The Dead Alone (Empires Lost Book 3)

by Charles S. Jackson

  “You too, old friend…” Trumbull replied without hesitation, shaking it firmly. “Bring them back.”

  “I will…”

  It took every ounce of Thorne’s willpower in that moment to hide from his voice the fear and sadness that welled up within him in that moment.

  Tan Tui Barracks

  Ambon, Dutch East Indies

  “Unable to sleep…?” Reuters asked, standing in the doorway to her small room as Donelson turned her head with a start, seeming almost embarrassed by her own reaction. “My apologies…” he added with a faint nod of contrition. “I did not intend to unsettle you.”

  “‘Unsettling’, I can live with… Reichsmarschall…” she replied after a moment, still in uniform as she lay above the covers of that single bed, composing her thoughts with a wry smile hinting at the corner of her lips in the partially-moonlit room.

  “It must be difficult for you, for a number of reasons,” he continued, noting the hesitation in her voice as she’d spoken his rank. “You may simply call me ‘general’ if that is more palatable.” He gave a soft, ironic snort of his own. “I suspect ‘Kurt’ would be uncomfortable for both of us… yes…?”

  “Maybe so, general…” she nodded eventually, taking care to pronouncing the German equivalent – a display of respect that left even her a little surprised. “And to answer your initial question, I’ve nae stomach for sleep at the moment, and that’s a fact. I mean nothin’ by it, and I’m thankful for what you did – what you both did – but the fact is, whatever happens this next few days, you two won’t be in any real danger, whereas either way you look at it, I’ll be lucky if I get outta this with only rape and murder… and not necessarily in that order, knowing what I know now about these evil bastards.”

  “Actually, captain,” Reuters began tentatively, seeing the opening he was searching for, “as it stands right at this moment, if we’re not a long way away from this place by noon today, all of us will be most certainly dead…”

  That revelation, so earnestly given, completely secured Donelson’s attention that she immediately sat up, swung her legs around and assumed a seating position on the side of the bed, staring intently at him with a fixed gaze.

  “Now that was no throwaway remark,” she observed with a frown. “What do you know that I don’t…?”

  “Very little, I suspect, if rumours of your photographic memory are to be believed,” Reuters pointed out drily. “In this case however, we have reliable information that the device in Kormoran’s hold – the same one over which all of us have expended so much wasted effort trying to keep it away from the bloody Japanese – has been armed and set to explode in a little less than… oh…” he paused, making an almost melodramatic show of glancing at his wristwatch in the darkness “…eight hours from now…”

  “Oh, you’re just messin’ with ma head now…” Donelson countered, almost managing a derisive smile that died in infancy as she realised he wasn’t joking. “You canna be serious, general…”

  “Oh, you have no idea how much I wish I was making this up, captain,” Reuters answered ruefully, stepping inside the room for the first time as he spoke and slumping down into a wooden chair that sat at the end of her bed. “I cannot go into detail about how I know this at this time,” he added, recognising that at that moment, the truth was very likely to be counter-productive, “but the fact remains all the same. At noon today, the device will detonate, wiping out everything within a radius of… hmm… quite a few kilometres, I should think.” He shrugged faintly, completely honest now in his fear and displeasure over being trapped in that situation. “I was never appraised of the exact yield of the device, however I am willing to wager that where we sit right now…” he shuddered as he stared directly out through her open window at the dark, distant bulk of the grounded freighter, “…is far too close for there to be any chance of survival.”

  “You didn’t come here to tell me this out of any altruistic concern for my welfare, Reichsmarschall,” Eileen pointed out shrewdly, deciding it didn’t bother her a bit to address the man by his correct title. “There’d be no point at all in bringing this up unless you two were already planning something: what does that have to do with me…?”

  “Indeed,” Reuters conceded with a tilt of his head. “If you look out at the bay, you will see a large flying boat moored out by the wharf. It is our intention to board that aircraft and fly it out of here.”

