Chapter Eight.

The Douglas C-54 Skymaster of the 60th Troop Carrier Group began its gentle turn to starboard as it crossed Delaware Bay and the Delmarva Peninsula, then began to bank to port across the northern reaches of Chesapeake Bay. The "No Smoking" and "Seat Belt" signs flashed on as the pilot began to make the long, shallow descent into Andrews Field, Maryland. Out to starboard, Karyn saw the sprawl of Baltimore and a little farther south, the even larger sprawl of Washington. It had been a tiring journey... almost thirty-six hours, with one night's stop-over in England since she had boarded the aeroplane in Germany.

In the Diesdorf Command Post, Major Lounsbury had issued her with a genuine Sachsen-Anhalt District Polizei identity document stating that her name was Gisela Koenig; a schoolteacher displaced from Spandau. She had surrendered her S.O.E. identity document and identity discs which he said would be returned to London. She was given a set of well-worn civilian clothes, and when ready; was driven out to the displaced persons camp at the Luftwaffe air base to the south of Helmstedt in company with a dozen or so more refugees. He had also provided a worn burlap bag which contained several of the most lucrative items on the black market; American cigarettes, chocolate bars, chewing gum; soap; a couple of packets of real American coffee, sugar cubes, and a few cosmetics. He said that he thought she would only be there for a day, or so; but it was best to be prepared.

Helmstedt camp was a seething hotbed of dog eats dog. There were almost six-thousand people in barracks designed for less than a quarter of that number. Karyn's paperwork was processed and she was assigned a bed. The barracks comprised a number of bleak grey barracks built around a parade ground. At a distance the buildings still seemed to retain some of their former military neatness, but on closer inspection they presented a spectacle of confusion and human degradation. Helmstedt was a dismal, dangerous place. The strong preyed on the weak; and many of the displaced persons had no desire to ever return to their homes.

Each barracks block comprised a long hallway with a large, pot-bellied stove in the centre. On both sides of the hallway were tiny plywood cubicles, furnished with sleeping benches and rough, horsehair blankets. On the entrance to each of these cubicles was hung another old blanket used as a door, and providing at least a little privacy.

The camp was over-crowded, and living conditions were poor, although for the first time in many years there was enough food to eat; even though it usually comprised potato and cabbage soup, and a ration of powdered milk and dehydrated egg yolks.

There was constant, severe conflict between the Jewish and non-Jewish inhabitants. Some of the Jews were still wearing their striped concentration camp rags. For the moment, there was little else to clothe them in. The Jews didn't want to return to Poland, the Gypsies had no safe place to go; and the Russians were afraid to return for fear of being executed as traitors. It was like sitting on a powder keg. Tempers frayed, and fights broke out for the most trivial of reasons. The victors were usually hauled away by the MPs for a night in the old air base's cells, and the losers had their wounds stitched up by the camp doctor.

The majority of the german displaced persons might have a roof over their heads, but they appeared to have no sense of place or of belonging anywhere in particular. Most of them had nothing... no family, no identification, no change of clothing, and no money. Most were denied the official categorisation of "refugee" because they remained inside their own country.

Karyn's papers were processed, and she was assigned a bed. In the next cubicle was a big Polish ex-prisoner of war and his woman. She was a slender Saxony girl named Anneliese, who had been bombed out of Wittenberg and had joined the endless trek away from the advancing Russians. The big Pole had been turned into a "civilian worker" by his captors and detailed to bomb disposal work. Somehow, he had survived, and had met with his Anneliese on the road as they fled to the west. In exchange for some of her black market items, he agreed to act as Karyn's protector whilst she was in the camp.

No one chose to bother Karyn. Perhaps it was her big Polish protector; perhaps it was her authoritative bearing. Perhaps it was her appearance, which, even in the drab clothing that Lounsbury had provided so that she might blend in; completely failed to accomplish this task. There was something about the look of this beautiful blonde that made even the dominant male predators amongst the seething, apathetic throng think twice about accosting her.

