Code Name: Infamy (Aviator Book 4)

by Shanle, Leland

  04:42 Local, 7 May, 1945 (02:42 GMT, 7MAY)

  French West Africa

  So many stars filled the observation canopy that the navigator could pick and choose his favorites. After plotting their position on his chart, he glanced up to see the general checking his work.

  “Herr General, will we have a second destination?”

  Wolf ignored him, instead asking, “Will we be clear of the Allied fighter threat by daylight?”

  “Jawohl, Herr General.” Satisfied, Wolf turned and walked away without another word.

  05:13 Local, 7 May, 1945 (03:13 GMT, 7MAY)

  Ohrdruf Airfield, Germany

  Spike, Koch, and Colonel Gerhardt stood in a corner talking quietly. Spike nodded toward the secured lounge and then asked Gerhardt, “Any idea, Colonel?”

  Gerhardt glanced back over his shoulder and shuddered. “I suspect the SS caught him fleeing and executed him.”

  “And the children?” Not wanting to answer, Gerhardt finally did without making eye contact. “They probably made him watch …”

  “Nice,” hissed Koch.

  “That would explain why the orderly is terrified of our uniforms, but why did no one else hear it?”

  Koch reached in his pocket and pulled out a one-inch-by-four-inch cylinder. “Silencer.”

  Spike was quiet. It still didn’t add up. He glanced at his watch; time was now dictating terms, not him. He stood silently for a few more seconds and then spoke softly. “Obviously things have deteriorated worse than we anticipated. Regardless, we must get back on our time line. Do we have transportation?”

  “Two trucks and the field marshal’s staff car. Keys were in the trucks, and I found the staff car keys when I searched the orderly.”

  “Roger that. Muster the action element. Put three men on the gate, two standing guard in front of the terminal and one at the hangar. We need to make it look like this is an SS base; that will keep stragglers away.”

  “The orderly?” asked Koch.

  “Tie his ass up; he’s not a threat.”

  JT was trying to sleep on one of the wooden troop benches in the back of the C-47. Irish was growing restless and finally asked, “So what are we supposed to do?”

  “I suspect since neither of us speak German, we are to stay out of sight and shut the hell up.”

  Irish continued to gruff as they heard the vehicles drive away.

  Major Shanower, in an SS colonel’s uniform, and Colonel Gerhardt were in the back seat of the staff car. Up front were two of the rangers, one driving and one riding shotgun, literally. Two more were on the running boards of the Mercedes, one on each side. Within a few minutes they caught up with a group of refugees, their surprised faces lit by the sweep of the headlights before they turned and ran for the woods.

  Koch was in the passenger seat in the lead truck, four of his men were in the bed, and another five were in the second truck. He leaned forward watching as the car ahead swerved suddenly. “Look out!” he yelled. His corporal yanked the steering wheel to the left to avoid the body Wolf had left in the road. He bumped his shoulder up against the closed window and felt it slide against the pane of glass as the tires struggled for traction on the blood-slicked road. “What’s on this window?” He pulled away and brushed at his shoulder. Koch flipped on his flashlight revealing dried blood and brain matter.

  “Oh, geez. Lieutenant, what is wrong with these people?” He wiped his hand on the seat and shuddered.

  “It’s coming apart at the very core, Tommy. This is what it looks like when a civilization dissolves. We need to grab these scientists and get the hell out of Dodge.”

  05:54 Local, 7 May, 1945 (03:54 GMT, 7MAY)

  French West Africa

  Brilliant swaths of pink, orange, and blue lit the eastern sky over Tenere Desert. Watching from the left seat of the Condor, the aircraft commander drank in its beauty as his co-pilot sipped coffee. Wolf interrupted their tranquility.

  “Descend to treetop level.”

  “Jawohl.” As an experienced aircraft commander, Hauptmann Franz Klammer was not used to such close direction, but he had no intention of crossing the SS general. Or pointing out they were over one of the biggest deserts on the planet, and thus there were no trees. He was no fool. He knew the end was very near for Germany; the distance he flew between eastern and western fronts had been drastically decreasing for months. After Wolf left the cockpit, Franz snapped off an exaggerated Nazi salute. His co-pilot spewed coffee all over the instrument panel.

