Read Himmler's War-ARC for Free Online Page B

wrong.
    Even worse, one of his men had been killed and likely as a result of his stupidity. Phips had been told in no uncertain terms that it might just be a cold day in hell before he ever saw the inside of a plane from the pilot’s seat again. It was further implied that his crew would be broken up and that saddened him. They would pay for his fuckup and that wasn’t right.
    Thus, he wasn’t really surprised when the trucks containing his crew went one way and he the other. He’d tried discussing matters with the sergeant driving him, but the sergeant tersely said he was not allowed to talk to him, which further depressed Phips.
    After several hours of slow driving through the English countryside, they pulled up in front of a guard post where their papers were scrutinized and the car searched before being sent on. There was a splendid looking country manor house that might have been several hundred years old and it was surrounded by a several dozen large army tents and Quonset huts. To his surprise, they went to the main old building where Phips was hustled down an ornately furnished corridor lined with portraits of distinguished looking people in historic costumes, and finally into a room containing only a couple of chairs. His duffle bag arrived a few moments later and was deposited with a thud by his feet.
    A little while later, a full colonel entered and glared at him. Phips snapped to attention and was told to sit down. The colonel was maybe forty and was powerfully built. Phips quickly noted combat ribbons on his chest.
    “I’m Colonel Tom Granville with army intelligence and I’ve got a few questions for you. For the record, confirm that three days ago you flew a B17 named the Mother’s Milk over Germany, East Prussia to be precise. Is that correct?”
    “Yes sir.”
    “Was your plane alone?”
    “To the best of my knowledge, yes sir. At least after we shot down that ME that’d been chasing us all over the place.”
    “Good job doing that, by the way. And after killing the ME, you knowingly and intentionally dropped a load of bombs on some buildings you spotted at the last second?”
    Oh Jesus, Phips thought. Despite the antiaircraft fire they had hit a school, or a convent. He visualized dead and maimed children. He swallowed. “Yes, sir. We dropped the bombs to save on fuel and the buildings were the first things we saw.”
    “Any idea just what the hell you hit, Lieutenant?”
    “No sir. One of my crew said it was Germany so it didn’t much matter and I agreed. We just had to lighten our load so we could get home.”
    The colonel’s grim-set mouth flickered. Was that a smile? Maybe he hadn’t hit a school. Granville continued. “Well you certainly did hit Germany and you did make your way back, and you did shoot down that ME, and now we don’t quite know what to do with you.”
    “Sir?”
    “Without divulging our sources, let me say that we now know that Adolf Hitler was at one of his secret headquarters in Rastenberg, Prussia, when a lone American B17 bomber flew low over the compound and dropped a load of bombs on his ugly fucking head.”
    Phips jaw dropped. “Oh my God.”
    “Yeah, Lieutenant, oh my God. Germany has just announced that he was injured in a one-plane bombing attack. However, we are getting subtle hints that his Fuhrer ass is dead and that his unlamented demise will be announced in a few days. This delay will give the new Nazi regime a chance to get settled. The krauts are saying it was a Jewish-American conspiracy to murder Hitler. However, we know better, don’t we? It was just one dumb, lucky son of a bitch in a lost B17 who dumped a load of bombs to save fuel and hit the jackpot.”
    “And you’re sure I did it?”
    “Yes we are and, until this all gets sorted out, you and your crew are going to be kept incommunicado. We don’t know whether to give you a medal for maybe killing der Fuhrer or court-martial your ass for breaking formation and maybe for losing a