by Bear Grylls
From every corner stared horrible, glowing twin pinpricks of light: Phoneutria eyes.
Jaeger was half expecting the ghosts of whoever had crewed this warplane to be woken by the glaring light and to step from the shadows, Luger pistols raised to defend their darkest mysteries to the last.
It seemed almost inconceivable that the aircraft could have been so utterly abandoned, complete with all its hidden secrets.
Narov crouched before a third crate, and almost instantly Jaeger sensed the change in her demeanour. As she traced the lettering, she let out a strangled gasp, and Jaeger figured that here at least was an element even she hadn’t quite been expecting.
He bent to read the words stamped on the crate’s side.
Kriegsentscheidend: Aktion Adlerflug
SS Standortwechsel Kommando
Plasmaphysik – Dresden
Röntgen Kanone
‘This we did not expect,’ Narov muttered. She glanced at Jaeger. ‘Every line is obvious, but the last? You understand line three?’
Jaeger nodded. ‘Plasma Physics – Dresden.’
‘Exactly,’ Narov confirmed. ‘As to the Röntgen Kanone, there is no direct translation into English. You might call it a death-ray or direct energy weapon. It fires a particle beam, or electromagnetic radiation, or even sound waves. It sounds like the stuff of science fiction, but the Nazis were long rumoured to have had such a weapon, and to have used it to down Allied aircraft.’
Narov’s gaze met Jaeger’s through the eyepiece of her mask. ‘It seems as if it is true, and that they held on to their Röntgen Kanone until the very last.’
Jaeger could feel the sweat pouring down his face. The heat was building to intolerable levels, and the perspiration was starting to condense inside his mask, blurring his vision. He figured they should head for the rear and try to open one of the side doors, which lay just aft of the tailplane.
As they fought their way through, Narov pointed out further crates packed with an array of staggeringly advanced weaponry. ‘The BV 246 gliding bomb. It had a two-hundred-kilometre range, and it would home on to the target’s radar signal . . . The Fritz-X guided bomb, with a heat-seeking or radar/radio homing warhead. Basically, these are the forerunners of our modern-day smart bombs.’
She bent beside a row of long, low crates. ‘The Rheintochter R1 – a surface-to-air guided missile for shooting down Allied bombers . . . The X4 – an air-to-air missile, guided to the target by the pilot. The Feuerlilie – the Fire Lily – a guided anti-aircraft rocket . . .’
She paused before a group of smaller packing cases. ‘A Seehund active night-vision unit – used in conjunction with an infrared searchlight, it had unlimited range . . . And here, stealth materials made by IG Farben, for their Schwarzes Flugzeug – Black Aircraft – programme. It was the precursor to our modern-day stealth warplanes.
‘Plus, here – materials for coating their XXI submarine. The coating absorbed radar and sonar, making the XXI all but immune to detection.’ She glanced at Jaeger. ‘It was so revolutionary that the Chinese navy’s copy – the Ming class submarine – is still in operation today. Plus the Russians’ Project 633 – their Romeo class submarine – was a direct copy of the XXI, which lasted through the entirety of the Cold War.’
She rubbed the dust off another crate, revealing the words stamped thereon. ‘Sarin, tabun and soman. The Nazis’ cutting-edge nerve agents – ones still stockpiled by the world’s major powers. We had no effective defences against them in 1945. None – and largely because we didn’t even know they existed.’
Narov gave a sharp intake of breath. ‘And next to it – a crate of bio-agents. Hitler code-named their biological weapon programme Blitzableiter: Lightning Rod. It was Nazi scientist Kurt Blome’s brainchild. They always denied its existence, disguising it as a cancer research programme, yet here we have the absolute proof that Blitzableiter existed: plague, typhoid, cholera, anthrax and nephritis-based agents. Clearly, they wished to continue after war’s end.’
By the time they’d reached the tail section of the warplane, Jaeger’s head was spinning – both from the suffocating heat, and from all that they had discovered. Hitler’s absolute belief in technology – that against all odds it would win the war for the Reich – had borne fruit, and in ways that Jaeger had barely imagined.
