“Jesus, Mary and Joseph...!” Kelly breathed softly as he narrowed his eyes, barely able to make out what the American was pointing at for just a few seconds before it disappeared completely. “What in the name of The Father was that...?”
“I’ll be damned if I know,” Kransky growled, turning to stare expectantly at Lowenstein, “but Sam here was just about to enlighten me when you showed up.”
“It was a bomb...” The simple reply was given in a voice hollow as the grave. “Somewhere out there in all... that... someone just tested a bomb.”
“Are you mad, fella?” Kelly snapped back with equal parts scepticism and irritation. “What I just saw was close to the bloody horizon... what kind of bomb could light up the sky like that from that far away?”
“That’s off to the north-north-west,” Lowenstein observed softly, talking to himself more than he was addressing anyone else and staring out toward a horizon that was again completely dark. He threw a sharp glance in Kelly’s direction. “What is actually out that way...Northern Scotland...? The Outer Hebrides...?”
“Aye, you’ll find the western reaches of the Outer Hebrides if you head in that direction,” the Irishman mused in return, stroking at his chin as deep thought overcame curiosity for a moment, “but they’re only about a hundred miles or so away: I’m only guessin’, mind, but that blast – or whatever it was – looked to be at least twice that distance!”
“Then what else... what other islands or such like are further out in that direction... other than Arctic pack ice...?
“Nothin’ that I know of...” Kelly began, but caught himself almost immediately “...other than maybe the St Kilda Archipelago...” He thought about the idea some more. “Distance wouldn’t be far wrong – they’re about two hundred miles off, and the direction would be close enough to right – but there’s nothin’ on those islands: they’ve been abandoned for years!”
“Perfect place for a test then,” Lowenstein conceded, nodding as if everything was fitting into place quite nicely.
“A test of what for cryin’ out loud...?” Kransky demanded, frustration building over the amount of talk going on without any hint of an actual answer. “You’re acting like you know all about this goddamned ‘whatever-it-is’, so for God’s sake enlighten us!”
“I told you already, Richard: someone just tested a bomb and considering where we are, I can only assume that ‘someone’ was the fucking Nazis, much as that terrifies the absolute shit out of me!” He took a breath and swallowed visibly, as if physically attempting to digest that unpalatable concept. “I’m a nuclear physicist by ‘trade’, gentlemen, and although I may not be old enough to have ever seen one live, I know the double-flash of a nuclear weapon being detonated when I see one!”
“A ‘nuclear weapon’...?” Kelly repeated the term as a question, voicing similar sentiments from Kransky. “And what’s that exactly?”
“A nuclear weapon... an atomic bomb...” Lowenstein almost sighed, momentarily sounding as if he were lecturing a pair of not-so-bright students “...an explosive device that uses the power of nuclear fission to release huge amounts of destructive energy.”
“How huge...?” That question came from Kransky, the man suddenly very interested in what he had to say.
“Well that wasn’t a thermonuclear blast – thank God – so it probably wasn’t exceptionally large in relative terms... most likely in the low-kiloton range...”
“‘Kilotons’...?” Kelly repeated quickly, not recognising the jargon.
“A kiloton is a rating of explosive force equivalent to a thousand tons of TNT in the same way that a megaton would be equivalent to a million tons.
“You’re saying that blast was equal to a thousand tons of TNT...?
Kelly wasn’t sure whether he was being taken for a ride with such a ridiculous claim.
“Probably closer to five or ten thousand,” Lowenstein countered evenly, as if discussing the weather. “I’d expect something like that for such a test.”
“Max tried to use one of those things on the Krauts just before the invasion,” Kransky advised, recalling events of early September, two years before. “Brought a couple back with ‘em from Realtime, but the damn thing didn’t work.”
“Not surprised, if they were using the weapons in their original form,” Lowenstein shrugged. “Any fissionable material brought back from the future would’ve been rendered inert by the displacement process…”
“I’d be inclined to believe him,” Kransky interjected, cutting off the sceptical reply he could see forming in Kelly’s expression. “He’s one of them...” he added quickly, barely pausing to take a breath. “He knows about Hindsight, and I think he’s come from the same place...”
