Last Flight to Stalingrad Graham Hurley (sight word books .TXT) 📖

from Nehmann. He was here to watch Fliegerkorps’ chief in action. It was Goebbels’ wish that the nation gain some understanding of what it takes to smash the Russians.

‘Is that your phrase?’ Messner enquired.

‘Goebbels’. Normally he’s much more subtle but I think the Eastern Front brings out the worst in him.’

‘And you’re here to correct that?’

‘I’m here to watch.’

They were crossing the airfield at high speed, the Jeep shuddering from rut to rut. Nehmann clung to the hand-grab beside him, watching a big Heinkel wallowing in beneath the grey duvet of cloud. Messner drove like a maniac. No wonder his face was such a mess.

Finally, they lurched to a halt beside a tent. Messner unfolded his long frame and got out.

‘Pretend it’s a hotel room.’ He led the way into the tent. ‘Use that imagination of yours.’

Inside the tent there was space for three camp beds, each with a neatly folded blanket. Messner drew Nehmann’s attention to an oil lamp, the glass sooty, the wick blackened. It stood on a chair beside one of the beds.

‘Only use it when you absolutely have to,’ he said. ‘Fuel out here is precious. There’s a bigger tent I’ll show you that serves food three times a day. The food’s shit but the water is safe to drink as long as you remember the tablets.’

‘Tablets?’

‘In the bag there, beside the lamp.’

Nehmann nodded. ‘I’m alone here?’

‘For the time being, yes.’

‘And your Generaloberst? When will I get to see him?’

Messner frowned. This was the coldest of welcomes but after their first meeting Nehmann had expected little else. Every army he’d ever known had a suspicion of outsiders.

‘The Generaloberst may have time for you this evening,’ Messner said. ‘It depends on events. Meanwhile, he’d like you to take a look at his work.’ He nodded at the bag. ‘You have something warm in there?’

Nehmann found a heavy sweater he’d packed in case it got cold at night. Messner had left the tent. When he returned, he handed Nehmann a camera.

‘Have you ever used one of these? It’s a Leica III.’

Nehmann took the camera. It was small, neat, but surprisingly heavy. His fingers found the knob that advanced the film, the ISO adjustment, the focus ring on the lens.

‘I used one of these in France,’ he said. ‘Is it yours?’

‘It belongs to the Generaloberst. He asks that you take the greatest care of it. It’s fully loaded, thirty-six exposures. He told me he’s pre-set the film speed. You’ll need this, too.’

He gave Nehmann a light meter. Nehmann checked the film speed on the camera: 200.

‘So, what am I supposed to do with it?’

‘We have a little expedition in mind.’ Messner’s face rearranged itself into what Nehmann guessed might be a smile. ‘Yesterday we took care of Stalingrad. There are more raids in progress but yesterday was the big one. We’ve assigned you to a Heinkel. There are no spare seats so you’ll be flying as the ventral gunner. The pilot’s name is Rubell. The plane’s fully operational so you’ll get a taste of the real thing.’

‘We’re dropping bombs?’

‘Of course.’ He nodded at the camera. ‘The Generaloberst would appreciate some shots of Stalingrad. Might we assume you’ll oblige?’

*

The aircraft assigned to carry Nehmann into battle was part of a much bigger force of bombers. Some of them were already on the move on the bareness of the airfield, taxiing slowly towards the end of the grass runway. Messner pulled the Jeep to a halt beside a lone Heinkel and led Nehmann to the foot of a metal ladder. The pilot was waiting with a spare parachute. The rest of the crew had already embarked and Nehmann was wondering whether his presence was altogether welcome. He’d never fired a machine gun in his life and knew that the training took weeks to complete.

‘The name’s Rubell.’ The pilot extended a meaty hand. ‘You’re the one who organised that photo, ja?’

‘What photo?’

‘Mount Elbrus. The guys with the battle flag. We all got copies yesterday.’ He nodded at Nehmann’s borrowed camera. ‘You’re very welcome, Kamerad.’

Nehmann nodded, shrugged, and then milked the applause. In truth he’d forgotten about the showy conquest of Elbrus, but he was very happy to share the glory. If a photo could take him to Stalingrad and back, so be it.

‘You were on the raid yesterday?’ he asked.

‘Of course. Two sorties. By nightfall, between us all, we’d dropped a thousand tons of bombs.’

‘Any opposition?’

‘Nothing to speak of. We lost three planes.’ He patted Nehmann on the shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, Kamerad. Forget about the Ivans. We’ll give you a little tour once while we do the business. I’ll talk you through it on the headphones.’ A squeeze of the shoulder this time. ‘Just take the shots, ja?’

He helped Nehmann into the parachute harness and watched him tighten the straps.

‘Not too big for you?’

‘No.’

‘You’ve done this before?’

‘Ja.’

‘You know how many seconds to count? When to pull?’ He grinned. ‘What to pull?’

Nehmann’s hand tracked to the canvas stitching of the handle that released the chute. Rubell, impressed, gave his arm a final pat.

‘Wir gehen, ja?’

Nehmann followed him into the belly of the plane. He’d been in a Heinkel before and he knew how claustrophobic this space could be. The ventral gunner’s position lay beside the open door and he flattened himself against the skin of the fuselage as Rubell squeezed past before pausing to make him comfortable in the gunner’s seat. The gun itself, to Nehmann’s relief, had been removed.

‘You’re seeing out OK? Good view?’

Nehmann nodded. He felt like a tourist. Rubell made sure Nehmann’s headset was working and went forward to the cockpit. The aircraft began to shiver as he fired up the first of the two engines. Then came another cough, the second engine, and the whole plane shuddered as it began to inch forward.

‘You’re hearing me, Kamerad?’

Nehmann grunted a yes.

‘Gut.If it gets too noisy, tell me to shout.’

Nehmann smiled. This was like the movies, he decided. The view through the air gunner’s blister was perfect, the greys and greens of