Both at school and at the Combat Training Centre Royal Marines, where he’d completed his officer training, Jaeger had been taught that the Allies had outfought the Nazi enemy both militarily and technologically. But if the contents of this warplane were anything to go by, that lesson seemed to be anything but true.
Guided rocketry and missiles; smart bombs; stealth aircraft; stealth submarines; night-vision kit; chemical and biological weapons; death rays even – the Nazis’ stunning advancement was evidenced by the crates packed into this warplane’s cavernous hold.
74
The Ju 390’s rear cargo hatches turned out to be typical pieces of solid German engineering. On either side were double doors around six feet in height, which opened outwards. They were fastened by twin metal bars that ran the length of their centre, slotting into holes in the floor and ceiling.
The hinges and locking mechanism looked well greased, and Jaeger figured they should move easily. He applied force to one of the levers, and it barely creaked as he pulled it upwards, freeing the doors. He put his weight against them, and the next moment they swung wide. The instant they did so, the thick sludge of mist that clung to the aircraft’s interior began to leak into the open.
Jaeger was surprised to see that it appeared to be heavier than air. It poured out of the aircraft, snaking to the ground and pooling like a dense toxic soup. When a shaft of sunlight hit the gas cloud, it appeared to glow from the inside with a strange metallic shimmer.
It reminded Jaeger that he had been also tasked to carry out some tests, to establish the source of the toxicity emanating from the warplane. He had been so caught up in the search it had almost slipped his mind.
But time enough for that later.
Right now he was burning up, and he needed a few minutes’ breather and some air. He took a seat on one side of the open doorway, Narov taking up a position opposite him. From the corner of his eye he could see Dale filming away, as he tried to suck every last frame of this awesome discovery into his camera lens.
By the light streaming in through the open hatch Jaeger noticed what looked like a picture of a MANPAD stencilled along one side of a nearby crate. He bent to inspect it. Sure enough, it showed what appeared to be a shoulder-launched surface-to-air missile.
Narov traced the lettering running along the crate’s side. ‘Fliegerfaust. It means literally “pilot fist”. The world’s first shoulder-launched surface-to-air missile, to shoot down Allied warplanes. Again, thankfully, it came too late to make much of a difference to the outcome of the war.’
‘Surreal . . .’ Jaeger muttered. ‘So many firsts . . . It’ll take an age to catalogue all the secrets lying around in here.’
‘What exactly is so surprising?’ Narov asked, as she stared out into the white bones of the dead jungle. ‘That the Nazis had such technology? They had this and so much more. Search that warplane fully, and who knows what else it may reveal.’
She paused. ‘Or is your surprise that this aircraft is in American markings? The Allies supported the Nazis’ efforts to relocate their weaponry – their Wunderwaffe – to the far-flung corners of the earth. By war’s end we were facing a new enemy: Soviet Russia. It was a case of the enemy of my enemy is my friend. The Allies gave their blessing at the highest level to those Nazi relocations – hence why this aircraft is in USAF colours. The Allies – the Americans – owned the skies by then, and none would have made it through otherwise.
‘By war’s end it was a race against the Russians,’ Narov continued. ‘By seizing for ourselves the Nazis’ secrets – their technology and their foremost scientists – we were able to win the Cold War, not to mention the space race. Bac
k then, that was how we justified it all.’
‘We?’ Jaeger interjected. ‘But you’re Russian. You said it yourself – by the end of the war you were the enemy.’
‘Of me you know nothing,’ Narov muttered. She was silent for a long moment. ‘I may sound Russian, but my blood is British. I was born in your country. Before that, my distant heritage is German. And now I live in New York. I am a citizen of the free world. Does that make me the enemy?’
Jaeger shrugged, half apologetically. ‘How was I to know? You’ve told me zero about yourself or—’
‘Now is hardly the time,’ Narov interjected, gesturing at the Ju 390’s cargo hold.
‘Fair enough. Anyway, keep talking – about the warplane.’
‘Take for example the Mittelwerk underground facility,’ Narov began again, picking up her thread. ‘In early May 1945, American forces overran it, and the first V-2 rocket systems were shipped out to the US. Just days later, Soviet army officers arrived to take over the complex: it lay within the Soviet zone of occupation. The American Apollo moon landings were built upon those V-2 technologies.
