"Sean McMullen - The Devils of Langenhagen" - читать интересную книгу автора (McMullen Sean)

describe it. Reality became the blood I could taste in my mouth. Then I noticed that the sky was dark,
and the land below me was a deep, glowing red.
I was badly disoriented and sure that I was hallucinating, but I never doubted that Gestner was close
by and dangerous. A moment later I saw the Horten some way below me, a black bat against the
glowing floor of what seemed to be hell. All I had to hold onto was the thought of destroying Gestner,
and I dived after him. He seemed to be unaware that I was there, and with only my cannons left, I
opened fire.
Pieces flew from his wings, then there was a small explosion in the engine that was already damaged.
Gestner dived for the ground, trying to lose me in a forest of slim, glowing red crystals. Swarms of bright
orange bubbles scattered as I chased him, pouring shells into the flying-wing. At last the fighter gyrated
violently and slammed into one of the crystals, exploding in a cloud of black smoke and glittering red
slivers.
I circled and climbed, watching the upper part of the crystal collapse and fall in a cascade of red
sparks.
So this was hell, but why was I not dead? Or was I dead, and was Gestner dead? Where do devils go
when they die? Red and orange globes swarmed around the shattered crystal like wasps at a broken
nest. I climbed past ten thousand feet according to my altimeter, but could see no end to the forest of
crystals. It extended to the horizon in every direction, and the horizon did not seem to curve properly.
There were no hills, rivers or lakes. There was nowhere to land. Was I damned to fly hell's skies for
eternity? A Flying Dutchman-- no, surely a Flying German, I laughed to myself, near hysteria.
I tried all channels of my radio but heard no more than a soft, musical babble. No human language, not
even static.
"Wilhelm Gustav Hirth reporting," I spoke into the microphone. "Oberleutnant in the Luftwaffe of the
Third Reich. May I speak to an air traffic controller? I am running low on fuel."
There was nothing but the babble by way of reply. The odd curves of the horizon made my head spin.
It was like tunnel vision, yet was not. The horizon curved up in one direction, yet went on forever in
another. Far above me I could see... another horizon! At that moment, when I began to doubt my very
sanity, all colours abruptly flowed red into blue into black and I stretched out to enfold everything. All
around me twisted into white, and beyond my cockpit, I could see nothing. I could hear the roar of my
engines and feel the controls under my hands. I shot out of the cloud into brilliant sunshine, the jet in a
shallow climb. Descending, I found the Aller River, and all was familiar again. Laughing insanely, I did a
few rolls, then slapped at the sides of the cockpit, just to feel them solid. I returned to Langenhagen,
having insufficient fuel to go elsewhere. The airfield was deserted, but the runway was free of bomb
craters and I was able to land. Nobody came to meet me. Not a soul was there. I rolled down the
dispersal track to the hangars and stopped the engines. There was a little mist about, but no smoke. The
fires were all out and cold. I found some tools in a hangar and removed the film from my guncameras,
then walked to the edge of the forest. The next time that I saw the jet, it was in a war museum in
America.
For a long time I wandered through the charred woods, confused and frightened. There seemed to be
nobody else alive in the whole of the world. Finally, I caught sight of an Allied army truck. I hid the film
canister and surrendered. The men in the truck were surprised that I could have been lost for so long,
because the war had been over for two days. I had taken off in April, and now it was the second week
of May!
I met Reissel in an internment camp shortly after. He had managed to nurse his damaged jet back to
Langenhagen and had landed safely. Months later I recovered the film and developed it with Reissel's
help. It was all there: the flying-wing of the devil's Luftwaffe, with hell as a background.
"This shows you destroyed the Horten," Reissel said as he stared at the wet print.
"Yes, but I cannot account for the circumstances. What should I do, Kurt?" The fighting was over, it
was time to rest. Reissel seemed to have more concern for me now, when there would be no more death
in the skies.