A Question of Time

by James Stejskal

  “They were all successful, except for one, but that was a long time ago.”

  “What happened?”

  “It was in 1964. The lift cable broke. They use a stronger cable these days.”

  “That is comforting. Have you done it before?”

  “No, but I have seen it done. You and Nick are both virgins on this one.”

  “This is not how I wanted to lose my virginity.”

  “Actually, I have done it,” Kaiser said from behind them. He was awake and slid to the edge of the car seat. He was looking around the LZ trying to orient himself.

  Fischer turned to regard him more closely.

  “Really? How was it? What did it feel like?”

  “Windy. It was a bit scary at first. First, you lift off straight into the air, then you just fly along behind the airplane and wait for them to grab you at the tailgate. I will tell you what to do in the air after they get you suited up.”

  “And you are really not coming with us?” Fischer said, directing his question to Becker.

  “No, we have another way to get out of here.” “Can’t I go with you?”

  “No, our way out is too risky for you. You will be in the West in a couple of hours.”

  “Wonderful, but I would really rather take a train to Finland.”

  “Unfortunately, that is not an option tonight. You will go out as a pair. As a safety measure, there is an emergency parachute.”

  “What would that do?”

  “If —and this will not happen—if the line should break, it would let you come back down to earth safely.”

  “But I would still be in the GDR.”

  “Yes, that’s true.”

  “Then you can forget the parachute. I am leaving this place one way or the other.”

  They moved a bit further into the center of the field to set up for the pick-up. As Becker helped Fischer into his specially modified coveralls, Mann carefully assisted Kaiser. He rechecked his wound and wrapped some more elastic around the bandage, being careful not to turn it into a tourniquet.

  “How long, Boss?” Kaiser said.

  “Not long, about forty minutes. Just chill while we rig the system up.”

  Mann and Becker laid the remainder of the equipment out on the ground. Mann pulled the balloon from one bag while Becker fastened the main lift line from another bag to the two men’s suit harnesses. Mann snapped the balloon’s anchor into the lift line and then checked Becker’s connections. Then Becker checked the entire system to ensure nothing was tangled. Kaiser lifted Fischer’s arm up and snapped a clip from his suit harness into his partner’s. They were linked together and ready to go.

  All around them was a quiet open field. Becker thought this must have been what it was like to be a member of the French Resistance on a reception party during World War II. Either no one would notice them or the Gestapo would suddenly appear and shoot them. He hoped it would be the former.

  “System complete,” said Becker.

  “Check, ready to inflate.”

  Fischer and Kaiser were sitting next to each other on the ground facing the direction the aircraft would approach from. Kaiser was doing his best to keep Fischer calm by keeping his mind occupied.

  “When we are in the air, keep your legs and your arms spread out. That will keep you stable and your back into the wind. Don’t fight it, just relax and enjoy the ride.”

  “Don’t worry, Nick, I will mimic what you do. Now, tell me a story.”

  “What kind of story?”

  “A war story.”

  “Ha, that’s an easy one. First, you know that you should never believe a war story that starts either with ‘There I was’ or ‘This is no shit.’ You know that don’t you?”

  “I didn’t, but I do now.”

  “Okay, once a long time ago, I was on patrol in enemy territory…”

  “Where?”

  “Let’s call it Vietnam just in case the lawyers are listening. Okay, we’re a small, six-man reconnaissance patrol trying to find enemy supply depots when—Wham!—we get hit by what must have been a company-size force. We’ve been fighting these guys for what seems like an hour when I get hit in the lower leg and go down. The bad thing is, I got hit on this little footbridge that spanned a stream between two rice paddies, so now I’m lying on the bridge with bullets cutting through the brush and chopping down branches and thunking on the bamboo railing. I can’t seem to do anything. Then I realize my rifle took a round and doesn’t work and I am pretty much helpless ’cause I can’t move. The fighting is going this way and then that way when I see an NVA soldier running up the other side of the bridge. I grab one of my last grenades, pull the pin, hold it for a couple of seconds, and then pitch at the bastard. What does he do? The stupid shit catches it and is about to throw it back when it goes off. I lucked out there, but I am thinking I’m going to get captured and end up in some rat-infested cage somewhere north of the Demilitarized Zone, when two more guys come running towards me. I can’t do anything and then two bursts of fire take them both down and my teammate Peter’s head suddenly pops up next to me with a big grin on his face. He says to me, and this is no shit, he says, ‘Don’t worry, Nick, it could be worse, we could be in Stalingrad.’”

