Code Name: Infamy (Aviator Book 4) (2 page)

CHAPTER 2

13:07 Local, 1 September, 1937 (19:07 GMT, 1SEP)

Bellot Strait, North West Passage

Captain, E. J. “Scotty” Gall stood on the bow as waves of fog rolled toward the HBC Aklavik. At barely sixty feet, it was more of a yacht than a cargo ship. Scotty closed his eyes and leaned his head back feeling the wind, sensing the current. A long-time employee of the Hudson Bay Company, he had lived many years with the Inuit and had adopted their ways. And after so many years at sea, he trusted his instincts.

Opening his eyes he watched the fog begin to clear. Bellot Strait appeared before him. The ice was piled on its shores, but he sensed—he knew—the narrow waterway was clear. Turning to his Helmsman, he commanded, “Full speed ahead; starboard rudder, one third.”

Nervously the Helmsman advanced the throttle to full speed, demanding all of the Fairbanks-Morse engine’s meager 35-horse power. He spun the wheel three revolutions and held fast, awaiting the next order. The Aklavik set a course for the southern shore line. Reefs appeared before them and, like the shore, they were encrusted with deadly ice.

Aklavik approached the southern shore, her starboard hull dangerously close. Her bow came about, paralleling the giant chunks of ice. All hands stopped what they were doing and watched carefully the jagged death. All except the Helmsman, whose eyes were riveted on his captain.

“Starboard rudder, two thirds.”

“Starboard, sir?”

“Aye, starboard.” Forcing himself to comply with the suicidal command the Helmsman spun in three more revolutions of the wheel to the right; he was sure impact was imminent. Instead the Aklavik held course close ashore as she slipped past a reef on her port side. Ahead another icy reef jutted out of the southern shore.

“Helmsman, ease your rudder to one third.”

Even with one third rudder pushing the vessel to the right, its bow moved left and slid past the second reef. Once into the narrow channel, the Aklavik hugged the southern shore passing cliffs and tall hills. Halfway through the strait the current began to shift and increased to eight knots in velocity. Scotty switched to the northern shoreline before emerging into the Prince Regent Inlet.

For the first time the Northwest Passage was navigated from west to east. The next day the HBC Aklavik was also the first ship to navigate the Northwest Passage east to west. Elated, Scotty radioed his homeport of Cambridge Bay to report his navigational first, only to discover that the Hudson Bay Company’s response was to direct him to keep it a secret.

Ten days later, they tied up at the Cambridge Bay pier next to a Japanese whaler being resupplied for its return voyage before the Beaufort Sea froze all the way to the Alaska shoreline. HBC had sent the Fur Trade Commissioner to meet the Aklavik, and he invited the crew to a local tavern to celebrate. Before they disembarked, Scotty reminded his small crew to keep their story to themselves.

The rowdy sailors hit the Hudson Bay Company’s public house with a vengeance, ready for a drink and Caribou steak. They guzzled beer and slapped each other on the back. Even though the pub was full of other sailors, no one else knew what the celebration was about. After two boisterous hours the Fur Trade Commissioner presented Scotty with a silver box. It had been flown in from Anchorage and was inscribed:

Presented to E. J. Gall
by the
Fur Trade Commissioner Hudson’s Bay Company

to Commemorate

His Negotiation of the Northwest Passage

September 2, 1937

Noticeably moved, he wrapped the Fur Trade Commissioner up in a boisterous bear hug and held the box up for his men to see. Across the room, the skipper of the Japanese whaler sipped his beer and watched the celebration. By midnight Scotty and his men were considerably more than three sheets to the wind, and when he set his silver box on the bar while he ordered another round, the Japanese skipper, pretending to be just as drunk as the Scotsman, stumbled to the bar to order a drink. He glanced down at the silver box and read the inscription upside down. Suppressing a smile, Lieutenant Atsugi of the Imperial Japanese Navy could hardly wait to radio the news to his superiors. His mission to gather INTEL on the Aleutian Island’s military facilities had just paid off handsomely.

