Winter's Bullet (21 page)

He undid his seatbelt.

‘What are you doing?' Willa asked.

‘You said it yourself, Willa, we can't let the Nazis use that weapon. We've got to stop them!'

‘But how . . .'

‘I've got the pistol, remember? It's risky, but . . .'

Suddenly there was an explosion from outside the window. A sheet of flame had shot out of the end of the cylinder, and it was as if a giant had picked up the plane like a paper dart and hurled it forward. They would be airborne in seconds, Tygo realized.

‘Yes or no, Willa?'

‘Okay, yes, yes!'

Tygo jumped out of his seat and ran forward towards the cockpit. The floor was rising as he ran, and he felt the nose wheel of the aircraft suddenly lift off the ground. He struggled forward. The auxiliary rocket boosters under
the plane's wings were blasting it into the air; he wasn't going to make it. He felt the back wheels come off the ground. Just a few more steps. The plane was climbing now, banking sharply.

He grabbed hold of the bulkhead at the entrance to the cockpit, drawing his pistol. Alisa was right, it was terrible thing he was about to do, but he had no choice. He fired.

The pilot was leaning forward out of his seat, keeping the pressure up on the engine throttles. Tygo's first three shots hit him in the back, throwing him forward on to his control wheel. The navigator, now acting as the co-pilot, turned round in his seat, and Tygo fired again. The bullet caught the man high up, shattering his collarbone, and spun him back.

The plane suddenly pitched forward and started to dive. Tygo hung on to the side of the bulkhead. Behind him, the door to the private compartment slammed open and Krüger braced himself in the doorframe.

‘Frettchen!' he screamed. ‘What have you done?' He fumbled for his pistol as the plane dipped lower, the auxiliary rockets under the wings now spent of fuel.

The navigator was back up, pulling on the wheel weakly with one hand, the other pushing the engine's throttles back towards idle. The nose lifted and they seemed to be flying horizontally now. The plane's landing lights were still on, and Tygo stared ahead wide-eyed through the conical Perspex dome of the cockpit. He saw the dunes flash by just metres below them, then a strip of white sand, concrete and metal blocks and spikes sprouting from it, a ribbon of grey surf.

Then the plane drove into the black water beyond and the Perspex windows imploded. A wall of water hit Tygo in an instant, and hurled him into oblivion.

CHAPTER 27

F
or a moment Tygo wondered if he was dead, then the icy water lapping around him dragged him fully conscious. He must have been out for only a couple of minutes. He tried to get his bearings; he was tangled up in the metal seats on the other side of the fuselage to Willa and the private compartment. The red running lights along the side of the fuselage were still working, giving the inside a hellish red glow.

There was something sticky on his face, and when he put his hand to it, it came away crimson. He was bleeding, but he didn't feel any pain. He looked around, trying to clear the fuzziness from inside his head.

The plane appeared to have crashed into shallow water
just beyond the surf line of the beach. It had gone nose in and the cockpit had been shattered as it hit the bottom of the seabed, water pouring in. The initial onrush was what had thrown Tygo back, but now the plane had settled back and was lying at a twenty-degree angle into the water. The cockpit remained completely flooded. Tygo glanced out of the windows; the rockets had burnt out, but some of the engines were still running. Flames were starting to lick around one of them, and there was a strong smell of burning rubber and fuel.

Tygo slowly disentangled himself. Quite apart from the missile, which appeared to still be secured to the floor of the plane, they were inside what was potentially a massive bomb once the fuel tanks caught.

‘Willa!' he cried. Her seat was on the other side of the rocket. He could see her lying there, unconscious. He pulled himself to his feet and, using the rocket to hold on to, started to make his way back up the plane. The whole fuselage was gradually filling with water.

There was no sign of Krüger. Tygo hoped he'd broken his bloody neck.

Tygo edged round the back end of the rocket, then sat down and slid all the way along the floor of the plane, down to where he could see Willa slumped in her seat. He hoped
she
hadn't broken her neck! The water was up to her knees, and Tygo had to grab hold of the chair's frame to stop himself slipping. It was freezing cold too. He grabbed hold of Willa's shoulder and shook it.

‘Willa! It's me, Tygo . . . wake up.'

She gave a moan, and then slowly opened her eyes.
Tygo saw that she had a cut above one of them, and a line of blood had slid down one cheek. He scooped up some of the water in his hand and chucked it at her face. She moaned again, but at least he'd washed the blood off.

‘We've crashed, Willa, we have to get out of here before it explodes, do you understand me?'

Just then, he heard the dull crump of petrol igniting somewhere. Through the window he saw the nearside engine enveloped in flame.

‘Can't,' said Willa, trying to push him away.

Tygo leant forward and released her waist belt. She started to slide out of the seat, and he caught her under her arms. ‘Please, Willa, you have to help me.' He let go with one of his hands and slapped her across the cheek. The water continued to rise. He dragged her forward off her chair and she managed to find her legs, coming awake now.

‘Okay, Tygo,' she said weakly. ‘I'm trying . . .'

‘Hold my arm, don't let go . . .' Tygo grabbed hold of the chair frames with one hand, keeping hold of Willa with the other. Slowly he began to pull them both up the plane towards the exit ramp. The whole cabin was starting to fill with acrid smoke, but as the water continued to rush in, it was starting to act like a counter-weight, levelling the plane out. It made it a little easier to climb.

When they reached the rocket, Tygo used the thick canvas straps that had been employed to lash it down to keep pulling them up. The seawater was creeping all the way up the plane, faster and faster, and the angle it was resting at was starting to drop more and more. They kept
going; they needed to get the ramp down and be out of there before the whole cargo area flooded to the ceiling. But maybe it didn't matter, thought Tygo: the plane would probably have exploded by then. It sounded like an engine on the other side had just caught fire.

