Drake wasn’t amused. ‘That would have been decent of you, yes.’
The Prussian laughed and spread his arms wide. ‘But then I would have been deprived of the sight of you dive bombing your plate!’
‘I’m glad I was able to provide some amusement for you, even unconsciously.’ He reached up to touch his face, searching for traces of the food but there weren’t any.
‘Don’t worry, I had the steward clean you up; I’m not a complete barbarian.’ Gruber saw Drake’s sour expression and pouted. ‘Oh, come on, you were a university man - surely you played pranks on your fellow students? I know I did.’
Drake sighed. ‘Yes. But they were my friends.’
‘Well, I still believe we could be friends.’
Drake blinked in surprise, temporarily lost for words; it was the second time the man had brought up the subject of friendship. He wondered what motive he could have for doing so, whether he genuinely believed it or if it were some kind of crude attempt at manipulation. He eventually managed to force a smile. ‘As I said before, it’s possible.’
‘Of course it is! Just look at us - a British Lord and a movie star, both highly decorated fighter pilots.’ Gruber laughed. ‘It would make a wonderful flyvie. Perhaps I will have someone start on the script!’
‘Well, don’t expect me to play myself.’
‘Why not? I think you would be a good actor. You have the looks for it and the women would be clambering over each other to get their hands on you.’
Drake shook his head. ‘That kind of thing is not important to me.’
‘Again I ask, why not?’ Gruber seemed genuinely puzzled, but then his face lit up with understanding. ‘Ah, you have one special woman in mind. Officer Stone, ya?’ He grinned suddenly. ‘Or is it Praporshik Guseva who now holds your heart?’
‘Under my current circumstances, I don’t think that really matters, do you?’
‘Indeed not!’
While they had been talking, the aircraft had been steadily descending and now there were a series of dull thumps as the undercarriage descended and locked into place.
Gruber gave Drake a last smile, then turned to peer out of the window. ‘Ah, here we are at last. While we refuel, I will be making my report at the War Office. You will wait with the aircraft.’
Drake wondered at the nervous note that had crept into the man’s voice, but it and the curious conversation were forgotten when he followed the Prussian’s gaze.
The empty blue through the window next to him had given way to the greens and greys of the buildings and parks of a sprawling city and Drake started when he recognised some of the architecture. They were the monstrous, narcissistic edifices that had been put up in the Prussian capital since Kaiser Wilhelm III came to power.
Gruber had brought him to Berlin.
In the thirties, the Kaiser had announced to the world his intention of making Prussia, and Berlin in particular, the cultural centre of the world, like Athens and Rome had been in their time. The buildings, emulating the grand edifices of those cities, were the first stage of that plan.
His ambition had been applauded by many until, years later, he announced the second stage of his grand plan - to make the city the actual centre of the world by conquering the rest of it.
Tempelhof airport appeared beneath them and the aircraft settled gently to the concrete runway, braking equally gently as it made the long run towards the huge terminal, itself one of those new buildings, before finally coming to a halt under the overhang.
Gruber had unbuckled himself and was out of his seat almost as soon as the aircraft had landed, but Drake didn’t trust his legs or balance and waited until it had come to a full stop and the engines were powering down before standing. By the time he’d hobbled to the rear of the aircraft, Gruber was already down the steps and standing on the tarmac, staring at a large black autocar flying twin Prussian flags. It didn’t seem to be what he had been expecting, though.
The anxiety Drake had thought he’d detected earlier was now plain to see and he struggled to keep his face straight. ‘Everything alright, old chap?’
‘Yes, fine, of course. Why wouldn’t it be?’ Gruber replied distractedly, without taking his eyes from the vehicle.
It seemed the man wasn’t so sure of his welcome after all and his doubts had only been exacerbated by the appearance of an Imperial autocar, instead of the ministry one that he’d expected. Drake was sorely tempted to comment further and feed those fears, so as to take a small measure of revenge, but managed to restrain himself.
A soldier stepped out of the autocar and marched smartly over. He saluted Gruber. ‘The Kaiser requests your presence at the palace, sir.’
Gruber returned the salute with a nod, then turned to Drake. ‘Looks like I might be a bit longer than I thought. Try not to get yourself into trouble.’ He laughed as he strutted across the tarmac, but it sounded false and by the time he got into the autocar all traces of his good humour had gone, replaced by a worried frown.
Drake watched the black machine power away across the apron, then turned in place, looking around curiously.
Tempelhof airport hadn’t changed much since he’d flown over to Berlin with his Prussian girlfriend during the summer hols in 1937. The immense quarter circle of the terminal building, fully three quarters of a mile wide, was the same and so was the huge concrete apron, but it had completely lost its previous welcoming aspect, in favour of something far more martial and forbidding. The multitudes of passengers were all gone, as were the colourful advertisements for everything from whisky to underwear and the signs showing the locations of the offices of the airline companies. In their place, hanging from almost every available surface, was the Prussian flag, which had been recently modernised to strike fear into the enemy wherever the invincible Prussian army went - the black eagle had been stylised, made harsher, and now appeared on a new background of a white circle on a blood red field.
