“Disappointing?” Charlotte’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “No, you definitely didn’t disappoint me.”
“Stay for thirty more minutes; I promise, I’ll do it by then.”
“I can stay for the rest of the day.”
Somewhere along the lines of their conversation, Mina slipped away without being noticed. Without taking his gaze off Charlotte, Willi was talking about flips and rolls, stalls and dives, desert and fighters, stars and the dustiest skies he’s ever seen. Her hands were Messerschmitts; his◦– Hurricanes. Here’s the blind spot. And here’s the frontal attack. Her palm, guided by his hand, was gliding above the blanket until it landed softly on the silky surface. No gear landing. I’m the master of it. If you only knew how many fighters I brought down in this manner with no fuel!
“Show me something else!”
“But of course! Spread your fingers wide. This is Lufbery. And this is our Schwarm. One on top of the other, you see? Move your left hand a bit further. Good. Now you can see the enemy fighters who attack your lower Schwarm and dive down on them. Just like this…”
“Oh, how I would love to fly a fighter myself!”
“If you bring me some civilian clothes so that I can slip out of here unnoticed, I’ll take you to the Berlin airfield and borrow one of theirs.”
“Would you?” Wide eyes; breath caught in her chest.
“For you, I would.”
Silence. Long and meaningful.
The day-shift nurse cleared her throat in the door. “Visitation hours are over.”
Charlotte’s delicate fingers still touching his, Willi looked at the girl with such devastation that she pressed his hand tightly and solemnly promised to return the following day.
“With paper and pen,” she whispered in his ear before placing an unexpected kiss on his cheek.
Charlotte did return and once again she stayed until the very closing. Three weeks later, making use of the paper which he now had in abundance thanks to his friend, Willi was writing to Johann. On the very bottom, just above his name, he wrote a simple and terrifying, I think I love her…
FIFTEEN
Africa, 1942
Johann touched his Knight’s Cross with reverence as though ensuring that it was indeed there◦– a habit which wouldn’t leave him ever since Feldmarschall Rommel himself awarded him with it on Reichsmarschall Göring’s orders. Ordinarily, it would have been Göring himself adorning one of his aces’ neck with a coveted ribbon but the situation on the front was such that no leaves were allowed, even for such celebratory purposes.
Rommel had just recaptured Benghazi not without the Luftwaffe’s help but the fighting both on the ground and in the air was so intense that everyone had to be present and ready to throw themselves on the battlefield. Still missing Willi sorely, Johann found that his mood had brightened a bit as soon as, together with the new pilots, fresh out of flying school, his old comrade Walter Riedman was transferred from his Geschwader in the Channel. In fact, Walter had been assigned to Staffel 3 at first, but Johann pleaded Walt’s case with his Staffelkapitän Leitner so relentlessly until he wore him out and Leitner finally agreed.
It only took Walter one sortie to persuade his new superior of his talent. Assigned to fly as a wingman to Johann, Walter scored two victories, all without leaving his leader and while clearing his tail.
“You should really allow him to fly as a Schwarm leader while von Sielaff is out of commission,” Johann told Leitner while both were writing their respective after-mission reports. “I know Riedman from the flying school. He has been flying since he was twelve. He used to perform aerobatics along with his father while I was only dreaming of flying. You saw his personal record◦– he’s an exemplary pilot. No reprimands, no negative entries… He scored twenty-eight victories while serving near the Channel. He was awarded the Iron Cross First Class—”
“All right, all right!” Leitner cried out, at last, throwing his arms in the air in mock irritation. “Have it your way. I’ll put him as a Schwarm leader for the next sortie; just close your mouth for five minutes and let me finish this, will you?”
Thoroughly trying to conceal his triumphant grin, Johann nodded. “Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann. Thank you.”
Walter accepted Johann’s invitation to temporarily occupy Willi’s bed in their tent with visible reluctance. “It feels wrong. His things are still here…”
“Willi wouldn’t mind,” Johann reassured his former roommate. “Like the good old times, at flying school, eh?”
Walt grinned, his kind hazel eyes shining softly. “Yes, like the good old times. I missed you both. And Rudi too.”
“Does he write to you?”
“He does when he has time. I feel for the poor fellow over there in Russia.”
“Who doesn’t now?” It was no secret that the mere thought of being sent to the Eastern Front turned any flyer cold with horror. “Even with all the malaria and snakes, I’d still take the African desert over the Russian steppe any day of the week and twice on Sunday,” Johann admitted honestly. “Besides, the field police don’t crawl around our parts as they do over there.” A vague nod in a generally easterly direction.
“Give them time,” Walt murmured, twisting an unlit cigarette in his fingers. “They’ll make their way here someday.”
No one could possibly know how prophetic his words would turn out to be.
One fine, spring morning, upon their return from yet another sortie, the Staffel found their base immersed in some odd commotion, their unexpected guests’ field-gray attires standing out like a sore thumb among the Afrika Korps sand-colored uniforms. The unannounced visitors strutted around with notebooks in their hands, conferring among themselves and thoroughly ignoring their Luftwaffe counterparts.
“What in the hell?..” Leitner’s face visibly clouded over as soon as he climbed out of his cockpit and found SS troops wandering around his base as though they owned it, probing and poking at the equipment. No one seemed to bother to salute him when he approached them.
“Good morning, gentlemen.” Hauptmann Leitner spoke with contained anger in his voice. “May I inquire of the purpose of such an unexpected visit?”
“You may.” One of the SS men◦– the leader, as Johann had assumed◦– turned sharply on his heels and glanced Leitner up and down, pursing his mouth disapprovingly at the ace’s disheveled state. They were all still dripping with sweat, sticky bangs plastered over their foreheads, dog-tired and thirsty◦– quite the contrary to the immaculately dressed Untersturmführer in front of them. Even his black boots still retained their shine after he had exited his car some twenty minutes ago. Twenty minutes, during which Hauptmann Leitner’s group shot down five enemy planes and claimed three damaged. “I won’t give you an answer but asking is not prohibited.”
Such a sardonic remark caused chuckles from the gray-clad officer’s men’s side. Leitner’s cheeks flared up with ire. “You’re on my base where I am in charge! I demand you introduce yourself properly and state the purpose of your visit. Otherwise, I’ll report you and your outrageous behavior to your superiors at once!”
The Untersturmführer only scribbled something quickly in his notebook.
“Staffelkapitän Hauptmann Leitner, correct?”