Chapter Three.

Parked up in the furthest barn from the farmhouse; a dark green Bell UH-1 "Huey" helicopter with the word: "Bundesgrenzshutz"… denoting that it belonged to the West German Federal Border Guard; painted on its tail boom; sat in splendid isolation in the centre of the hangar floor, resting on ground handling wheels fitted to the skids. On both cockpit doors it bore a shield bearing the BGS Federal Eagle… the "Bundesadler"; and the German national registration code: "D-HCZU" painted in large black letters across its rear cabin doors. It also bore the black-red-gold West German tricolour, the "Bundesflagge" on the tail rotor vertical fin. Menke turned to Stacey.

'Well; can you fly this machine?'

She smiled.

'A Huey? Of course I can. I've more than ten thousand hours on this type in a conflict situation; but I am a little surprised to find one here.'

Menke nodded.

'She's a licence-built version; a Dornier UH-1D; built by them since 1967 for use by the Federal Government.'

Stacey walked over to the machine, and opening the cockpit door, studied the layout. She smiled.

'They might call her a "D"… but she's actually a standard UH-1H, with the more powerful engine. She's the same type that I flew.'

Menke smiled.

'I know! OK. Let's get the machine outside for you to do your pre-fight checks. Masluh says that she's fuelled up and ready to go.'

A paired set of hydraulic wheel dollies was attached to the rear of each skid. OK; first thing to do was raise the skids from contact with the concrete floor. She directed Menke to the port dollie and told him to follow her actions. Grasping the long, curved lever that ran over the top of the dollie chassis and connected to the hydraulic ram; she began pumping it up and down, watching that Menke kept time with her actions. Slowly, the skids began to rise from the concrete. Thirty strokes should be sufficient. Reaching that number; she paused, and noted that Menke had also stopped pumping. Walking to the nose of the Helicopter, she checked that each skid was the same distance from the concrete. Satisfied, she checked that the main and tail rotor tie-downs were secure and called for Menke to join her at the tail of the helicopter. If the centre of gravity was correct; pulling down on the tail skid at the remote end of the tail boom should pivot the bird, thus raising the fronts of the skids from contact with the concrete floor of the hangar.

Stacey and Menke pulled down on the tail skid, and the helicopter obligingly raised her nose. Masluh and the girl each grasped the curved front of their respective skids and, with Stacey and Menke adjusting the amount of down-force they applied to the tail skid; achieved a balance on the dollie wheels. Now; with judicious amounts of push and pull; they manoeuvred the helicopter out of the hangar onto the wide open space in front of the building. Returning to the wheel dollies, she showed Menke how to release the hydraulic pressure in order that the helicopter would settle on her skids. As he pushed the pressure control knob down she did the same, and the helicopter slowly sank down onto her skids equally at either side.

Masluh stepped up and operated the quick-release pin on the rear of the dollie chassis; then disengaged the fixed front pin, and lifted the assembly away from the skid. He then walked around to the other side and repeated the removal process. Meanwhile, Stacey had walked to the rear and was releasing the aft main and tail rotor tie-downs. Moving forward, she released the front main rotor tie-down and opened the pilot-side cockpit door. She climbed into the right-hand seat, put on the white, Luftwaffe-style flight helmet fitted with a similar boom mike to the one she had used in Laos, which was lying on the seat; and adjusted her seat and pedals. She then fastened, and tightened the seat belt and shoulder harness; OK.

She started the pre-flight check-list. First check was that the cyclic, collective, and throttle friction was off; OK. She then checked the cyclic, collective pitch and pedals for full travel, centred the cyclic and pedals, and placed the collective pitch fully down. She confirmed that the landing light and searchlight switches were in the OFF position, and that the A.C. circuit breakers were in. Next, she checked that all radio equipment was off, and confirmed that the governor was switched to AUTO; and that the de-ice/hot-air valve was off. All OK. Time to wind this baby up.

She reached up, and set the overhead switches and circuit breakers; checked the primary system instruments and set the centre pedestal switches. Having completed the flight controls check, she set the altimeters and radio frequencies, and flicked on the BAT switch and fuel switches. A quick glance to double-check that the rotor blades were clear and untied; and she waved everyone away. Sliding back the door window she called out.

'Clear! Coming Hot!'

