The driver obliged. Seconds later, two people struggled from the woods. A man in a wheelchair with a young woman behind him.
"Stop!" Rosenlocher said.
The driver touched the brakes and pulled over as Rosenlocher picked up his radio. The other cars also slowed.
"Two and Three," he said to the other cars, "you see them?"
"We see them in Two."
"We've got them in Three."
The Hauptmann said, "Two, you cover the south flank. Three, you pull up and take the north. I'll bring them in."
The three cars stopped twenty meters apart on the side of the road. The drivers remained behind the wheels as the police officers emerged on the passengers' sides. In the event of casualties, they would race to the hospital in Hanover. The officers in Two and Three moved south and north. In the dark, they set up a skirmish line behind the railing at the side of the road. If they or the Americans were fired upon, their orders were to shoot to kill.
Rosenlocher was the first one over the guardrail. He was less than thirty meters from the edge of the woods, where Bob Herbert and Jody Thompson were rushing to outrace their pursuers.
Rosenlocher raised the shotgun. He aimed at the area behind the woman where he saw movement.
"Come!" he called to Herbert.
Jody continued to push. She was panting and stumbling but she wasn't stopping.
Rosenlocher watched the others. He saw faces in the headlights as traffic passed. Young faces. Some were angry, some were frightened. He knew that all it took was one misstep, for whatever reason, to cause this situation to get out of hand. He hoped that self-preservation would win out and no one would lose his cool.
He could see the Americans' faces clearly now. Herbert was intense as he turned his wheels. Jody was sobbing as she half-pushed, half-leaned on the chair.
Rosenlocher concentrated his aim on a clutch of young men who had emerged from the woods. Bold men, obviously, willing to sacrifice their lives to make a statement. After a moment, however, he knew that they weren't going to attack. Rosenlocher didn't see Karin or Manfred. He didn't know why they weren't here, but he did know that without the head the body wasn't going to think. And without the heart it wasn't going to act. Whatever these ruffians were capable of doing to lone adversaries, they weren't willing to take on a trained force.
Herbert and Jody reached his side. As instructed earlier, the drivers of Two and Three got out to help Herbert over the fence. There was no sense of urgency, no panic. Just a workman-like efficiency which was a hallmark of Rosenlocher's squad.
As the police officers remained at their posts, the drivers helped Herbert and Jody into the first car. When they were safely inside, the men at the rail peeled off from the outside, one at a time. They went back to the passengers' sides of the cars, where they covered the other men as they returned to the cars.
When everyone was safely away from the guardrail, Rosenlocher turned his back on the woods and walked to the car. He half-expected to die. There was always one coward in every crowd of terrorists or thugs. He kept his head erect. Cowards were intimidated by men who refused to be. By men who didn't fear. As he walked, he was completely aware of every sound, every step, knowing that each could be the last he enjoyed.
When he reached the car he walked to the passenger's side and quietly instructed his men to get inside.
They drove off without incident.
Rosenlocher instructed his driver to go directly to the hospital. The man punched on the siren.
Sitting in the backseat of the police car, Jody fell against Herbert's shoulder. She began crying big, heaving sobs.
"My arm hurts," she cried.
"Hush," Herbert said.
"Everything hurts. Everything."
Herbert cradled her head. "We're going to get you taken care of," he said softly. "You're going to be okay. You're safe. You performed like a real hero."
She clutched him around the shoulder. Jody's breath and her tears were warm against his neck. He held her even tighter, so proud of her that his own eyes misted over.
Rosenlocher said softly, "Are you all right, Herr Herbert ?"
"Yes," Herbert said. "Very."
"Your friend the General was correct," Rosenlocher said. "He told me all I had to do was buy you a few minutes. 'Loosen the noose and Bob will slip out.' "
"Sure," Herbert said, "slip right from the gallows into quicksand. Thanks for hauling us out, Hauptmann. You're gonna be on my Christmas card list for a long time."