In the event, she was only in the camp for five days. One morning, two large MPs arrived and escorted her out as though she was being taken for interrogation. It was so commonplace that no one even bothered to look up from what they were doing. She was marched to the guardroom and shown into a small, cupboard-like room without windows. Waiting inside, was Stephen Lounsbury. He handed her a large parcel.

'Good morning, Fräulein Doktor. You go today. Here are some new clothes. Freshen yourself up. I shall wait outside for you. You have twenty minutes before we need to move.'

She put the parcel down on the sole chair in the little room and looked around. There was another door. Opening it, she was surprised to see that it contained a shower. There was also a large, clean towel; soap, and hair shampoo. At last! She could get rid of the stink and grime of her journey, and her stay in the camp. As she stood under the shower relishing the sensation of the warm needles of water; she tried to imagine what a life where you didn't have to be always looking over your shoulder would actually be like.

She turned off the shower and dried herself. Stepping back into the little room; she opened the parcel. It contained a Women's Army Corps khaki summer uniform jacket with gold-coloured metal buttons imprinted with the United States coat of arms. Into each lapel was pinned a gold disc. The left lapel disc was stamped with a helmeted female's head; the one on the right was impressed with the letters: U.S. On each lapel below these, was another disc, comprising an open-tracery U.S. coat of arms badge enclosed within a circle. There was also a matching Khaki skirt; a khaki shirtwaist with epaulettes; a necktie; a garrison cap piped with black-gold edge braid; russet-brown oxford shoes with one-and-a-half-inch heels, and a russet-brown, mail-pouch style, leather handbag with a shoulder strap. Also included, were a set of khaki-coloured nylon underwear, comprising brassiere, panties, girdle and slip; and tan stockings. The uniform jacket was emblazoned with Eighth Air Force shoulder patches, but held no rank insignia.

Having dressed, and pinned up her hair; she put on the garrison cap, applied a little of her black-market lipstick, and emerged from the little room to an involuntary, barely audible "Wow!" from Stephen Lounsbury. She smiled. He reached into his uniform pocket.

'Now, for the final touch...'

He brought out a set of Silver First Lieutenant bars and attached them to her jacket shoulder tabs.

He smiled, and handed her a sealed envelope.

'When you arrive in England, give this to the Intelligence Officer of the Air Station they take you to. OK, Ma'am; let's go!'

Outside the guardroom, an olive-drab Plymouth staff car with a large white five-pointed star painted on its rear doors, waited with its engine burbling gently. Stephen Lounsbury opened the passenger door for Karyn, and when she was seated, walked around and climbed into the driving seat. Shifting into gear, he drove out of the camp, and turned west.

The journey through the countryside was about twenty miles to the old Luftwaffe base at Brunswick-Waggum airfield where the 363rd Tactical Reconnaissance Group flying Lockheed F5 Lightnings were presently based, and where Karyn was to board her flight out of Germany. The airfield bore the scars of war... gravel-filled bomb craters, concrete patches in the runway; and hastily repaired buildings. A big, silver four-engined aeroplane waited on the apron.

Stephen Lounsbury brought the Plymouth to a halt under the starboard wing, where a young USAAF corporal was waiting. He smiled.

'Good Luck Doctor. Have a safe flight, and I hope you enjoy your new home.'

She smiled.

'Thank you, Major. I'm sure I shall... and thank you for looking after me.'

He took her hand and shook it gently.

'No problem; it was a pleasure.'

He stepped back and gave her a smart salute; climbed into the Plymouth, and drove away.

The young corporal stepped up to her and saluted.

'Time to go, Ma'am.'

She nodded, followed him under the rear fuselage of the aeroplane and climbed the steps up through the forward open section of the double cargo doors. He sat in a seat on the starboard side of the fuselage and showed her how to fasten her lap strap. She glanced around the cabin. This particular aeroplane was a forty-four-seat, staff transport; but barely a quarter of the seats were occupied. There were a few higher ranking officers sitting at the front of the cabin, but in the main, the passengers appeared to be middle-rank administration staff.