Masluh responded with a vertical circular motion of his left hand and stepped back. When they were clear of the rotor blade disc, she switched on the Ignition key lock switch, set the throttle, and pressed the engine start switch. As the whistling whine of the turbine spooling up filled the cockpit, and the rotors began to lethargically rotate above her; she flicked the inverter switch to MAIN ON, watched the engine and transmission oil pressure gauges wind their pointers up towards the green segments of their respective dials; disconnected the GPU and switched on the avionics.

The rotor blades were speeding up, casting strobe-like, flickering shadows across the cockpit interior, as the first faint resonance of the familiar, flat, "Whup-whup-whup-whup… Whup-whup-whup-whup" began to build as the turbine wound up to an indicated six thousand revs per minute, and the tips of the advancing rotor blades started to break the speed of sound, creating a small sonic boom. The Huey began to gently shimmy and dance on her skids as Stacey increased throttle to full open; holding the collective pitch fully down. She selected desired lift-off rpm with the INCRease-DECRease switch, shifted the cyclic control into the neutral position, increased collective pitch control slowly and smoothly, and the Huey lifted off.

As she attained a hovering altitude of about three feet she applied tail rotor pedal to maintain her heading and gently increased collective input. Hovering briefly, Stacey checked that the engine and flight controls were operating properly and applied forward cyclic pressure in order that the UH-1's rotor system would tilt forward, sending the aircraft forward; but, it would lose lifting power in the process. She kept her feet firmly on the anti torque pedals and twisted on more engine power to compensate for the loss in lift. As the Huey accelerated smoothly forward into effective transitional lift into clear air, she began the ascent. She gently lowered the nose to increase airspeed. As she lowered the cyclic to achieve this, there was a momentary sensation of settling. This was caused by the helicopter moving from the ground cushion and the tilting of the tip-path plane of rotation of the main rotor blades to obtain forward airspeed. It was perfectly normal, but always gave Stacey momentary butterflies in the stomach although she had experienced it a thousand times before.

As the Huey climbed out to forty feet... the maximum that Masluh had said that she should achieve in the limited area of the meadow behind the farmhouse; she maintained take-off power until a safe auto rotative airspeed was attained, and then, as soon as she had tested that the helicopter was flight capable, she eased back on the throttle and turned in back towards the hangar.

Lining up on her selected put-down spot, she began to slowly lower the collective as she eased back on the cyclic... whilst keeping the bird straight with the pedals. The Huey responded obediently. Nose up and tail down, she came clattering in to hover over the flat area, and, as Stacey pushed the collective fully down and eased off on the throttle twist-grip, touched down in a cloud of dust, with the merest jolt. Twisting the throttle closed, she began switching everything off as the blades wound down, and the whine of the turbine diminished. As the swish of the rotor blades faded and the rotor tips began to droop; Menke came to the cockpit window. He grinned.

'Just like being back in what your people insist on calling "The Other Theatre"! Well; what d'you think of her?'

Stacey raised an eyebrow.

'What do you mean…"The Other Theatre?"

He grinned.

'You know exactly what I mean. Air America… flying in Laos.'

She snorted.

'Never heard of them; and anyway, if we were there… which we're not; I wouldn't be with them… because they wouldn't have any female pilots.'

Richard Menke laughed.

'Yeah, right! That rings as true as finding a Rabbi with a pork chop in his pocket! I suppose you'll try to tell me next that you were flying as an accredited USAID advisor. That seems to be your Agency's standard cover story.'

She gave him a withering look.

'How the hell do you have all this information?'

He smiled again.

'We have detailed files on you. Agent Mckenna. Your people are not the only smart spooks on the block!'

Stacey removed the flight helmet and jumped down from the cockpit.

'Any other pearls of wisdom you'd care to share, Officer Menke?'

He shrugged.

'A few… like you are fluent in six languages, including Russian, German, and French. But then, your mother was Deputy Head of the translation section at CIA Station Atsugi, in Japan; and you doubtless had access to an endless supply of linguists to teach you. You first flew when you were ten, and went through Advanced Individual Training at the Agency's Special Operations Division Air Branch flight training centre at Hsinchu, in Taiwan.'

She was really beginning to get annoyed with his grin; but then, he said,

'That's why you were chosen for this mission. They all said that you had what your people call "The Right Stuff"… but, let's call it a day. We leave at first light in the morning.'

Stacey nodded.

'Where are we heading?'

He became serious.

'Cross-country at low level; to cross the German border north of Aachen. Then, we play border patrol all the way down to Salzburg where we cross into Austria; skirting the Steiermark mountains, up to a secure landing area at a little place called Brand Laaben, about twenty kilometres west of Vienna.'