Finally they reached the ramp. The running lights were still on; Tygo prayed there was still power to the hydraulics and they would work. He pressed the black knob marked
Öffnen
on the control panel. There was a whining sound, followed by a grinding one, and then the outer doors started to swing back and the cold night air rushed into the smoke-filled compartment. Relief washed over Tygo. Now they just had to get the ramp down.

He glanced down to check on Willa; she was slumped against the side of the fuselage. He leant down and lightly slapped her face. ‘Willa? Come on, we're nearly free.'

She took his hand. ‘It's okay, I'm all right . . . we did it, Tygo.'

Then she opened her eyes wider and let out a piercing scream.

Tygo turned just in time to see a flash of steel and fling himself to the side. The axe-head embedded itself in the soft metal skin of the fuselage.

Krüger was holding on to the handle, frantically trying to pull it out. His eyes were wild with rage, his tunic ripped to shreds, his face ribboned with blood. He looked demonic in the red light as he kept pulling at the axe-head, working to get it free.

Tygo charged towards him, using the angle of the
plane to his advantage. He slammed into Krüger with his shoulder at waist height, and Krüger lost his grip on the axe. The two of them fell back, landing on the cargo bed, and started to tumble back down the length of the plane, trading blows and kicks as they did.

They careened past the rocket and warhead and plunged back into the rising water, disappearing beneath the surface. Krüger was the first to emerge, blowing water from his mouth; he staggered back up the fuselage, but Tygo surfaced seconds later. He clambered back out and the two of them faced each other on opposite sides of the fuselage. The door to the private compartment was hanging off its hinges.

Tygo looked at Krüger. Neither of them was armed, except with their fists and feet and teeth. But whatever happened, only one of them was going to live.

‘Why?' yelled Krüger. ‘Why?'

Flames were licking along the cabin roof above their heads, the paint blistering, and steam hissing. The smoke bit at Tygo's throat.

‘What was I supposed to do? Let you blow up a city, murder all those people?'

‘What you were supposed to do was survive, you fool, survive! That was the plan. How many million people are dead already? What's a few more to add to the pile?'

Krüger threw himself at Tygo, swinging his fists. His right caught Tygo's chin and he fell back against the side of the private compartment. Krüger grabbed him and pinned him there, his hand around Tygo's neck. Very slowly he eased him up the metal-skinned wall, till Tygo's
feet were kicking free of the floor.

From higher up the fuselage came a sharp clang of metal striking metal. Neither of them looked to see what was making the noise. Tygo couldn't, and Krüger was too focused on the task at hand.

‘You know,' he whispered, ‘this is the best way to kill a ferret, by wringing its neck.'

Tygo's face felt as if it was on fire, inside his brain was pounding, and his ears felt like they would burst. Big red dots swam in front of his eyes. He tried to swing his fists at Krüger, but the Oberst batted them away easily. There was another clang of metal on metal. Tygo was starting to lose consciousness; a black curtain was drawing across in front of his eyes.

‘Tygo!' Willa screamed his name. It brought him back for an instant, and he looked up the plane. So did Krüger.

Willa raised the axe above her head and slammed it down. It severed the last remaining canvas strap securing the rocket to the floor of the plane. It shot forward towards them.

Krüger let go of Tygo in alarm, and Tygo leant against the wall. He raised his right leg. The missile was hurtling down. Tygo kicked out and hit Krüger in the stomach.

Krüger staggered back, realized where the kick had put him and screamed in fear.

The rapier tube on the front of the rocket ran him through, straight through the middle of his torso. He grabbed helplessly at it, but the rocket kept going, driving him and itself beneath the water and into the bowels of the submerged plane. Krüger was gone. For good.

Tygo struggled back up the plane. The engines were well on fire by now. Willa was waiting for him by the wooden crate, still holding the fire axe.

‘You saved my life,' he croaked.

‘Not if we don't get out of here soon,' Willa said, and she took his arm and pulled him towards the ramp.

He grabbed the control button and pressed it. There was no response. He pressed it frantically. ‘We've lost the hydraulics,' he said.

Willa glanced around. ‘Look.' She pointed to a metal handle secured to a bracket on the side. It was a hand winch.

Tygo ripped it free and searched for the bolt head to fit it on to. There it was, on the other side. He slid the handle on and started to crank it. The ramp dropped down a little bit. It would take a while to get it completely open.

‘Just open it enough so we can crawl out,' Willa shouted, clearly thinking the same thing.

Tygo kept on turning, and the ramp dropped away until he stopped and the two of them clambered up it and fell over the side into the water below.

It was the second time that night he'd been dunked in freezing water, but Tygo still couldn't get used to it. His head broke the surface, but he couldn't draw breath – or rather, all he could do was draw breath – he couldn't exhale. Willa's head burst through the surface next to him. The beach was about twenty metres from them. Tygo took in a big gulp of seawater, coughing.

‘We can make it, Tygo . . . kick, kick hard,' Willa urged him on as he floundered.

The two of them struck out towards the beach. The tide was with them, a strong new moon tide pushing them in on the surf. The water crashed over Tygo's head, the undertow pulling at his legs. Tygo felt himself going under, swallowing water, then Willa grabbed his hair and yanked his face back above the surface.

‘Keep going, Tygo!'

He found the last of his strength and kicked hard. Ten metres out, they touched bottom and could stand. They waded in from there.

The flames from the burning plane lit up the sand. Both of them dropped to their knees. Tygo suddenly felt terribly nauseous. He retched, the sea water coming back up, a horrible sour briny taste. He retched again, felt something hard in his throat, gagged. The Red Queen shot out of his mouth and lay on the sand.