Rosenlocher smiled. He turned around, picked up his car phone, and asked his dispatcher to put him through to General Rodgers in Washington.
The shotgun was between his legs. As he waited, Rosenlocher felt the weight of it against his right knee. It had taken a war to bring Hitler down. Once the police had transported Herbert and the girl to safety, they would return and track down the rest of these thugs. It would be ironic after all these years of chasing Felix Richter, after training for assaults and firefights, if the new Fuhrer fell without a shot being fired.
Ironic but fitting, Rosenlocher thought. Perhaps we have learned something after all. If you confront tyrants early enough you'll find that all of them are dressed in the Emperor's New Clothes.
Rosenlocher savored that thought as he had the pleasure of passing the telephone back to Bob Herbert so he could tell his superior that the mission had been accomplished.
It had indeed.
SIXTY-NINE
Friday, 12:16 A.M., Wunstorf, Germany
Felix Richter watched the members of his hunting party straggle back.
"Where are the Americans?" he demanded.
Rolf was among the first people to return. He looked at the bodies of Karin and Manfred. Their heads and shoulders had been covered by windbreakers. They reminded him of dogs which had been run over in traffic. He looked away.
Richter walked up to him. "What happened?"
"The police were waiting," he said. "There was nothing to do."
Richter screamed, "Is that what Karin Doring would have said? That there was nothing to do?"
"Karin would have been there doing it," someone yelled back, "not waiting for us to come back. Karin wasn't a talker."
"I never said I was Karin Doring--"
"No," said Rolf, "you're not. And I'm leaving."
Richter stepped in front of him. "Listen to me. All of you. You can't let the legacy die because of a setback. We owe it to those who came before us to fight on."
Several people stopped to pick up the bodies. Others waited for them.
"Don't let this end!" Richter said.
The men moved past him to join those who were still waiting at the camp. Rolf followed the flashlight beams which carved through the dark. Were these meager things the spotlights Richter had spoken of, the ones which were supposed to shine across their symbols and accomplishments ?
"This is a setback, not a defeat," Richter said. "Don't let them stop us!"
The men continued to walk.
Richter repeated the lines verbatim, his voice rising as he tried to reignite the fervor of the rally.
Jean-Michel said from behind, "They don't care about your distinctions, Herr Richter. They only know that they've lost their heart. If you're clever and determined, perhaps you'll get some of them back. But now it is time to go home."
Jean-Michel looked toward the beams of light and followed, leaving Richter alone in the dark.
SEVENTY
Friday, 12:17 A.M., Toulouse, France
The Osprey hung over the field like a storm cloud, dark and rumbling, its navigation lights flashing lightning. Colonel August stood in the cockpit, behind the pilot, as the craft rose to one thousand feet.
The LongRanger was nearly three miles downriver, moving southeast. The helicopter still lurched and roller-coastered now and then, though less frequently now. It was like a bronco resigning itself to being broken. Only August didn't want it resigning itself too fast. Legally, he suspected, he wouldn'
t be able to justify what they were about to do unless the chopper was out of control and a threat to people on the ground.
"Approximate speed one-two-five miles an hour," the pilot said as they watched the LongRanger recede.
The Osprey nosed down slightly, the props tilting forward as it moved ahead. At speeds of up to 345 miles an hour, the VTOL would overtake it quickly. However, the crew chief wasn't ready yet. He and his three-man team were in the cargo bay readying a two-thousand-pound hoist with a two-hundred-foot cable. The cable was used to pick up or deposit cargo in areas where the Osprey couldn't land.
August had told them to get the hoist ready. When he told them why, Manigot and Boisard jokingly requested that they please be court-martialed and jump right to the execution instead. The end result would be the same.
But August didn't believe that. He told them what he told everyone in his command. If a job is planned correctly and executed by professionals, it should go as smoothly as getting out of bed in the morning. And while there were always intangibles, that was what made the job exciting.