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The girl, Danya, came to wake Stacey at five o'clock the following morning. After a quick breakfast of coffee and croissants; Masluh handed her the flight plan and coordinates for the landing area. As she studied them, he said that he would go and fetch her weapon. He left the room and returned a few minutes later with the Walther pistol and magazines, and a medium-sized holdall which he gave to Menke.

With breakfast finished; Stacey and Menke proceeded down the unsurfaced farm track to the helicopter, where she briefly inspected the airframe. As she was completing her systems checks, Masluh and the girl joined them. Studying Stacey over the top of his spectacles, he handed her a clipboard to which was attached a list of air traffic control frequencies, compass headings, and alternative call signs that she could use as she flew through different airspaces. The list also contained coordinates for commercial flight corridors, together with altitude information for each of them.

The girl, Danya approached Stacey and pressed something into her hand. Glancing down; Stacey saw that it was a silver, barbed, lightning-bolt pendant. Stacey gave her a puzzled look. The girl smiled.

'A little window dressing for you. Only a Nazi bitch would wear such a piece of jewellery. It's called a "Wolfsangel"... the "Wolfs Hook." The 2nd SS Division Das Reich used it as their Divisional shield symbol… and it will go a long way to convincing them that you are your supposed father's daughter.'

Stacey nodded and thanked her. Slipping the pendant into her flight jacket pocket; she completed her inspection; and, finding the UH-1D satisfactory, she gave Menke a thumbs-up. He climbed into the cockpit and buckled into the left seat. Stacey climbed into the right seat, and. after a quick pre-flight check, waved Masluh and the girl away. She reached up and set the overhead switches and circuit breakers and cranked on the engine power. The Lycoming turbine whined into life, and, as the rotors began to rotate and speed up; the strobing, flickering shadows danced across the cockpit interior, with the first faint resonance of the familiar flat, "whup-whup-whup-whup… whup-whup-whup-whup" beginning to build as the turbine whine rose and the cabin was washed out with the rotor downdraught. As Menke adjusted his flight helmet and watched the instrument pointers rising into the green segments of their respective dials, he remembered a quote that one of his Israeli Air Force buddies had made, years ago about helicopters..."Rotary wing aircraft don't fly; they beat the air into submission". Masluh ducked under the rotors and came to the cockpit door window. Stacey slid the perspex panel back and he yelled:

'Shalom aleikhem, my friends; B'hatzlacha... Good Luck!'

And ducked back out to a safe distance as the Huey began to shimmy on her skids; Menke yelled back:

"Aleichem Shalom;"

As Stacey increased throttle to full open; holding the collective pitch fully down; shifted the cyclic control into the neutral position, increased collective pitch control slowly and smoothly, and the Huey lifted off, until at about three feet altitude she applied left tail rotor pedal; increased collective input, and applied forward cyclic pressure. Nose down and tail up; the Huey clattered out over the meadow, climbing out over the tree line into the softly pearlescent skies tinging with fiery red and orange towards the rising sun that was just creeping up over the horizon to the East.

Stacey was maintaining an altitude of just two hundred feet as she headed out across the Belgian countryside, taking care to keep well to the north of the Beauvechain air base circuit. She switched to their GCA frequency of One-twenty-three, point-three MHz, and speaking in fluent German, notified their tower of her intention to enter their Control area and cross their runway threshold to the north. Affirmation received; she twisted open the throttle and increased speed. She flicked the com button back and spoke into her boom mike.

'Richard; give me a heading from the flight plan. It should be tabbed Aachen.'

He traced down the clipboard sheet, and replied;

'Heading… seventy-one-point-three-seven degrees East-north-east. The chart says it's approximately fifty-three air miles, or sixty-one land miles.'

Stacey nodded.

'Say ninety-eight kilometres. That's about thirty minutes at cruise speed.'

She consulted the pilotage map.

'We're gonna have to get cute at the German border. There are two small private airfields in the vicinity, but we can transit between them. My main concern is the old Royal Air Force base at Geilenkirchen. They no longer fly from there, but it's now a German Luftwaffe Surface-to-Surface Missile Wing equipped with Pershing missiles backed up by our army guys. We should pass far enough north; but, I'll go low and hot beneath their radar. All I need you to do is keep your nerve and watch out for power lines, OK?'

Richard Menke grinned.