CHAPTER 3

08:10 Local, 31 April, 1945 (14:10 GMT, 31APR)

Los Alamos, New Mexico

Colonel Hans Gerhardt, formerly of the Fuehrer’s Heereswaffenamt Kernphysik Command, observed as the product of his work was placed into the core of “The Gadget.” He peered through a small window of the lead containment vessel and nodded in approval.

The Gadget was the code name for the Trinity test bomb, and Project Trinity’s mission was to test the design of the atomic bomb called Fat Boy. Colonel Gerhardt oversaw the pivotal bismuth phosphate process, and he had produced the necessary batches of plutonium in the 221-T plant at the Hanford Engineer Works. His expertise was so critical, Major Daniel “Spike” Shanower of the OSS had “escorted” him from occupied France the year before and had “given” him the job.

Hans turned to the crowd of observing scientists with a broad smile, but it fell from his face as soon as he noticed Shanower at the back of the group.

“Colonel, a word,” Shanower said.

Tentatively, eyes darting in fear, he moved with the major to the corner of the room. The project had been going well, but Hans feared that as soon as he was no longer needed, he would be executed. Had that day come?

“So, my usefulness is at an end?” his voice quivered. Shanower glared at him in exasperation. “Colonel, when are you going to get it through that thick German skull that I’m not Gestapo? I’m not a gangster who is going to whack you, either. We made a deal; I’m here to live up to my end of the bargain.”

Hans stared back in disbelief. Spike went on lowering his voice. “Hitler is dead; Patton is crossing the Rhine. We must get to your colleagues before the Russians do.”

“Are they not your ally?”

“Capitalists and communists … the love affair will end with the shooting.”

“What do you require of me?” Hans asked.

“Be ready in two hours; we are going to Germany.”

Apprehension returned to Hans Gerhardt’s eyes. Major Shanower had been a member of Operation Alssos which, in turn, was part of the greater Manhattan Project. Alssos had targeted the German nuclear effort, and Shanower had directed strikes against facilities and grabbed Gerhardt. But now the mission and enemy were changing.

With Germany’s loss assured, Operation Paperclip had been initiated. Its charter was to get the German Scientists before the Soviets did. Spike had authored the plan after cutting a deal with Gerhardt. He had helped Spike target a heavy water facility, in exchange for the promise to get prominent scientists and their families out of Germany. Now it was time to go in and get them.

CHAPTER 4

18:12 Local, 6 May, 1945 (16:12 GMT, 6MAY)

Heereswaffenamt Kernphysik Command Ohrdruf, Germany

Dread crawled up the driver’s spine, and even in the cool evening air he dripped sweat. He was behind the wheel of one of two Opel Blitz S-type trucks forcing their way onto the crowded road outside the HWA Kernphysik. Like dying salmon struggling upstream, the trucks pushed against a steady stream of retreating, dispirited, Wehrmacht soldiers. A secret cargo had been loaded in each truck, two crates a piece. Even worse, each truck also held six SS Storm Troopers, and the driver wanted nothing more than to drop his load and flee south like the rest of the army. The whole country had fallen into chaos as the Third Reich disintegrated, and when the retreating soldiers recognized the uniform of the SS general sitting next to him, they averted their eyes. The driver wanted to avert his eyes, too. This Nazi unnerved him.

Turning off the main road toward the airfield, the small convoy was finally able to shift out of first gear. Winding through the woods for a few kilometers, Generalleutnant Wolfgang Walpot von Bassenheim suddenly raised his hand.

“Stop here.”

“General, the airfield is still three kilometers away.” Wolf merely stared at the old sergeant who blanched under the cold blue eyes. When the truck came to a halt, Wolf pressed the nine-millimeter barrel of his Mauser P-08 Luger against the driver’s temple and pulled the trigger. He sat, calmly listening to the diesel engine idle, awaiting the report of a second shot. After hearing the muffled shot from the second truck Wolf leaned over the dead driver, unlatched the door, and pushed his body out of the cab. Sliding behind the steering wheel he rolled down the window to hide the carnage and shifted the transmission into gear. He eased out the clutch, and the truck bounced forward grinding the corpse under its rear tires.

