by Colin Gee
There was absolutely no doubt whatsoever that the large building was totally new.
“There are others too. Here… if you look closely… the vegetation is seared around this hole. In the view of my team, that’s a heat vent… an exhaust or similar.”
A light went off in Dalziel’s mind.
“It’s underground, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Sir. There’s something underneath this camp. Everything I’ve seen so far points to it. The buildings have no worn paths between them. There is parking here, probably for the lorries that come into the camp, but the size of building is far in excess of the parking space. If I was a betting girl, I would say that’s a lift. The building there is quite tall… maybe to provide room for the lifting gear et cetera…”
Rossiter spoke gently but firmly.
“I know what you can do from our last encounter, Flight officer. Can you produce a similar map of the whole area… with all the details for this place? And I mean all the details… and quickly?”
“Yes, Sir. Of course, this site is much larger than the previous one, but my team are on top of the problem already, as you see. Give us time and space and we’ll give you everything you need, Sir.”
“You’ve got it. Any time of day or night, my door is open. Get cracking Flight Officer. I want to know everything about 1001… what you calling it?
“Moria, Sir. Gentle found the first clues, so he got to name it.”
Dalziel chuckled.
“Tolkien strikes again, eh?”
“Tolkien?”
“He’s a writer, Sam. Wrote the Lord of the Rings… it’s a fantasy novel. Moria’s an underground kingdom.”
“Never heard of him, but it’ll do. Keep me informed, Jenkins. Well done to you and your team, and keep it up.”
They exchanged brief salutes and Sam Rossiter hurried to his office to make a number of calls.
Having finished briefing Donovan, Rossiter rose to watch as the latest bunch of men arrived.
Had he had the time, he would have spent longer watching the two groups, new arrivals and old arrivals, eye each other with quiet suspicion.
He snorted.
‘Old arrivals, my goddamned ass. Been here less than twenty four!’
None the less, the old understood that the new were different.
The new were not British, American… none of the Allied nations.
Even though their uniforms were now nondescript, the men bore all the hallmarks and arrogance of soldiers from another time.
SS.
Shandruk and his men had arrived.
He dragged himself away and quickly sought a line to the NATO headquarters.
“Hello? This is Brigadier General Rossiter. I need to see General Patton. Yes, it is urgent.”
Rossiter controlled himself as best he could but his anger vented immediately.
“Well, I’m sure General Patton is a very busy man, but if I don’t get to see him this evening, you’re likely to be sat in a pile of rubble very shortly, Colonel. Now, I’m coming to see the commander and you better make sure his diary is cleared for me or I’ll be finding you a nice assignment with a rifle company. Do I make myself clear, Colonel?”
The phone descended on the cradle with sufficient force that he felt the need to examine the set up for damage.
‘Damnit, Sam… don’t beat up on the hired help!’
He reproached himself immediately, and vowed to apologise to the man in person.
It wasn’t his way, but a simple sign that the pressure was building… and he was still tired, so very tired.
He checked his watch.
‘Damn… I’m late… one more call.’
This one was more complicated to route and it was some time before he heard a familiar voice in his ear.
“Odekirk.”
“Ode! It’s Sam here.”
“Sam, be all that’s wonderful. Thought you headed back to the war, Sir.”
“I did. That’s where I am right now. I need to speak to the man pronto. He there?”
“Yeah, but over the other side. I can put you though if you like?”
“Swell, but first I need to know something. Pardon me if I don’t come straight out with it, but can you tell me, yes or no… did you finish up the lumberyard?”
“The lumberyard?”
“Yeah. Is it ready to use?”
“Shit… I mean… yeah. Yes it is.”
“Keep that between you, me, and the boss for now, Ode. Now, can you get me through to the man?”
“I’m on it. See you soon I hope, Sam.”
“Count on it, Ode.”
Odekirk switched the phone through to another extension way over the other wide of the Glendale Factory.
Rossiter stifled a grin at the opening exchange between the two men.
“Ode, if this is about those fucking seats again I’ll tie you out under the Arizona sun and guide hungry ants to your sweatier parts.”
“Gimme a break, will yer? I’ve got Sam Rossiter on the phone for you… all the way from Europe.”
“What’s he want?”
“He swore me to secrecy, but he wanted to know if the lumberyard was finished. I told him yes.”
“The hell he did? Ok, put him through, Ode.”
The phone went silent before bursting into life.
“To what do I owe this pleasure, Sam?”
“Business, Howard… real business. Ode tells me the lumber yard is up and running.”
It actually wasn’t, but he wasn’t about to say that.
“All but the last few nuts and bolts, Sam. Were you so impressed with it that you want another sit in the seat?”
“No, Howard. Your country needs to borrow it yesterday.”
“What? You mean after all the shit I’ve taken, now… of all times… now?... you fucking want it now?”
“Calm down, old timer. It’s not a war department thing, it’s a ‘me’ thing. I’m keeping this as tight as I possibly can. The big question is… is she ready or not… and I need to know right now, Howard?”
He swivelled in his chair and looked out through the glazed side of his office, examining as many inches of the ‘lumberyard’ as he could take in.