‘Or take Kurt Blome, the director of the Blitzableiter. One reason the Nazis’ biological weapons programme was so advanced was that they had thousands of concentration camp victims to test them on. At war’s end, Blome was captured and put on trial in Nuremberg. Somehow he was acquitted, after which the Americans hired him to work for their Army Chemical Corps, on a top-secret weapons programme.
‘We cut deals,’ Narov announced, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. ‘And yes, we cut deals with those who were unspeakable – the very worst of the Nazis.’ She eyed Jaeger. ‘You have never heard of Operation Paperclip?’
Jaeger shook his head.
‘It was the Americans’ code name for a project to relocate thousands of Nazi scientists to the US. There they were given new names, new identities, plus positions of power and influence – as long as they would work for their new masters. You had a similar programme, only with typical British irony you named it Operation Darwin: survival of the fittest.
‘Both projects were completely deniable,’ Narov continued. ‘Operation Paperclip was denied even to the level of the US president.’ She paused. ‘But there were layers of deniability that went even deeper. Aktion Adlerflug – Operation Eagle Flight – it is stamped on every one of the packing crates in this aircraft’s hold. Aktion Adlerflug was the codename for Hitler’s plan to relocate Nazi technology to places where it could be used to rebuild the Reich. It was a project that we – the Allies – endorsed, as long as they worked with us against the Soviets.
‘In short, you are sitting aboard a warplane that lies at the heart of the world’s darkest ever conspiracy. Such was – is – the secrecy involved that most of the British and American files related to this activity – not to mention the Russian files – remain closed. And I doubt they will ever be opened.’
Narov shrugged. ‘If all of this surprises you, it really should not. The supposed good guys cut a deal with the devil. They did so out of what they believed was necessity – for the greater good of the free world.’
75
Jaeger waved a hand at the crates lining the Ju 390’s hold. ‘It only makes this all the more incredible. This warplane – it’s got to be the greatest collection of Nazi war secrets ever assembled. All the more vital that we get it lifted out of here, back to somewhere where we can—’
‘Where we can what?’ Narov cut in, turning her cold eyes upon him. ‘Tell the world? Much of this technology we have now perfected. Take the Röntgen Kanone; the death ray. Recently, the Americans perfected just such a thing. It is codenamed MARAUDER. It stands for Magnetically Accelerated Ring to Achieve Ultra-high Directed Energy and Radiation. Basically, it fires doughnut-shaped spheres of magnetically cemented plasma. Think balls of lightning.
‘It is a classified deniable access programme,’ Narov continued. ‘In other words, the holy grail of secrets. As is MARAUDER’s direct antecedent – the Nazi Röntgen Kanone. So no, Mr William Edward Michael Jaeger, we won’t be presenting this discovery to the world any time soon. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do everything in our power to save it, and for all the right reasons.’
Jaeger stared at Narov for a long second: William Edward Michael Jaeger – what was with the use of his full name?
‘You know something, I’ve got a million questions.’ Jaeger’s voice rose above the suck and blow of his gas mask. ‘And most of them seem to concern you. Mind telling me how you know so much? Mind telling me everything you know? Mind telling me who you are, even? Where you come from? Who you work for? Oh yeah, and mind telling me what’s with the commando knife?’
When Narov answered, her gaze remained fixed on the dead forest. ‘I might tell you some of these things, once we are safely out of this. Once we are truly safe. But right now—’
‘Plus the satchel of documents,’ Jaeger cut in. ‘The one you retrieved from the aircraft’s cockpit. Mind telling me what’s in that? The flight manifest? Air charts? The intended destination of this and the other warplanes?’
Narov ignored the question. ‘Right now, William Edward Michael Jaeger, I think you need to know only this: I knew Edward Michael Jaeger, your grandfather. Grandfather Ted, as all we who knew him called him. He was an inspiration and a guide to us all.
‘I worked with your grandfather, or rather I worked in his memory; I worked with his inheritance.’ Narov pulled out her knife. ‘And it was your grandfather who bequeathed me this. I was curious to meet his living legacy: you. I remain curious. I do not know if he is everything – or even anything – that I had hoped he would be.’