At the entrance to the airfield, a sentry who was holding back refugees stopped the trucks. Seeing the SS uniform, the people trying to flee backed away from the gate.

“No one is to enter, General. The airfield is secured.”

“Not to me, Corporal.” Wolf produced a stamped order from the General Staff, careful not to touch it to the blood on the inside of the door.

“Jawohl Herr General, but there is only one plane …”

“And it is mine, Corporal. Sir Field Marshall Weiskiettle has commandeered it.”

“I see, and where is the Field Marshal?”

“In the senior officer’s lounge, with his family, General.”

“Very well, Corporal. Open the gate.”

“Jawohl.” Quickly the corporal signaled his men; he had no intention of dealing with this SS general any longer than he had to. After waving the gate open he turned his MP-40 submachine gun toward the pressing crowd and fired a warning burst over their heads. Slowly they backed away.

While Wolf screwed a silencer into the barrel of his Luger, his second in command walked to his truck. Major Volmer snapped to attention, clicking his heals.

“Your orders, sir?”

“Load the items; I have a meeting with Field Marshal Weiskiettle.”

“Heil Hitler!” Major Volmer snapped off a Nazi salute, and Wolf dismissively returned it.

“Heil Hitler, Major.”

Wolf crunched across the gravel walkway and then up the wooden steps with detached purpose. The heels of his Jack boots metered out an ominous pace; he was met by an orderly in the hallway.

“Where is the field marshall?”

“In the lounge, sir.”

“Take me there.”

Approaching the door, Wolf caught the orderly by his elbow. “That will be all.”

“Sir?”

“That will be all,” Wolf said in a steel voice laced with threat.

Fleeing his cold glare, the young orderly retreated around a corner. Looking left and then right Wolf pulled the silenced Luger out of his tunic and held it behind his back as he entered. “Guten abend, Herr Field Marshall.”

Field Marshall Weiskiettle visibly flinched as he looked up at the SS general. “Guten abend. Generalleutnant von Bassenheim, is it not, from Plans and Tactics?”

“Indeed it is; however, I have been reassigned back to the SS Totenkopfverbände.”

Behind the field marshall his wife and two little girls sat motionless; instinctively they sensed danger. The girls, five and seven years old, were in traditional German dress as if they were on their way to a festival. Both leaned closer to their mother, who was frozen in fear by the skull and crossbones on Wolf’s cap.

“Germany is lost, Wolf—”

“Yes, yes, it is Field Marshall Weiskiettle.” He sneered in response. “Yet some of us will fight on while others tuck tail and run like cowards.” Wolf swung the Luger from behind his back and shot the field marshall between the eyes. Quickly, before they could open their mouths to scream, he turned the weapon on the field marshall’s wife and children, executing them in the same precise manner. His task complete, Wolf calmly unscrewed the silencer and slipped it into his pocket. Holstering the Luger, he noticed a mirror and stepped in front of it. After straightening his Iron Cross, he left the room, closing the door behind him.

Walking around the same corner as the orderly, Wolf found the young man slumped in a chair, his approach masked by the sound of the Focke-Wulf 200 C-2 Condor’s BMW/Bramo 323R-2, nine-cylinder engines rumbling to life. Glancing into the window, the orderly saw the reflection of the SS uniform behind him and jumped to his feet.

“The field marshall has changed his mind. He will be staying in the fatherland, but he is not to be disturbed. Is that clear?”

Gazing behind the nodding orderly, Wolf could see the fourth crate being loaded into the Condor with a fork lift. Locking the orderly’s eyes, he considered whether or not to eliminate him. He stood without saying a word until the fourth BMW 323R-2 engine spun up to idle speed on the large cargo plane. He could smell the orderly’s fear. The fear that returned his gaze convinced him he would not dare go near the lounge until the Condor had taken off. At that point it would be inconsequential. Satisfied the cargo had been loaded and was ready for takeoff, he strode past the orderly and out to the Condor. Its cabin door closed behind him as he entered the aircraft. Not breaking stride he went straight to the cockpit.