“Yeah… she’s ready. Whatcha got in mind, Sam?”
Rossiter started his play.
“Howard, one of my officers presented himself at your main reception at oh-eight-hundred hours, with orders to remain there until summoned. Can you get him brought to your office immediately please?”
“Sure thing, Sam. A moment.”
The receiver was muffled whilst the order was issued.
“I’m back and he’s on his way.”
“Remind me of the numbers of the lumberyard again will you?”
The details flowed easily, all indelibly carved into the memory of the man who had driven the project from start to finish.
A Marine Colonel was shown into the room and immediately produced an envelope marked for the man on the phone.
“Your man’s just handed me an envelope. I take it you want me to read it now?”
“On the express understanding it goes back into his possession and you keep the contents strictly between you and your immediate team, Howard.”
“You got it.”
“And that means Ode better keep his mouth shut, unlike a moment ago.”
“What can I say, Sam… he works for me.”
Sam heard the rip of paper and a tuneless whistle as the contents were avidly consumed.
The whistling stopped abruptly.
“My God, Sam… are you fucking serious? I mean… really serious?”
Clearly, Brigadier General Rossiter was extremely serious.
“Forty-eight hours tops, Sam. I can have her moving in forty-eight hours tops. Where we going?”
“You’re in?”
“Too right I’m in!”
“Landmark. It’s a code word. Ask my officer for the second envelope and give him the word.”
Sam listened intently as the exchange took place and another envelope disgorged its contents, this time a map.
“You’re mad, aren’t you? To hell with it. You only live once. Ok, I’m game. That the final destination?”
He smiled at the stony-faced Marine officer as Sam Rossiter laughed in his ear.
“Of course, I’m not that stupid. So there’s fuelling facilities, everything we need there? Look, I’ll send a few of my boys over there pronto. Make sure it’s organised for everything we’ll need. Plus, we’ll need to stop on the way to top off. At least twice. You got that sort of clout.”
He laughed at Rossiter’s response.
“Yeah, well I guess we all know someone with that sort of clout. Fair point, Sam. Go on…”
He listened intently.
“I’ll ring you as soon as I’ve selected them. No problem. Into Lisbon, you say?”
He made more notes.
“Military flight… Ok… send me the details as soon as you’ve organised it. Let me give my boys three hours to get ready. Nothing sooner than that, Sam.”
He nodded, making another swift note.
“Final thing. What’s the actual mission… yeah, yeah, yeah… I know, but don’t give me that. Gimme a clue… think about the pool party… anything you can use?”
Rossiter thought quickly until he remembered the paper plane competition and which one lost by the biggest margin.
“The conversation with Jean. Out and back… remember?”
The clue was weak, but it was enough.
“Holy shit. How far… how many… shit, you can’t say, can you… Ok, Sam. I’m on it.”
Rossiter asked the question and Howard’s face spilt from ear to ear.
“Me, of course. You don’t think I’d let anyone else have her, do you?”
“Whoa there, Howard. They’ll never allow that.”
“They’ll never know until I’m over the Atlantic… will they, Sam?”
Rossiter could see his friend drawing himself up to his full six foot four height.
“Not from my lips, Howard. I’ll get back to you as soon as things are clearer, and with the details for your advance party.|”
As was his way, Howard replaced the receiver without another word and rushed from the office.
On his way to his normal thinking place, he encountered Joe Petrali, one of his dedicated team of engineers.
“You got anything planned for a week or two, Joe.”
“No, Sir. Wife wants me to go up and see her nephew ride. Apparently he’s a nail on for next season’s National Board Track Championship.”
Joe Petrali was a biker through and through, and was still holder of the bike speed record of 136.183 mph, set at Daytona Beach in 1937.
“I want you to be elsewhere… need you to be elsewhere. You up for a challenge, Joe?”
Not the thing to say to a biker head who had triumphed at every discipline his beloved bikes could throw at him.
“What sort of challenge, Sir?”
He followed his boss’ eyes as the words tripped gently into his ears.
“That sort of challenge.”
The Lumberyard…
Officially known as the Hughes H-4 Hercules, but more often called the Spruce Goose.
“What?”
“Keep it under yer hat, Joe. I need you to pick a couple of guys and go ahead of us… advance party. Need to know where they want us to go first’s fit for our purpose.”
“Where we going, Sir? San Diego? Cisco? Tijuana?”
The final destination was delivered with an American version of a Mexican lilt.
Howard grinned from ear to ear.
“Cyprus.”
“Cypress?”
“No. Cyprus.”
“Cyprus… like Mediterranean Cyprus?”
“Paphos to be exact.”
“No way we get there, even with the fuel mods. Gotta be two stops easily.”
“Fuelling we can do en route, but I need an advance party to check out the base. We’ll need to service her. You confident on the revised range figures?”
“I’ll run them again, but I know I’m right. With the modifications we can achieve four thousand for certain, maybe four-two with a little effort, but I’m promising only four with weight to specification A. Anything over that and it’ll come down obviously.”
