“I don’t know much about airplanes,” van der Ploeg said, “but I don’t think I’ve ever seen any like that.”
“What the hell, Hank?” Canidy said. “What’s the story?”
“Aren’t they beautiful? I got the idea from the 492nd Bombardment Group at Eighth Air Force.”
“At Harrington Airfield.”
“That’s it. Outside London. After they’re done fixing up a bunch of shot-up B-24s they’ve salvaged—patching the bullet holes, removing ball turrets—their plan is to drop our OSS guys behind the lines in France. They’re painting the Liberators this same dull black so that they deflect light from the ack-ack’s search beams. The black makes them damn-near invisible in the dark of night.”
Canidy looked back at the Gooney Birds. “And so you had these painted, too. Interesting. Anything else?”
“Flame dampeners on the engine exhaust. And . . .”
Darmstadter started walking toward the tail of the one on the right.
He stopped near the rear of the left side of the fuselage, at the troop doorway. The door had been removed. He pointed inside.
Canidy followed him and looked.
“Jesus!” he said. “A Browning?”
“Yeah, I wanted a fifty-cal but could only get my hands on the thirty-cal,” Hank said. “It’s a modified M1919.”
“Who modified it?”
“Who do you think? I added a heavier barrel for full-auto—that’s five hundred rounds a minute. And I mounted it on this quick-release track, so it’s easy to move out of the way for jumps, then move it back in place. There’s a second Browning onboard as backup.”
As they walked out of the revetment, Canidy surveyed the aircraft and nodded appreciatively. “That is one helluva special bird.”
They pulled the netting back in place.
“No one beyond Stan Fine knows that I have them. I brought them in after midnight, and only take them up after oh-dark-hundred.”
“How do you avoid not getting picked up on radar? You don’t—”
“Stay on the deck? Sure. Sometimes. Why not? But I’ve got another trick.”
Darmstadter got in behind the wheel of the jeep.
“Which is?” Canidy said, as he and van der Ploeg hopped in.
Darmstadter engaged the starter and the engine ground to life.
“You’ll see tonight. Your bags are packed, right?”
Canidy nodded. “Just waiting on you.”
[THREE]
OSS Bern Station
Herrengasse 23
Bern, Switzerland
2345 27 May 1943
Wolfgang Kappler, uncharacteristically, raised his voice: “I asked, Allen, a proper candidate for what?”