The young corporal closed the door as the pilot started the first of the four engines... the inner starboard. The starter whined as the propeller turned sluggishly, and then picked up with a couple of backfires and a cloud of blue smoke. Next was the outer starboard. Again, came the sound of the thin whine and backfires, together with more smoke. The inner and outer port engine starts followed, and the big aeroplane trembled gently against its brakes as the captain increased the power to the engines in turn; checking his instrument readings.

Gazing out through her window, Karyn watched as the big wing flaps were raised and lowered to test them. The trembling disappeared as the aeroplane began to move out towards the long concrete runway. On the eastern end of the concrete ribbon, it stopped with a squeal of brakes and a slight jolt. The Runway was short... five-thousand, five-hundred feet; and narrow, at less than one hundred feet; but no great problem. The engine sound rose to a crescendo; there was a sudden jerk and the big aeroplane began to accelerate, faster and faster. She watched the grass bordering the concrete flattening and rushing past; then, she felt the nose lifting as the pilot eased back on his control column and the big transport aeroplane rose sedately into the afternoon sky; setting her nose to the northwest, and freedom.

Twenty minutes into the flight, the corporal came forward from the rear of the fuselage where his tiny galley was located. He stopped at Karyn's seat.

'Coffee, Ma'am? And maybe a bite to eat?'

She smiled.

'Yes please; that would be great.'

'Black? Or cream and sugar? Would ham sandwiches be OK? It's Virginia ham.'

'Cream and sugar please; and thank you, I would love a sandwich.'

'OK, Ma'am; won't be but a few minutes.'

He pulled down a small, fold-up table from the back of the seat in front of her and disappeared back into his tiny galley.

She gazed out of the window, down onto the German countryside drifting beneath her, obscured occasionally by the odd, wispy clouds. It all looked so peaceful from up here, but almost without exception; every town and city they passed over was a blurry outline in which black and grey were the predominant colours... smoke-blackened ruins and expanses of grey ash. They were flying too high to make out any real detail, but the overall impression was that this once-cultured land... this land that had produced such men as Goethe, Bach; Beethoven and Luther, had been almost bombed back into the pre-industrial era; and all because of one venomous megalomaniac who had promised his unwitting people everything, and delivered only death and destruction to half of Europe.

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Her thoughts were interrupted by the corporal returning with a pot of coffee, a china mug, and a large plate of sandwiches. He placed the mug and plate onto the little table and poured her coffee. He then placed a silver teaspoon and knife beside the plate. None of the ordinary steel military cutlery... only the best for Staff flights! He smiled, and moved on along the aisle to attend to his other passengers.

The sandwiches were white bread; spread with real butter... not the rancid, margarine substitute she had been used to in Germany. The ham was cut into quarter-inch thick slices with all the fat neatly trimmed away. She stared at the sandwiches, not quite able to believe what she was seeing. After all the deprivations of wartime Germany, this was almost as if she had suddenly materialised into a dream; and this was just a transit flight!

As she settled back in her seat to enjoy her sandwiches, suddenly; out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a movement outside to the rear of her window. As she turned to look; the blue-and-white checkerboard-painted nose of a sleek silver fighter slid into view; followed by another, and another. As she watched, the pilots throttled back their engines to match the speed of the big transport aeroplane. Three streamlined silver aeroplanes; each with the big white star in a blue circle above a broad band of black and white stripes running under their bellies, closed into formation out off the Skymaster's starboard wingtip.

The corporal came back down the aisle, glanced out of the window, and grinned. Checking his watch, he smiled at her.

'Our escort... and right on time. Our flight path takes us south of Hannover and close to the southern sector. There are still one or two Kraut airbases with enough gas left to put up the odd intercept. We lost a C-47 Skytrain in a hit-and-run attack last week, so the important transits now have fighter escort until the Krauts have finally used up all their gas. We've got a General up front, so they'll stick with us way out beyond Amsterdam before they high-tail it back home. Don't you worry now; they're P51D Mustangs. They can outfly anything the Krauts might have left to put up... even those goddamned long-nosed Focke-Wulfs.'