There was emphasis in the last part of that sentence that was intended for Kelly’s understanding only, and it took a second or two before what he was saying sunk in. The Irishman’s eyes widened somewhat and he immediately regarded Lowenstein with a quite changed stare that seemed more than a little wary.
“No wonder Max wanted you out of there.” He observed finally. “It’d hardly do to have one of their crew floating about in Occupied Europe...”
“I’m not one of ‘their crew’,” Lowenstein snapped back, his voice becoming a little testy once more due to impatience, “but I am ‘from the same place’ as you so eloquently put it. None of that’s important right now... what is important is that we get some kind of message to Allied intelligence services that the Nazis have conducted a nuclear test. In my world, just two of these devices killed over two hundred thousand innocent civilians... and they were small ones...!
“Write up whatever you want sent and I’ll send one o’ the boys into Portballintrae with it this mornin’. It’ll take a few days but we’ll get it to whoever you want.”
It took only a second for Lowenstein and Kransky to simultaneously recognise where any message should go to have the most effect – somewhere it would do the most good.
“Thorne...” they replied simultaneously with complete conviction.
10. Rats in the Ranks
Aldergrove Air Base
(Formerly RAF Aldergrove)
County Antrim
Reich-Protektorat Nordirland
September 29, 1942
Tuesday
The NH-3D utility helicopter touched down at Aldergrove just after nine that morning as a fine, misty rain fell from a sombre, slate-grey sky. The half-hour flight from Stranraer had been uneventful, and the chill breeze and overcast skies that greeted Bauer and Stahl as they stepped onto the tarmac were no different from those they’d left behind in Scotland.
The airfield was a collection of generally single-storey brick and wooden structures along with a few hangars interspersed between three runways of varying lengths. First operational in 1925, it had been an RAF Coastal Command base prior to the invasion of September 1940. Aldergrove was now home to land-based units of the Kriegsmarine’s MFG506 reconnaissance wing and a gruppe of fighters from JG2.
“Remind me again, Franz, why we put ourselves through such privations?” Stahl growled, only half joking as he clutched his standard-issue greatcoat about himself and turned up the collar against the rain.
“Because we’re so damned good at our jobs, Pieter,” Bauer replied with a sardonic grin as they walked quickly away from the aircraft, instinctively stooping low to avoid the whirling blades above their heads, “why else...?”
“...And we’re rewarded with such fine equipment to assist us,” the younger man noted with icy sarcasm as he cocked his head slightly back toward the aircraft they’d just left. “I’m amazed we’ve got here at all, flying in that clapped-out piece of junk! I swear I saw something fall off over Schottland!”
“Be happy it wasn’t us!” Bauer laughed out loud as they drew clear of the rotors and were able to stand fully. “I suspect that one was shot down during the invasion but no one’s told it yet!” His attention was diverted at that moment as the both first noted the p
resence of a Kubelwagen utility vehicle and a vaguely scruffy-looking, canvas-topped 1928-model Austin 16 tourer parked by the main building and control tower. One officer and a pair of armed bodyguards waited by the first, all dressed in black Germanische-SS uniforms similar to those worn by Stahl and Bauer, while a fourth man dressed in a nondescript brown hat, trench coat and civilian clothes also stood close by. Stahl recognised one of the waiting men instantly as they walked briskly toward the waiting party.
“We’ve been given a ‘royal’ welcome, it seems,” Bauer observed as they drew nearer, intrigued rather than perturbed by the fact that they were being greeted by a gruppenführer – an SS rank roughly equivalent to an army lieutenant-general.
“I shouldn’t worry too much, Franz,” Stahl replied after a moment’s pause, the hint of a smile playing across his lips, “Herr Barkmann might well be the Chief of Intelligence in Nordirland, but today he’s here as a favour rather than in any official capacity. I did say I was going to make a few queries regarding our Jewish ‘friend’, if you’ll recall...?”
