Therefore just about anything that was flown over from the European Fatherland to occupied America passed through Fuhrerstadt at some point, with much of the heavy lifting being done by once proud Americans who were now little more than human chattel.
On the main boulevard, heavily armed patrols of Nicht Soldats walked the gutters, using their AK-47 rifles to nudge any American who they felt was not waving their pre-supplied Fourth Reich flags with proper enthusiasm. Other NS
stood watch on the rooftops of the buildings lining the route, their eyes painting the crowd from above, their orders to shoot anyone who might get out of line during the ceremony. At the same time, dozens of undercover police circulated inside the crowd itself, their ears perked for the slightest whisper of dissension.
At exactly 7 AM, hundreds of air raid sirens began to blare across the city.
This was a signal. The airplane carrying the First Governor of Bundeswehr Four was now just five minutes from landing. It was time to sort out the traffic jam and rev up the false moxie of the very captive audience.
Four minutes and fifty-eight seconds later, the enormous C-5 carrying the First Governor and his entire entourage touched down at the end of Fuhrerstadt Airport's longest runway.
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Screeching overhead was its ten-plane protection squadron, an elite unit made up of Tornadoes. They plowed a way through the spiral of Fuhrerstadfs own circling jets, broke into pairs and came in for quick landings nearly on the tail of the big C-5.
The C-5 had slowed to the end of the runway by this time and had turned onto a taxiway which would bring it to the main terminal building. This taxiway was lined with 122-mm mobile artillery pieces, their long barrels cocked at 45-degree angles. Each gun fired off a single dummy round-long on noise and smoke but little else-just as soon as the tail of the Galaxy transport rolled by its position. This was an exercise performed with extreme precision and care. Woe to the gun commander whose crew shot too soon and impacted its jowerbag onto the tail of the dignitary's airplane.
The huge jet transport made it through the gauntlet unscathed and turned toward the main terminal. There was no one there waiting for it. The governor of the Bundeswehr Four would be insulted by a simple airport greeting ceremony. Rather the big plane screeched to a halt about 200 feet from the terminal. Its crew quickly shut down its four massive engines.
Exactly one minute later, the front of the airplane lifted up like a gigantic mouth. Out of the maw came two VBL scout cars, a Bradley APC, a Hummer crammed with radio equipment, and a converted troop van which now served as an emergency ambulance. It came complete with an operating table and a six-man squad of the Fourth Reich's top surgeons.
Behind this vehicle came a long, pearl white, super-stretch Mercedes limousine. The front of this thirty-five-foot, sixteen-wheeled car was heavily reinforced, as were its many door panels and underbody. To the rear of the vehicle was a raised platform which featured a removable crystal clear bubble top. Underneath this bulletproof canopy were three chairs.
The one in the middle, slightly higher than the other two, was occupied by the resplendently dressed First Governor. In the seat to his left sat the young girl named Bridgett, the
91
former slave whose talents at artwork so enamored the Nazi high commander.
In the seat to the First Governor's right, wearing a tall white miter on his head and dressed in colorful satin vestments that rivaled those of Vatican's past, sat a very bewildered Mike Fitzgerald.
Exactly two minutes later, the small motorcade was roaring down the main boulevard toward the heart of Fuhrerstadt.
The thousands of slave laborers waved their small flags with less than controlled abandon as the visiting high officer's limo shot by. Many of the intersections were crowded with various NS ceremonial outfits, regimental bands, honor
On the main boulevard, heavily armed patrols of Nicht Soldats walked the gutters, using their AK-47 rifles to nudge any American who they felt was not waving their pre-supplied Fourth Reich flags with proper enthusiasm. Other NS
stood watch on the rooftops of the buildings lining the route, their eyes painting the crowd from above, their orders to shoot anyone who might get out of line during the ceremony. At the same time, dozens of undercover police circulated inside the crowd itself, their ears perked for the slightest whisper of dissension.
At exactly 7 AM, hundreds of air raid sirens began to blare across the city.
This was a signal. The airplane carrying the First Governor of Bundeswehr Four was now just five minutes from landing. It was time to sort out the traffic jam and rev up the false moxie of the very captive audience.
Four minutes and fifty-eight seconds later, the enormous C-5 carrying the First Governor and his entire entourage touched down at the end of Fuhrerstadt Airport's longest runway.
90
Screeching overhead was its ten-plane protection squadron, an elite unit made up of Tornadoes. They plowed a way through the spiral of Fuhrerstadfs own circling jets, broke into pairs and came in for quick landings nearly on the tail of the big C-5.
The C-5 had slowed to the end of the runway by this time and had turned onto a taxiway which would bring it to the main terminal building. This taxiway was lined with 122-mm mobile artillery pieces, their long barrels cocked at 45-degree angles. Each gun fired off a single dummy round-long on noise and smoke but little else-just as soon as the tail of the Galaxy transport rolled by its position. This was an exercise performed with extreme precision and care. Woe to the gun commander whose crew shot too soon and impacted its jowerbag onto the tail of the dignitary's airplane.
The huge jet transport made it through the gauntlet unscathed and turned toward the main terminal. There was no one there waiting for it. The governor of the Bundeswehr Four would be insulted by a simple airport greeting ceremony. Rather the big plane screeched to a halt about 200 feet from the terminal. Its crew quickly shut down its four massive engines.
Exactly one minute later, the front of the airplane lifted up like a gigantic mouth. Out of the maw came two VBL scout cars, a Bradley APC, a Hummer crammed with radio equipment, and a converted troop van which now served as an emergency ambulance. It came complete with an operating table and a six-man squad of the Fourth Reich's top surgeons.
Behind this vehicle came a long, pearl white, super-stretch Mercedes limousine. The front of this thirty-five-foot, sixteen-wheeled car was heavily reinforced, as were its many door panels and underbody. To the rear of the vehicle was a raised platform which featured a removable crystal clear bubble top. Underneath this bulletproof canopy were three chairs.
The one in the middle, slightly higher than the other two, was occupied by the resplendently dressed First Governor. In the seat to his left sat the young girl named Bridgett, the
91
former slave whose talents at artwork so enamored the Nazi high commander.
In the seat to the First Governor's right, wearing a tall white miter on his head and dressed in colorful satin vestments that rivaled those of Vatican's past, sat a very bewildered Mike Fitzgerald.
Exactly two minutes later, the small motorcade was roaring down the main boulevard toward the heart of Fuhrerstadt.
The thousands of slave laborers waved their small flags with less than controlled abandon as the visiting high officer's limo shot by. Many of the intersections were crowded with various NS ceremonial outfits, regimental bands, honor
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