Karyn nodded.

'Where are we heading, corporal?'

'England; to one of our stations to pick up a couple more passengers bound for the Zone of Interior; then, it's Stateside all the way!'

'How long until we get there?'

He glanced at his watch.

'We'll be hitting the English coast in about two hours; then it'll be another half-hour to landing. We'll probably sleep over tonight and fly out early in the morning. Out across the ocean, our only contact will be the two weather ship radio beacons stationed between England and Newfoundland. The Weather ship they call "Jig" is six-hundred-miles from England; and the second one, Weather ship "Charlie" is nine-hundred-miles from Gander. They're the only contact we'll have with the surface all the way to the good ol' U.S. of A.

From takeoff to landing will probably be about seventeen hours, allowing for the prevailing west winds. Then, there's the time difference. Where we're going, it will be five hours behind Greenwich Mean Time. That means we'll be landing Stateside at about seven in the evening.'

The Skymaster flew on sedately across the Northern German plain with her little silver guardians keeping perfect station off her starboard wingtip almost as though they were tied together with an invisible length of rope. The deep hum of the four big engines was reassuring... almost an anthem to freedom and a safer world. She smiled at this clichéd thought... but it was how she felt.

The corporal returned with his coffee pot and asked if she wanted more. She nodded her assent. He re-filled her mug and removed the plate and cutlery. As he turned towards his little galley, he said that they would soon be crossing the Rhine. Provided there was no early-evening mist rising from the river, she might be able to see the Ruhr valley out to port. Once they had crossed the Rhine, they would be approaching the Dutch border, and would cross the coast a little to the south of Amsterdam, using the radio beacon the Army engineers had set up on the captured Schiphol airfield as a turning point for the flight across the North Sea.

The Ruhr valley was obscured by smog and mist; so she sat and gazed down at her last sight of what was left of her homeland. In a little while, the big Skymaster began banking gently to port. This must be the turning point. The three silver Mustangs kept station out over the coast and continued their escort for another ten minutes. As she watched; the pilot of the nearest fighter gently waggled his wings, and raised his hand in a farewell gesture. A thin haze of black smoke suddenly burst from each Mustang's exhaust stubs as the pilots increased engine power; and all three lifted, and soared away; turning, as they climbed sharply, and headed back towards the coast.

The North Sea looked grey and cold. As they flew on; Karyn wondered how many young aviators from both sides had been lost in those sombre, inhospitable waters. She sighed. Well, at least it was now almost over. She settled back into her seat as the Skymaster set her nose into the west; chasing the crimson and gold glow of the settling sun; droning steadfastly on towards the little green island that had stood alone; brave and stubborn, back in those dark days of 1940; resolutely defying the might of Hitler's all-conquering Third Reich. This little island that Shakespeare had called,

"This precious stone set in the silver sea";

that had shown the doubting neutral Nations that the German War Machine was not unstoppable.

The Battle of Britain had proved to be the pivoting point on which the eventual outcome of the Second World War had rested. The dogged resistance of a handful of young RAF pilots against seemingly overwhelming odds had prevented the Nazis from seizing any possibility of initiating a successful invasion of the British Isles, by denying them dominance of the skies over England and the English Channel, and thus, had laid the first foundations for the eventual utter destruction of the malignant evil that was Nazism, and Hitler's Third Reich.

The Skymaster crossed the English coast a little to the south of Lowestoft, and turned onto her final heading for base. Karyn gazed down onto the peaceful Suffolk landscape; a patchwork of hedgerow-enclosed fields and pastures sprinkled with little woods and copses, and little villages nestling in rural tranquility; bathed in a soft, golden glow as the sun settled in the west. Further inland, this peaceful rustic scene began to change as the first sprinkling of bomber Air Stations began to emerge; patterns of long concrete ribbons cut out of the calm Suffolk countryside.

