine!” Schmidt replied with mock sourness as he stepped through into the cockpit, slumping down into the co-pilot’s seat as Milo leaned against the side of the hatchway, his Thermos flask displayed for all to see in his outstretched hand. “And we brought along gifts as well!”
“Well, if you put it kindly then,” Böhm relented with a wry smile, his outward façade of displeasure substantially weakened by the appearance of fresh coffee. “I’ll thank the young fellow there to not spill it all over my lovely cockpit though: be a very short trip if I lose my instruments at the wrong moment.”
“Just in time for take-off, are we?” Schmidt asked with thinly-veiled excitement. Despite being a hardened combat veteran and almost thirty years of age, the man nevertheless carried with him a truly childlike love of aircraft and the opportunity to go flying outside of training missions or combat was an unusual blessing indeed. As neither he nor Wisch were on duty that day – as was the case for most of the Waffen-SS detachment on board – they’d decided to ‘gatecrash’ their friend’s legitimate, scheduled mission and tag along for the ride. The fact that Schmidt wore the rank of sturmbannführer meant he also carried enough authority to get away with such minor breaches of protocol… most of the time, at least.
“Yes, we – it seems – are about to take off, and if you two cheeky bastards are going to butt in, you can bloody-well make yourself useful.
“I’ll look after the ‘co-pilot’s station’, and Milo there can act as crew chief,” Schmidt declared instantly, problem solved in his mind. “That should work out nicely.”
“If you think I’m letting you anywhere near the flight controls, you’ve got a big surprise coming!” Böhm snapped back curtly as he signalled through the windshield to the crew outside and began flicking switches in preparation for engine start. “When the time comes, both of you will be out the back there keeping an eye on this bloody load I’ve been given to haul across to the other island.”
“And what exactly is this load that’s so bloody important they’ve diverted an entire SS assault ship?” Schmidt asked sourly, both his ego and excitement somewhat deflated.
“No idea,” Böhm replied with a shrug as one of the radial engines at the rear of the helicopter turned over a few times, caught and then clattered into roaring life. “They weren’t telling and I wasn’t bloody asking, other than to make sure it’s not too heavy, which it’s not… barely. Three thousand bloody kilos’ worth I’ve got to lug over there today and who knows what kind of wind conditions we’re going to run into near the summit.”
“The ‘summit’…?” Milo asked quickly, his expression darkening with the hint of fear as he shot Schmidt a filthy glare. “No one mentioned anything about buzzing about bloody mountaintops in this contraption!” Milo’s fear of flying never really manifested itself in normal operations but it did affect him when dealing with heights… something both men were well aware of.
“That’s what happens when no one asks and no one tells then, don’t it...!” Böhm gave an evil smile as the second BMW radial kicked over, roaring into life as the huge twin rotors above the aircraft began to turn ever so slowly. He cast a quick, knowing glance of his own in the major’s direction. “You’ve blindly followed this sneaky bastard into boring briefings, crooked card games and into actual combat… why are you the slightest bit surprised after all this time that he’s tricked you into something again?”
“He’s got a point, you know,” Schmidt agreed, nodding in complete sincerity as if everything were, of course, Milo’s own fault. Outside, the main rotors were already becoming a scything blur and as Milo shifted uncomfortably where he stood by the hatch, he could feel the aircraft beginning to shudder with the increase in power as if it were a racehorse just waiting for the starter’s pistol.
“How does your poor bloody wife put up with you?” Milo growled, decidedly unimpressed to find himself the butt of such a poor trick.
“She doesn’t bloody put up with me,” Schmidt shot back with a chuckle as Böhm pushed his throttles forward and the MH-16E lurched easily into the air, forcing Milo to grab desperately for a handhold to keep his balance. “She was sick of me within three months of me coming back from Spain! Why do you think we’re in this bloody war to begin with? Never mind Poland or the Jews, kamerad… that’s just what they feed to the papers for the benefit of the unwashed masses! All it really took was one word in The Führer’s ear from my lovely Anya and off I go into battle once more, leaving her in peace and quiet for another year or so until leave comes around.”
“Anyone else, I’d think he was joking,” Böhm added with laughter, never taking his eyes from the controls as the big chopper headed off toward Am Baile across Village Bay.
It wasn’t more than a few moments before they were hovering over the main Wehrmacht tent camp on the western outskirts of the village, touching down just for a few moments as waiting crewmen slipped beneath the aircraft to attach a heavy, steel cable to the lifting hook fitted to the middle of the helicopter’s broad, flat belly.
They were waived off once more the moment a secure connection had been confirmed, Böhm this time taking the helicopter back up at a far more leisurely rate and careful not to take up the slack in the cable too quickly. After what seemed to be several excruciating minutes (it was really no more than seconds), the cable finally drew taut and every man in the aircraft felt their stomach lurch sickeningly as the chopper was momentarily stopped dead in the sky by the added weight suddenly dragging at it from beneath.
