A moment’s study revealed a vehicle of some kind making its way toward the camp. It was traveling quickly, kicking up a plume of dust behind it, which was what had caught Jones’s attention. It would be here in a matter of minutes.
Burke turned and began shouting orders to the rest of the men. “Manning! Get up in that watchtower with Jones! Charlie, you’re with me. The rest of you get out of sight back inside the commandant’s office. Move! Move! Move!”
Burke hunkered down behind the nearby staff car with Charlie at his side. From their position they had a clear view of the vehicle as it approached the gates. It was a single-seat motorbike, the kind that couriers use to take messages between locations. The driver was dressed in a long coat and a leather cap with goggles. He must not have been paying attention, for he was through the gates before he seemed to notice the wreckage in front of him. When he did, he braked hard and brought the bike to a sliding stop.
Charlie tensed, as if about to step out from behind their cover, and Burke put a hand on his arm to stop him. “Wait,” he said, “let him get off the bike . . .”
The driver straddled the bike for a long moment, looking around. When nothing came charging out at him, he cut the engine, put down the kickstand, and climbed off.
That was all Burke needed.
He stepped out from behind the car with his Tommy gun in hand and shouted, “Einfrieren!”
Freeze.
The driver, already spooked by what he saw around him, didn’t listen. He started to turn, a pistol appearing in his hand from the depths of his coat. The crack of a rifle split the afternoon air before he’d completed even a quarter of that turn, and a bullet plowed into the ground directly in front of him in such a way that it was clear the shooter had missed only because he’d wanted to. Faced with an enemy he could not see, the German did the only reasonable thing, dropping his weapon and putting his hands in the air.
Within minutes the man was tied up with some rope they found in the wreckage of the headquarters building. While Sergeant Moore kept watch, and the rest of the team rejoined them outside now that the immediate danger had passed, Graves read and translated the dispatch cable the messenger had been carrying and then filled Burke in.
“It’s addressed to a Doctor Taschner,” he said.
Operation Stormcloud to launch as planned. Prisoner 459831 arrived and will be prepped for resurrection process. Bring sample of new formula and all relevant data to Testing Facility 89 Verdun soonest. Richthofen.
The paper was marked with Richthofen’s personal seal, a black eagle with its wings outstretched over a pair of grinning skulls, confirming its authenticity.
Burke wasn’t interested in the insignia, however. His attention was on the contents. Operation Stormcloud? Prisoner 459831?
Burke pointed at the messenger and said to Graves, “Ask him about Stormcloud. What is it and when is it supposed to happen?”
Graves nodded, then spoke a few words in German to the sullen-faced messenger. The reply was both short and swift.
“He doesn’t know,” Graves translated. Burke wasn’t surprised. He would never trust a courier with sensitive information like that, so expecting the other side to act differently was asking too much. Still, one never knew what men like this overheard, which was why he bothered to ask in the first place.
“What about prisoner 459831? Does he know anything about who that might be?”
Graves spoke to the other man again, and this time there was a bit more back and forth. Burke waited patiently for them to finish.
Finally, Graves turned back to Burke and said, “He says all he knows is that a new prisoner arrived at the camp yesterday and is being treated more like a guest than a POW. Rumor has it that the prisoner’s an important American officer, but our man here doesn’t know for sure.”
Burke did though; it had to be Jack. There just wasn’t any other prisoner who might be worthy of that kind of treatment. If they were going to use him as a propaganda piece, they would want to be sure he was being treated decently.
Knowing Jack’s whereabouts presented a bit of a dilemma to Burke. He’d been ordered to rescue his brother, or, at the very least, keep him out of enemy hands. But that had been before they’d discovered the advances the enemy had made with regard to that damned corpse gas. Word of those advances had to get back to the Allies; if they were caught unprepared, the consequences would be apocalyptic. Entire cities could be gassed, their populations turned into hordes of the hungry dead.
The problem was that he didn’t have enough proof yet to be certain those higher up the chain of command would listen. The files he had would be enough to show that the Germans were working on the process, but Graves said that there weren’t any documents claiming it to be a complete success. Burke doubted that would be enough. There would be plenty of naysayers claiming it wasn’t possible, that the enemy couldn’t have made the requisite scientific advances quickly enough for the threat to be real, and the urgency of the problem would likely get lost in the bureaucratic tendency to talk everything to death before taking action.
It was clear this Operation Stormcloud had something to do with the new gas, otherwise, why would Richthofen have mentioned the two in the same message? But the brass wasn’t likely to risk the kind of assault they would need to eliminate the threat completely, especially this far behind enemy lines, without concrete proof.
Thankfully, Burke knew just where he could get that and perhaps rescue his brother at the same time.
“Graves, see what you can do about getting him to draw us a map of that testing facility mentioned in the communiqué. Charlie, I want you to round us up some enemy uniforms, including a couple of lab coats if you can find them. Williams, you’re with me. The rest of you round up as much food and water as you can find. Go!”
As the men split up to handle the various activities assigned them, Burke and Williams walked over to the motor pool they’d searched earlier.
