The Kingdom of the Air

by C. T. Wells

  ‘Josef,’ Lucas said ‘I don’t know what your plan is but I don’t think one little Feldwebel with a pistol can be considered an invasion. This is not what Hitler had in mind.’

  ‘Shut up, Lucas. You have deceived me from the start.’

  ‘Don’t take it personally, old chap. There’s a war on, you know. Are you here for revenge?’

  ‘Listen, I am sick of your words. You deserve to be shot, but I have come here to warn you—’

  ‘Josef!’ Giselle interrupted. ‘Put your gun away. These are allies of the résistance.’

  ‘Wait, Giselle. I have to settle something—’

  ‘I mean it. Put the gun down.’ This time Giselle had the revolver levelled at Josef’s chest. It wasn’t the first time she had pointed a gun at him, and he had never doubted her conviction.

  Josef kept the Walther covering Lucas and Hood, but his eyes flicked to her. She was trying to take charge of the situation now. Trying to protect him from making a grave mistake. But she didn’t know about the Stuka raid scheduled for dawn.

  She was focussed on her mission now. All she wanted was the Covenant broadcast to the résistance. Right now he looked like the greatest threat to that mission.

  ‘I need these people, Josef. The résistance needs them. So don’t make me choose between you and France.’

  Josef breathed out slowly. It had gone horribly wrong. Even Giselle thought he had lost his mind.

  ‘Josef! I can’t let you settle a score with this man.’ Her eyes blazed at him.

  He closed his eyes for a couple of seconds then put the Walther down on the terrace. ‘Giselle. These men will kill me. You heard him. I’m a disposable asset. Just let me explain that we are all in danger here ...’

  Confusion and sorrow flickered across Giselle’s brow and she lowered the revolver. She wanted to trust him, he could see that. But she would not jeopardise the alliance with the British.

  ‘I’ll take that.’ Hood extracted the weapon from her limp hand. Giselle did not resist. ‘You were meant to kill him in France. You had your orders.’

  Giselle did not respond. Now Hood had the revolver aimed at Josef’s head.

  ‘On your knees,’ ordered the Englishman.

  ‘Listen to me …’ Josef trailed off as he was confronted by the weapon in his face. He sank to his knees.

  ‘Hands on your head.’

  Josef complied.

  Hood circled behind, keeping the revolver on him the whole time.

  Lucas took out a cigar from his jacket pocket and lit it between words. ‘Well, that was all rather dramatic for a summer evening. But Mademoiselle Alegre, you still have some explaining to do. What have you done with my RAF pilot and what’s he doing here?’ He stabbed the cigar at Josef. ‘Your radio message confirmed that he was dead. And now he’s here on my patio like something the cat dragged in.’

  Giselle spoke quickly. ‘Your pilot was shot in a Gestapo ambush. Josef helped me to escape. If it were not for him, your mission would have failed and I could not have come to England. He has come with me to defect.’

  Lucas scoffed. ‘Perhaps we should arrange a knighthood. But posthumous, I should think.’

  ‘No. You must listen. He has risked his life for the résistance. You must offer him amnesty.’

  Lucas vented smoke through his nostrils. ‘Why should I? He swore allegiance to Hitler. I wouldn’t piss on him if he was on fire.’

  Giselle looked desperate. ‘What will you do with him?’

  Lucas stooped and picked up the Walther, sliding it in the pocket of his smoking jacket. He looked down at Josef and drew heavily on the cigar.

  Josef knew Lucas would want him dead, of course, and he would pay no heed to inconveniences such as the Geneva convention. He had to negotiate for an amnesty—even becoming a POW would be better than being left at the mercy of Lucas. ‘You must all listen to me. You’ll be dead by dawn unless you do what I say.’

  Lucas rolled his eyes. ‘More melodrama. You’re bluffing, old chap. A desperado. And I think we’ve had enough of your rot for one night.’

  ‘Listen, Lucas. There is a Stuka raid planned for this location at dawn. I gave them the coordinates myself. But we came to warn you and make a deal. I save you. You give me amnesty.’

  ‘Hood, bring him inside.’