  06:12 Local, 7 May, 194 (04:12 GMT, 7MAY)

  Heereswaffenamt Kernphysik Command Ohrdruf, Germany

  A sentry squinted into the low rising sun as he held up his hand. “Halt!”

  Spike stood abruptly in the open staff car, leaning toward the sentry, who instinctively backed away. “Achtung! Where is your commanding officer?”

  The sergeant of the guard looked up from his paperwork, saw the black uniforms, and hurried out of the sentry shack. Koch leaned over to Tommy and whispered, “Roll down that window.”

  Stepping in front of the staff car, the sergeant addressed Spike. “How may I help you, Herr Colonel?”

  “Quite obviously we are here to evacuate the scientific team. Where is your commanding officer?”

  “Sir, I have not seen General von Bassenheim since yesterday. Oberstleutnant Schroeder is the senior officer present.”

  Spike put his hand on his hip, holding back the black leather overcoat and revealing his side arm. “Have him meet us in the science center. Immediately.”

  “Sir, this is a secure site …”

  “That’s why I’m here, Sergeant,” Spike barked. “Do you take me for an idiot?”

  “But—”

  Spike sneered down at the guards, pursed his lips together, and a shrill whistle cut through the morning air. Action erupted from the trucks as twelve SS-clad rangers instantly deployed with their MP-40s at the ready. The sergeant had pushed an emergency button before he exited the shack, and his men swarmed from the nearby barracks in various states of undress. They meant to hold their ground. The sound of weapons’ bolts and actions chambering rounds amped up the tension. No one moved, and a silent standoff ensued. Koch spoke calmly from the running board of the truck.

  “Sergeant, the Eastern Front has collapsed. Our orders are to evacuate the scientists and all their documents before the Russians arrive.”

  “And my orders from Generalleutnant Wolfgang von Bassenheim are to hold this facility at all costs until he returns.”

  Spike shook his head in disdain. “The general will not be returning.”

  “Perhaps not, but I am not prepared to disobey his direct order.”

  Was ist das?” Oberstleutnant Schroeder called out as he ran down the driveway trying to button his tunic. Neither side reacted to his question as he bumped past his sergeant of the guard and approached the staff car. Gerhardt leaned over and whispered into Spike’s ear, “He is a scientist, not a soldier.”

  Spike’s eyes raked over Schroeder with a dismissive glare. “Prepare your team. We are leaving.”

  Recognition registered over his flushed face. “Colonel Gerhardt, I-I’m confused to see you.” Schroeder noticed the field marshall’s plate on the bumper of the car. “Where is Field Marshall Weiskiettle?”

  Spike descended from the staff car with the arrogance and swagger of a crowned prince. He spoke loud enough for all to hear. “The field marshall was caught fleeing in the face of the enemy and has been summarily executed. He and his family will be unable to enjoy the sunny weather in Argentina.”

  Locking Schroeder’s eyes, Spike could see his Adams apple ride up and down his throat as he approached. He handed Schroeder a folded paper and whispered through clenched teeth. “I will shoot you next if you do not stand down your men.”

  Schroeder shook slightly as he opened the orders. He looked up with registered confusion, holding a blank sheet of paper. Spike whispered again almost imperceptibly. “Know this: you will die
first. Tell your men the front has collapsed and they have been reassigned to a combat unit. They are to move immediately west to help re-establish a defensive line, and the scientific staff is to be evacuated in the face of the Russian advance.”

  A scientist, not a warrior, Schroeder was perplexed by the morning’s events, unable to make a command decision.

  “Schroeder, do it now.” Gerhardt urged softly. He turned toward his sergeant of the guard and muttered, “Stand down.”

  “Sir?”

  “IMMEDIATELY!” Schroeder overcompensated, surprising everyone, especially himself. “The front is being re-established to the west. My staff is being evacuated; take the trucks—”

  “We will need the trucks,” Spike interrupted.

  “Take your men and march to the rear quickly,” Schroeder commanded. “The Russians are nearly here.”