The Osprey soared ahead in its helicopter configuration. August was not so much concerned with speed as being able to track the chopper. If the pilot decided to change course abruptly, August wanted to be able to adjust accordingly. The Colonel had also ordered his radio operator to maintain silence. The less information the LongRanger had about who was on board or why, the less likely he was to dig in his heels. There was nothing more antagonizing than a faceless, voiceless adversary.
The pilot adjusted the Osprey's altitude so that it was flying one hundred feet higher than the LongRanger. He bore down on the helicopter, sweeping east or west as it moved with the river. Obviously, whoever was at the controls knew how to fly but not how to navigate. He was following the river to get away.
The Osprey closed the gap, bearing down like a storm, fierce and unstoppable. The LongRanger pushed itself but wasn't able to pull away. In less than two minutes the Osprey was on top of it. The LongRanger tried to move aside, but each time it did the larger aircraft moved with it.
All the while the hoist crew worked quickly to ready their equipment. When it was finally done, the crew chief radioed the cockpit.
"Senior Airman Taylor is ready, sir," said the pilot.
Colonel August pulled on gloves and nodded. "Tell him to open the bay. I'm coming back."
The pilot acknowledged the order as August opened the cabin door and crossed the fuselage. Wind tore through the cabin as massive gears churned and the underbelly door opened. The canvas covering the ribs of the fuselage whipped violently on both sides.
August moved quickly despite the wind. Once a team was primed it was a bad idea to keep them waiting. Waiting was to energy like cold was to heat: it sapped it.
August arrived as the men were checking the hooks on their parachutes. "We ready to go?" he asked.
The men answered in the affirmative.
August had outlined the plan when he had first boarded with Manigot and Boisard. Taylor was going to lower Manigot fifty feet straight down, just beyond the horizontal stabilizer to the crosspiece halfway between the main cabin and the tail assembly. There was enough room behind the main rotor blades to accomplish that. The only real concern they had was a five-to-eight-second period when the airman or the cable above him was directly behind the main rotor. If the LongRanger slowed or angled up or down during that time, Manigot or the cable could be sliced to pieces. If the chopper moved at all, Manigot was to release the cable immediately, parachute down, and the mission would be aborted. Otherwise, once both men were on the tail boom, they would make their way to the landing skid and enter the cabin.
At least, that's how it was supposed to work. They'd done simulations of chopper-to-chopper transfers. But those helicopters were hovering. Now that he was standing in the open doorway, looking down at their target, he realized that he couldn't risk sending his men from one moving vehicle to another.
He was about to abort when something happened to the LongRanger.
SEVENTY-ONE
Friday, 12:51 A.M., Toulouse, France
Richard Hausen was lying on the floor of the cockpit, rubbing his throat, wondering why Dominique hadn't finished him off. Then he heard the sound of a pursuit aircraft. He felt the vibrations. Someone was on their tail.
He knew they weren't going to shoot Dominique down, and the only way to stop him was if they boarded the LongRanger.
Even in his pained state the German didn't know whether or not that could be done with a moving helicopter. But he knew it would be easier if the LongRanger weren't moving, if Dominique couldn't evade them.
Hausen blinked hard to clear his eyes and then sought the automatic hover button on the control panel. Finding it, he threw himself against Dominique, pushed the button, and pulled the Frenchman to the floor of the cabin.
SEVENTY-TWO
Friday, 12:52 A.M., Toulouse, France
The Osprey shot over the hovering LongRanger and August ordered the pilot to turn back. The Osprey swung around and hovered directly over the LongRanger.
August looked down from the open hatch. Both vehicles were steady, though he had no idea how long the LongRanger would remain so. He wondered if Dominique might be trying to draw them out.
No, he thought. Dominique didn't know whether their intentions were to board or pursue. Moreover, the Frenchman wouldn't be able to see them from the cockpit. He would have no idea if he'd succeeded in drawing out any or all of the team. August's gut told him that Dominique wasn't the one responsible for the hovering. It was probably Hausen.
Manigot, Boisard and Taylor were all looking at the Colonel, waiting for the command.