  ‘Walk,’ ordered Hood.

  Josef stood and Hood marched him inside the house at gunpoint.

  ‘Keep your hands up.’ They led them through to the drawing room. It was exactly the same as Josef had seen it last time. The oil painting of the hunting scene. Books strewn over one desk. Radio equipment on the other. Blackout curtains covering the huge windows.

  There was a clock on the wall above the radio. It was six twenty–four. Dawn was about six minutes away. Hood was still standing behind him with the revolver.

  Lucas pulled a map out of a drawer and spread it over the desk. He checked it and looked up at Josef.

  ‘What were the coordinates you gave to these dive bombers?’

  Josef rattled them off from memory.

  Lucas looked at the map again and then straight at Josef. ‘So maybe you are not bluffing.’

  ‘They will be here right on dawn. We have about five minutes, Lucas.’ The weather was perfect for a dawn raid. Josef could imagine the Stukas coming north right now. Like a murder of crows looking for a carcass. It would probably be the Stuka Ace from Munich leading the attack; the one he had shared a drink with only days ago—in a different life. They would fall on this location and rain fire from the heavens. ‘We need to get out of here, Lucas. Now.’

  ‘Not all of us.’ He opened the top drawer of his desk and produced a pair of handcuffs. He tossed them to Hood, who caught them deftly with his free hand. ‘Cuff him to the fireplace.’

  There was a wrought iron hearth in the fireplace, embedded in the brickwork. Cuffed to that strongpoint there would be no escape. He would be trapped as the building was destroyed.

  ‘If it’s true that there’s about to be an airshow, we’ll be outside watching from a safe distance. And you can keep the home fires burning.’

  Giselle protested. ‘No!’

  ‘Shut up!’ Hood snapped. ‘Hands behind your back, Kraut.’

  Josef complied, but his mind was racing. There had to be a way out.

  Hood had the handcuffs in one hand and the revolver in the other. ‘Cover him while I cuff him. He’s dangerous.’

  Lucas slipped his hand into his robe pocket and it came out with Josef’s Walther. He walked around the desk and aimed the pistol at Josef’s chest.

  Hood tucked the revolver into his shoulder holster. He snapped the cuff onto Josef’s right wrist.

  The Walther. An illusion of situation control ...

  Josef wrenched his hands away from Hood. He spun and lashed out with the cuffed hand. The loose cuff hit Hood across the face like a flail. His hands instinctively came up to the gash on his cheekbone.

  Josef drew back his fist and punched him as hard as he could just below the ribs. The Englishman sank to his knees, but Josef’s hand was already inside his jacket as he slumped, plucking the revolver from the shoulder holster.

  Lucas tried to shoot him, furiously pulling the trigger on the Walther.

  Josef spun back towards him with Hood’s revolver. ‘I ran out of bullets in France. A real soldier might have noticed that in the weight of the gun.’

  Enraged, Lucas flung the Walther at Josef.

  He swatted it away, lunged and caught Lucas’s outstretched arm. There was another blur of motion, a snap and Josef had Lucas cuffed to him.

  Hood was trying to get up off the floor, heaving to get air into his lungs, eyes full of anger.

  ‘Get up, Hood. You’ve got a job to do. Giselle, take him with you. Get the household staff. Get them in Hood’s car and have him d
rive them away from here as fast as possible. Go with them, Giselle. And take this, to make sure he cooperates.’ Josef handed the revolver to her. ‘Do what she says, Hood.’

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Giselle.

  ‘Lucas and I have to send a message.’

  XXXIX

  ‘What do you want from me?’ Lucas was white with fear.

  ‘Turn on the radio. Get ready to transmit. It has to be you. The listeners will know your hand.’

  ‘And if I decide not to?’

  ‘Then we’ll sit down and for the last moments of our lives, I will tell you about my sister.’

  By the expression on Lucas’ face, he was trying to calculate something. Maybe he was trying to work out if he could forcibly drag Josef out of the house in time. Not a chance. ‘You knew the coordinates, but you could still be making up the blasted Stuka attack.’