  “And I am not the pilot in this hut,” she countered immediately, “nor am I in the habit of aiding and abetting my sworn enemies. I’ll ask you again: why are you telling me all of this…?”

  “Because, Captain Donelson, we are but two of a very small German contingent within the confines of this camp, and although I’d also have expected more Australian and Dutch prisoners by now, those they have brought in already outnumber us by at least five to one. I’ll be blunt with you: having an Allied officer with us would make things far easier when we make our move, particularly as I have no intention of leaving one of us behind in that verdammt infirmary!”

  “Albert Schiller…” Donelson observed rhetorically.

  “The very same…” Reuters answered anyway. “To do that, I will need as much help as I can get, and I don’t much care at this point who I get it from.” He shrugged again. “I made it clear earlier that we weren’t friends, and that hasn’t changed, but for the purposes of saving all our lives, I see no particular reason for us to remain enemies during this imprisonment. I am proposing to make a deal with you,” he added, pausing to take a deep, steadying breath. “Help us get to the hospital and free our man… help us negotiate with the other Allied prisoners as need be, and I give my word we’ll make sure you also get out of here alive and in one piece.”

  “Oh really,” Donelson asked with mild incredulity. “I’m to be kept ‘safe and sound’, is it now? Even if whatever mad plan you’ve cooked up is successful, where would that leave me at the finish? Out of here, only to end up spirited away back to Berlin as your bloody prisoner?”

  “If we are successful in liberating Schiller, then you are welcome to part ways with us at the hospital, should it be safe to do so.” He paused for a moment, ready to acknowledge less palatable alternatives. “Should it not prove safe to separate at that point, then the offer would stand for you to come with us. Yes, you would be in our custody, but as Reichsmarschall, I could guarantee that at least you would be properly treated. Your fate as a prisoner of Deutschland would be a far kinder one than anything you could look forward to as a ‘guest’ of the Japanese.”

  “You’ll excuse me if I say that that doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence, Reichsmarschall,” she shot back with a fair level of scepticism. “There’s one hell of a lot of nasty things I can think of that would still be better than being left with the Japs, and if I can think of them, I’ve no doubt the SS already bloody has! In any case, Darwin’s a damn sight closer than Berlin will ever be, and my people won’t be sittin’ on their hands over this: what’s stopping me from kicking back here, blowing your whole plan to those buggers guarding the gate, and waiting for my own side to come in with guns blazin’ and take us all somewhere ‘safe’? With you lot as the prisoners?”

  “Ashes and diamonds; foe and friend…” Reuters muttered, giving a thin, mirthless smile as a line from a favourite song suddenly flashed into his mind. “I’ve no doubt the rest of your Hindsight colleagues will be scheming up some ‘wild and wonderful’ rescue attempt even as we speak…” he continued with a faint sneer as Donelson’s faultless recall instantly provided the rest of those Pink Floyd lyrics, “but the reality is that unless they can pull something together in the next seven hours – assuming they can even find the resources to mount such a mission on such short notice – then the only thing they’ll bring back of ‘foe and friend’ alike is our irradiated ashes.

  “Do you think anything will matter anymore then? Hmm…? I’ve spent the last two years wanting you and the rest of Hindsight dead, and I’v
e no doubt you would have put a bullet in my brain just as happily… I’m not so obsessed however, as to be willing to destroy myself into the bargain, and I’m willing to wager you’re not either, captain.” He gave another shrug, outwardly affecting an air of resignation as he inwardly sensed how close he was to victory at that moment. “If you’re so utterly confident in your own colleagues’ abilities, then by all means do nothing – wait and see – but I promise you this: if any of us are still here in this camp at twelve o’clock this afternoon, there’ll be nothing left of us to bury, and we really will all be equal… in the end!”

  “You’re asking me to betray everything I believe in,” she snarled in return, angering now in the face of relentless, German logic.