The large garage contained several vehicles in various stages of repair. Burke selected a staff car and a two-ton lorry, then asked Williams how long it would take to get them up and running.
The younger man gave them a quick inspection.
“An hour, maybe two?”
Burke nodded. “All right, get to work. I’ll send a couple of the other boys down to help you out.”
Williams was as good as his word. He had the staff car and the lorry back together and running smoothly inside of ninety minutes. At that point it was time for Burke to gather the men and let them know what he had planned.
“Our target has been moved to a scientific research station outside of Verdun,” Burke began, “so that’s where we are headed as well. I, for one, am sick of walking, however, so we’re going to be taking some alternate transportation.”
He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, where the two vehicles Williams had repaired were parked, and that earned him a cheer.
“We’re going to need to blend in as much as possible in case we pass another convoy coming the other way, so we’re going to look the part. Grab a uniform from Sergeant Moore and put it on. If you’re out of ammunition for your Enfield, grab some ammunition for it or take one of the Mausers from the pile over there. We leave in twenty minutes.”
As the men moved to obey, Burke pulled Graves aside and handed him one of the two officer’s uniforms he’d scrounged up. “How do you feel about impersonating a German scientist?” he asked.
The roads to Verdun were well paved and, for the most part, intact. This far behind enemy lines the team didn’t have to worry about nonsense like roadblocks or random checkpoints, and they were able to keep to a decent speed.
Burke, dressed in a leutnant’s uniform, drove the staff car with Professor Graves posing as Dr. Taschner in the back. They passed several other motorized vehicles headed in the other direction, and each time one appeared Burke would stiffen, worried that their ruse would be discovered. Visions of being run off the road, dragged free of the wrec
kage, and executed flashed through his head, but each time the other vehicles simply drove past without bothering them, leaving Burke to breathe a sigh of relief.
In the end, it took them a little over two hours to make the fifty-mile trip between Vitry-le-François and Verdun. About half a mile short of their destination, Burke spotted the narrow dirt track the messenger had told them about and pulled onto it, leaving the main road behind. He drove far enough into the woods that they wouldn’t be easily visible from the main road, then pulled to a stop. He shut off the engine and got out of the car.
Behind him, in the lorry, Charlie did the same.
A sharp whistle from the sergeant brought Graves out of the staff car and the rest of the men out of the back of the truck. The group gathered between the two vehicles, using the lorry’s headlights to check their weapons and adjust the stolen German uniforms they wore. Graves actually looked right at home in the dead doctor’s lab coat. When they were ready, Burke addressed them all.
“This is it,” he said, pointing behind him into the copse of trees. “There’s a small ridgeline on the other side and from that we’ll be able to look down on the camp and get an idea of what we’re facing. Manning and I will check it out while the rest of you stay here with Sergeant Moore. Keep your eyes open and be ready to fade into the trees if you need to.”
With a final nod at Charlie, Burke slipped into the trees, Manning at his heels.
The courier had been correct; the hike up to the top of the ridge took less than ten minutes. From there they could look down a few hundred yards below.
This facility was laid out similar to the last, though it was about twice the size of the other. From up on the ridge they could see several clusters of buildings and even a small airfield on the far side of camp. Burke was digging in his pack for his viewing goggles when he felt Manning stiffen beside him.
“What is it?” he asked.
The other man hesitated, then inclined his head slightly. “Look. The airfield.”
Burke glanced in that direction and was just in time to see several mechanics pushing a bright red triplane inside the field’s solitary hangar.
He didn’t need to be told whose plane it was, as there was only one bright red Fokker triplane in the entire German Air Corps.
Richthofen!
Burke watched the mechanics for a moment through the open doors as they went to work examining the aircraft, one climbing up a small stepladder to access the engine while the other walked around the craft itself, checking the fuselage for God knew what.
A flurry of activity from beside him drew his attention away and back to Manning. The other man had his pack off and was digging through it, pulling out cloth-wrapped items and laying them down on the ground in front of him. A palpable sense of excitement washed off him in waves.
“What are you doing?” Burke asked, more curious than worried at that point.
“What I came here to do,” Manning replied.
His tone was all business, as were his actions—swift, sure, but decidedly unhurried as he unwrapped each cloth-covered piece and began to assemble the object before him.
A glance at the various pieces told Burke it was a gun, but as it came together he had to admit it was a gun unlike any he’d seen before. It looked as if it had started life as a Lee Enfield, but had morphed from there into something with cooling tubes, an extra barrel, and a snap-on sight. Manning sighted through the glass and then began dialing it in with the help of a small geared mechanism to the left of the optics.
No sooner had he done so than Manning let out a startled “Sonofabitch! That’s him!” and scrambled to lower himself into a firing position.
Alarmed with the speed at which things were happening, Burke tried to get control of the events around him. A figure could now be seen standing on the front porch of a house not far from the airfield, watching a black staff car approach from up the road. Something about the man’s stance screamed “officer” to Burke, and he slipped his goggles down over his eyes and dialed them in for a better look.