  Each side slowly lowered their weapons. Koch signaled his men to take over the guard shack with quick hand signals. Reacting with precision they took up positions, pushing the Germans out of the way. Defeated, the sergeant ordered his men to prepare for a march to the rear.

  CHAPTER 7

  06:32 Local, 7 May, 1945 (04:32 GMT, 7MAY)

  British Nigeria, Africa

  Endless sands finally gave way to the Savannah of the Bornu Basin. Antelope raced across the plain, spooked by the noise of the approaching Condor’s engines. Laughing in amazement, the pilots pointed out animals as they streaked over them. Franz nodded at some elephants standing in shallow waters.

  “Keep a sharp lookout,” a voice commanded from behind them.

  “We are in a British colony now, and they are not as lax as the French.”

  This time the co-pilot gave a Nazi salute upon Wolf’s departure. Both pilots giggled in fatigue.

  06:47 Local, 7 May, 1945 (04:47GMT, 7MAY)

  Heereswaffenamt Kernphysik Command Ohrdruf, Germany

  Scientists were roused out of their beds and herded into trucks along with their families. Koch tried to get them loaded as quickly as possible, but sleepy children cried as their mothers, intuitively fearful of the black SS uniforms, shushed and tried to calm them, and confused fathers, in turn, tried to reassure their wives.

  Below ground Colonel Gerhardt directed the removal of thick research manuals and the placement of incendiaries to deny the Soviets what they couldn’t take. When he entered Wolf’s office he stopped cold. Four empty shelves where the general’s four sets of manuals should have been, sent a chill up his spin. Each shelf was clearly labeled with an individual serial number. Turning, he pushed past Spike and grabbed one of the German scientists.

  “Give me the combination to the manufacturing laboratory.”

  “Only der allein Wolf has that combination—”

  “Where is he?” Gerhardt’s voice was shrill.

  “No one has seen him since yesterday afternoon. He left with the SS.”

  Gerhardt ran to the elevator and continuously smashed the button with his fist until the doors opened. Spike, now concerned, stepped in with him, watching as he did the same repetitive motion with the lower level button.

  “You want to tell me what is going on, Hans?”

  Gerhardt ignored him, bolting out the elevator doors before they were all the way open. He ran through two stainless steel vault doors each four meters high, three meters wide, and two meters thick. Spike inspected the open doors as he stepped into the eerie laboratory. It was antiseptic, everything stainless steel except for the black rubber floor. Iridescent green light emanating from the instrumentation was the only illumination. The hum of electricity coursing through the electronics gave the room a creepy quality of artificial life.

  “Colonel Gerhardt, what the hell is wrong?”

  Gerhardt could only point at four empty racks, each with a serial number corresponding to the missing manuals in the general’s office. Spike looked around, still not appreciating the discovery.

  “Let’s get out of Frankenstein’s laboratory.”

  “Your characterization of the laboratory is spot on—it is monstrous. However, its intent is death, not life.”

  Gerhardt hurried back to the elevator. Spike followed and watched as he once again mashed the elevator button. Spike put his hand on the door mechanism after it opened.

  “Hans, relax. They were sloppy. They left the doors to the lab open.”

  “I assure you, it is meant as a message.”

  “For whom?” asked Spike?

  “Us, or someone like us.”

  Spike released the mechanism and stepped into the elevator as the doors closed behind him. He followed Gerhardt back into Wolf’s office and watched as Gerhardt pulled back and then dropped one of the chrome spheres, transfixed by the energy transfer. Spike reached across the desk and grabbed the balls to stop the action.

  “And?” he demanded. “What’s the message?”

  “Generalleutnant Wolfgang von Bassenheim is the facility’s commanding officer and its top scientist. He is also SS, ruthless, and gone.” Colonel Gerhardt waved his hand to the empty shelves. Spike leaned over the desk and asked intently.

  “What is your concern, Hans?”

  “He is a true believer, and he did not leave empty-handed.”

  “Explain.”

  “Daniel, most of us were not political or even militaristic. Wolf was both. He was—is—a Nazi. An uber-Nazi.” Gerhardt’s attention went back to the spheres, but Spike grabbed them again before he could start the cycle. He was now really concerned. Gerhardt had never called him Daniel before.