'So much for the "'Never heard of Air America"… and my nerves are fine... they have to be, playing Patty Cake with some of our Islamic neighbours.'

She gave a wry smile.

'OK; point taken. Provided there aren't any unforeseen screw-ups, we should make the destination field in five and three-quarter hours…'

She glanced at the clock mounted in the lower right corner of the instrument panel.

'Say about eleven o'clock… just in time for "Jause"… that's the Austrian mid-morning snack with coffee.'

As they crossed the border into Germany, Stacey eased the cyclic forward; twisting on more throttle to maintain airspeed, and, applying a little right pedal, brought the Huey lower as she eased into a sweeping turn to the right; bringing the Huey onto their new course of one-forty-one point-three, as she headed south-east towards their next reference point north of Rheinstetten… just slightly to the north-west of Stuttgart. The altimeter pointer wound down to an indicated one hundred and fifty feet as the airspeed indicator pointer crept up towards the red line at one hundred and twenty knots.

Richard Menke glanced at her. She was calm and composed… not a hint of stress, as, with one hand on the cyclic and the other on the collective, she made tiny adjustment imputs to the controls to keep the Huey blasting across the German countryside. So this was "Low and Hot!"… This girl certainly knew how to fly! He looked forward again; keeping a sharp look-out for power cables… but at this height, she could probably fly under them! As it was; the flight plan had been carefully worked out. They encountered no power lines on their track south; and the route had been planned to keep them away from any large, inhabited areas. The only place with a medium-sized, regional airport that they had to overfly was Mannheim. Ten kilometres out; Stacey tuned in to Mannheim tower on One-one-eight, point-four MHz. Adjusting her boom mike she called them up, using flawless German with a Westphalian accent:

'Mannheim Tower. Bundesgrenzshutz Dora-Heinreich-Zeppelin-Ulrich. Request transit through Control area on heading of One-four-one, point-three; south, south-west of runway Zero-niner threshold at four-five-point-seven-two metres. Over.'

Her headset crackled.

'Bundesgrenzshutz Dora-Heinreich-Zeppelin-Ulrich. Confirm cleared for transit south, south-west of Zero-niner threshold at four-five-point-seven-two metres. Maintain heading of One-four-one, point-three. Be aware of fast commuter on extended final approach east of you to threshold of runway Two-seven, at ten kilometres. Over.'

She spoke into the boom mike again.

'Mannheim Tower. 'Bundesgrenzshutz Dora-Heinreich-Zeppelin-Ulrich; Roger. Out.'

So far... so good. The next course change was coming up fast. It would be the flooded gravel pits to the south of Rheinstetten. Menke pointed out of the cockpit… there! One pit just behind the village of Durmersheim; and a glimpse of the twin pits on the edge of a forested area to the south-east that were the designated turning point. He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a buff envelope. Opening it; he removed a single sheet of paper; attached it to the clipboard, and studied it. He spoke into his boom mike.

'Change of flight plan. New heading of Two-eight-niner, point seven-five degrees at the edge of northern lake.'

Stacey nodded, and, lifting slightly to overfly the trees, she gently applied a little left pedal, watching the radio compass indicator swing onto the new course. She quickly scanned the instruments. Pressures and Temperatures… all normal. Fuel pressure and quantities… OK. Turbine outlet temperature… well within limits. She glanced across at him.

'Why the changes to the flight plan?'

Staring ahead through the windshield, he replied.

'Too risky to penetrate Austrian airspace too deeply in a German-marked chopper. We're heading for a place just inside the German-Austrian border, where this chopper will get a new identity, whilst we rest up for the night and get re-briefed.'

She nodded.

'OK; sounds sensible. Anything I should know about the new track?'

He consulted the clipboard again.

'We'll be tracking south of Stuttgart, but within the control area of the airport; and then, further down; skirting both Augsburg and Munich… but there's nothing major in either of those places. Otherwise it’s a straight run down to the new destination which is roughly three kilometres to the south-east of the town of Kirchanschöring. We will be no more than five kilometres from the Austrian border, so no one will take much notice of a German Border patrol helicopter in the area when we arrive When we leave tomorrow morning; no one will be too concerned about an Austrian Air Force helicopter that has probably "strayed accidentally" across the Border.'

She glanced at him.

'Austrian Air Force?'

He nodded,

'Yes. They'll paint out the "Bundesgrenzshutz" on her sides and give her Austrian markings whilst we're resting overnight.'

