The crewman came out of the cockpit and joined them. “My name is Braun, Herr Field Marshal. Sergeant observer. If there is anything I can get you. We have a thermos flask of coffee and…”
“Nothing, thank you.” Baum took out his cigarette case and offered Martineau one.
“And Oberleutnant Sorsa would take it as an honor if you would care to come up front.”
“You don’t have a full crew? Just the two of you?” Martineau inquired.
“All that’s necessary on these mail runs, Standarten-fuhrer.”
“Tell Oberleutnant Sorsa 111 be happy to take him up on his offer a little later. I’ll just finish my cigarette,” Baum said.
“Certainly, Herr Field Marshal.”
Braun opened the door and went back into the cockpit. Baum turned to Martineau and smiled. “Five minutes?”
“That should be about right.” Martineau moved across to sit beside Sarah. He gave her his lighted cigarette. “Are you all right?”
“Absolutely.”
“You’re sure?”
“You mean am I going through hell because I just killed a man?” Her face was very calm. “Not at all. My one regret is that it was Muller instead of Greiser. He was from under a stone. Muller was just a policeman on the wrong side.”
“From our point of view.”
“No, Harry,” she said. “Most wars are a stupidity. This one isn’t. We’re right and the Nazis are wrong. They’re wrong for Germany and they’re wrong for everyone else. It’s as simple as that.”
“Good for you,” Kelso said. “A lady who stands up to be counted. I like that.”
“I know,” Martineau said. “It’s wonderful to be young.” He tapped Baum on the knee. “Ready?”
“I think so.”
Martineau took his Walther from its holster and gave it to Sarah. “Action stations. You’ll need that to take care of the observer. Here we go.”
He opened the cabin door and he and Baum squeezed into the cockpit behind the pilot and the observer. Ober-leutnant Sorsa turned. “Everything to your satisfaction, Field Marshal?”
“I think you could say that,” Baum told him.
“If there is anything we can do for you?”
“There is actually. You can haul this thing round and fly forty miles due west until we are completely clear of all Channel Islands traffic.”
“But I don’t understand.”
Baum took the Mauser from his holster and touched it against the baek of Sorsa’s neek. “Perhaps this will help you.”
“Later on when I call you, you’ll turn north,” Martineau said, “and make for England.”
“England?” young Braun said in horror.
“Yes,” Martineau told him. “As they say, for you, the war Is over. Frankly, the way it’s shaping up, you’re well out of it.”
“This is crazy,” Sorsa said.
“If it helps you to believe that the field marshal is proceeding to England as a special envoy of the Fuhrer, why not?” Martineau said. “Now change course like a good boy.”
Sorsa did as he was told and the Junkers plowed on through the darkness. Martineau leaned over Braun. “Right, now for the radio. Show me the frequency selection procedure.” Braun did as he was told. “Good. Now go and sit down in the cabin and don’t do anything stupid. The lady has a gun.”
The boy squeezed past him, and Martineau got into the copilot’s seat and started to transmit on the frequency reserved by SOE for emergency procedure.
In the control room in the tower at Jersey Airport, Hofer and Necker waited anxiously while Adler spoke on the radio. A Luftwaffe corporal came up and spoke to him briefly.
Adler turned to the two officers. “We’ve still got them on radar, but they appear to be moving due west out to sea.”
“My God!” Necker said.
Adler talked into the microphone for a moment, then turned to Hofer. “All night fighters in the Brittany area were scrambled an hour ago for operations over the Reich. Heavy bombing raids expected over the Ruhr.”
“There must be something, for God’s sake,” Hofer said.
Adler waved him to silenee, listening, then put down the mike and turned, smiling. “There is. One JU88S night fighter. Its port engine needed a check and it wasn’t finished in time to leave with the rest of the squadron.”