Feeling the controls with his hands and watching his instruments with tense professionalism, Böhm increased his throttles as much as he dared without the risk of overheating, and in a few seconds more the entire load below was lifted slowly into the air beneath them. At first they did nothing save for rising straight up, Böhm making sure there were several hundred metres of clear space between the cargo and the ground before he could bring himself to turn the helicopter toward their destination to the north-west
He could feel the huge increase in weight the MH-16E had suddenly taken on, and the whole airframe was shuddering under the increased vibration as he pushed the engines close to full power. Pieces of his instrument panel were rattling along with the body, and his ears were carefully attuned to every creak or groan as the whirling main rotors fought to keep an extra three tonnes airborne.
Both Schmidt and Wisch were hanging their heads out the open side doors behind the cockpit at that moment, Milo fighting – mostly successfully – to overcome his desire to throw up in the interests of helping his friend get the job at hand done as ordered. Each wore intercom headsets that were jacked into the communications system of the aircraft and each was tasked with watching the load below, making sure it didn’t swing too much in any direction or get caught by a sudden gust of wind that might theoretically destabilise the cargo enough to take the entire aircraft down with it.
It was as they stared down, watching for any sign of danger of mishap, that both got a good look at their cargo for the first time. Unimpaired by feelings of vertigo or airsickness, Schmidt was the first to notice and he instantly called through to his friend via the intercom.
“Do you see it, Milo?” His voice crackled over the headset, difficult to hear over the howl of the engines and the thump of the massive rotors above. “Do you see that bloody box down there?”
“Surely it’s not possible?” Milo called back as realisation dawned on him also and he threw a pointed glance across to his CO from the opposite doorway. “Perhaps we’re seeing things?”
“We’re seeing something, all right, and I’m bloody certain I’ve seen the same thing before!” Schmidt threw a pointed finger accusingly down at the cargo below, grasping tightly at the doorframe with his other hand for security. “If that’s not the same box, then the bloody thing is its twin bloody brother! No mistaking the construction or the markings!”
“What in God’s name are you
two idiots going on about?” Böhm chimed in on the same channel, losing his patience with the pointless chit-chat going on in his ears. “What bloody box are you talking about?”
“It’s that box, Felix,” Schmidt called back in reply, hanging out of the doorway now at what seemed to be a far too dangerous and precarious position for Milo’s liking. “That weird box from the Kiel Docks the ‘Chain-Dogs’ warned us to mind our own business over!”
“Right at this moment, I don’t care if the bloody thing’s got the body of Our Lord, Jesus Christ in it,” Böhm snapped back angrily, desperately trying to keep control of the aircraft as a sudden gust of wind howled past, threatening to throw them against the southern slope of Mullach Mòr. “If you two stupid bastards don’t want to end up as part of a smoking, black stain against the hillside down there, I suggest you both shut up and let me get on with my bloody job…!”
The threat of imminent death – only a partial exaggeration as it was – was more than sufficient to quieten both down for a few moments. Suitably mollified, Böhm continued to take the chopper higher, turning north and taking the aircraft through a valley between Mullach Mòr and Conachair before turning back toward the west-north-west and the Island of Soay.
All the while the load they were carrying swung slowly below them, suspended from its thick, steel cable and looking for all the world like a large, grey building block. Although he remained silent, nothing could prevent Schmidt from staring intently down at it the whole time. Then incident with the MP at Kiel Docks earlier in the month had left his pride smarting and he’d not let go of the memory easily. Everything had now flared once more in his mind as he gaze at that moment at what indeed appeared to be a large, leaden crate identical in appearance and approximate size. It too carried RFR research insignia and proof marks, all of which were quite clearly visible from such a short distance. Schmidt realised suddenly that the whole thing had definitely piqued his curiosity and he was now determined to discover more about what was in that box… and exactly why Direktor Hegel had been so desperate to shoo them away from it.
For their part, Edward Whittaker and Alois Dupont cared not a whit about the actual contents of the huge, lead-encased crate above them as they once again hung precariously from the either side of the platform of the steel-framed tower atop the summit of Cnoc Glas. It was little comfort to the pair that this time an overall-clad technician with the RFR research department of the Wehrmacht had accompanied them on that thirty-metre climb, or that this time at least, the helicopter they’d been sent to wait for had actually arrived.
They’d heard it from some distance away as it had lumbered in from the east, its single piece of heavy cargo slung beneath its broad, flat belly. Although still present, the wind was markedly subdued compared to the day before and the pilot was obviously quite experienced as he brought the aircraft into a slow, precise ‘once-around’ circuit of the tower before settling in directly above it, the crate beneath suspended just a dozen metres or so above the surface of the platform. A pair of long, thin control ropes dangled from either end of the heavy crate, and even hanging from the tower it was a relatively simple task for Whittaker and Dupont to take hold of them and guide the thing into position as the thundering chopper above them began to descend as slowly as it was able.
The buffeting of the rotors’ downwash was quite strong but they held on tightly all the same and it was no more than a few tense moments before the heavy metal crate was touching down upon the platform, almost perfectly dead-centre. It was at that moment that all three men felt their only real pang of sudden fear. The tower had been designed specifically to take the weight of that leaden crate yet sturdy as it was, the sudden addition of three tonnes of extra weight to its very top caused it to shudder and creak dramatically as its joints and welds tightened and adjusted their positions, taking up the extra strain.
