September 1940
Both men swore that they would remain bachelors during the war, a pact that seemed sensible and mutually advantageous. But this all changed for Hans when Eva Schmidt appeared in his life. She was an actress, intelligent and articulate and a good conversationalist. She was also intensely ambitious, recognizing Hans’s potential as a war hero and how this could enhance her own career. They had dated exclusively for a few weeks, and Eva saw to it that she was by his side at every public event.
One such event was a dinner function to celebrate the Japanese inclusion in the Axis Alliance. Hans and Eva were seated at the back of the hall, the farthest table from the VIP area and the Führer. Everyone rose when Hitler entered the room and saluted with the obligatory “Sieg Heil”. They waited patiently for the Führer to take his seat and the room settled into a lively buzz as diners gloated over Germany’s occupation of France, discussed operations in North Africa and debated the overall success of Italy’s invasion of British-held Egypt. But no one spoke of the profoundly embarrassing Battle of Britain campaign.
Eva strummed her fingers on the side plate. “How dare they seat us so far from the Führer.” She took a sip of champagne and surveyed the room. “Hans, darling, let’s mingle. No one will see us here at the back of the room.” She hauled him across the floor and into the realm of the powerbrokers. “Hans, sweetheart—move this way. I think I just saw Leni Riefenstahl.”
Hans soon tired of his companion’s manipulative tactics. “I’ve had enough. I’m going back to our table. Are you coming?”
“We shouldn’t waste this opportunity.”
“Suit yourself.”
He left her and returned to the dim shadow that was their table at the back of the hall while Eva shifted her attention to Doctor Joseph Göbbels, Hitler’s loyal but over-zealous Reich Minister of Propaganda.
He was a short, unimposing man who suffered from a deformed foot—the result of unsuccessful surgery to treat a bone marrow inflammation as a child. But he had made his mark in the world and was now seated at the Führers table, a prime position and table worthy of Eva’s presence. She flirted and flattered her way past Hitler’s battalion of bodyguards, taking a seat beside the doctor, where she remained until she was obliged to return to her table when dessert was served.
“Made a new friend?” Hans asked, leaning back in his chair and away from Eva.
“I’ve been discussing your public profile with Joseph, and he is most supportive of you. Apparently, you’re quite photogenic.” She pouted, pulling him towards her by his collar and running her finger down his cheek. “Anyway, he wants to do some promotional pieces for the Luftwaffe and thinks you’d be ideal.”
Hans’s eyes narrowed, as did his lips. He had never known anyone as ambitious as Eva and the only other person who had more front was Kurt.
Doctor Göbbels ambled over to their table. He introduced himself to Hans and repeated what Eva had said, taking a seat next to her without invitation. They carried on flirting in front of Hans, who said nothing while he watched and seethed, eventually taking himself away to the men’s room. When he returned, Eva was gone. Hans sat back down and waited.
Eva slinked back to their table half an hour later. She was alone and looked decidedly flushed. Hans glared at her.
“Where have you been?”
“Hans, darling, I’ve been singing your praises as a war hero.”
“Don’t get huffy with me. If I was a jealous person, I’d be thinking there was something going on.”
Eva’s voice wavered. “Don’t be so ridiculous. It’s you I love. Besides, Joseph is such an ugly man.”
Hans wasn’t entirely convinced but thought it best to let it go. There was no denying that Eva was his greatest fan, and she did give good… advice. But did he love her? He doubted it. He had feelings for Eva but he never totally trusted her, this evening being just another example. They left the function and returned to Eva’s apartment. She made a special effort to please him that night—who was he to complain?
It would be another two weeks before Gabi was well enough to receive visitors. Engineering students, teachers and a surprise visit from Helmut and Chef kept her entertained with gifts of biscuits, magazines and the latest news on the war. But there was no sign of her fellow fledgeling pilots—not even a card—and Gabi could not help her dismay at their indifference to her.
Then, one morning, a quiet tap on the door revealed the youthfully appealing face of Heinz peering into the room.
“Can I come in?” he asked. Gabi nodded and Heinz entered, placing an unassuming bouquet of pastel yellow and pink carnations on the side table. “How are you feeling?”
“All right. And you?”
“Oh, I’m fine—hardly a scratch.”
He stared at her forehead, and she squirmed under the sheets.
“Does it look that bad?”
Heinz glanced away. “No, no, you hardly notice it,” he said. “I wanted to thank you for saving my life.”
“That’s what comrades do for one another.” Her eyes sparkled her joy at seeing him, but he seemed uncomfortable so she kept the conversation going. “How is everyone?”
Heinz blinked rapidly. “Oh, they’re all good. They send their best wishes. They want to know when you’ll be back.”
Gabi cast a forlorn eye over her crumpled bed sheets, pulling them tight to her chest. “I won’t be returning.”
“Why not?”
Eyes moist with hurt, Gabi lashed out. “You don’t really want me to return. You all made it so hard,” she said. “Thank you for the flowers. Now, please leave.” She turned her back to conceal her face, reddened by her emotional outburst.
“I’m sorry,” he stuttered and promptly turned to do as he was told. But as he left, a figure of similar stature entered the room, forcing a collision that left Heinz frazzled all the more. “I’m so sorry,” he said again and his face froze at the sight of an officer’s uniform. Instinctively, Heinz saluted the officer, making his escape down the corridor but pausing at the reception desk.
“Excuse me, nurse, who is the officer visiting Gabi Richter?”
“That’s General Max Richter, Gabriele’s father.”
The colour drained from Heinz’s face.
The general watched the young man lumber down the hallway and out of sight, giving him time to compose himself before entering the room. He was feeling a little guilty, having not visited Gabi for almost a week due to POW transportation issues and a rather sulky mistress in Berlin. He hoped his gift would make amends.
“Hello, my little soldier.” An exquisite red velvet box of Belgium petits fours was placed beside the carnations on the side table.
Gabi did not respond. The general leaned down to kiss her cheek but she rolled to her side away from him, covering her face with her bandaged hand.
“What’s the matter?”
“I’m fine. Just a little tired.”
But General Richter knew his daughter. She had been a sensitive child, prone to episodes of crying so intense that she made herself sick, leaving him helpless and bewildered. Something was troubling her now and he was no mood to deal with her tears—not today. Was she upset with him? He probed gently. “You’ve had a visitor then?”
“Yes. Heinz Dorfmann.”
“Ah, isn’t he the cadet that crashed the plane?”
Gabi nodded.
“Clumsy fellow… but he brought you some flowers. That’s nice. He’s not your boyfriend?”
“No, he’s not my boyfriend.”
Annoyed by her curt responses, the general tried another approach. “So, I guess you can’t wait to be with your cadet buddies?”