Free Winter's Bullet by William Osborne

attaché case that General Müller had brought with him.
    Outside it was bitterly cold. Krüger’s Opel was accompanied by an armoured car front and behind. He was taking no chances. Krüger dropped the case into a metal box, closed the lid and secured the metal latches. ‘Bulletproof and fireproof,’ he said before slamming the boot lid. They clambered inside and the convoy moved off. For a moment, Tygo could have sworn he saw Ursula across the street, huddled in a doorway, but when he looked again there was no one there.
    They sat in silence as the vehicles made their way through the city, sirens wailing plaintively. It was a horrible sound. Another freezing night would embrace the city, and the terrible winter would gun down a fresh squad of victims.
    â€˜Where are we going?’ Tygo asked, his cheek still stinging.
    â€˜Wait and see,’ replied Krüger, lighting a cigarette.
    Twenty minutes later, a partial answer was provided to Tygo’s question as the convoy was waved through the security barrier at Schiphol, the city’s main airfield. It was heavily fortified with wire fences and watchtowers, and Tygo could see bomb craters pockmarking the whole area. The convoy’s lights cut a narrow path past a line of German fighters and assorted Junker transports, all covered with snow, before driving into a hangar behind the control tower.
    â€˜Bring the box,’ Krüger said, climbing out.
    Tygo did as he was told and followed Krüger towards the aircraft parked inside the hangar. It was a huge four-engine bomber, the wing positioned on top of the fuselage and with a twin tail. It was the biggest plane Tygo had ever seen, its undercarriage wheels as big as tractor tyres. It was painted a matt black and had simple white stars on its wings and tail.
    â€˜An American B-24 Liberator bomber, before you ask,’ said Krüger. ‘A lot safer for flying over enemy territory.’
    The normal crew of eleven had been reduced to nine to accommodate the two passengers. The pilot walked across in light-blue Luftwaffe flying overalls. He was wearing a bright orange life jacket around his neck like a stuffed fox.
    â€˜American?’ said Tygo, staring at the plane.
    â€˜ Ja , captured in Italy, ran out of fuel,’ replied the pilot, before saluting Krüger smartly. ‘Werner Baumbach, commander of Kampfgeschwader 200, at your disposal, Herr Oberst.’
    Krüger returned the salute smartly. ‘A great honour,’ he said. Tygo thought he sounded almost deferential.
    â€˜And where do we have the pleasure of taking you tonight?’ Baumbach asked.
    Krüger reached into his jacket and took out a buff envelope, which he handed to Baumbach. ‘Your flight plan and instructions are here. How soon can we fly?’
    â€˜We are almost ready for you now – perhaps a little more fuel, depending on the destination. Please climb aboard; we have fitted two seats in the waist gunner’s compartments. I will have some coffee and sandwiches loaded for you.’
    â€˜Thank you, Oberstleutnant. What about the package?’
    â€˜There is a special compartment for it inside the plane. Do you wish one of my men to load it?’
    â€˜No, we’ll take it on board.’
    â€˜We’re going too?’ said Tygo, surprised.
    â€˜Didn’t I mention that?’ said Krüger with a thin smile.
    Tygo and Krüger had been allocated the midsection of the bomber for their seats and the safe carriage of Krüger’s cargo. There was a floor-mounted metal compartment into which the metal box fitted. It was armoured, one of the crew members said as he helped Tygo slot it in. After that, the crew member showed Krüger and Tygo their seats, which had been bolted just behind the large Perspex windows that served as firing positions for the plane’s midsection pair of heavy-calibre waist guns. There were American AN/M2 .50 calibre machine guns with a