As the Skymaster droned steadily onwards; the Air Stations became more prevalent and closely-grouped, until it seemed that this corner of England was little more than one vast, bomber park. She could easily make out the silver shapes that had been so familiar to her as she had watched them tracing their white fingers of impending death and destruction across the skies above her, back in Berlin. Now, they slept on the concrete necklaces of hardstandings and taxiways enclosing the ribbons of runways; their mighty engines silent, and their bellies empty.

She sat, studying this pastoral cradle of the destruction of her homeland for a while, until the network of Air Stations below became more scattered and infrequent, and the landscape slowly changed to wide, flat green expanses of fens and marshes, criss-crossed with dykes, drains, and other waterways from where a hazy evening mist was beginning to rise, blanketing the low-lying water meadows and sombre black drains.

The young corporal came back along the aisle collecting the crockery from is passengers. As he passed, he smiled.

'Only another half-hour to landing, Ma'am.'

As she raised her gaze from the darkening landscape; suddenly, and without any warning; a sinister black shadow swept past and turned away, out to starboard. The Skymaster rocked slightly from the slipstream that whatever it was, had created. Startled; she glanced at the corporal.

He grinned.

'Don't you go fretting now, Ma'am; that's just our Guardian Shadow. The Krauts might still figure on sneaking in a night intruder, even at this late stage. They used to prowl around the Air Station circuits, waiting to shoot down our guys as they let down to land.'

He nodded to the dark silhouette that was sweeping round in a wide circle against the gathering twilight. The only real clue to its presence was the faint, icy-blue flickering from the exhausts of its twin engines.

'She's out from Northern France to baby-sit us. She'll shadow us to within about five miles or so, of touchdown.'

As they watched; the big black night-fighter came alongside. The icy-blue flicker became paler; shot through with bright flecks of yellow and orange as the pilot throttled back his engines to match the Skymaster's speed.

The corporal grinned again.

'Big, ain't she? She's a 422d Night Fighter Squadron P-61 Black Widow, Night Interceptor Pursuit Ship with Radar. She packs quite a punch... four twenty-millimetre cannon in her belly, and four fifty-calibre machine guns in the top pod. We'll be safe and sound with her riding shotgun!'

Karyn sat, and watched the big black, menacing shadow out to starboard. It cruised along; slowly merging with the twilight, until all that could be seen were the pale blue flickers and the murky outline of the white star painted on the nearest of its twin tail booms. She was puzzled. Why the close escorts? The Luftwaffe was a spent force. Almost all of its aircraft were destroyed or grounded because of lack of fuel. Surely, they didn't take these sorts of precautions for just any old General?

As she gazed out of the window, pondering; she saw the faint blue flickers suddenly increase to an intense icy-blue as the pilot throttled up, and the shadowy Black Widow disengaged and soared away, to be lost in the darkness. The drone of the Skymaster's engines changed tone, and she felt a slight sensation of sinking, and of the aeroplane turning gently to the left. She peered out of the window; nothing but velvety darkness. The English Blackout regulations were still in force. Then, faintly, in the distance; two parallel lines of faint white lights appeared.

As they swam closer; getting larger and more distinct; the "No Smoking" and "Seat Belt" signs flashed on at the front wall of the cabin. She fastened her lap belt as the shrill hydraulic whine of the landing flaps and the undercarriage wheels being lowered resonated through the fuselage. There was a strange sinking feeling as the nose dipped; followed by a floating sensation, and the harsh squeal and bump of the wheels making contact with the runway. Then came the rumbling, reverberating ride down the runway with the wheel brakes squealing as the big Skymaster slowed down from its landing run. The runway lights were switched off as the big aeroplane turned off the runway towards the concrete apron and the cluster of buildings over to the right-hand side of the runway.

