The Paperclip Affair

By Roger Kent

Renate Ross's war was driving for an SS General but his murder forced her to flee to the Americans.
She met pilot Mike Ritter and now flies with him as translator on a mission to scoop up those brilliant German rocket scientists before the Red Army grabs them. With all plans, things never work out as expected. Mike & Renate's close bond will be tested as MI5 are waiting to arrest her in England.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roger Kent
• Release date: Oct 30, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465921574

Roger Kent

Extensive travel was my real education and a real eye-opener that helped further my passion for languages and exotic cooking. I own an unhealthy pastime for classic sixties and seventies American convertible cars and also guilty of being an avid fan of same period for rock music. What that says about me and others that share the same passions sometimes makes me wonder. Writing brings such a lot of pleasure when the book is done but sometimes takes a lot of pain and frustration getting there. If you wish to leave a review on any of my books or suggestions for a theme you might like to read about, please let inspiration abound. If you wish, please do get in touch via twitter or Facebook.

Book preview

The Paperclip Affair

By

Roger Kent

Smashwords Edition

Copyright: Roger Kent 2011

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This eBook is based on some true historical events; however, they have been fictionalized. All persons appearing in this work are fictitious or names used for dramatic purposes only. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

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The

Paperclip

Affair

By

Roger Kent

They say that others will know when you love them.

I damn well hope so!

Optical promise

Sure thing

Bridesmaid

The only solution

Isn’t it amazing?

Many thanks to JDM

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Author’s Notes

Chapter 1

The PBY Consolidated ‘Catalina’ flying boat was an aircraft that looked just too damn glamorous for wartime; its symmetry always caught the eye, possibly comparable to the line an elegant woman’s legs in the finest fashion heels or perhaps the body of an exotic Ferrari sports car. But it was always the sea landings of the Catalina that drew the crowd’s attention and forced many to stop and admire the curvaceous style of this wonderful amphibious aircraft.

Today would be no exception.

The grassed hillside overlooking the entrance to Grand Harbour in Malta had long been a favourite spot for couples to have fun and bask in the wonderful summer sunshine.

‘Ooh look! It’s one of those flying boats coming in to land,’ squealed one far too excited young woman. This aroused the attention of all her young female friends. They all stood up and were yelling and waving at the approaching aircraft.

‘I wish I could meet the pilot of that plane. I would give him some bumpy landings!’ said one of those exuberant girls.

This made them all laugh aloud at the comment, along with some mock sounds of disapproval from one or two of the others, who were saying that she was a bad girl and there was only one way she was going to end up. There had been some very hard times in Malta of late and it made a nice change for them to have some fun during such austerity.

The Catalina came in low over the beautiful azure water with the sun at its back that highlighted its silhouette on an ocean that sparkled like a dance hall mirror-globe. The girls up on the hill eagerly watched the Catalina approach as the waves calmly broke over the surface of the water like tumbling dice. Could any other machine have been more beautiful and breath-taking to watch than this?

The pilot eased her down with such an incredibly light touch onto that gleaming strip of water, making it appear almost sensual in its performance.

Within a few seconds of the Catalina’s successful landing; it was methodically turned to starboard and taxied across the harbour, heading towards its slipway. It was majestically cutting through the water with the panache of an elegant cruise ship.

Those young women on the hillside applauded and squealed with delight at the sight of this wonderful piece of aviation showing off its beauty for all that had cared to watch. This just happened to be everyone in the harbour area.

What those enthralled but naive young women on the hillside did not see was what happened once the Catalina was winched up the slipway and onto its hard standing.

There were four ambulances waiting for that aircraft to arrive. The Catalina had many large bullet holes in her aluminium hull that was reminiscent of a pepper pot. There was also many split and broken parts to the Plexiglas of the starboard observation blister.

Inside was an even more saddening sight. There were three dead bodies under blood soaked blankets and several other severely wounded personnel of varying military ranks and services, all desperately needing medical treatment.

In places, some of the lower deck was now of a dark crimson hue. It was stained by the blood and vomit of those passengers that endured the horrors of war that they’d all shared today. The extra debilitating effect of airsickness was mostly due to the pilot’s necessary but extreme flying in an effort to stay alive.

