“Jawohl, Herr General,” Peter said happily.
Peter stuffed his legs through the heavy sheepskin trousers, and then Galland held the jacket for him.
“The higher these things fly, the more efficient they are,” Galland said. “Fuel consumption is lousy near the ground. So the cold-weather gear—and oxygen—are necessary most of the time.”
Peter nodded his understanding.
“Have them roll out Two One Seven, Johann,” Galland ordered.
“Jawohl, Herr General. Just Two One Seven, Herr General?”
“You’d like to come along, would you?”
“Whatever the Herr General desires.”
“OK, Johann,” Galland said with a smile, and turned to Peter and winked. “Come on, Hansel, I’ll show you around the cockpit.”
When they reached the two-seater, Galland waved Peter up the ladder against its side. It was immediately apparent that the two-seater arrangement was a jury rig. Only the front of the two in-line seats had a full instrument panel. The rear seat had a stick and rudder pedals, a second oxygen mask, a microphone/earphones facemask, and little else.
Galland motioned Peter into the front seat. There was barely room to get in.
Galland seemed to read Peter’s mind. “We put the backseat in here,” he said. “The factory said it would take three months to do it ‘properly.’”
The instrument panel looked familiar, not very different from the ME-109F’s. The airspeed indicator was larger, and was red-lined at 1,200 kilometers per hour; the red line on the ME-109 had been at 850. And there were controls and indicators completely new to Peter.
He heard large electric motors, and the hangar doors began to slide open. A tow truck appeared, and a moment later there was a slight jolt as it connected to the plane’s single front wheel.
Galland’s explanation of the controls and their functions was not nearly as detailed as Peter would have liked, but he told himself it didn’t matter; once they were in the air, their purpose would quickly become apparent.
The plane began to move. The hangar floor was below the surface of the tarmac, and it was an effort for the small tow truck to pull the plane up the ramp. They were towed to the end of the runway, where two trucks awaited them.
“It’s not supposed to,” Galland’s voice came metallically over the earphones, “but more often than not, it takes auxiliary power to get the engines going. You can’t jump in one of these, throw the Master Buss, crack the throttle, and hit ENGINE START.”
Ground crewmen from the trucks plugged a thick cable into the fuselage. Peter saw that Karlsberg, in a second ME-262, was on the threshold ten meters to the left behind him.
“Wind it up, Peter,” Galland said. “Brakes locked. Check for control freedom after you’ve got it running.” He pointed out the applicable controls in the order they would be used.
On orders, Peter depressed the LEFT ENGINE START lever. There was a whining noise, slow at first, then increasing in intensity to a roar.
“Throttle back,” Galland ordered. “Let it warm slowly. Start the right.”
“Two One Seven and Two Two Three ready for takeoff,” Galland’s voice came over the earphones.
“You are cleared for takeoff from Two Eight at your discretion. The winds are negligible. There is no traffic in the area. Air Warning Status, Blue.”
“To your right, Hansel, under a protective cover, is the rocket firing switch. Get your engines to takeoff power—it’s marked on the gauges—release the brakes, then fire the rockets. It steers surprisingly well, but watch it when you break ground. Sometimes it veers to one side or the other.”
“Jawohl, Herr General.”
“Don’t lift off until I tell you,” Galland said. “If you don’t have sufficient velocity, it’ll mush.”
“Jawohl, Herr General.”
“Controls all right?” Galland asked.
Peter felt the stick move through its range, and the rudder pedals moving, as Galland checked the rear seat controls, then tested his own. “Controls free,” he reported.
“Ready, Johann?” Galland called over the radio.