“There’ll be no court of inquiry,” Reuters stated flatly in return, surprising Meier and leaving him momentarily speechless as Reuters drained his glass and accepted a new one from the waiter at the same time. “I already know this disaster was no fault of Carl Werner Ritter. I know exactly who’ll be held responsible for sending you all into that fiasco, and the Führer shall soon know of it also. He doesn’t take kindly to wasting such good men, and both ZG26 and SKG1 were full of good men.”
The last remark was an outright lie — Reuters knew from cold experience how little the Führer cared for the ‘cannon fodder’ that were Reuters’ fighting soldiers — but there’d be retribution meted out in the Chancellor’s name, whether Hitler knew about it or not. Reuters’ intelligence sources knew about Zeigler’s meetings with Barkmann, and his meetings with Hermann Göring — both of whom had good reason to wish ill of Kurt Reuters — and it was no great leap of logic to work out who was behind the unexpected reassignment of ZG26 to the mission over Scapa Flow.
“The defences were like nothing we have ever seen!” Meier finally broke, holding his face in his hands. “Rockets that followed us and blew us out of the sky…!” Somehow he actually sensed a level of empathy in the man beside him. “You can’t imagine how terrible it was!” But Reuters had seen the reports of survivors from both decimated units, and he also knew exactly what they’d come up against.
“I think perhaps I can,” Reuters nodded slowly, sipping at his second glass as he realised his own hands were shaking.
Home Fleet Naval Anchorage at HMS Proserpine
Scapa Flow, Orkney Islands
Max Thorne took his prisoner for a walk that evening, along the waterline near the Martello Towers where he’d argued with Eileen the day before. Ritter hadn’t been forced to wear restraints or bonds of any kind, but the Australian still wore his sidearm, and four guards wearing red berets and carrying strange-looking rifles walked twenty yards behind them the whole time.
“I must admit I took the liberty of reading your diary,” Thorne confessed as they walked.
“I expected as much,” Ritter shrugged, unperturbed as both men continued to speak in English. “I’d have been surprised if you hadn’t. What did it tell you of Carl Werner Ritter?”
“It told me that you seem an honourable man at the very least… if, of course, you actually believe what you’ve written.”
“It would serve no purpose, I think, to keep a private diary that was composed of lies,” Ritter countered without irritation, shrugging once more. The idea was matter-of-fact to him and he cared little whether this man believed him.
“That had also occurred to me… I think you’re a man who should have no need to lie in any reasonable society.”
“No reason at all,” Ritter agreed uneasily, apprehensive of the direction that the conversation might take.
“I also think you’d be at least reprimanded, should your superiors read some of the things you’ve written. I hear freedom of thought isn’t so widely encouraged in Germany as it once was.”
“I think that reports of…” he searched for the words in English, found himself at a loss, and instead reverted to German. “…reports of ideological control in my country are somewhat exaggerated.” He returned to English. “Things are not so bad as they sometimes seem.”
“That’s not what you imply in your diary… either you’re lying there, or you’re kidding yourself now… and we’ve already agreed on the accuracy of the diary.” There was a knowing tone in Thorne’s voice, devoid of any sarcasm, that engaged Ritter’s mind rather than making him feel patronised.
“You may believe what you will — I think we both can see the truth of it…”
“I think I probably see the truth of it a bit clearer, but there’s no chance of me convincing you of that at the moment. It’s a fact nevertheless.”
“Perhaps you’ll explain it to me, then,” Ritter suggested, feeling positively challenged and warming to the idea of a thought-provoking discussion.
“In time,” Thorne said thoughtfully. “You’d no doubt think me mad if I told you everything I know right now…”
“I sometimes think I must be mad,” Ritter said dryly, shaking his head and almost grinning. “When I first saw that grey aircraft before me, I believed I’d suddenly fallen into some grand hallucination.” Thorne laughed at those words… something he’d not been able to do two days before when faced with the loss of the Raptor and the damage the raid had inflicted.
“That ‘hallucination’ turned into a fireball and some pretty big pieces of wreckage after you shot it down though… There’s an American pilot back at the base who’s certainly crossed you off his Christmas list!”
“I — I do not understand what is this ‘Christmas list’,” Ritter grinned, pride rising faintly within him at what he recognised to be a vague compliment, “but I understand what you’re saying. That was a lucky shot, I think… yes? Yes…” he added, not waiting for Thorne to answer “Yes, I was very lucky, I suspect.” His mind changed tack at that moment. “This means the Americans will enter the war against us? I did see American markings on that aircraft as it passed.”
“‘That aircraft’ was called a Raptor, but it’s probably not appropriate to discuss the plans of the Americans at the moment.”
“‘Raptor’…? That is a bird of prey, ja…?” Ritter mused thoughtfully, accepting the rebuttal with grace. “An excellent description for such an aircraft.”
“It appears the aircraft of your unit were also excellent, if a little outmatched on this occasion.”
“They are, yes, Ritter agreed, thinking he finally saw the direction of Thorne’s conversation. He was a little amused to think the officer had gone to all that trouble merely to find out something as petty as details of a new type of Luftwaffe aircraft. What the hell? He thought. Why not humour him? England was doomed anyway. Although no one knew the exact date, everyone knew that an invasion was coming soon. “They’re a very capable aircraft from Messerschmitt called a Löwe… a ‘Lion’.”
They’re called a ‘Skyraider’… they’re a bloody fantastic aircraft for their time… and if Ed Heinmann and the boys at Douglas Aircraft ever had any idea of where you guys got the plans from and thought they could prove it, there’d be a law suit the size of the fuckin’ Hindenburg on Willi Messerschmitt’s doorstep the next morning! Thorne thought with dry sarcasm, unlikely as that idea was.
Despite the revised type of cockpit canopy, he’d recognised the aircraft immediately from Mustang gun camera film and the wreckage they’d recovered, and had no illusions as to where Messerschmitt had obtained the plans to the Douglas A-1H Skyraider. The New Eagles had indirectly purchased a full set of declassified engineer’s blueprints in 2007from the corporation that owned the rights to Douglas’ old plans. In Realtime, the incredibly versatile aircraft had actually been conceived of by designer Ed Heinmann at the very end of the Second World War, and had gone on to serve admirably for more than thirty years with the US Navy and Marine Corps, along with many other air forces around the world.