  “On the contrary…” he countered, having expected such a response. “Slim and fraught with danger as it is, all I am offering is a chance to live on… to fight again.” He rose from the chair at that moment and moved back to the doorway, pausing for a moment to deliver his coup-de-grâce. “You may make up your own mind, of course. Think on it if you will, but do not take too long, for we intend to act with or without your help… All that I ask is that you keep our confidence… for everyone’s sake.”

  He left her then, puzzled and deeply conflicted and staring after him with absolutely no idea what to do next. For his part, Reuters was already convinced he knew exactly what that decision would be.

  Skies over the Philippine Sea

  400 miles east of Leyte Gulf

  Trumbull eased the Boomerang in below the tail of the KC-10A Extender, the refuelling aircraft’s intimidating size somewhat unnerving at such close range as the boom-operator guided the long, extended nozzle into the refuelling receptacle that lay in the upper nose, almost directly in front of the pilot’s spacious, bubble canopy. Turbulence buffeted both aircraft, but the huge flying wing weathered it well, its broad, thick flight surfaces perfectly-shaped for steady, comfortable cruising. He was nervous all the same: refuelling drills in broad daylight were one thing, however his first actual operational attempt at the same manoeuvre during darkness was another entirely.

  The Extender was ablaze with operating lights; a glowing beacon against the backdrop of a stunningly beautiful, star-filled night sky. Far below beyond the scattered clouds lay the vast emptiness of the Philippine Sea, and there was a faint glow now across the curved edge of the eastern horizon that hinted at the impending sunrise in the hours to come.

  Take-offs were always a huge drain on fuel reserves – particularly for an aircraft as large as the XB-42, and without in-flight refuelling, the 3,500-mile journey to target would drain the huge bomber’s tanks of almost every gallon it carried. And that was assuming that the majority of the trip passed without incident. Most of the flight would be at speeds and altitudes that were well beyond the reach of most enemy fighters, but there would nevertheless be that final approach to target where the aircraft would be forced to drop to a low enough level that – potentially at least – there might be some danger.

  The Extender could carry over 350,000 pounds of fuel in its six main tanks – enough to completely refuel the Boomerang three times over, and it took roughly ten minutes to replenish the sixty thousand or so that had been burned during take-off and throughout the journey so far. Within thirty minutes of their original rendezvous, both aircraft were once more on their own and free to go about their respective duties. As the XB-42 continued north, the KC-10A instead banked sharply away to the south-west, already preparing for its next mission.

  Carson’s Airfield

  Thorne was standing beside the F-35E half an hour later, thinking deeply on his experiences of the last few hours as he went about his own pre-flight checks with a minimum of fuss. When it was all done, it was only a few final, hesitant nerves that momentarily kept him from mounting the ladder beside the cockpit.

  Second thoughts…?

  “No, just… worries…” he answered eventually, leaning one arm against the fuselage as he turned his head and took in the activity around him.

  It’s been – what – a year since you flew the Lightning last, and more than two since you logged any combat?

  “And this is helping how…?” He asked softly in a dry tone.

  Why didn’t you report Brandis’ presence to the MPs…? The voice asked carefully with a sudden change of subject.

  “I – I don’t know,” Thorne admitted, wondering if the point of the question was about the answering rather than the answer itself. “Somehow I knew they wouldn’t catch him anyway…” he continued, thinking more about it.

  …But that’s not all of it, is it…?

  “He knows things… about us… about me,” he growled sullenly, not happy about the inexplicable nature of that earlier encounter “…and that ‘mind-control’ shit he pulled was bloody terrifying: what the hell was that about?”

