Then he dropped down below the clouds and was dazzled by dawn light.

More than that... the whole world.

Or so it seemed to him. He thought he could see its curved edge. It was actually the horizon, far away, beyond land's end, a strip of gray stippled by rays of sunlight and spitting fountains of water. It was the Baltic Sea. The fountains of water were explosions. The sky above the sea was filled with black dots Allied bombers and the land, now below him, all around him, racing upward, was divided by streams and roads and endless, shifting black lines that, he realized with a shock when he saw the tracers and billowing smoke, were columns of refugees and soldiers pa.s.sing each other, going in opposite directions, while the war raged about them.

The ground rushed up at Bradley as he fell down through the streaming smoke and noise of the continuing battle.

He braced himself for the landing.

Wilson saw the parachutists through his binoculars and knew they were at least an hour's march away. He turned away from them, scanning east and west, and saw the smoke of battle in both directions as the Soviets and Allies advanced. Then he looked at the Baltic Sea beyond land's end, a few miles away, and saw that the sky was filled with Allied bombers now pounding the port of Kiel.

'We have to leave right now,' he said to General Nebe. 'I know that,' Nebe replied. 'We've already loaded the trucks. I'm taking just enough men to help us unload at the harbour and the rest are being left here to hold off the enemy.'

'Do they know what you're asking of them?'

'These are SS troops. SS troops are trained to obey and take pride in doing so.'

'Lucky us,' Wilson said, then glanced at Ernst Stoll. The SS captain had made it back from Prague in the nick of time, bringing with him the news about Schriever and the latest troop movements. Now, because over the past few days he had actually seen what was happening, he was obviously keen to get on the move.

'Let's go,' he said.

Wilson nodded. Stoll led them out of the bunker, away from the officers' quarters and past the troop accommodations, along bleak concrete corridors with reinforced, low ceilings and machine-gun crews at each open window, then around the weapons room and ammunition dumps and storage huts, up the sloping ramps, and outside. There the trucks were parked in the covered, camouflaged garage, with the troops that were actually guarding them clambering up inside.

One of the trucks was special, because it carried the crate containing the remaining components of Wilson's saucer. Wilson insisted upon riding in that, instead of in Nebe's staff car. Shrugging, Ernst Stoll climbed in beside him, saying 'Why not indeed?' They sat side by side, the large wooden crate looming over them, then the trucks coughed into life and moved out in column.

'I've thought about it,' Wilson said.

'About what?' Ernst replied.

'This Schriever business. The fact that he's still alive. I don't think it matters that much and it may even help us. If, after the war, Schriever starts talking about his flying saucer, it will lead everyone in his direction. They'll check out his drawings and conclude, correctly, that the saucer he constructed was unworkable. After that, if anyone reports seeing our flying saucers, almost certainly they'll be treated as cranks. Once that happens, we can create a smokescreen of confusion and fly our own saucers with impunity. What do you think?'

'I think you're right,' Ernst said.

Wilson smiled and patted him on the shoulder. The German had lost everything in the world and now only had him.

'Good,' Wilson said.

The trucks travelled down to Kiel. A fine mist veiled the dawn. Aircraft growled overhead, sh.e.l.ls exploded on land and sea, and the big guns were thundering in the east, west, and south. Wilson pressed his hand against the rocking crate and then they came to the docks.

The truck squealed to a halt. The crate shook and then was steady. General Nebe's eyes emerged from the drifting mist and he motioned them out. Wilson clambered down first and was surprised at how dark it was. The black water reflected the lamps beaming down on the submarines. He glanced toward the warehouses. Nebe was murmuring to his troops. The men formed up in a neatly s.p.a.ced line against the wall of a warehouse.

'I'm going to take a demolition team,' Ernst informed him, 'and get them to lay a trip-wire across the road we've just come down, to blow up anything coming after us.'

'Very good,' Wilson said.

He almost felt proud of Stoll this new Stoll was his own creation

but as pride was a destructive human weakness, he concentrated elsewhere.

Some men were unloading his precious crate, slowly, with extreme care, and eventually, when they had it out of the truck, they hitched it up to a crane.

The crane started groaning.

Wilson glanced at the submarine anch.o.r.ed just below him: U-977. There were men on the deck, arranging themselves around the hold. Chains rattled and Wilson saw his precious crate dangling over the water. There was a moment's hesitation. The crate jerked up, then started spinning. Hands reached up and guided it down and then it dropped out of sight.

General Kammler appeared on deck, accompanied by the commander of the submarine, Captain Heinz Schaeffer, whom Wilson had previously met in the Harz Mountains when Schaeffer was inspecting the new XXI electric submarines. Both men climbed up the ladder to the quay and approached General Nebe.

Kammler talked in a low voice, glancing repeatedly along the docks. His shadow trailed out along the wet stones and touched Wilson's feet. Nebe turned away and murmured something to his sergeant. Kammler took a torch from his pocket and flashed it three times.

Wilson glanced along the dock, where another truck was approaching. The truck shuddered as it started to slow down. Kammler walked up to Wilson and introduced him to Schaeffer. They shook hands as the truck driver changed gears and turned in toward them.

The SS troops remained silent: a line of men along the warehouse, all of them with their weapons in their hands slanted over their chests. They were as still as they were silent. Their discipline was remarkable. The sergeant stepped back and bellowed an order, and the troops performed a precise about-turn and froze facing the wall. Wilson heard their guns rattling. Their snapping boot heels left an echo. The truck stopped, overlooking the harbour, and its ramp was thrown down.

A shocking noise split the silence, almost deafening Wilson. The soldiers lined up along the warehouse wall were suddenly jerking and screaming. Wilson glanced up at the truck and saw a barrel spitting flame. The machine gun was roaring and rattling as the men died and fell. When Wilson blinked, there was silence. A gray smoke drifted lazily. The high wall of the warehouse was filled with holes and splashed with fresh blood.

All the men lay on the ground, sprawled across one another, their pupils reflecting the lamps beaming down on their faces.