  “And?”

  “And … it is my belief that he has in his possession four functional nuclear weapons.”

  Spike recoiled, releasing the steel spheres of the Newton’s cradle, allowing them to swing chaotically out of sequence.

  CHAPTER 8

  10:29 Local, 7 May, 1945 (08:29 GMT, 7MAY)

  Ferdinand Po’, Gulf of Guinea, Equatorial Africa

  With the sun in the mid-morning sky, the Condor lined up on Punta Europa Airfield, on the Island of Ferdinand Pó. Franz landed smoothly and noticed a truck pacing his aircraft while he taxied to the terminal. Watching as SS Storm Troopers jumped out of the back of the truck, the cockpit crew exchanged nervous glances. Wolf exited the Condor immediately and was approached by an SS captain. As he grew close, the captain executed a perfect Nazi salute.

  “Heil Hitler.”

  Wolf dismissed the salute. “Hitler is dead, comrade. We are the only hope to avenge the fatherland.”

  Wolf remembered the day he had been pulled from SS-TV and put into the Science Corps. He had done everything in his power to ensure victory for the Third Reich. As a planner for the General Staff, he had been involved with the final solution for the Jews, Barbarossa and Unternehmen Wacht am Rhein. And it had all disintegrated around him. Incompetent fools.

  Establishing an Eastern Front before Britain was defeated had been a grave error. The Bolsheviks would have sat for years, like the idiots they were. If the damn Japanese had listened to the General Staff and waited before attacking Russia, only to be defeated in 1938 and again in 1939, they could have launched a dual axis attack. A classic pincer maneuver against the Soviets would have crushed them in the middle. But no. Instead, once operation Barbarossa was initiated, the Soviets merely withdrew to the east, throwing the Red Army under the treads of German Panzer tanks to delay them. Just as Wolf had warned, the Russians waited for winter and then stabilized the lines.

  Barbarossa had always been intended as a two-front offensive. Wolf had been very clear on that in his brief. He went so far as to predict failure if the Japanese did not succeed in splitting the Soviet Union and then driving toward Moscow. Instead of re-attacking the Soviet Union and winning an ultimate victory, the duplicitous bastards reached a secret non-aggression pact with them and prepared for an attack on Pearl Harbor. Zhukov and most of his combat-experienced troops moved east to defend Moscow. Then, against his counsel, Barbarossa was launched, even after he discov
ered intelligence that Japan had no intention of attacking Russia. Had the Japanese not betrayed the fatherland, the course of the war would have dramatically changed. Instead they went ahead with their Pearl Harbor operation and dragged the Americans into the conflict.

  Fools! Within a few short months, after the Imperial Japanese Navy’s titanic defeat at Midway, Japan was forced into a defensive posture and the chance to open a second front against Russia disappeared in the wind like smoke. It meant that Germany, not Soviet Russia, faced a two-front war. But Wolf would have to put his animosity for the Japanese aside—for now. His plan required their support. Beside him, the captain’s stone cold demeanor had not changed. Wolf faced him.

  “Herr General, you have my loyalty until the end.”

  “This I know. Fuel?”

  His devotee pointed to two fuel trucks rumbling across the tarmac.

  “We also have provisions ready to be loaded. One hour.”

  Stretching as they emerged from the aircraft, the disheveled aircrew drew looks of disdain from the two perfectly kept SS officers.

  “Be ready to launch in one hour,” Wolf directed.

  “But general, we have not slept since—” the pilot started. The glare of both Nazis stopped him mid sentence.

  Waiting until they had walked a safe distance, the navigator joked, “I have not seen a glare like that since my wife caught me with a little fraulein.”

  “If you want to see either lovely lady ever again, we must be ready to move quickly when we get these fanatics to their destination.”

  17:31 Local, 7 May, 1945 (08:31 GMT, 7MAY)

  Yokosuka Naval District, Japan

  Admiral Hiroshi walked from his car into a large camouflaged submarine pen. He and his staff were met by an overly excited group of manufacturers and engineers. A young engineer in a white lab coat with very thick glasses spoke for the group.