It was all very intimidating, but Drake wondered who the effort was being made for, because there weren’t many aircraft in evidence. Unlike Hyde airstrip, where grounded civilian aircraft were littered everywhere, here there were just a few transport aircraft and a single squadron of sixteen sleek, red-nosed MU9’s lined up neatly near the end of the runway, most likely the Prussian equivalent of the Royal Guard squadron.
A whirring sound and a honk from behind him made Drake jump and he limped painfully to one side as two spring-powered gas bowsers trundled up to the aircraft, silent on their rubber tyres. He shook his head at the sight; where before the large tankers had been brightly painted with the insignias of the airlines to which they belonged, now they were a dull grey and emblazoned with the new Prussian flag.
Drake laughed as a sudden image came to him. He had a cousin, several years younger than him, who had been gifted with a rubber name stamp for her third birthday so that she could “sign” her name on the family letters and cards. Instead, for weeks afterwards, she had used it to stamp everything in sight, including unfortunate pets, declaring “mine” each time.
Unfortunately, the Prussians were putting their stamp on other countries in a very permanent manner, with no parents to tell them differently.
He idly watched the attendants hook the bowsers up to the tanks in the wings of the aircraft and begin the refuelling process, but then his attention was drawn by the drone of approaching engines and he shaded his eyes and scanned the horizon.
He quickly found the aircraft on final approach. It was a transport, similar to the one that he and Gruber had flown in, but while theirs was a sleek luxury model, shiny and new, with upgraded engines, this was very much a workhorse and shabby from use.
The aircraft landed with a screech and a puff of burnt rubber then taxied over, coming to rest less than thirty yards away. It disgorged the rest of the Crimson Baron pilots, who glanced nervously in the direction of Gruber’s aircraft, but when they saw Drake on his own they seemed to relax and a couple wandered off to the terminal bu
ilding, while the rest wandered around, stretching their legs and backs.
Drake eyed the other transport. Gruber had said that Tanya was travelling with the other pilots. There was no sign of her, though, and he decided to stroll over and ask them about her, thinking that they’d be more likely to open up to him without their commander there. However, as soon as he made a move in their direction, the soldier who’d been set to watch him lifted his machine gun in warning and shook his head.
Drake smiled and backed off, raising his hands, even as he silently cursed the man’s stubborn devotion to duty, after all, where did he think he was going to go in the middle of Berlin? He went and sat on the stairs of Gruber’s aircraft, conveniently facing the older transport, hoping that he’d catch a glimpse of the Muscovite.
The pilots who’d gone off soon returned with magazines which they passed out and the men spent the rest of the time while their aircraft was being refuelled laughing about the articles in them. Every so often one of them would glance towards Drake, but none of them ever made any move to speak to him.
Finally, the bowsers finished their work on both machines and the pilots stood and went back onboard their aircraft, grumbling good-naturedly. Drake gave up all hope of seeing Tanya when the engines coughed into life, but then, right before they sealed the hatch, one of the pilots reappeared in the opening, looked in his direction and subtly tilted his head towards the front of the aircraft.
Eagerly, Drake scanned the forward windows of the transport and a few seconds later a face appeared at the one closest to the nose. He didn’t recognise her at first because her face was swollen and blackened, but then her mouth cracked into the smile he’d grown to know so well over the past week. She waved, both hands coming up to do so, showing him that she was bound, but then she was jerked away and a guard appeared in her place. He peered out, saw Drake, his hand still raised in greeting, and scowled before disappearing again.
As the other aircraft taxied away, Drake leaned back against the steps. Even though Tanya was obviously not being transported in the same style as he was and her injuries had once again been treated only in a perfunctory fashion, she didn’t seem too much the worse for wear.
With his fears about her assuaged, he got himself as comfortable as he could in the weak German sunlight, which felt decidedly warm after the far northern weather he’d become accustomed to, and allowed himself to drift off.
The sun was going down when the steward shook him gently awake by the shoulder.
‘Sir?’
Drake blinked up at the man. ‘Yes?’
‘We’ve just received word that the Generalleutnant will not be returning tonight. His orders are for you to stay on board. I’ve prepared you a dinner and I will make you up a bed on the sofa, if that is acceptable?’
‘Perfectly, thank you.’
Drake groaned at his the aches in his muscles, made much worse by sleeping too long with the steps digging into his back and followed him into the aircraft.
The steward had whipped him up toad in the hole with onion gravy and vegetables and there was half a bottle of French red wine to wash it down. That was followed by spotted dick and custard. It was all very British fare, very unlike what had been on offer until then, and it was obvious that the steward was taking advantage of Gruber’s not being there to prepare something to his guest’s taste rather than his master’s.
Drake also took advantage of his host’s absence to properly enjoy the food. He also had the chance to properly look at the steward for the first time - one aspect of the manners drummed into him by his mother was that it was not done to notice the help too much, something he heartily disagreed with.
The man was in his early fifties and thin, with greying dark brown hair parted in the middle. Despite his carefully schooled impassive expression he looked exhausted, something that didn’t surprise Drake; having to take care of the child-like Gruber had to be extremely tiring. However, there was also a hint of sorrow in his brown eyes that was slightly puzzling.