There was no gain without risk, and those who feared risk had no business wearing a uniform. The Colonel had a mission and he had the men.
"Go!" he said.
Taylor pressed the button on the hoist to lower Manigot quickly. The cable played out at 3.2 feet each second and he was on the stabilizer in fifteen seconds. Once Manigot had hooked himself to the crosspiece, he attached the cable, then signaled with a flashlight. Boisard slid down quickly and cleanly. Once he was secured to the other side of the crosspiece, Manigot unhooked the cable and Taylor withdrew it at once. The weight of the heavy hook at the end worked like a plumb bob to keep the cable from blowing back into the tail rotor.
August watched in the dim light from the open hatch of the Osprey as Boisard unwound the rope from his belt and slipped it through the steel loops on Manigot's belt. Then Manigot released himself from the crosspiece and started shimmying along the top of the tail boom.
Suddenly, the LongRanger dove. It wasn't a wild ride, like before: it was a purposeful attempt to get away. It caused Manigot to slide toward the mast of the rotor head. Only his quick reflexes stopped him from being tossed into the spinning hub as he grabbed onto the exhaust pipe just aft of the assembly. Boisard held onto the stabilizer, literally dangling forward as the helicopter dove.
August got on the radio and ordered his pilot to pursue. Then he squinted into the dark, watching for the men to jump.
They didn't. Both men were proud but they weren't reckless: if they could get off they would. They were probably worried about jumping off and landing in the rotors.
Frustrated by the distance and the blackness and the wind, August held on to the open hatch as the Osprey threw itself after the LongRanger. Finally, the LongRanger steadied again and August turned to Senior Airman Taylor.
"Lower that thing again!" he yelled. "I'm going down! "
Taylor said, "Sir, we have no idea if the chopper will remain stabilized--"
"Now!" August barked as he pulled a parachute from the equipment locker and slipped it on. "I'm going to hook 'er to the tail boom. When I get to Boisard, we're going to drag this sucker home."
"Sir, we're tested for two thousand pounds, and the chopper is--"
"I know. But as long as the helicopter rotor is turning, it won't be deadweight! Tell the
pilot to stay with him, no matter what. I'll flash you twice when I've hooked her, then you radio the pilot to turn around!"
Taylor saluted, then moved toward the controls with a confidence he clearly didn't feel.
Like its namesake, the Osprey tore relentlessly through the sky. As it did, the cable unwound and August was lowered at an angle toward the chopper. He torqued around the cable as he descended, twisting around several times before he was able to grab the stabilizer. Crawling to the opposite side from Boisard to keep from unbalancing the aircraft, he hooked himself to the boom and then latched the cable around it as well. It slid back, smacked up against the tail fin with a clang, and held there.
August had his fish. But he didn't signal the Osprey. He had something else in mind.
Looking forward, he began shimmying along the boom toward Manigot. The headwind was devastating as he inched ahead. As he neared the cabin, the LongRanger suddenly righted itself and swung off toward the east. The Osprey got a late start keeping up. The cable played out and the LongRanger shuddered violently as the cable grew taut and the hoist held.
August slid from the top of the tail boom to the side. He looked up to make sure that Manigot was okay, and then he looked down. His legs were less than two yards from the skid. They were two dark, windy yards, but the tips of the skid were directly below him. If he released himself, he'd have to pass them on his way down.
He tucked his arms at his sides and chucked all his rules about planning. This was one of those things like a shot from the key: either you made the basket or you didn't.
He removed his gloves and let them drop. He undid the metal clasp which held him to the line which girdled the tail boom. He waited for the LongRanger to stabilize again, and then he dropped.
August reached out at once. Free of the chopper, he was blown backward. But not so far backward that he couldn't reach the rear strut of the skid. He hooked it with his left arm, quickly reached over with his right, and struggled to pull himself over. The wind was intense and he hung down at a forty-five-degree angle, slapping against the baggage compartment as he fought to haul himself in.
Games Of State (1996) Page 38