  ‘I could be,’ said Josef. ‘You’ll know in four minutes, give or take.’

  ‘All right.’ With Josef right by his side, Lucas went to the desk and flipped switches to turn on the radio apparatus.

  Josef guessed it would take a moment for the tubes to be ready. Hopefully no more than that.

  Lucas sat down in the radio–operator’s chair. In front of him was the Morse–key, the code–pads and a sheaf of poems that linked to different résistance cells. Hyperion was pinned to a corkboard above the radio. ‘What’s the message?’

  ‘Cardinal to Archangel—start with that.’

  Lucas raked his free hand through his mop of unruly hair. ‘It takes time to encrypt a message!’

  ‘Don’t encrypt it. Send it in plain–text.’

  ‘Then every radio operator in France will know what has been said.’

  ‘Exactly. Cardinal to Archangel.’

  At that moment a faint drone became audible. They both heard it. An unmistakable chorus of aircraft engines. Lucas’s eyes widened with realisation. He was chained to a madman and locked inside the target of an airstrike. It was no bluff.

  ‘Get on with it, Lucas.’

  Lucas hastily tapped out the message on the Morse key. The series of dots and dashes were broadcast all over northern France. It was almost certain that Martin wouldn’t be there listening, but someone would certainly receive the message. There were hundreds of résistance cells with radio sets. Someone would be listening. ‘Cardinal to Archangel.’

  ‘Covenant is enacted.’

  Lucas’ mouth fell open. ‘You are mad ...’

  ‘Do it.’

  The Englishman had his hand hovering over the Morse key. Panic edged his voice. ‘We’ve got to get out of here.’

  ‘Send it!’

  Somewhere far above, the first dive bomber entered its terrible descent. The shrill scream of the Jericho trumpet penetrated the morning air and signalled imminent destruction. Josef knew the first bomb would be released within thirty seconds. The first plane was the pathfinder, and it may or may not hit the target. The subsequent bombs would be more accurate; the house was doomed.

  Josef stood immobile and impassive, staring at Lucas, and willing him to act as the wail of a thousand banshees intensified.

  Lucas was sweating as he keyed the message: ‘Covenant is enacted.’

  The instant the message was sent, Josef wrenched Lucas from the chair. ‘Run with me. Don’t hesitate.’ Josef turned towards the high windows of the drawing room and charged. Lucas came with him, half–dragged by the handcuffs.

  Josef leapt into the air and crashed through the glass with his arm shielding his face. Lucas followed, one step behind. The windows smashed with the impact of Josef’s shoulder. The two men fell through falling shards of glass and crashed into the garden bed as the first bomb detonated on the far side of the house. A blaze of light erupted around the house and then came the concussion wave. Fire and debris rained over them as all the other windows blew out.

  Josef was deafened for several seconds, but then the hell–shriek of the next Stuka penetrated his senses. He scrambled onto his knees. He looked at Lucas lying next to him. There were shards of glass embedded in his face and clothes, streaks of blood on his forehead. He must be the same.

  Lucas was staring straight up, frozen. Was he dead? No, transfixed. Glancing up, Josef saw the dark profile of the Stuka plunging toward them in an eighty degree dive. He wrenched Lucas onto his feet and dragged him through the rose bushes

  And there, out of nowhere, Hood’s car was reversing through the gardens, bouncing over paving stones. It skidded to a halt right in front of them. Giselle was beckoning to them from the rear window, urging them to hurry.

  ‘Come on!’ Josef hauled Lucas to the vehicle. They lunged onto the running boards and grabbed hold of the door sills. Josef was vaguely aware of other people in the car.

  Hood revved the engine and the Ford shot forward.

  Josef watched as the bomb separated from the Stuka and the aircraft pulled out of its dive. The siren ceased but the bomb whistled onward. The two hundred and fifty kilogram explosive made a direct hit on the roof of the house, cracking the air like thunder. Josef had to look away as gouts of flame shot from the windows and a shock wave nearly ripped him from the side of the vehicle.

  More Stukas were dropping out of the sky. Fire and fury consumed the house. Incendiaries raised great curtains of fire behind them and the black Ford careened through the gardens and into the grassy field beyond, going like a bat out of hell.