  Fischer smiled. “I like that story, Mister Nick, but you said, ‘This is no shit.’ So do I believe you?”

  “Yes, you can believe that one. That was Peter’s way of making me feel better. I just remembered it just now for some strange reason.”

  Becker, who had been standing by keeping a watch on the surrounding approaches, walked up to them.

  “You two ready?” he said.

  “Yes, go for it, Boss.”

  Mann had connected the helium bottle and began to fill the balloon. Two printed arrows on the nose of the balloon were coming together and when they did, Mann would turn off the valve. As the arrow-shaped balloon began to rise, Becker played out the cable and lines, making sure nothing was tangled. Mann disconnected the balloon from the bottle and secured the nozzle.

  “Ready to release.”

  “Let her fly,” Becker said and watched the balloon sail up to the full cable length of 150 meters, carefully guiding the cable out of the bag through his gloved hands.

  Kaiser nudged Fischer, “Don’t worry, we’ll be getting our wings soon.”

  “As long as they’re not angel’s wings, I’ll be happy.”

  Becker looked at his Rolex Submariner, its tritium hands glowing bright in the darkness. He rolled the sleeve of his commando sweater down over its face.

  “I make it five minutes to snatch. Let’s turn on the beacon. Nick, turn on the lift line lights.”

  Mann pulled one of the AN/PRC-90-2 survival radios out of its pouch and turned it on. Kaiser reached into his leg pocket and flipped a switch on the control box. Above them, just visible in the night sky, two sets of red lights came on, marking the one-hundred foot section of cable the airplane would attempt to grab. Mann pointed the beacon antenna east; its signal would help guide the aircraft in on its final approach.

  “It’s a perfect night for a pick-up,” Becker said.

  They all were quiet, straining to hear the aircraft engines. Waiting, the only sound was the wind rustling through the tall grass.

  ***

  Hurky 05 had changed its heading and turned east some time before. The plane crossed the frontier between West and East Germany and was making its way towards the approach for Tempelhof Airfield when Colonel Cantwell called their position in the corridor to the air controllers in Berlin as required.

  “Everything according to standard operating procedure,” he said to his co-pilot, “but not for much longer. Ron, I need the warnings as we planned, when’s the first?”

  Major Tuck responded, “Twenty-minute warning coming up in seven minutes.”

  “Raven, how are we looking?”

  “All clean, civil radars are painting us now. Tempelhof, Tegel, Schönefeld, and Gatow radars are all active. Nothing hostile.
The military airfields and air defense sites are all quiet.”

  “Good, hope it stays that way.”

  “Safety, let’s deploy the booms as early as possible.”

  “Roger, I’ll deploy them at the twenty-minute warning. That’ll give us time to ensure they are out, fully locked, and ready. We have retested the winch system and it’s ready. We’ll drop the tailgate fifteen minutes out.”

  “Affirmative, Safety.”

  The Hercules droned on through the night. Stavros and Lindt were crowded into the radio operator’s space listening for any ground transmissions but the frequency was quiet.

  “Twenty minutes, sir,” Tuck said.

  “Roger, twenty minutes. We’re deploying the booms.”

  The hydraulics could be heard as the booms pivoted out and into position. A red light on the overhead panel went to green.

  “Booms deployed and locked.”