The medics eagerly made their way onboard the Catalina to quickly prioritise the wounded. Those that needed them; rapidly discovered they had a needle in their arm and a makeshift drip hastily set up. All the medical staffs were fighting hard to try to stabilise those fragile bodies before being able to move them outside. It was a tough duty and an awful time for all concerned.

Once those unfortunate personnel were stable enough to be moved; they either left in those siren wailing ambulances or were treated outside on the strip until fit to travel. Once that had happened; an eerie calm began to settle inside the aircraft.

For the aircrew: they were left with the sickly smell of death that pervaded throughout the flying boat. The skipper and co-pilot eventually came down from the flight deck to inspect their much-damaged aircraft. They had primarily decided it was better to keep out of the way of the medical people in such restricted spaces below, enabling them get on with their jobs of trying to save those poor souls as there was little the aircrew could do to help.

What both observed down inside the hull wasn’t a pretty sight, but it wasn’t the first time they had witnessed the tragedy of what shot and shell could do to a human body. Over time, they had tended to switch off to those gruesome types of injuries, unless you knew any of those people personally, as it became a method of coping with the dreadful nature of it all. It was just their meagre attempt to try to save their sanity. For some, it didn’t.

The two pilots were both in their early to mid-twenties but today they looked and felt very old and used up.

The co-pilot: Lt. Bill Dukes was blithely about to light a cigarette but caught his skipper’s eye of disapproval and quickly slid the Lucky Strike back behind his ear, wisely deciding to smoke it later when he was away from the aircraft.

Considering all that high-octane gasoline still sloshing around and remembering the aircraft had not yet been checked for fuel leaks, it was a smart choice! He nodded a sort of sorry to his skipper for his absent-minded foolishness.

Dukes pushed his soft and worn peaked officer’s hat backwards towards the crown of his head as a comfort response, and to then pull out his notepad and flashlight. He began to do an inspection of all the fuel and hydraulic lines. After that, he set about all the control cables running along the inner fuselage from flight deck to the tail. It was important because sometimes the fitters might not check and it could prove fatal if they failed when in flight. Later, he would move outside to the lower wing surfaces to check for signs of any damage and then make a list of jobs for the airframe boys to start on.

‘Captain Ritter,’ called an enquiring voice from somewhere up at the front of the aircraft.

‘Captain Ritter, Sir!’ the voice called again.

‘Down here.’ Ritter replied casually.

A face and uniform of a very young technical PFC (Private First Class) soldier appeared through the central bulkhead access. He was making his way along to the aft lower deck; painfully bumping his head and cursing out loud several times along the way.

The young PFC was looking wide-eyed and shaking at the sights he was seeing inside the aircraft but this was tame compared to the horrors on passing the medical teams outside who were still deftly working on those remaining desperately wounded bodies before they could be loaded into those eagerly waiting ambulances.

The PFC’s pallor was noticeably turning from a deathly white to a sickly green. His happy demeanour from ten minutes ago had now turned quite sombre, which made him more disoriented than he cared to admit. It was the first time he had been up close to any unhospitalized war wounded and it was not what he had been expecting at all.

He tried to salute the Captain but smacked his hand hard on an overhead item, which hurt like hell and made him curse with the pain but more of it was due to his stupidity.

‘Take it easy, son.’ Ritter said half-smiling to the embarrassed but smarting PFC. ‘What do you want?’ He said in a voice that seemed tired and perfunctory.

‘Colonel Furnier’s complements, Sir, he would like to see you straightaway and I’m here to give you a ride to his office.’ The PFC said this whilst still nursing his painful right hand.

Although the soldier was seventeen, he wasn’t quite a man just yet, despite his uniform, which tended to age the younger person. Undoubtedly, he had not seen action, most probably of any kind, but he looked at Captain Ritter with a kind of admiration, thinking this man must be one of the types he had read about in adventure stories when he was a kid. However, seeing the realities lying outside and the awful sights inside this aircraft were just too much. It was like an abstract painting using human viscera as the medium. Even worse; the putrid smell was having a profound effect on him. He suddenly turned, stooped over and helped to raise the level of the vomit and congealing blood swilling about down there. It all seemed to resemble some horrendous bouillabaisse of death.