As the Skymaster came to a standstill, and the pilot began his engine shut-down procedures; the passengers at the front of the cabin began to move from their seats in preparation to leave the aeroplane. The first to move was a strikingly beautiful woman, a little older than Karyn; with bright, sparkling eyes, and an attractive smile; wearing the waist length, olive drab jacket and pinkish-beige skirt uniform of a WAC Lieutenant. Karyn recognised her immediately from Goebbels scurrilous propaganda newsreels... Kay Summersby; General Eisenhower's chauffeur and secretary; and according to the Reich Propaganda Ministry... his mistress. As she moved down the aisle, the officer who had sat beside her stood, and turned around. Karyn stared at him in complete surprise. There was no mistaking the tall figure with sandy, greying hair, blue eyes, and a fair, ruddy complexion. There was no need to see the circle of five stars on his jacket epaulettes.

Dwight D. Eisenhower; Supreme Allied Commander in Europe, walked down the cabin aisle followed by three unmemorable aides de something, towards where she was sitting, open-mouthed in disbelief. As he drew level, he paused, and grinned.

'Don't you go catching flies now, Lieutenant!'

She blushed furiously. His face creased in a good-natured smile, as he made an expansive flourish with his right arm.

'After you, Ma'am.'

She stood up, flustered; not knowing whether she should salute, call him General, or Sir. His aides huffed peevishly.

He half-turned and spoke over his shoulder.

'Come now, gentlemen. Surely you haven't been away so long that you've forgotten how to treat a Lady?'

At the bottom of the boarding steps; Kay Summersby was waiting. Karyn stood beside her as the Supreme Allied Commander descended, followed by his three sour-faced aides. As he passed, they both saluted, and Kay Summersby followed her boss to a waiting staff car. Eisenhower stopped, and walked back to Karyn.

'Let me give you a lift, Lieutenant.'

He turned to the three aides... all majors.

'You boys can ride in the MP jeep.'

He ushered Karyn to the car where Kay Summersby was waiting with the door open. Having settled them in the rear seat; she climbed behind the wheel, started the engine, and swept away towards the Air Station headquarters, leaving the three majors fuming and clambering into the jeep for a bumpy ride in the wake of their boss.

As they rode across the wide concrete apron Eisenhower turned to her.

'Where are you from, Lieutenant?'

What could she say? She hesitated.

'I'm from Berlin, General.'

He nodded.

'Ah, Vermont. A beautiful State. What's your name?

Again, she hesitated.

'Gisela... Gisela Koenig.'

He smiled.

'Yeah, a lot of German settlers came to Vermont. Any relation to the New Hampshire Koenigs?'

She shook her head.

'No; I don't think so, General.'

He shrugged.

'On your way home?'

She nodded.

Any further conversation was interrupted as the staff car came to a halt outside the Station headquarters. A large Military Police Captain opened the rear door and stepped smartly back; saluting stiffly. Eisenhower climbed out and returned the salute, thenturned back and offered Karyn his hand. As he helped her out of the car, he turned to the MP, who was still standing rigidly to attention.

'Captain; this is Lieutenant Koenig. This will be her last night in ETO before she flies on to the Zone of Interior. Make sure it's a good one, OK?'

The MP Captain stood even more rigidly to attention.

'Yes Sir; Sure will, Sir.'

Eisenhower nodded.

'Good man.'

He turned again to Karyn.

'Goodbye Lieutenant. Have a safe flight home.'

Before she could answer; he turned and strode into the Headquarters building, followed by his three aides scuttling along, a deferential distance behind him.

The MP Captain turned to Karyn, shoving his helmet back on his head.

'Gee! You've got some powerful friends Ma'am. Any baggage to collect?'

She shook her head.

'No Captain; I came out of Germany quickly. All I have is what I stand up in right now. I need to see the Intelligence Officer. Could you take me to his office?'

He glanced at his watch.

'It's 20.50. He'll most likely be in the Officer's Club by now. I'll settle you in his office and go haul him out. Follow me, Ma'am.'

He led her through the Headquarters building to a room on the second floor. Opening the door he invited her to take a seat whilst he went to fetch the Intelligence Officer.