It quickly became clear that all was well however and it took the trio just a few more minutes to attach the eyelets of four lengths of heavy-gauge steel cable to special hooks welded onto the reinforcing steel bands that wrapped about the crate at several points around its length. Once connected, it was a relatively simple task to wind up the attached tensioners until the entire set up was completely secure against any movement whatsoever. With a single wave to one of the crew watching from the side door of the chopper above, the technician climbed up onto the top of the crate and deftly unhooked the lifting cable hanging from the aircraft’s lifting hook. The MH-16E instantly powered away without any further urging required, slewing off to the north as all three were again battered savagely by the downwash from its twin rotors.
“You two get out of here!” The technician shouted quite unexpectedly to Dupont and Whittaker, using exaggerated hand gestures from where he sat astride the crate to ensure he was understood even if his words were lost beneath the howl of the retreating helicopter. “There’s nothing more you can do – I’ll finish the rest myself!”
After two years as prisoners of war, both men had picked up more than enough German to quite clearly understand what was being said and neither was interested in arguing with what seemed to be some excellent advice. Buoyed on by a sense of relief in the knowledge that it was unlikely they’d ever have to climb the infernal thing ever again, they immediately began to make their way down the framework of the tower.
Alone astride the culmination of a project he’d worked on for almost three years, Sturmbannführer Klaus Brenner of the RFR spent another ten full minutes preparing his ‘baby’ as he carefully opened up one half of the crate’s heavy, leaden cover and pulled out the mass of thick electrical wiring he knew would be in there. A small hatch had been built flush into the surface of one corner of the platform, and as he opened it now a brace of sockets and connectors of various types and sizes were revealed.
Carrying out procedures he’d practised hundreds of times in the laboratory, he carefully connected each one in turn with one of the cables he’d drawn out of the casing until none remained, never for a moment doubting that each would be mated with its appropriate socket. That done, he slotted the cables into a small, specially made notch cut into the side of the crate before lowering the lead cover once more, locking it back into place before finally reaching inside the thick coat he wore above his overalls. Drawing out a large walkie-talkie, he turned it on and spoke loudly into the mouthpiece as he keyed the transmit button.
“This is Brenner!” He shouted, almost breathless with excitement but forcing himself to take his time and remain professional. “Connections done… please carry out preliminary power and telemetry checks.” The transceiver hissed and crackled as he held it to his ear and it was a few minutes before the awaited reply came back.
“This is Jürgen; Klaus…all systems appear to be functioning correctly.” Even over the howl of the wind and the poor reception of the walkie-talkie, the excitement in the other man’s tone could be heard quite clearly. “Please complete final checks and return to safety.”
“Thank you, Jürgen – coming down now…”
Klaus Brenner glanced around for a moment as if taking in the fine view for the first time and released a deep sigh that was equal parts exhaustion and melancholy. As deputy to the lead-technician on the project, he was extremely proud of what they were about to accomplish on that desolate island in the North Atlantic. On the other hand, the man who was the real driving force behind the project they were bringing to fruition hadn’t been able to accompany them, having instead been called away at the last moment by a family emergency. It was a shame indeed; the pair were great friends as well as work colleagues and Brenner knew success wouldn’t feel the same without the other’s presence.
It’s a shame you’re not going to be with us, Gerhard,” he thought sadly, rousing himself a moment later and focussing his mind once more on his own safety as he slipped the walkie-talkie back into his overcoat and finally began his own, laborious journey back down the tower to solid earth and safety.
Standing o
utside the bunker atop Mullach Mòr, Kurt Reuters lifted his eyes from the eyepiece of the observation telescope and smiled for the first time in quite a while as he watched the MH-16E thunder past overhead, heading back to the Albert Schlageter after the completion of its single and most vital mission. He barely turned as Schiller moved up to stand beside him, having walked across from the bunker just moments before.
“The word from Dietrich is that all the connections appear to be in order and the test is ready to go ahead,” Schiller positively beamed, as relieved over how much good the news would do his Commanding Officer as it was for his own benefit.
“Thank the Lord!” Reuters sighed, almost chuckling to himself as a release of the nervous tension that had built up within him over the last week. “Finally we can get all this over with and go home!”
“You want me to tell the boys to begin the countdown now?”
“For God’s sake, man,” Reuters countered with an outright laugh and a dismissive wave of his hand. “At least allow the poor bastards over there time to clear the area!” He made a great show of consulting his wristwatch then stared up at the cloudy sky for a few moments, Schiller watching on in silent, smirking expectation. “Too bloody late now anyway… the light’s failing even as we speak.” Reuters chuckled softly. “I also think The Führer would be none too pleased if we completed the test without him being present, as was his express wish. It’ll take him a day or so to reschedule his duties and fly over from Berlin, and we can use that time to run through a few more checks and test runs. He shrugged. “No need to rush things now we’ve got the hard bit done, and I’d much rather be completely certain everything will work when The Führer does actually arrive. Let’s all get ourselves a hearty meal and a good night’s sleep, eh, and we can get onto the preparations first thing in the morning.”
Winds of Change (Empires Lost Book 2) Page 18