The Iron Storm by CW Browning (classic literature books TXT) 📕

Normandy, also known as William the Conqueror, our first Norman King.”

“Yes, but no one has since,” Chris retorted, waving his hand impatiently.

“Not for lack of trying.” Miles looked up as Slippy joined them. “Isn’t that so, Slippy?”

“The last one to try was Napoleon,” Slippy said with a nod. “He nearly sank his entire fleet before they finally turned back.”

“See? It can’t be done,” Chris said triumphantly. “Even Napoleon couldn’t do it.”

“I’m fairly sure that Hitler has command of better ships than he did,” Miles said dryly.

Chris looked around at the somber faces. “You’re all serious, aren’t you? You really think the Krauts will try to invade England if they take France.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Slippy demanded. “He took Poland. He took Norway. If he can take France, he’d be a fool to stop there.”

“And if he does try, I give you one guess how he’ll do it,” Rob said.

“He’ll send over his Luftwaffe first.” Chris dropped into his chair. “Well hell. I guess we’ll finally get to shoot at some planes.”

Miles choked back a laugh. “Are all Americans like you, Chris?”

“Like me how?”

“Itching for a fight.”

“Well, aren’t you? Don’t tell me you’re not looking forward to meeting the 109s because I know it’s a lie. You want to face them as much as I do.”

“That may be so, Yank, but we’re not quite so blunt about it,” Rob said, pulling out his cigarette case. “It’s our duty, you know. Nothing more.”

“Nothing more, my ass.” Chris scoffed. “I fly with you every day, Ainsworth, so you can leave off the airs and graces and laissez-faire. I know you want a scrap just as much as I do. I guess now we’ll get the chance.”

“Laissez-faire?” Miles raised his eyebrows and looked at Rob. “Is that we’re doing?”

“I haven’t the faintest what the Yank’s going on about,” he answered with a grin. “I’m smoking a cigarette. Nothing lazy about it.”

“Idiot!” Chris said, laughing.

“You know, all this talk about an invasion across the channel is all dependent on the Germans getting through to France,” Slippy said, going back to the original subject. “They’re facing the entire BEF in Belgium, not to mention the French army. The Germans don’t have as many soldiers or artillery as we do. It won’t be easy.”

“Says who?” Miles asked, tilting his head back and peering up at him.

“Well...them. The people who say.”

“The same people who said Hitler would never attack Norway,” Rob said, rolling his head sideways to send Miles a knowing look.

“Yes. The same people, I daresay, that said Hitler couldn’t fight a war on two fronts,” Miles agreed with a nod. “Yet here we are. I’m afraid I don’t think much to their general wisdom.”

“To be completely fair, I don’t think you can really call Norway a front anymore,” Chris interjected. “The Germans just about have the whole country now. It’s only the northern pocket that’s holding out.”

“Nonetheless, they have troops tied up there.” Miles shook his head and looked at his watch. Getting to his feet, he stretched. “I’m going back to my room for my lighter before we have to go out to the dispersal hut. Before I do, I’ll just say this. I don’t think the little Corporal would have attacked the West if he didn’t have something up his little sleeve. Hitler is a lot of things, but I don’t think stupid is one of them. If he’s going after France, he knows something we don’t.”

“Like what?”

“Like how to get past our BEF and the French army.” Miles turned to leave. “And we have a Prime Minister who wants to make deals with him and broker peace. God help them, and God help us.”

Chapter Sixteen

Brussles - 10am

Eisenjager walked up the narrow street where Jens Bernard rented an apartment. The street was in chaos with people outside on the sidewalk and emergency vehicles coming and going. All the attention was focused on what remained of the building at the top of the street. It didn’t take a genius to guess what had happened. Bombs had been falling all morning as the Luftwaffe swept ahead of the Wehrmacht. Most of them had landed outside the city, but those that had landed inside were doing their part to spread panic and fear throughout the city, and chaos. With the radios out of commission, the population was in the dark as to what was happening, and so they naturally were believing the worst. Those that couldn’t flee the city were falling into one of two categories as far as he could see: those who were hunkering down prosaically, and those who were preparing for the end of the world.

He glanced at the numbers on the buildings and stopped across the road from number 56. There it was. The building where his target lived. He had managed to get the address from the post office, but he had no idea what his target looked like. A small crowd was gathered before the front door, all watching the excitement at the top of the road, and for all he knew Jens Bernard could be one of them. Eisenjager crossed the street and nodded to them politely, examining the faces swiftly as he did so. He didn’t know if Jens was young or old, but all the faces before him were over the age of fifty. Somehow he doubted that the Abwehr was interested in aging men dressed in work clothes. He was going to take the chance that his target was not among the men gathered before him.

“What’s happening up there?” he asked in Dutch, nodding towards the activity.

“A bomb fell on the house. They’re looking for survivors,” a man answered readily. “So far two people are unaccounted for.”

“How terrible!”

“Yes. I don’t know what the world’s coming to, dropping bombs on other people like it’s nothing. They didn’t stand a chance, did they? But what do the Germans care?”

Eisenjager reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, making a show of studying it. “I wonder if you