The indistinct figure on the porch resolved itself through the lens of his goggles and Burke noted with surprise that Manning was right.
It was Richthofen.
As Burke realized who he was looking at, the door behind Richthofen opened and another man stepped into view. The newcomer was dressed in the standard jumpsuit that served as a POW uniform, and although Burke hadn’t seen him in several years, he still had no problem recognizing his own brother.
Jack stepped over to Richthofen and they exchanged a few words.
“Come on, get out of the way . . .” Manning said, beneath his breath.
Thinking Manning was speaking to him, Burke pulled off his goggles and glanced in that direction, only to find the other man lining up to take a shot at Richthofen!
“What are you doing?” Burke hissed at him.
“Killing that undead bastard,” Manning answered quietly. “Exactly what I was sent here to do. Do you want me to solve your problem too while I’m at it?”
“What?”
The big game hunter pulled his eye off the scope and looked over at him, his impatience plain on his face.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about! Now hurry up and make up your mind before we lose our chance!”
For just a moment, Burke considered letting Manning do just what he’d suggested: gunning down both men right where they stood. As options went it wasn’t such a bad one. The biggest threat to Allied air supremacy would be eliminated, they’d relieve the enemy of one of their best military minds, and they’d be protecting the president, and by extension the country, all in one fell swoop. For just a moment, it seemed the perfect way out. If he let Manning take that extra shot, he’d be saving his men from having to infiltrate the base and all the danger that went hand in hand with just such an operation. He expected several of them to be injured, possibly even killed, before the assault was over, and he could avoid all that with one simple shot. He wouldn’t even have to pull the trigger.
But then the moment passed, and Burke came to his senses.
“Put the gun down, Manning. We’re here to recon and that’s all.”
Manning ignored him and went on fumbling with the buttons and knobs on his strange-looking gun.
“I’m ordering you to put down that weapon, Manning.”
The other man let out a short laugh. “Sorry, Captain, but I’m not really in your chain of command, now am I?” he said, as he pulled back the hammer on the rifle. He put his eye up against the optical sight, getting ready to fire.
Burke didn’t hesitate. He snatched the Colt Firestarter from his belt and jammed the barrel into the side of Manning’s head.
The big game hunter went absolutely still.
“I said put the gun down. Now either do what I ordered you to do or so help me God . . .”
Very carefully, Manning lifted his finger away from the trigger of the rifle.
“Push it away from you,” Burke said, and then waited for the other man to do so before he took the Firestarter away from Manning’s head.
Below them, the staff car reached the house where the two men were waiting. Richthofen climbed into the backseat. Freeman followed. The car pulled away and disappeared deeper into the camp.
Burke let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.
Manning waited another moment or two, then reached out and retrieved his rifle. Burke didn’t stop him. They eyed each other warily for a moment.
Manning broke the silence.
“If you’d pulled that trigger, you would have given us away.”
“True, but at least I wouldn’t have the death of my brother on my conscience either.”
“Might still come to that.”
Burke nodded. “Yes, it might. But we’ll deal with that if and when we come to it. For now, we stick to the plan.”
Manning sketched a quick, sarcastic salute, before heading back down the ridgeline, rifle in hand.
<
br /> Burke followed.
Back at the rendezvous point, Burke relayed what they had seen, making no mention of the altercation between him and Manning, and was grateful that the other man let it rest as well. Burke sketched out a quick map and laid it on the hood of the truck where everyone could see.
The plan was simple. Using their stolen uniforms, the team would infiltrate the base, passing themselves off as German soldiers. If they stuck to the plan and didn’t engage anyone in conversation, they should be all right, as it was after dark and the uniforms would help them blend in.
“We’re going to enter through the main gate,” he said. “That will put us reasonably close to where we think Major Freeman is being held, either in this area over here,” he said, pointing to a group of buildings surrounding a larger one labeled Commandant’s Residence, “or with the rest of the prisoners here,” pointing to a section on the west side of the map that was labeled POWs.
“He’ll be guarded, but to what extent and by how many men is something we won’t know until we get in there.”
He looked around the circle, meeting their gazes, looking for any hesitation or doubt. They were about to try and scam their way in through the front gate of a major enemy base. Confidence was key; they needed to look and act like they belonged.
He needn’t have worried. All he saw were the confident expressions of men ready to do the job they had come here to do. What had started as a misfit bunch had coalesced into a team who knew they could depend upon one another, and that was something that could only be forged in the crucible of combat.
If anyone had a chance of pulling this off, they did.
Burke was proud of them.
He caught Charlie watching him and knew the sergeant was thinking the same thing.
“Remember, once we’re past the gates, you are to stay in the truck and avoid interaction with anyone unless ordered to do so. Our cover demands it.”
That last was especially important, given how little most of them knew of the German language. Any attempt at conversation would quickly reveal that they weren’t who they said they were, so their success or failure depended upon how long they could avoid calling attention to themselves.
By the Blood of Heroes Page 26