  Cantwell throttled back to 220 knots and scanned his instruments. All the gauges indicated the airplane was well within normal operating limits. Cantwell felt himself tense up as they flew on. This was the closest thing to a combat mission he had flown since Vietnam. Everything else had been exercises or humanitarian operations. It didn’t matter, he thought, this was one mission that wouldn’t be recorded in the unit history.

  Unless we screw it up, then we really make the headlines.

  He could see the International Herald Tribune now: “American Spy Plane Crashes in East Germany.” At least he wouldn’t have to worry about the consequences. He would be dead.

  “Are you ready, Steve?”

  “Roger, sir.”

  “Good. The controls are yours. You have the honors tonight.” Cantwell released his hold on the wheel as Bannerman took over.

  Things were about to get hectic. “Ten minutes, sir,” Tuck said.

  “Roger, ten minutes.”

  Bannerman pulled back the throttles and the plane slowed to 180 knots.

  Cantwell pressed the radio transmit button.

  “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. Berlin, this is Hurky 05. I am declaring an in-flight emergency. We’ve just lost engines three and four. Possible fuel system problem. What emergency landing options do we have?”

  “This is Berlin Center. Understand your problem. Can you make it to Tegel?”

  “Negative, I think we may lose all four shortly. Give me a landing strip.”

  “Wait one, Hurky 05.”

  The US Air Force officer on duty at Berlin Center turned to the Russian liaison officer.

  “What airfield can we land on?”

  The Russian who had been listening in looked at the radar plot and did some quick map work.

  “Hurry, these guys may crash land if they can’t make an airfield soon.”

  “Here,” the Soviet Air Force officer said, “near Wittstock.”

  The Russian scribbled down the geographic coordinates and handed them to the American. Then he grabbed the phone to call Soviet headquarters.

  “I’ll need to alert the base,” said the Russian.

  The American officer read the coordinates off the paper to the airplane.

  “How copy, Hurky 05?”

  “Good copy, Control. We are turning on a northwest azimuth of two-niner-one to get to that location now. Stand by one.”

  Bannerman turned the aircraft to the northwest for a moment and then put it into a dive while fingering the intercom switch.

  “Hang on folks, we are going down for NOE flight.”

  The plane descended quickly from 15,000 to 1,000 feet in a matter of minutes. Cantwell continued to talk with Berlin.

  “Berlin, Hurky 05, we are losing altitude. Number two engine has also shut down. We’re holding at 1,000 feet. Wittstock appears to be about 30 kilometers. We’ll try to make it there.”

  In reality, outside the cockpit all four engines were roaring but at reduced speed. They were cruising at 130 knots. Tuck, the navigator, typed a new azimuth into the navigation system and the aircraft heeled to port as it headed for the pick-up point coordinates.

  “We’re locked in on the intercept point and are about eight minutes out.”

  “Safety, what’s the winch status?”

  “We’re locked and loaded. Ready for the pick-up.”

  They were flying low but not quite “nap of the Earth” low. They were at 1,000 feet not NOE’s usual 300 feet when the radio operator said, “I have our beacon on two-forty-three megahertz!”

  “Got it. It just appeared in front of us on our pick-up azimuth. It’s about twelve miles ahead,” Tuck responded. “At this speed, five minutes thirty seconds to intercept.”

  “Those must be our boys. Raven, any changes to our status?”

  “We’re still clean.”

  “Tuck, time?”

  “Four minutes to contact.”

  “Roger. Take us off auto, we’re taking it manual into the pick-up. Give us corrections if needed until I have the balloon in sight.”

  “Roger, you have control.”

  Bannerman felt the control column and did a slight left-to-right movement.

  “I have it.”

  Bannerman took the plane lower, down to just below 450 feet. Both pilots stared ahead into the dark.

  “There. The marker lights.”

  “We have target in sight,” Cantwell said over the intercom.

  In the rear of the airplane, the crew edged closer to the open tailgate, pressing their helmet earpieces to hear the instructions over the noise of the engines and wind.

  Bannerman vectored the plane straight between the two red lights that hung vertically on the line. He wouldn’t see the actual cable until the last moment.

