Gabi pulled herself upright, tilting precariously to one side and struggling to stay still, her body rolling with the spinning room.
“Go to your quarters.”
She rose and stumbled across the room, landing heavily on the floor. More sniggers followed, prompting Sergeant Klim to scan a room that reeked foul and culpable.
“You, Dorfmann, show Cadet Richter to her room,” he said.
Heinz scrambled to her side, immediately hauling Gabi to her feet and leading her out into the corridor.
“I feel sick.”
“We’re almost there.”
“No, I feel really sick. I don’t think I can wait.”
Her lunch exploded onto the pristine floor, spraying up the walls and along the skirting board. It trickled down her uniform front and stuck in clumps in her braid. Heinz recoiled, covering his mouth as the stench filled the air.
“I’m so sorry, Heinz.”
“Here, let’s clean you up.” He took Gabi into the latrine and rinsed her hair under a tap. When the worst of it had been washed away, he helped Gabi to her room where he took off her soiled jacket and placed her on the bed. By the time he had removed Gabi’s boots, she was fast asleep.
Heinz studied her for a moment, watching her chest rise and fall with each breath. He leant over her and sniffed close to her mouth and grimaced. Leaving Gabi to sleep it off, he went to clean the mess in the hall.
Heinz returned to the classroom where Sergeant Klim was grilling the other cadets to find out who was responsible for Gabi’s drunken state. Pauli broke first and confessed that Erich had spiked Gabi’s cider. Given that they all knew what was going on, Sergeant Klim showed no mercy and they were all punished with restricted privileges for a month. Erich was also given a formal warning—one more slip up and he would be transferred to the infantry.
Gabi woke later that evening. Her head pounded with malice, she was dehydrated and her stomach was empty. She made her way to the dining hall where she drank a jug of water. The kitchen had closed for the night and so she settled on a bread roll and a wedge of cheese. Sitting down on a bench nursing a throbbing head and wounded self-esteem, she failed to notice Heinz beside her.
“How are you feeling?”
Startled, Gabi spilt her glass of water. “Damn.”
“Here, I’ll clean it up.”
“No, it’s fine. You’ve already helped me enough today.”
They sat quietly, Heinz patiently watching Gabi eat her roll and cheese, waiting for her to make the first move. She sensed his guilt and forced him to sit and stew for some time before speaking again.
“Heinz, who spiked my cider?”
Heinz looked away. “Erich,” he said, “but we all knew about it.”
Gabi could feel her throat tighten but she did not cry. “Why do you all hate me so?”
Heinz shrugged and after a time, slinked out of the room, leaving Gabi to her bread roll and cheese.
The following morning, Gabi ate breakfast with Josef. She no longer conversed with the cadet pilots; they had made their position clear. She spent her private time in the hangars with the mechanics and engineers, learning as much as she could and in no time, she was performing all her own plane maintenance.
Erich would watch Gabi with the maintenance crew and unleash his spite. “She thinks she’s something special. I wonder how many have had her?”
Only Heinz distanced himself from such hateful talk. He didn’t know why Gabi played on his conscience, but he cared not for Erich’s malice towards her and thought it best to stay out of it.
For Gabi, the situation was disheartening, leaving her once again the outsider.
August 1940
Hans cursed into his mask. These English pilots were savvy predators and their Spitfires flew as fast as his 109 and could turn and spiral even better, although he would never admit such a failing.
The dogfight had gone on for some ten minutes, and both pilots were so evenly matched that a stalemate seemed inevitable. Soon, he would be low on fuel and would have to return to base. Hans made one last attempt to outmanoeuvre his foe. The plane rolled to one side, descending rapidly and swooping into an outside loop, positioning itself behind the enemy. This would be his only shot. He took aim and pelted the plane, holding his breath until the round had expired. All five senses exploded at once.
“Horrido!” He was hit. The Spitfire roared in a death dive that left no doubt. Another loud explosion as it burst into flames. Hans exhaled slowly, opening and closing his clenched fingers to bring them back to life, his mouth dry, his ears still humming from the blast. This Tommy had been a good pilot and a worthy adversary, but lady luck played a fickle hand and had deserted him on this occasion.
Hans surveyed the sky. Kurt’s plane, branded with a cheeky ‘Good Night Tommy’ flew across his path. He held a thumb to his windshield, confirming that he also had claimed one victory.
Hans turned his plane south back across the water. Both he and Kurt were now revered ace fighter pilots, having already downed over fifteen enemy aircraft. They were fighting the French and English over the northern skies of the channel and south-east England and JG 76 had been reformed as JG 54\1 Group Grünherz. The Battle of Britain campaign was taking its toll, but not today; this was a successful sortie for a change—two down with no losses and another victory added to their scorecards. Hans had his ambitions set on a Knights Cross and he knew that it was within reach. But for now, he would settle on a reward of another kind—an evening with Rosie, a clerical assistant with the body of a goddess and a passion for ace fighter pilots.
It was evaluation day and the atmosphere was tense with anxious muttering. In the centre of a vast hangar stood an Ardo Ar 96 training fighter encircled by a captive group of cadets waiting for the torment to begin.
“I hope I’m not first,” Pauli said to Heinz. “Puked like a dog that had eaten shit. I think my gut is trying to tell me something.”
“It’s just nerves. You only need a couple of clean touch and goes to pass.” Heinz leant into Pauli’s ear and whispered: “Let Gabi go first.”
Stepping aside, Pauli gestured to Gabi to move to the front. “Ladies first.”
She eyed him suspiciously but took her place at the head of the line before saluting their assessor, Major Stern.
“Go, show them all how it’s done.”
Gabi flew as they all knew she would. Her takeoff was smooth, her touch and goes controlled, her landing safe; all within the allowed time frame. Major Stern gave Gabi the thumbs up as she dismounted from the plane and she smiled her relief, flicking her long braid behind her back triumphantly.
“She’s his little darling. He must be giving her one,” Erich said.
The other cadets rolled their eyes and bobbed their heads like sheep.
Heinz strode out next onto the tarmac, eager to show off his skills. The plane ascended competently, his manoeuvres equal to Gabi’s in style and execution. And then things turned.
“Shit… it’s stalling.” He pulled back to level the plane and correct the angle of attack, but the plane continued to dive. “Pull up, pull up…” He thrust forward, then back in a panic, hoping to regain control of the craft but it remained unresponsive. An emergency landing was his only option, prompting a series of actions that all cadets were now well versed to perform. But he was descending too fast, and his lack of experience was working against him. All eyes watched helplessly as the plane careered down.
Gabi turned to the cadets. “He’s coming in too fast!”
Silence.
“Did you hear me? He’s coming in too fast. He’s going to crash. Come on, farmer-boy. He’ll need help,” she repeated, bounding back and forth as panic took hold.