Jaeger was speechless. Before he could think of a suitable response, Narov spoke again.
‘He was the grandfather I never had. That I couldn’t have.’ For the first time since Jaeger had met her, Narov fixed him with a very direct, piercing look, one that held. ‘And you know something else? I have always resented the relationship you had with him . . . and that you were left free to follow your dreams.’
Jaeger held up his hands. ‘Whoa . . . Where did that come from?’
Narov turned away. ‘It is a long story. I do not know if I am ready. If you are ready . . . And now—’
Her words were cut short by a fearful cry that rang out over the radio intercom. ‘Arggghhh! Get it off! Get it off!’
Jaeger spun around, only to find that Dale had blundered into a place where the spiders’ webs seemed at their thickest. The cameraman had been so focused on his lens that he’d not kept a proper watch on where he was going. Tough, sticky filaments wrapped around him, as he fought to retain hold of his camera and sweep the suffocating silken threads – and their arachnid hordes – away.
Jaeger dashed to his aid.
He figured there was little chance that even a Phoneutria’s fangs could pierce Dale’s gloves or mask, and presumably the NBC suit was tough enough to resist a bite. But Dale was unlikely to know that, and his terror sounded all too real.
Jaeger used his thick rubber mitts to swipe the writhing mass of spiders aside, punching their squishy, hissing forms into the darkness. With Narov’s help he dragged Dale free, still desperately clutching at his camera. But as they pulled him out of the tangle of webs, Jaeger caught sight of the real cause of Dale’s fear.
Lying in the crushed mass of silken threads was a ghostly skeleton, its fleshless face a rictus of horror, the bones of its body still clad in a half-decayed SS officer’s uniform. As Jaeger stared at the dead man – doubtless one of the Ju 390’s original passengers – he heard a voice over the radio intercom.
‘It wasn’t the bloody spiders that got me!’ Dale gasped. ‘It was being in the clutches of some long-dead Nazi general!’
‘I see him,’ Jaeger confirmed. ‘And you know something? He makes you look almost handsome. Come on – let’s hustle.’
Jaeger was all too aware that they’d been in the suffocating confines of this aircraft fo
r approaching an hour now. It was time to get moving. But as he led Dale and Narov back towards the cockpit, he was struck by a shocking realisation: he’d yet to spare a thought for how this warplane might hold the key to discovering the fate of his wife and child.
Luke and Ruth: their disappearance was tied up inextricably with whatever they had discovered here. The Reichsadler – the stamp of evil – was all over both this warplane and Jaeger’s family’s abduction.
And somehow he had to start searching for the answers.
76
Jaeger stood in the fringes of the jungle speaking to his team – Lewis Alonzo, Hiro Kamishi, Leticia Santos, Joe James, Irina Narov, and Mike Dale – who was still filming – plus Puruwehua, Gwaihutiga and their fellow Indians. He’d removed his gas mask so he could talk, though he was still wearing the rest of the cumbersome NBC suit.
‘Right, you all know the score,’ he announced, his voice thick with tension and exhaustion. ‘We’re about to start the lift. The Airlander crew figure they may need an hour to work the warplane free. That’s the time I’m asking you to buy us. Do all you can to hold off the bad guys, but no heroics. Mission one: let’s all stay alive. And remember – just as soon as we’re gone, break contact and get the hell out of here.’
Jaeger glanced at the giant airship, which seemed to fill the sky above them. The Airlander was an awe-inspiring sight. It hovered less than one hundred feet above the broken bone ends of the dead canopy, like the belly of some huge white whale suspended in the clouds.
It was four times the length of the Ju 390’s fuselage, and ten times its width – the airship’s bulbous hull being filled with some three and a half million cubic feet of helium gas.
It simply dwarfed the warplane that lay beneath it.
The Airlander’s pilot could risk bringing her no lower, for the topmost branches of the dead forest thrust skywards like jagged spear tips. The airship had an intelligent skin that could heal itself if holed, but multiple wounds would cause her real trouble.