It took almost an hour to cross the Bavarian countryside to the point where they approached the Munich Control area. Stacey tuned the com set to the tower frequency of One-one-eight, point-eight MHz and requested clearance to transit. Receiving an affirmative response, she twisted on a little more throttle to clear their airspace for the final leg of their flight. They had just crossed the serpentine meanderings of the River Inn, at a point north of Babensheim, when suddenly, and without the slightest warning; there was one hell of a bang; all the instrument pointers shivered, and the transmission oil temperature indicator pointer began to creep inexorably up towards the red warning segment of the instrument dial; at the same time that the gas producer tachometer pointer began to flicker ominously. Menke yelled,

'What the hell was that?'

Stacey was scanning the instruments. The fire warning light hadn't flashed on; all the remaining pressure and temperatures looked to be normal; and the bird was still flying straight and level.

She shook her head.

'I haven't got a goddamned clue. We're still in the air; but for how long is anyone's guess. How far to this landing site?'

Menke scrutinised the map.

'I guess about forty kilometres. Will we make it?'

Stacey glanced at him.

'No way of telling. She's not making any weird noises or handling strangely… just getting damned hot. I guess we just suck it up and see.'

Twenty minutes later; the landing site appeared… two large meadows enclosed by thick woodland, and occupied by a typical Bavarian-style house with a large barn a little way from it. Stacey brought the Huey straight in, nose up and tail down in order to enhance the flare-out and quickly wash off the forward airspeed. The transmission oil temperature indicator was off the dial and the gas producer tachometer was so far off the clock that the pointer was obscuring the small secondary dial just to the left of top of the instrument. There was something severely amiss in the whizzy bits of this bird and Stacey wanted her down as soon as possible.

As the skids thumped down; she hurriedly began the shut-down procedure; and, as the turbine howl diminished and the rotor blades slowed; she was certain that she had caught a nasty metallic crunching sound as she removed her flight helmet. It sounded as if it came from somewhere deep inside the transmission housing. Two figures emerged from the house and began walking across the meadow towards the chopper as Menke and Stacey stepped down from the cockpit… a man and a woman; with a large, menacing dog that ran on ahead and paused, three metres in front of Menke and Stacey; eyeing them suspiciously. Judging by its size, it looked to be about four-years-old… a Blue-grey, Saarloos Wolfhound… a killer.

Menke slowly reached out an arm and indicated that Stacey should stand quite still. The dog stood with its head low and its muscular hindquarters braced for a leap; with its jaws slightly, but soundlessly parted. Its pale eyes were locked onto Stacey's throat. The SS guards had used these dogs at Flossenburg and Dachau. They could easily kill a German shepherd of similar age and weight; and could equally easily overpower and kill a fully-grown man. The approaching man whistled, and called out;

'Easy, Siggi. Easy.'

The dog gave a low growl and lay down; but his eyes never left Stacey. The man came up to Menke and extended his hand.

'Shalom, Richard.'

He was aged about thirty-five; sturdy, in the way of Bavarian farmers; dark eyed, with an intelligent face and a broken nose. The woman was about the same age; with long, straight, ash-blonde hair, falling to her shoulders, and dark grey eyes. She was a little taller than Stacey; with the svelte, athletic build of a dancer. She gave the impression of a beautiful, dangerous customer who was fully at home in wild country, forests, and mountains; and was not intimidated by them. Menke shook the man's hand.

'Shalom, Daniel; Shalom, Hannah. This is Steini. What news?'

The man held out his hand to Stacey.

'Shalom, Steini. I am Daniel Schneider...'

He motioned towards the girl.

'And this is my partner, Hannah Reichner. We are with the same agency as Richard.'

He turned, and glanced at the helicopter; the rotors of which, were just swishing to a standstill.

'Nice landing. Leave her here, and we'll have a coffee whilst I bring you and Richard up to speed with the developments.'

Stacey shrugged as she tossed her flying helmet into the pilot seat and closed the cockpit door.

'I think we'll have to leave her here… Period. She's developed a problem somewhere inside the transmission. I can't see her flying again without a major inspection.'

Daniel Schneider paused; glanced at Menke, and then said.

'Are you certain?'

Stacey replied,

'Yes; the transmission oil pressure and gas producer tacho gauges were off the clock. I was worried that she'd seize up before we had a chance to land.'

Daniel Schneider nodded.

'OK; I'll get the tractor and trailer out and we'll drag her over into the barn. Then, I'll make a couple of calls and see what we can arrange.'