“Barkmann is your contact?” It wasn’t often that Bauer was surprised, but this was one of those rare times.
“We’ve known each other for a few years,” Stahl replied mysteriously, uninterested in providing details... such as the fact that for several of those years the pair had been lovers.
“You never cease to surprise me, Pieter!” He added, also smiling now as Stahl bathed in such high praise from a man he considered a fine mentor. “I’m not sure who the other fellow is, though,” he added slowly, squinting a little as if that might assist his vision through the fine drizzle.
“Scheisse...!” Stahl breathed as they drew nearer, the first to recognise the other man present, the almost fearful tone in his voice surprising his colleague somewhat.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Pieter!” Bauer grinned.
“A ghost or a devil...!” Stahl shot back quickly, swallowing apprehensively. “Look who it is, man! We’ve come to the attention of the ‘Evil One’ himself, and you’re wondering why I’m feeling nervous?”
“Scheisse...!” Bauer repeated, recognition in his eyes now also as they walked on. “I don’t know if I like your surprises, Pieter...” he observed with a mildly sour tone “...not when they draw attention from such high places...!”
“Obersturmbannführer Stahl,” Gruppenführer Ernst Barkmann began with a broad smile as the group drew together beside the Austin sedan. “It’s been a long time since we last met, but I’ve heard wonderful things about your work, both in Britain and back on the continent.” Blessed with thin-faced, hawkish features, dark hair and average height, Barkmann sometimes seemed as if his body was having difficulty physically filling the uniform he wore. Some less intelligent men might’ve questioned his capabilities or resolve. None who knew him ever underestimated the cunning or ruthlessness that looked on through a pair of intense, searching eyes.
He and Stahl shook hands warmly and Barkmann turned his attention toward Bauer, shaking his also. “I also hear you’ve been teaching this young fellow well, Standartenführer – you two have acquired a well-deserved reputation for results.”
“You’re too kind, Herr Gruppenführer... Pieter here is a natural: all I’ve done is help him hone his skills...”
“If we’re done with all the pleasantries...?” The fourth member of the group spoke for the first time, the soft words soft and friendly on the surface but nevertheless sending chills through every other man present. “My schedule is quite full and I’d prefer not to spend any more time here in Nordirland in the pouring rain than absolutely necessary.”
“Jawohl, Herr Obergruppenführer,” Barkmann acceded instantly, respect and fear both showing through in the speed at which he willingly deferred to a man just one rank his senior. Turning back to the others, he added: “I’m sure I need make no introductions?”
“Of course not, Mein Herr,” Bauer replied quickly, clicking his heels together as he came to attention but refraining from raising his hand in the customary ‘Heil Hitler’ that usually went with it. The practice of giving the Nazi salute had generally been curtailed in occupied areas for the same reason veteran soldiers rarely saluted their own commanders: the activity was an excellent indicator to snipers of who was in charge and who might make the most worthwhile target.
“I trust you’ll excuse my lack of uniform, Meine Herren; I’ve found it far more prudent to travel incognito when away from by normal entourage since that assassination attempt back in June: it was only the Führer’s insistence I not travel in open-topped vehicles that saved me that time.”
He’d earned many nicknames during his career with the SS: ‘The Hangman’, ‘The Butcher of Prague’, ‘The Blond Beast’... even ‘Young Evil God of Death’. Hitler himself had once referred to him as the ‘Man with the Iron Heart’. At just thirty-eight years of age, SS-Obergruppenführer Reinhard Heydrich held the simultaneous positions of Reich Protector of Bohemia and Moravia, Director of the Reich Main Security Office (RHSA), and also head of the Schutzstaffeln’s feared internal intelligence arm, the Sicherheitsdienst (absorbed into the RHSA at the beginning of the war, the SD had once again been made an independent organisation late in 1941).