While he was eating, he tried to engage the man in conversation, but he just nodded and gave a meaningful look at the two guards standing at the forward bulkhead, watching his every move, so he had to settle for merely smiling his thanks. It wasn’t until the meal was cleared away and the steward was making Drake’s bed on the sofa for the night that he had a chance to speak.
‘Do you speak English?’
The steward swivelled to grab a blanket from an armchair, using the motion to snatch a look at the guards. They were at the other end of the aircraft still, out of earshot, but easily able to see them talking and would be sure to report everything they saw to Gruber. He turned back and continued with his task. ‘Yes, sir, but we shouldn’t.’
‘I know, but I want to thank you. For everything.’
‘There is no need, sir, I merely did what I felt was right.’
The man turned away to pick up the pillows that had been with the blankets and Drake shot a glance at the guards. They were relaxed, talking and barely glancing in his direction, but even so, it would be best not to push his luck with an extended conversation; he didn’t want to do anything that would possibly get the steward into hot water.
‘What is your name?’
‘Friedrich, sir, Friedrich Lang.’
‘My friends call me Rudy and I hope some day you’ll be able to do so without it getting you in trouble.’
‘I’d like that, my Lord.’ The steward gave a slight smile, then gestured at the bed. ‘All ready, sir. Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight, Friedrich.’
A guard kicked Drake rudely awake just after dawn, but it wasn’t until late midmorning that the black autocar returned.
He half-hoped that whatever Gruber had been worried about had come to pass and he’d been retained for some kind of dressing-down, but the man was all smiles despite his obvious tiredness when he clambered out and there was a definite bounce in his step as he sauntered over to the aircraft and mounted the stairs. His voice was just as harsh as ever when he shouted at nobody in particular for them to take off, though, and he didn’t even glance in Drake’s direction as he took his seat, calling for champagne.
Gruber stayed silent, sipping his drink and gazing out of the window, the smile still on his face, as the aircraft took off, but as soon as it levelled out he stood and went to the back of the aircraft where there was a bedroom that Drake hadn’t been permitted to use. He came back ten minutes later wearing his day uniform and tossed a red velvet box, like the ones that necklaces came in, on the table in front of Drake before flopping bonelessly into his seat.
Drake looked at him inquisitively, but the man just waved at the box, so he opened it.
Inside was a thick black ribbon with a large gold medal attached to it. Picked out in black stone on the medal was a Prussian cross. It was impressive, but at the same time stark and severe and typically Prussian.
Gruber grinned. ‘My reward for shooting down Wasp. I am now a member of the “Teutonic Order of the Prussian Empire”, which gives me direct access to the Emperor, a stipend that is far more than I get as an actor and lands in Bavaria.’
Drake snapped the box closed and slid it back across the table to him. ‘Congratulations.’
‘Thank you.’ Gruber took the box and placed it on the seat beside him, then reclined his chair and closed his eyes. He was snoring in seconds, competing with the engines for volume.
Drake stared at him for long seconds, worrying at the contradictions within the man. Gruber was like a child; all smiles one minute, then throwing a tantrum the next and he wasn’t sure if he was looking forward to the day when he decided that Drake wasn’t a toy he wanted to play with anymore and decided to discard him.
Chapter 12
A few hours from Berlin, just after lunch, the aircraft began steadily gaining height. At first Drake thought they were just climbing to cross the Alps into Italy, but when they kept going up, well beyond what was necessary, he realised that something el
se was going on. He would have looked to Gruber for answers, but the man was still sleeping, curled up in his fully reclined seat and drooling onto the Prussian crest on the headrest. Instead he looked around for the steward, Friedrich, wondering if he would dare to answer a question or two now that Gruber was back.
The man came forward at his glance and gave a small bow. He was back to his cool impassiveness now that Gruber had returned. ‘Yes, sir? Would you like something? Some tea perhaps? There is also some fresh bread - I could make you a bacon sandwich.’
He hadn’t remarked it the previous night, but the man’s English was surprisingly good, with a refined accent, and he wondered if the man had been a servant in one of the grand Prussian houses before Gruber had gotten his grubby hands on him. He gave him a wide smile. ‘That sounds wonderful, thank you, but first, do you know why we’re climbing so high?’
The steward gave Gruber a nervous glance, then leaned to speak into Drake’s ear. ‘We are almost at Bertha, sir.’
Without giving any further explanation, the man turned on his heel.
Bertha? Surely he’d misheard over the sound of the straining engines, but if he hadn’t, who or what was Bertha?
He didn’t have long to wait because, almost as soon as he’d finished his sandwich and tea, the steward returned and bent over Gruber to shake him gently awake. ‘We’re on final approach, sir.’
Gruber just grunted in return and allowed the man to help him put his seat upright. He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve before smiling at Drake. ‘Let’s go take a look, shall we?’
Gruber motioned for Drake to follow him and led the way forward to the cockpit. The two men flying the aircraft looked around in surprise as they went through the door, but quickly returned their attention to their jobs - the pilot continuing a call with someone, while the copilot kept an eye on a small instrument on the panel in front of him that Drake didn’t recognise.
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