  The next Stukas levelled off not far above the flames and banked sharply away. One of the German pilots must have fixed on the vehicle making its escape. It pulled around and swooped in low for a strafing run. The cranked wings and wheel spats loomed larger as the Stuka closed in. Josef saw bright muzzle flash from both wings.

  Hood swerved the speeding car. Josef and Lucas clung desperately to the side of the vehicle. The ground erupted with twin lines of machine gun fire as Hood wrenched the car into the cypress trees that lined the driveway. Josef and Lucas were flung off the car in its violent turn, smacking down heavily onto wet grass. The gunfire stopped as the Stuka lifted over the trees and raced away to the south.

  Josef lay flat on his back, his outstretched arm still chained to Lucas. His shoulder felt like it had nearly been ripped off. He looked straight up into the sky and saw the last of the Stuka squadron fleeing to France. They wouldn’t linger over enemy territory. The attack was over.

  Across the field, the house crackled and roared. Walls collapsed into the blaze. Though they lay on cool, damp earth, the heat of the fire radiated across the grounds of the estate and Josef felt it press against his skin. He wondered what his wounds were. He had hit the glass with his shoulder and hip. He was sure to be cut, but the fire and shrapnel from the bombs had not touched them. He gulped in the morning air scarcely believing he was alive.

  Beside him, Lucas stirred. ‘Bloody South Africans.’

  Josef looked at him and started to laugh. ‘So I’m not a German?’

  ‘You’re a troublemaker whatever you are.’

  Josed looked across at the blazing house. ‘What did it mean?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The message I made you send.’

  Lucas’ face twisted as he tried to comprehend the question. ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘It was just something I overheard. Something that matters to people I care about ...’

  Lucas was aghast. ‘You don’t know what “covenant is enacted” means?’

  It was Giselle who answered. She knelt beside him in the grass. ‘It means England has guaranteed to supply French résistance cells with everything we need.’ She gently brushed the hair from his eyes and checked his face for wounds. ‘It means provision and protection.’

  Lucas lurched up into a sitting position. ‘It means nothing ... The Covenant can only be enacted at the highest level.’

  Giselle s
hook her head ever so slightly. ‘But to go back on your word now would be a major diplomatic incident that England cannot afford. Not after Mers El Kébir. And you’ll personally see to it that the covenant is enacted, Lucas. You wouldn’t want to be an enemy of France. Not even here in England. Have you heard of Le Spectre? The Stukas may not have got you but he will.’

  ***

  A line of military vehicles approached the burning husk of the house. Troops and firefighters spilled out of trucks but there was little they could do but stand back from the fierce heat and watch a fire engine make a short–lived attempt to put out the flames that danced above the ruinous estate. Some of the brickwork was still standing proudly, rising above the flaming debris. A tall column of black smoke split the orange dawn.

  British Army medics came and individually treated members of the group who had fled the house. Josef was utterly exhausted. He winced as someone plucked splinters of glass from his face. Hood still had the handcuff key in his possession and he removed the cuff from Lucas and attached it to the stretcher on which Josef was lying. Lucas was escorted away for treatment elsewhere, calling for a hipflask if there was one on hand.

  An officious Home Guard Major with a clipboard was speaking with Hood nearby. ‘Are you sure you can account for everyone?’

  ‘Yes, we have them,’ replied Hood. ‘Two house staff, myself and Lucas from the Special Operations Executive. One of our foreign agents, Mademoiselle Alegre and … the German pilot.’

  The Major turned towards Josef who was lying on a stretcher. ‘Him?’

  ‘Yes. Prisoner of War. Luftwaffe.’

  ‘Is this the Messerschmitt pilot we caught?’ He consulted the clipboard. ‘Feldwebel Josef Schafer. JG27.’

  ‘Yes. He was still being interrogated prior to handover.’

  The Major leaned in to speak more softly to Hood. ‘I hear your chap, Lucas, handcuffed himself to the blighter so he wouldn’t get away, then led him out of the burning house.’