The attempt on his life in Prague had made all the major newspapers throughout the Reich and also into quite a few outside. The only thing surprising about the event in most people’s eyes was that there weren’t more of them, considering the reputation for brutality he carried with him. As fair haired as Stahl and probably as tall, exploits of womanising and affairs in his youth had become the stuff of legend within German military and society circles. Yet those same fine, chiselled features that had wooed so many women were matched to a pair of pale blue eyes possessed of a cold, calculating stare that exuded pure malevolence.
One of the most feared men in Germany, Heydrich had been rumoured in what Max Thorne would’ve called ‘Realtime’ to have been touted as Hitler’s successor had an Axis defeat not shattered the Nazis’ plans. As he stood with those men now – not one of them themselves innocent of brutal and heinous acts against the innocent or defenceless – even they felt slightly unnerved by the presence of someone who for many persecuted millions throughout Europe had become the absolute personification of evil itself.
“Let’s be off, shall we?” Barkmann turned and extended a hand toward the nearest vehicle, one of the armed guards nearby taking that as a sign for him to open the rear passenger door. The driver inside started the engine at the same time. “Do you mind riding up front, Pieter? You’ll have to accept my apologies for the poor transport: my Opel Olympia was stolen early this morning from right under the noses of the guards at the vehicle park and I’ve been forced to make do with this ‘antique’…”
“Kein problem, Mein Herr,” Stahl responded instantly, not offended in the slightest as he opened his door and slid in beside the driver while the others piled into the rear seat. “Some of these Irländer don’t understand their place, I see.”
“We rounded up a dozen or so locals as punishment, of course…” Barkmann said with a cold smile. “Made the two idiots on guard execute them… it was their fault it was necessary in the first place after all…” He gave a dismissive shake of the head as the vehicles began to move off. “…but enough of that… the Obergruppenführer is here in an informal capacity and would very much like to hear about the progress you two have made so far in the pursuit of this elusive Jewish escapee,” Barkmann continued as the convoy left the airfield and turned out onto Tully Road, heading south. It wasn’t a comfortable ride; the canvas roof and glass side windows kept the rain out well enough, but the cold, gusting wind still managed to find its way inside through various nooks and crannies around the gaps around the window frames.
“This isn’t part of any official investigation, Meine Herren,” Heydrich explained in cold tones that were just loud enough to be heard over the road noise and wind outside, “however the SD has become aware that
there are some quite senior officers of the Wehrmacht also interesting in locating this man and bringing him back to Germany, and I would very much like to know why...”
Neither Stahl nor Bauer needed to make any guess as to whom he was referring. It was a well-known ‘secret’ within the Allgemeine-SS branches that Reichsmarschall Reuters had directed the Abwehr to locate their quarry independently and return him to custody. It was also rumoured that those orders had specifically instructed that the SS was not to be involved, something that hinted the man might well know something damaging to the Reichsmarschall himself. By definition, that of course made the man someone of extreme interest to the SS and had obviously resulted in Heydrich involvement.
“Mein Herr, we know a group of insurgents boarded a fast boat at Port Logan in Schottland five days ago,” Turning around and looking over the back of the front seat, Stahl offered the information up without hesitation as Heydrich stared on expectantly. “We also know that there was an extremely tall man among this group who fits perfectly the description of the fugitive, Richard Kransky.”
“This information is verified?”
“No Mein Herr, it is not, but we’re confident the witness we extracted it from was truthful.”
“No effort was spared, Herr Obergruppenführer,” Bauer added with a grimace, not mincing words. “We spent three hours torturing the local constable who saw it all, and I can guarantee you he was holding nothing back.” He shook his head slowly in grudging admiration. “I wish most of our agents were as difficult a nut to crack as that old bastard was!”
“Yes, yes...” Heydrich nodded dismissively, not squeamish in the slightest but completely uninterested in unnecessary detail “...that’s all well and good, but what do we actually know about their whereabouts right now?”
Winds of Change (Empires Lost Book 2) Page 42