“That’ll be enough, Joe. Now… pick your crew, gather your stuff… enough for two weeks in the saddle, and get back here within two hours. Tell the good woman it’s all my fault, ok?”
“Yes, Sir, Mr Hughes, Sir.”
2000 hrs, Sunday, 23rd March 1947, NATO Headquarters, Leipzig, Germany.
“I hear you threatened my staff, General Rossiter.”
“That I did, Sir. They were protective of your time, but I couldn’t stand for that bullshit… not today, Sir.”
Patton bent the riding crop between his hands.
“That bullshit keeps me sane so don’t do it again. Clear? My boys work damned hard on keeping things on an even keel. Now, what’s got you all hot and bothered, Sam?”
Patton continued to flex his crop as he listened to the story unfold, complete with the very latest assessments from Jenkins and her team of magicians.
There was no doubt whatsoever that there was a secret facility underneath Camp 1001, one that the Soviets were at great pains to hide.
It was also clear that, were it ever discovered, the act of bombing it would hold no guarantees, save for the inflicting of massive casualties on the Allied prisoners held in the camp above it.
“Shit. You absolutely sure of this, Sam?”
“We’ve tracked all across Europe following leads, and just got the big break. Everything comes together to point to this place as the facility we’ve been looking for, Sir.”
Patton examined the map in greater detail.
“It’s within range of our bombers but, as you say, a lot of our boys would die if we did… and without guarantees that we’d hit the right place… or even that we’d destroyed everything we need to destroy.”
“There’s an alternative that I’m looking at, Sir. I’ve set some pieces in motion, as we’re clearly on a timed operation here. Nothing that can’t be reversed, of course. The whole operation would need presidential approval.
“Presidential approval? You mean… of course that’s what you mean. Right… gimme what you’ve got.”
Rossiter made his pitch and Patton listened in silence as the assets were named, and their intended part revealed.
Group Steel.
SOE’s Ukrainians.
The Spruce Goose.
Composite Group 663.
40th Transportstaffel, DRL.
There would be others, involved on the peripheries, but the actual plan involved units that Sam Rossiter had already slotted into his developing plan.
“Give me an alternative, Sam.”
“There’s none that I can see, General.”
“You know some politician is gonna suggest we just bomb it, don’t you?”
“I sure hope not, General.”
“They will, but it won’t happen. Not on my goddamned watch it won’t!”
“Grab some coffee while I have another look at this.”
Rossiter did so methodically and slowly, taking the time to bring himself down off the high he had worked himself to during the presentation.
He passed Patton a steaming mug and received a mumbled acknowledgement from the concentrating man.
“Cyprus… why Cyprus?”
“No great enemy network identified. The Kingdom of Iraq would be closer, but the presence of the Goose would draw attention, and we know that the NKVD and GRU have a lot of people on the ground. Better chance of containing the information on Cyprus. We fly the mission from there, confuse enemy monitoring with lots of aggressive flights in the area, and sneak the Goose in. although we may have to stage in the Kingdom for fuel if nothing else. We’ll see how the planning goes on that score.”
&
nbsp; “OK, Sam. And 663… staged outta Shaibah? What’s Shaibah, wherever the goddamned hell that is?”
“It’s a modest unimportant airfield in the Kingdom, Sir. Not used for anything much but aircraft maintenance at the moment. Used to be a big training facility… BOAC stop over… all sorts. However, one of my staff pointed out that it’s recently been extended to serve as an emergency strip for any B-29s that have technical difficulties. Seemed too good an opportunity to pass over.”
“But the 29s have long legs, Sam. Why from Persia?”
“Easier route, Sir. We could fly in from Europe, but not from their present base, so I figured if we had to relocate then why not go the whole hog and get them in and out with least difficulty.”
“Yep… I can see that… I like that. Seems like you’re on top of things, Sam.”
Rossiter acknowledged the compliment with a gentle nod.
“One last thing, Sam. If I’m gonna sell this to the President, I need to know a little more. You say we can get in and take their secrets, and also know what it is we’re about to destroy. Maybe snatch a few scientists and the like. I can see that. We can stop the Soviets deploying a bomb… if they haven’t already, of course. But what about the boys in the camp? A lot of them are gonna die.”
“Yes, Sir, a lot of them are going to die, but we’ll give them a fighting chance and, simply put, we can’t afford not to. Like you said, the alternative is simply to bomb… and that’ll mean we kill them all and have no idea what we’ve achieved at the same time. I see this as the only way… unless some genius can come up with a better solution in the time available, Sir.”
Patton considered his General’s words and made a decision.
“Right. I want that in a full briefing document that I can present to the President. I want it here, tomorrow morning… 0830, General. Give your presentation again to some other officers so they can come onside with the plan… the plan… what you have in mind? We need a name.”
Rossiter hadn’t given it a moment’s thought and was caught on the hop, but his mind met the challenge.
“In… take everything… kill everything,,, out again, leave nothing but destruction in your wake… gotta be Viking, Sir.”
Patton’s unforced laugh sealed the deal.
“Viking it is, Sam. Now, get to it.”
