“Herr Oberleutnant!” Johann called to Degenhardt, working to untangle his commanding officer from the cocoon of the parachute that had started to take on a crimson shade where it had come in contact with the body. “Herr Oberleutnant…”
Johann sank heavily to the ground with his gaze riveted to Degenhardt’s chest, riddled with bullets. On Degenhardt’s noble, youthful face a bare outline of a smile was still imprinted, as though he was glad to die a hero’s death doing what he loved doing the most◦– flying. Johann sniffled quietly; wiped his wet cheek with his shoulder.
“Johann!”
Willi’s shout, like a cry of pain, came from behind his back. Johann turned around with a helpless look around him. He saw that his wingman also cried silently, standing two steps away. Willi was already climbing out of his cockpit and running towards them, drenched in sweat and gasping for air.
“Is he—” Willi came to an abrupt halt at the sight of his Staffelkapitän’s body.
“He died instantly,” Johann said softly. “I don’t think he suffered.”
Willi lowered next to the body, took Degenhardt’s head in his hands and cradled it on his lap.
“Herr Oberleutnant is probably already in Valhalla. Asking someone in charge for the fastest fighter they have,” he started quietly, not even bothering with wiping the tears that rolled down his dust-caked cheeks. “And tomorrow, they will award him with the biggest Cross they have. With diamonds.”
“You think there are diamonds in Valhalla?” Their eyes met. In Willi’s, Johann saw a wild protest against such a senseless death, a desperate appeal for consolation.
“I think in Valhalla, there’s everything. And if you led a good life and died a good man, with a clean conscience, you’ll get everything you’ve ever dreamed of. And I also think, all your comrades are there to welcome you. That’s at least how I would love it to be.”
“You make it sound very nice.”
“Herr Oberleutnant deserves everything nice.”
“Yes, he does. Did…”
Johann couldn’t possibly tell how long they remained in the same mourning circle while their comrades were finishing off what was left of the British units. Most of their Staffel landed soon after. Someone had radioed the airbase, and a truck with a cross appeared on the horizon shortly. Willi and Johann helped the medics lift the body onto the truck and watched it depart, grim and forlorn.
Someone picked up the discarded parachute and growled something hateful, glaring at the sky. Another voice joined in, muttering his sentiments on account of the British pilot’s despicable action. Soon, the whole Staffel was roaring with protest, calling for blood, for revenge◦– for anything just to avenge their fallen Staffelkapitän and to take the others’ lives to pay for their loss.
“It’s not right.” Johann’s voice all but drowned in the sea of incensed shouts. “It won’t bring him back but will make you into murderers instead!”
“They’re too mad with grief to hear you.” Willi pulled his sleeve, taking Johann away from the enraged crowd. “We’ll talk later when someone arrives from the JG headquarters to replace Herr Oberleutnant and gathers us for the meeting. It’s pointless to try and convince them now. Let’s go. Let’s see if you’re good enough to lift that smoking bird of yours into the sky with a damaged engine.”
Johann clasped Willi’s hand, grateful for a timely joke, even though it came out as sorry and miserable as they get.
They buried Oberleutnant Degenhardt the following morning, with full military honors. Nearly everyone from their Staffel joined in one endless eulogy, recounting and recollecting all of the brightest memories each carried within his heart after a short service under Staffelkapitän Degenhardt’s command.
“He saved me from three Hurricanes once…”
“He gave me leave to see my newborn son when all the leaves were canceled…”
“He took me as his wingman and told me I had skill even when all the other commanders were ready to throw me into the infantry…”
“It was Herr Oberleutnant who taught me how to fly. I mean, really fly; not the basics that they taught us at the flying school…”
“Herr Oberleutnant gave me chocolate and rum and sat with me all night when I got the news that my mother died…”
“He told the funniest jokes…”
“He was a great commanding officer and a great comrade…”
“He gave me his own new fighter for my birthday. And he believed in me when no one else would.” Willi lowered his head, biting his lip in order not to break down. Not that it mattered; everyone was crying at this point, starting with the victorious aces and ending with the crew chiefs and a cook.
Willi squeezed his eyes with his fingers and only opened them when a strong arm encircled his shoulders and pulled him close. In disbelief, Willi blinked at Feldmarschall Rommel himself standing next to him, his eyes also misty with tears.
“I had the honor to have Oberleutnant Hans Joachim Degenhardt under my command for a far too short a period of time. During the time of his service, he showed himself as an exemplary subordinate and an even more exemplary commanding officer, who never cherished anything more than the men in his charge. I, myself, witnessed on quite a few occasions how bravely he argued with the high-ranking men in the Luftwaffe in order to get the best equipment and conditions for his men to have here, in Libya. He was fearless and honest◦– a rare combination nowadays, unfortunately. And despite the despicable manner in which such an honorable officer was taken from us, I ask you; no, I demand of you not to repay your enemy with the same action.”
A grumble of discontent rolled among the pilots, quieted only by the Feldmarschall’s raised hand.
“I know you’re grieving. I know you’re outraged at such a low, despicable move. So am I. But the action of one rogue pilot can’t be set as a precedent for the rest of us to follow.”
“But they broke the Geneva Convention!” Someone cried out. “If they say, to hell with it, then so should we! Otherwise, they will slaughter us all in the same manner, when we’re helpless and unarmed in the sky!”
Feldmarschall Rommel listened quietly to the arguments until they died out on their own. Only when all the eyes were on him once again, did he speak, in the same calm and collected voice. “How many times has such a thing happened before? When would the pilots of the RAF strafe someone in the same manner? Well?”
“It has never happened before,” Willi spoke quietly next to him.
“Exactly. It never has. Your enemy is just as honorable a people as you are, gentlemen. Perhaps, that pilot had just lost someone during the bombing of his native town in Britain; have you thought of that? Perhaps, one of his family members had just been killed on the front. Or his best friend was shot down during a dogfight. Perhaps, he was just as mad with grief as you are right now and did a thing that he regrets now. But you, you mustn’t be ruled by your emotions as such emotions in wartime will only lead to more death and devastation. I ask you today to honor your fallen Staffelkapitän’s memory with a promise that you will make to yourselves and which you will keep throughout your service here in the Luftwaffe. I want you to promise to yourselves to fight honorably and respect the rules of warfare, like Oberleutnant Degenhardt did. I ask you to be the brave, respectable men that wouldn’t soil his good name with any dishonorable action.”