  “Two minutes… One minute…”

  ***

  On the ground, Kaiser heard the sound first.

  “I think we have an inbound bird.”

  Everyone else heard the noise building to the east.

  The Combat Talon roared out over the tops of the trees like a sinister bird of prey and was overhead and then gone in a flash. As it disappeared into the night, the cable straightened out for a moment before Fischer and Kaiser began to lift into the air.

  Mann yelled, “Bon voyage.”

  In all probability he wasn’t heard in the din.

  The pair kept rising straight into the air for about 100 feet before they took off in an arc behind the Hercules. Then they too were gone.

  ***

  Above them in the cockpit, Cantwell and Bannerman saw the balloon flash overhead as the cable slotted itself into the yoke of the boom arms. It was instantly clamped and locked in the jaws as the upper section and balloon were cut away. The rest of the cable snaked under the belly of the plane. Bannerman had to hold the plane steady on the same azimuth until the cable could be snatched with a J-hook at the tail and locked into the hydraulic winch to reel the men in. Cantwell wondered on which side of the border the balloon would land but he didn’t think it would matter as the equipment was completely sterile—unmarked and untraceable. The East Germans might even think it was a weather balloon.

  It seemed like minutes, but it was more like thirty seconds before the crew reported in.

  “We have the cable captured and secure. Winching is underway.”

  Cantwell punched Bannerman in the shoulder and gave a thumbs up as he hit the transmit button on the control column.

  “Berlin Center, this is Hurky 05. We’ve managed to restart engines three and four. We’re still minus one. We’re heading for the Zone and will land at the first available airbase.”

  “Roger, Hurky 05, you had us worried there. You went off the scope and we thought you’d gone down.”

  “Berlin Center, we’re good. Scared us too. We’re going to take it low and slow out of here. Thanks for the help.”

  “Hurky 05, roger. Safe journey.”

  The American and the Russian control officers looked at each other and shrugged.

  “I guess they’re alright now. Spasibo.”

  Sta
vros asked the radio operator to send the launch signal to the convoy at Checkpoint Bravo and then climbed down into the cargo area to watch the hoist operations with Lindt. One loadmaster was closely observing the winch as it reeled in the cable while the second loadmaster and safety officer knelt behind the fence at the end of the ramp. They were safely attached to the airplane in their safety harnesses and were watching the cable, waiting for the first glimpse of their catch.

  The cable angled up from the winch to a pulley that hung from the top of the tailgate opening and then it disappeared into the dark. It was being reeled in at around eighty feet per minute. Five minutes had passed when the safety officer saw the men on the line.

  “Trophy in sight, fifty feet to go.”

  The two men were flying relatively flat and stable as they were winched towards the tail. The winch operator gauged their approach and slowed their speed as they neared the ramp. An indicator flag on the cable told him when to stop their forward momentum altogether. The two men hung from the pulley, swinging like a pair of newly landed marlin while the loadmaster and safety officer grabbed Kaiser and Fischer and drug them into the airplane securely behind the fence. They snapped safety lines to each man before the lift line was released. Fischer and Kaiser weren’t going to leave the aircraft until it was back safely on the ground.

  “Trophy onboard and secure,” the loadmaster reported.

  “Roger, we’re running for home,” came the response from the flight deck.

  The tailgate closed and dim interior lights came back on. Wheeler, Lindt, and Stavros helped the two new and slightly disoriented passengers out of their harnesses and onto the web seats. It was quiet enough to talk at a low shout. Hurky 05 continued its run for the border at low level, flying at 225 knots and just over 500 feet. Anyone sleeping underneath its path would know it had passed but only for a brief moment.

  Lindt helped pulled off Kaiser’s helmet and was surprised to see his teammate’s face.

  “What happened to Becker?”

  “I did. I got shot. He’s coming out with Mann.”

  Only then did they notice the big dark spot and the bandages over what was left of Kaiser’s uniform. Lindt grabbed his M5 medical bag and went to work to make sure the bleeding was still under control.