‘Go outside son and get some air. I’ll be right out.’ Ritter told the awkward teenager. The soldier was trying hard and failing miserably to compose himself but just couldn’t help the tears from rolling down his face.

Both pilots looked at each other, remembering their own first sights of the war but knew they couldn’t help when he started shivering with nervous shock. They told him to go outside and see a medic, maybe eat some chocolate; it seemed to help with shock.

The war had now profoundly touched this young man since his posting here from boot camp ten days ago. The pilots both knew he just had some of the green knocked out of him and it would continue to do so unless the war stopped soon; which according to the scuttlebutt was likely. However, it always said stuff like that and was generally dismissed as bull.

The PFC didn’t need telling twice. He was about to make another salute but Ritter gave him a ‘don’t do it!’ look, which made the young soldier feel even more foolish. He awkwardly dashed off to the front of the aircraft, wiping his mouth on his sleeve as he scurried along, aiming to get out into the sunshine and the ‘oh so welcome’ fresh air before he puked again.

‘Good Lord’ Ritter said: ‘they seem to be sending us kids now and none too bright at that. Let’s just hope he doesn’t get sent into combat as the poor bastard wouldn’t last the first day!’

Climbing out of the aircraft and looking down at the medics; this young man’s sense of panic was exacerbated further by seeing one of the pretty female navy secretaries lying on the hard standing with half her leg blown away; her tibia was shattered and the white bone alarmingly exposed. There were huge amounts of bright red arterial blood pooling all over the airstrip, to then turn a darker hue once the sun had started to bake it into the concrete. This day was something that soldier would never forget.

Mike Ritter’s mind had now switched on to the fact that their genial base commander had summoned him. Genial was a facetious term used widely by the airbase crews because this person was a complete self-serving asshole; coupled with being a one hundred per cent son-of-a-bitch.

‘I wonder what the hell Furnier has lined up for us, he’s never been the friendly type nor had our best interests at heart, Skipper.’ Bill Dukes said. He seemed more concerned about the actuality of that statement than as a comment to try to lift the sombre mood with some sort of levity.

‘I think you may have a point. I’d better go and see what the old bastard wants. Finish up here, Bill, then let the Line Chief know what we need and I’ll see you later for a bite to eat. Oh, will you call the hospital to see when we can go and visit our crewmen?’

Ritter was a tad distracted because he had a hundred and one things running through his head. This had been one hell of a long day, which had started at 23:00 hours the previous night.

The lack of sleep was starting to catch up with both of them, making them appear somewhat zombie-like and with a slight slur to their speech. It also gave the impression they may have been drinking.

Captain Ritter made his way forward and climbed out of the Catalina onto the hard standing. The bright sunlight made him squint and shield his eyes. He began his loping walk towards the waiting jeep and began to feel that old numbing ache across his lower back and spine caused by too many flying hours. It made him flex backwards slightly as he tried to ease the shooting lumbar pains as he walked across the airstrip.

As he passed one of the medical teams; his heart really sank when he saw the body of that pretty naval secretary that had lost her leg. She had now sadly lost her fight for life. The medics had tried their damndest to stop her from slipping away but it was just not to be. Ritter saw them wrapping the curls of her beautiful blonde hair under a blanket before they slid the stretcher into the ambulance. It was just getting all too much these days.

Saying nothing; he was desperately trying to get rid of the thoughts of how her parents would react to the savage news of their beautiful child’s death when they received that damn telegram from the War Department.

He climbed into the jeep, placed his hat on his head, then looked across at the pallid young PFC driver, and to nod a ‘let’s go’. The Private gunned the engine, slammed it into gear and sped off towards the administration buildings located across the other side of the airfield.

The fresh but warm air in Ritter’s face felt good; not quite rejuvenating but it helped. He happened to catch himself in the poorly adjusted rear view mirror. Apart from badly needing a shave; he wondered where that young man, that one so full of vim and vigour, whose reflection wryly used to smile back at him, had now gone. Boy, he felt overwhelmingly tired; aching like someone had gone over him with a baseball bat!

That PFC; in an unnecessary attempt to show off his driving skills; missed the drop off point to the entrance for the