House of Apache Fires by Morgan Jameson

Author:Morgan Jameson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Morgan Jameson
Published: 2014-12-07T00:00:00+00:00

55

Schmidt was rubbing his tired eyes when Giesler burst in the door.

“Major, I just got word there’s a plane requesting landing instructions. It’s Mexican military.”

Scheisse, Schmidt thought, here we go.

The technicians were nearly done. They had told him they had one more day assembling the Horten Nurflugels despite working around the clock. They were ahead of schedule but Schmidt was still nervous. Mexico had come in on the side of the Allies, and every minute they had to hide here the more likely they were to be detected, and with detection came failure.

Galland had assured them that the Hortens could take off fine from a grass field, as opposed to the Me 262 jets, which required a much longer runway and a higher takeoff speed. He had gone into a long explanation about wing loading, at which point Schmidt’s eyes had glazed over. He didn’t care how the damn things worked, just that they did, although they looked nothing like any plane he’d ever seen.

The Hortens were small enough to fit into a three-car garage, so were happily hidden from view in the small outbuildings which had been hastily converted into workshops by the advance team, but the C-47 sat in full view on the runway, and Schmidt had nightmares about someone wondering what an American C-47 was doing way out here at the edge of the Mexican jungle, just miles from the coast. Now it seemed as though someone was.

Ostensibly they were a crack unit of U.S. Commandos getting jungle training in preparation for a mission in Burma, but Schmidt had no desire to put their cover story to the test. Now it looked as though they had no choice.

“Let the others know. Get a card game going if there isn’t one going already. Remember, this is just like on the ship. We drilled for this. NO GERMAN. Officially this is our day off from training. If there’s a ranking officer on the plane, bring him to me. Remember, we’re Americans. Keep Meier away from them, and tell him to keep his damn mouth shut.”

Schmidt sat down at his desk and spread the fake intelligence reports on Burma around just enough to look real, his stack of fake personnel files for each of his men, carefully fabricated by the Abwher neatly stacked to one side. He was reading a personal letter from his “wife” in St. Louis when Danzig knocked on his door once again. Schmidt was vibrating inside the way he did just before battle.

“Major? There’s a Captain Gutierrez from the Mexican Army here to see you, Sir.”

“Show him in Sergeant,” Schmidt calmly told Giesler - aka Sergeant Driscoll.

Gutierrez was a short, immaculately groomed officer with a slightly pompous air about him. Schmidt lowered the letter he was “reading” and stood, stepping around the desk to greet the captain with a warm smile.

“A letter from my wife, please excuse me. It’s our day off,” he said, wondering if he was already overdoing it.

“Major Peterson? I am Captain Ramon Gutierrez, of the Ejercito Mexicano,” he said, coming to rigid attention and saluting.

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