Dialogue:
Harald: “What do you think about our Führer’s international policy, Johann?”
Johann: “I can’t praise highly enough our Führer’s military genius. Even though I can only speak of our Luftwaffe, I can tell that our German aircraft surpass their British counterparts in many ways. I’m happy to be fighting for the glory of our Fatherland and looking forward to our ultimate victory over our enemies.”
Like a filthy thief, he stole another quick glance at the instructor, hoping that the heat on his cheeks didn’t betray him.
France, October 1940
Willi sauntered into the Staffelkapitän’s office without knocking and brought his hand to his forehead in his usual lazy salute.
“Were you looking for me, Herr Hauptmann?”
With his jacket slung over the back of the chair, Herr Hauptmann sat, drumming his fingers on top of the desk. Willi followed his gaze to the Continental typewriter with an unfinished report in it and his name staring out at him from every other line, with the same silent accusation that was visible in his Staffelkapitän’s eyes. He was in for it. Again. With a chilling lack of inspiration, he wondered what exactly he was in for. Surely not that bottle of brandy under his bed? Scheiße, he knew he should have stashed it better. Oh well.
“Care to explain where you’ve been all this time after abandoning your flight leader?”
Willi straightened out at once, his eyes bright with righteous indignation after such an insult. To be sure, his sentiments were quite clear on those Spanish War snobs who couldn’t score a hit against a glider on a windless day yet who acted like entitled numbskulls, forcing him into a wingman’s position and prohibiting him from entering a dogfight when he was a better fighter pilot than all of them put together. But Johann◦– that was an entirely different case. Johann was like a brother to him. “I didn’t abandon him! He permitted me to leave him unescorted, that is. I hit one of the Spitfires and injured the pilot. His fighter was still all right, smoking slightly only but the fellow himself was in bad shape. So, I asked Johann, I mean, my flight leader for permission to escort the injured English pilot back to his base. Which I did. I watched him land safely after which I returned to my base.”
The Staffelkapitän slumped back into his chair and looked him over incredulously as though not believing that the disheveled ace in front of him actually had the gall to admit such a grave offense. “And it didn’t enter into your thick head, even for one second, that the British air defense could shoot you down at any point of that enterprise?”
“Why would they shoot me down?” Willi blinked a few times as though his Captain had asked him something incredibly idiotic. “I was guiding their pilot to safety. Why shoot me for it?”
“Not ‘for it,’ but because you’re a German!” The Staffelkapitän shouted, finally losing his patience. “You don’t think they’d want to shoot someone down with such a painted rudder, you stupid ass?!”
“I radioed them my intentions—”
“Oh, you radioed them! How very chivalrous of you! And you thought that they would reciprocate and allow you to leave?!”
“They did. I am standing right here—”
“Stop being smart with me, von Sielaff! I’ve had it with you up to here! One more stunt of this sort and you’re out of here!”
Willi dutifully nodded, offered his commanding officer another half-hearted salute and a mere two days later was flying over an enemy position at an extremely low altitude. A cylinder with a note enclosed in it landed at the stunned RAF pilots’ feet.
“One of your comrades, Junior Lieutenant McGregor was shot down by me this morning. He bailed out over our lines and was taken to a military hospital. The chief surgeon says that his injuries are not life-threatening and that he expects Junior Lieutenant McGregor to make a full recovery. I thought you would like to know that to deliver the good news to his family. His fighter, unfortunately, didn’t make it◦– I regret to inform you. Also, he fought very bravely and shot a veritable hole in my tail during the dogfight◦– I thought I’d let you know so you’d put it in his service record. I’ll also let you know of his future destiny as soon as he’s discharged from the hospital. Again, please accept my sincerest apologies.
He knew that when asked about his wingman’s whereabouts, Johann would make something up about Wilhelm’s suspecting some leaking glycol and performing an emergency landing to check on his fighter or something else to that extent which would sound mighty persuasive coming from the ever-honest Leutnant Brandt. Contrary to their Staffelkapitän’s ideas, Willi had a willing ally in Johann who had agreed to the risky affair with remarkable ease after Willi stated his case, summed up in one straightforward question; “wouldn’t you want to learn what happened to me if I were shot down over England?”
“Of course, I would. Go ahead; just make it quick.”
The more his commanding officer tried to tighten the screws on his discipline, the more Willi disobeyed, out of some childish, rebellious spite. Restricted to quarters◦– what else is new?◦– he sat at the desk minding the phone, one hand holding his cheek and another◦– toying with a pencil. It was a quiet day. Tommies licked their wounds across the Channel and the phone was silent. A dreadful day, good only for thinking and thinking was something Willi resented even more than a jammed machine-gun during a dogfight. The whole trouble was that the more he thought, the more he found in himself a growing disappointment with the sheer injustice of it all. He simply couldn’t take it in, how was it fair to punish someone solely for his desire to help his fellow brother-in-arms, even though that brother was wearing an enemy uniform. Neither could he comprehend why, instead of being appointed as a Rottenführer, he was to rot here as an eternal wingman when it was clear as day that he was one of the best fighter pilots Jagd 2 had to offer. Why, yes, he did abandon his flight leaders to score his own hits but only due to their own inability to do so. So, how was he at fault for having a talent for flying and for having lightning-fast reflexes which couldn’t be matched even with years of his fellow pilots’ experience?
Willi rubbed his eyes and stretched his back which had gone numb after hours of sitting in that damned chair. A dreadful day for sure.
The lights-out signal sounded around the quarters and the Hauptmann personally dismissed him from the desk duty. Willi didn’t fail to notice a passing look of surprise in his superior’s eyes, as though he didn’t actually expect to find Willi at the desk. Herr Hauptmann certainly had his reasons though; Willi did, after all, abandon his post on a few occasions before, leaving a note to whoever was unfortunate enough to come across it first; got bored and went out for a beer. Would you mind pulling duty for me?
Instead of heading to bed, he walked through the quarters without stopping and marched straight to the window overlooking the garage. Herr Hauptmann’s car was in its usual spot, polished to perfection and filled with gas for the morning. The keys were also left in the ignition by the diligent driver so he wouldn’t have to look for them in the rush of a force majeure situation. Willi shrugged with a wonderful nonchalance about him; he did have a force majeure situation. His French girlfriend Brigitte had sent him a note earlier that day, promising all the wonders of the world in her skillful arms if only he could spare her a couple of hours of his precious time.