Last Flight to Stalingrad by Graham Hurley (novels to read .txt) 📕

top of the building, a door offered access to the roof. The caretaker carried a key but Nehmann knew where he hid the spare. On his knees, he felt behind the radiator and retrieved it.

Out in the sunshine again, he made his way across the ribbed lead roof. A pair of pigeons scattered at his approach. A big water tank stood beside the chimney stack, supported by blocks of concrete at each corner. It fed every apartment in the block and Nehmann knelt again, disturbing the scabs of rust beneath it. He knew they’d be back to search Guram’s apartment the moment he was en route to Tempelhof. Goebbels wanted his letter back and he had a couple of men he trusted for work like this. And so Nehmann needed to check it was still safe.

He paused a moment, his hand crabbing awkwardly to the right. He’d wrapped Goebbels’ letter in wax paper, and then sealed it in an envelope before taping it to the underside of the tank. For a moment or two he thought it might have gone but then his fingers closed on an edge of the envelope and he sat back on his haunches, sweat pouring down his face, knowing it was still there.

Stalingrad next, he thought. More madness.

15

TATSINSKAYA AIRFIELD, RUSSIA, 23 AUGUST 1942

Georg Messner met his boss back at Tatsinskaya. The airfield had been carved out of the raw steppe. A single east–west runway, unpaved, would handle most of the take-offs and landings over the coming days and local people had watched in wonderment as these once-sleepy hectares had suddenly filled with a vast fleet of aircraft.

Messner hadn’t seen Richthofen for a couple of days. His briefcase contained the usual paperwork, all of it marked Urgent/Immediate, but just now, unless he was mistaken, there was something even more pressing to resolve.

Richthofen wanted to know about aircraft readiness. The first wave of bombers was due to take off within minutes.

‘Bombed-up and ready to go,’ Messner confirmed.

‘Serviceability?’

‘Eighty-three per cent.’

‘Really?’ The figure sparked a rare smile from Richthofen. Eighty-three per cent was high and both men knew it. Flying time to Stalingrad was an hour and a quarter. By late morning, the first wave should be back here at Tatsinskaya and waiting ground crews would have them back in the air, refuelled and rebombed, by mid-afternoon. Two sorties a day? Perfect.

Messner badly wanted to change the subject. He directed the Generaloberst’s attention towards two nearby vehicles. One of them was a staff car adapted for service on the steppe. The other was a truck, the cargo area shrouded in canvas. Both carried the flashes of SS Einsatzgruppen C.

Doors in the staff car opened as Richthofen and Messner approached.

‘Standartenführer Kalb, Generaloberst Richthofen.’ Messner did the introductions.

Kalb snapped to attention, his right arm raised. Richthofen studied him for a moment, then acknowledged the salute. Another SS officer had joined them. Messner didn’t know his name.

‘Gentlemen?’ Richthofen was rolling himself a cigarette.

Kalb took the lead. In the back of the truck, he said, were a number of what he termed ‘gifts’ for the citizens of Stalingrad.

‘Really? You’re playing Father Christmas? At this time of year?’

The irony was lost on Kalb. He mentioned a senior SS commander in charge of Einsatzgruppen C, and then another who’d evidently controlled everyone in SS uniform since the start of Operation Barbarossa.Today’s plan, he said, had the full backing of both men. Indeed, they regarded it as an important initiative with undoubted relevance to the rest of the campaign.

‘I’m afraid I don’t understand.’ Richthofen sealed his cigarette and ignored the offer of a light from the other SS officer. ‘I’m a busy man, Herr Standartenführer.Today, as you might gather, is far from routine. Time belongs to no man, least of all me.’

Kalb looked briefly nonplussed. Then he nodded towards the truck.

‘Komm, bitte…’

Richthofen and Messner followed him. The other SS officer had signalled to two men in the truck and they were already dropping the tailgate. As Richthofen approached, they stood respectfully aside.

‘One question, Herr Standartenführer.’Richthofen paused to light his cigarette. ‘What’s smelling so bad?’

Kalb had no answer. Instead, he was looking at Messner.

‘In the absence of any figure from you, Herr Oberst,I took advice. We understand at least a dozen depending on size. Might that be accurate?’ He nodded up at the truck. ‘In any event, we brought spares, just in case.’

Spares? Messner was watching Richthofen clambering up into the back of the truck. Once again, he refused help. He parted the two wings of canvas and stood motionless, his booted feet apart, hands on hips, the cigarette smouldering between his fingers. Then he turned, braced his body and jumped. Moments later he was back with Kalb and Messner.

‘You killed these people?’ He was talking to Kalb, matter-of-fact, no hint of surprise.

‘Of course.’

‘And they are…?’

‘Saboteurs, propagandists, agitators, enemies of the state.’

‘And you’re denying them a burial?’

‘We’re putting them to good use.’

‘By throwing them out over Stalingrad?’

‘Indeed. That’s exactly what we’re doing.’ Kalb seemed warmed by the way Richthofen had been so quick to spot the guile of the plan. He began to explain it in detail, exactly the way he’d done to Messner, dropping the bodies upriver, letting the ID they were carrying – their names, their occupations – make a point or two once they’d been recovered, but Richthofen cut him short. Engines were starting all over the airfield. Ground crew were hauling away the wooden chocks that anchored the wheels.

‘You see my aircraft, Herr Standartenführer?’

‘Of course. Our aircraft. Might that be more accurate?’

Messner blinked. This man didn’t know Richthofen, couldn’t possibly anticipate the fire he’d just lit. Anticipating an explosion of wrath, followed by a curt dismissal, he was surprised that Richthofen barely flinched. Instead, he beckoned Kalb closer, the way a teacher might invite a backward pupil to consider the simplest proposition. The gesture was almost friendly, even conspiratorial.

‘As you can see, these aircraft will be taking off in minutes,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid it’s too late to call any of them back