  Yet you trust him…

  “I…” the words faltered on his lips, and he paused for a moment they refused to come. “I think maybe I do… or, at least, I want to…” he admitted in the end, almost ashamed of the statement for some reason. “If he’s been here for as long as I’m starting to suspect, then there’s one hell of a lot more to him than meets the eye and he may well be a useful ally to have onside.” He gave a wry half-smile. “He seems to be the only bugger who has any idea what’s going on at the moment, anyway, and it’s probably best I make an effort to stay on his good side: I’m damn sure he’d make a bloody dangerous enemy…”

  It’s good that you spoke to Alec, too: would’ve been unfortunate to jeopardise his friendship over something like that…

  “Like me being an arsehole, you mean?” Thorne suggested with a self-deprecating grin. “Yeah, I guess something of what they both said hit home a bit…”

  I remember there was a mate once – many, many years ago – whose father gave some advice… good advice… the silent voice began almost wistfully, clearly recalling a time long past. He said once that when he was a kid, he had a friend he always used to hang out with, but after a while he came to realise that it was always him who was calling his friend, or going around to his friend’s place to see if he wanted to do something. He realised it was always him making the effort and not his friend, so he decided to put it to the test. One day, he stopped calling his friend – stopped contacting him altogether – to see how long it would be before his friend made some effort on return. It was the last time they ever spoke…

  A short silence followed, loaded with a huge does of unspoken pride over what was clearly considered to be a point well made.

  “You know I was there, right…?” Thorne asked after a moment, sounding quite perplexed about the whole passage. “…That… that was my memory…?” He blinked a few times, as if trying to clear his own head, and was suddenly overcome by the distinct feeling that there should have been someone else present to stare at with a vexed and somewhat blank expression. “And what the hell did that mean anyway…?”

  Well…

  …silence…

  “How bloody wonderful: it appears now I can manage an awkward moment all by myself… twice…!” He added, reflecting back over what he’d just said with a faint grimace. “Come on…” he continued quite superfluously with a final shake of his head. “Best get a wriggle on before I go completely loopy. Crew chief…!” He called out loudly, craning about for the nearest ground crew to assist. “Preparing for departure!”

  Turning, he placed both hands on the ladder leading up to the cockpit, took one last, steadying breath and clambered up into his seat, sliding the bulbous HMDS flight helmet over his head and plugging himself in. Two leading aircraftmen had already jogged over upon hearing his call, one moving to drag away the ladder while the other ducked under the Lightning and pulled the chocks from beneath its wheels.

  “Systems: main engine ignition…” he ordered clearly into the microphone fitted to his oxygen mask, and his main instrument panel and widescreen VDU burst suddenly into life as the aircraft began
to run through its automated start-up procedure. As his systems began to come online, he switched to the local traffic control frequency and keyed the transmit button.

  “Tower; this is Phoenix-Leader requesting clearance for take-off from hardstands adjacent Runway Three-Two… over…”

  “Phoenix-Leader, this is Tower…” the response came back a few seconds later as he felt a faint shudder and a growing whine as the Pratt & Whitney turbofan behind him kicked over and began to spool up. “Cleared for take-off in – !” That the transmission had been cut unexpectedly short was glaringly apparent, and a frown spread across Thorne’s features as the cockpit canopy began to slowly lower into place around him.

  “Air vice-marshal, you will shut off your engines immediately and exit the aircraft…!” The next voice that burst loudly from his helmet-mounted speakers was clearly not the same one that had spoken a moment before. That it sounded uncannily like the voice of Colonel Solingen did nothing to improve Thorne’s mood.

  “That you, Solingen? Back from Darwin early, I see…” he quipped, attempting to sound unconcerned at that point in the hope that disinterest was far more likely to annoy the man than a display of the anger he was actually feeling. “Only got the one engine, mate,” he continued, deciding he definitely wasn’t above the pettiness of being infuriatingly pedantic, “and I think I’ll leave it running for the moment, thanks all the same.”

  “These orders are direct from General Bennett, Thorne!” Solingen growled angrily at the other end of the transmission. “Shut that bloody airplane down immediately…!”

  “Or you’ll do what…?” He fired back in return, not pausing for a second as his hands flickered across the controls, continuing to prepare for departure. “My mission has been cleared through the British High Command at the request of the King himself… even Blamey doesn’t have the authority to countermand that.”