“Brandt!”
He turned on his heel at the sound of Leitner’s voice.
“Yes, Herr Hauptmann?”
“What did you want?”
“Excuse me?”
“When you just walked in, you asked me if I had a minute. What is it that you wanted?”
Johann had suddenly recalled the reason why he had come here in the first place. “It’s Willi, Herr Hauptmann. I mean, Leutnant von Sielaff. He’s very sick and needs to see the physician but he won’t go without a superior’s order◦– he doesn’t like doctors. Could you perhaps order him to go see our medic? And please, ground him for now; he’s really in bad shape and can’t possibly fly…”
“Of course. Give him my orders while you’re out there, making that list.”
It was no wonder that Willi was none too thrilled with the prospect of spending the rest of the day in the makeshift infirmary and even grumbled something to the effect that Johann was purposely trying to sabotage his career so that he, Johann, could score more victories while he, Willi, was bedridden and probed by that doctor in all possible ways. If Johann didn’t know Willi well enough to recognize an attempt at jesting behind his fever-induced lethargic state, he would have thought that his best friend was truly mad at him.
“Just looking out for you.” He escorted Willi all the way to the medic’s tent, fearing his fainting from the heat and dehydration midway. It had happened to healthier men in this climate; Willi was not only sick but weighed barely a hundred and ten pounds, reduced to a miserable state by daily exhausting dogfights, terrible food, and water which looked suspicious even after it was boiled by the cook prior to offering it to the Staffel.
“You always look out for everyone. For me, for Rudi, for Walt, for your brother Harald, for my sister, for your friend Alf,” Willi murmured and then added with sudden fondness in his voice, “you’re a good friend, Johann.”
“Well, you’re not too bad yourself.” Johann pretended not to be affected profoundly by Willi’s words. “Now, go inside and stay put there. We need you healthy tomorrow to fly your new fighter to a new base.”
“I told you we would lose this war.”
“We haven’t lost anything yet, you pitiful alarmist. It’s a strategic retreat only.”
“Right. With the United States now involved, it’s only a matter of time before those strategic retreats of yours turn into full-blown devastation.”
Johann came to an abrupt halt in front of the medic’s tent’s entrance. “You are running a fever. You’re talking absolute rubbish.”
Willi examined him in silence before breaking into a mild grin. “Don’t report me, will you?” He teased, only the words came out suddenly harsh, serious. “I know the drill. Sieg Heil, little soldier! No defeatism among the Luftwaffe ranks. Death in the name of the Fatherland and all.”
“Just don’t say anything stupid in front of the doctor, you miserable clown!” Johann was suddenly furious. He didn’t mention Willi’s latest encounter with the Gestapo and his visit to their headquarters; only stared at him with a warning.
Solemnly nodding, Willi outstretched his right arm in a mock salute, seconds before collapsing into friend’s arms.
The borough of Charlottenburg-Wilmersdorf, Berlin. February 1942
Willi squinted at the sunlight penetrating the shutters, just now snapped open by the nurse and turned to the other side. It’d been over two months since he’d been diagnosed with jaundice◦– a disease that had nearly killed him, according to the local big-shot doctor, along with a series of other diseases, including malaria and dysentery.
“If a formation of six Spitfires couldn’t kill me, no illness would,” he tried to joke with the physician.
The physician didn’t appear to possess a sense of humor and restricted him from returning to the base until he’d made a full recovery. In addition to stuffing him with all sorts of pills, the hospital staff nearly force-fed him, refusing to leave him alone until he’d finish everything that had been put in front of him. Willi hated it there.
His mother visited him almost daily. Mina only on weekends, when she was free from her classes. Willi still couldn’t quite take it in, why on earth had his sister decided to become a Red Cross nurse when she could have stayed home and enjoyed a semblance of normal life in Berlin.
“You have a job; Johann has a job. I want to have a job too, something to look forward to every day. I want to help people; be needed. Otherwise, I’ll go mad waiting for you two to win your damned war!” Such was Mina’s simple, yet emphatic, explanation.
He would have long gone mad with boredom had it not been for those visits and the torrents of letters that he kept receiving daily.
“You certainly have a lot of female admirers,” Mina noted half-jestingly as she turned one of the perfumed letters in her hand.
“I would have much rather preferred those admirers to appear here in person. I have the most profound conviction that it would benefit my recovery immensely.”
“I highly doubt it.” Mina bared her beautiful teeth in a mocking sneer, yet appeared at Willi’s bedside, with a friend in tow, the following day.
“This is Charlotte.”
Willi lifted himself on one elbow at once, quickly passing his hand through a tangled mess of his gilded locks to work them into at least some sort of order. “Charlotte in Charlottenburg? Was that you, after whom it was named? Because I can certainly see why. Your name had to be immortalized.”
A faint blush colored Charlotte’s cheeks. They made a delightful contrast; Mina, the golden girl and Charlotte, with wild curls of dark hair and steady gray eyes◦– fearless, inquisitive.
With a subtle smile, Mina watched them both study each other. The pause was growing long. Willi never took his gaze off of Charlotte, yet remained oddly silent, much to his sister’s increasing wonder. Willi, the clown, with nothing to say?
“Don’t listen to my brother.” She came to his aid, at length, grinning. “He’s a terrible flirt! Wilhelm, please, act like a gentleman. Charlotte was so looking forward to meeting a brilliant German ace; please don’t embarrass me in front of her!”
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, dearest Charlotte, but you have been wickedly deceived by my no-good sister! I’m afraid a brilliant German ace Johann Brandt, who you were looking forward to meeting, is scoring his victories in Africa now. It’s only me here, Willi. I’m his wingman.”
Gazing intently at the young man in front of her, Charlotte took a probing step forward, then another and finally sat carefully on the edge of his hospital bed, placing a magazine, with his photo on its cover, in front of Willi. “Could you sign it for me, please?”
“I would if I had a pen.”
“They don’t give you pens here?”
“Not even a pencil or paper for that matter, after that last letter of mine that I sent.”
“What was in it that was so horrible?”
“Nothing that I can think of. It was addressed to Reichsmarschall Göring. I only asked him to allow some cognac on the premises. The Gestapo thought it to be unseemly.”
Charlotte started laughing openly. “You wouldn’t do anything of the sort!”
“Mina, would I do anything of the sort?” Willi arched his brow, shifting his gaze to his sister.
She observed the two with a grin. “Yes, you would.”
Charlotte fingered the pages of the magazine. “I somehow formed a completely different opinion of you after reading this interview.”
“Those weren’t my answers. Minister Goebbels’s. Again, I’m terribly sorry for disappointing you.”