Erich and the others stood and stared.
“What’s wrong with you all?” She turned her back and ran towards the runway.
Major Stern could see it too. “Slow down, Dorfmann,” he yelled into the radio. No response. He repeated the command; still no response. He jumped down from the viewing platform and sprinted for the runway.
The plane wavered and bounced, then bounced again and slammed into the ground, flipping and skidding in a plume of dust at the end of the strip. Chaos erupted—sirens blared, maintenance men yelled, a fire crew ran frantically to a fire engine only to find it would not start.
Gabi was first at the mangled wreck, diving to the ground to check the cockpit. Heinz dangled within, conscious and pulling at his straps.
She knocked on the screen. “Open the canopy”
Heinz shook his head.
She pulled at the latch. “It won’t open. Can you force it?”
Heinz repositioned himself, thrusting a shoulder down again and again. “Goddamn shit!”
“Come on, push harder. Use your legs.”
“Where are the others?”
“They’re coming,” she said.
A rumble from the engine ruptured into flames, sending Heinz and Gabi into a frenzy of thrashing arms and legs, yelling for help, the heat of the fire scorching their skin, the toxic smoke choking their throats and scalding their eyes. The thumping ceased.
“Heinz, keep pushing, don’t give up.” She thrust down, using the full weight of her body, her hand quivering against a jagged metal strip. And though it bled, she pressed down, harder still, until the canopy released.
“Run!”
Heinz scrambled out, stumbling forward, momentum keeping him afoot and in motion. He ran, blindly, stumbling, scrambling, until the boom of the aftershock blew him from his feet.
A jacket slammed down, smothering the flames beneath. Major Stern rolled the body and gasped. Blood, so much blood. But she was alive. He watched as her chest rose and fell, momentarily relieved. “Gabi, Gabi!” He called again but she did not respond and he looked about, panic rising. “Go—get help… get an ambulance,” he shouted and one cadet broke from the pack and ran.
Heinz staggered towards the group nursing an arm, contorted unnaturally. “How is she?”
Major Stern lent over Gabi, blocking Heinz’s view. “She’s alive, Dorfmann. Now back off.”
“Let me see her.”
The major glared at him. “I’ll not say it again. You’re hurt; go get yourself attended to. That’s an order.”
They dragged him away, though he resisted at first until the pain of a dislocated shoulder caused his legs to buckle and his head to reel.
“God, let her be all right,” he mumbled as they carried him to the infirmary.
Gabi was taken to the Munich-Schwabing Hospital. Her father was notified and flew immediately from Berlin to Munich. He arrived at the hospital and was briefed by the surgeon, who looked down at a clipboard, announcing her injuries like a list of inventory.
“She has sustained multiple internal injuries—four broken ribs and a punctured lung. We have also removed part of her spleen. She has lacerations to the forehead and right hand. Her left eye socket is fractured and the left side of her face is badly contused. She has second-degree burns on her back. Oh, and her left arm is also fractured in two places.”
The general listened, open-mouthed as the extent of his daughter’s injuries sank in.
Major Stern joined the general and surgeon, introducing himself and offering a convoluted apology that made no sense to the general.
“I just don’t understand how this could have happened. Why was Gabi flying a plane?”
The major looked to the surgeon, then back to the general, his expression perplexed. “All cadet pilots must fly a plane if they are to obtain their pilots licence.”
“What are you talking about?”
“General, you are aware that Gabi transferred to fighter pilot training about three months ago?”
“No, she mentioned nothing.”
“My sincerest apologies—I assumed that she had your support.”
An awkward silence followed, the general’s stupefied stare leaving little doubt who had been remiss. He turned to the surgeon. “When can I see Gabi?”
“You can see her now, although she is still under anaesthetic,” the surgeon replied.
Gabi’s father was shown to her room, where he waited and worried himself into an ulcer.
“Watch this.”
Pinke sat on her behind staring up at the morsel of schpeck above her head, her little paws held up together as if in prayer.
Otto looked across and tutted. “You’re giving that dog schpeck? Great, more smelly farts.”
“Oh, relax. Isn’t she cute?” said Kurt, and he lowered the treat just above her nose. The little dog stretched its neck, grasping the meat and swallowing it whole.
The pilots were lazing on deck chairs overlooking the main runway, basking in the heat of a late summer’s sun. Walter and Dieter were playing cards, Otto swatted at an annoying squadron of flies, Hans had fallen asleep and was snoring while conniving Kurt saw an opportunity that couldn’t be missed.
With stealth and a mischievous eye, Kurt crept up behind Hans, leaned over and carefully placed a piece of schpeck on Hans’s groin. The others watched in juvenile suspense.
“Pinke, go get it,” he said.
Pinke’s tail wagged. She took a few steps back before bounding up and landing on her target with pinpoint accuracy.
“Shit!” Hans rolled onto the ground where he stayed, writhing in agony, the intensity of his pain inciting roars of laughter from his comrades. Eventually, Hans pulled himself back onto the chair. “Who the hell did that?”
Four condemning fingers pointed at Kurt.
“What?” Kurt feigned innocently. “Thanks, boys…”
They ran the full length of the air-strip before Hans gave up the chase—Kurt was way too fit and fast. Besides, Hans had to get ready—he had a date with a hot actress that night.
Gabi stirred. An eye opened and fixed on a face with a grooved forehead.
A firm voice spoke. “How is my little soldier—or should I say, fighter pilot?”
Gabi’s breathing deepened, labouring under the burden of guilt. She had deceived her father yet again and would be reprimanded.
The general placed his palm on her cheek, urging her gently to calm. “It’s all right, Gabi. You saw an opportunity and took it.” He paused and continued in a softer tone. “It’s of no consequence now. All that matters is that you get well.”
“Papa, it hurts,” she whispered. The general turned to a doctor who had slipped into the room and was reviewing her chart. He eyed the physician, raising an eyebrow and the doctor responded with a nod, leaving the room and returning a few moments later with a syringe on a tray. He placed the tray on the bed and took Gabi’s arm, inserting the needle. Gabi flinched, her eyes blinking slowly before she drifted off into morphine-induced darkness.
The general sat by his daughter’s bed for hours. He held her bandaged hand and stroked the bruised side of her forehead soothingly. The left side of her face was covered in dressings, sterile and unnerving. He did not sleep that night.
The following day, General Richter made arrangements to relocate to the Führerbau in Munich for a provisional period. He and Heinrich Himmler, Head of the SS, were assignedSpecial Services for the Reich; a seemingly unremarkable but most convenient appointment for General Richter.