Gabi tugged at her sheets, pulling them free from where they had been tightly tucked under the mattress and drawing them over her shoulders. “I won’t be going back to pilot training.”
“Why?”
“Because I found it too hard.”
“So, what will you do instead?”
“I’ll finish my engineering studies and sign up with the Air Corps in some support role.”
The general’s shoulders fell. “I’m glad to hear that you’ve come to your senses.” He studied the box of petits fours. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“I’d like a mirror, Papa… please.”
He looked at his daughter, her face still badly bruised and swollen. But the bruising and swelling would disappear in time. What worried the general was the gash on her forehead, a deep course of neatly sewn, but unsightly stitches above her left eye. They would not fade so quickly, and the general was sure that Gabi would be aghast at the sight of them. “Perhaps another time, my little soldier. You will look much better soon when the swelling and bruising has gone.”
Gabi nodded obediently.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?”
An extended pause left them both drearily eyeing the room until the general handed Gabi a glass of water. She took a sip and held the tepid water in her mouth before swallowing as if rinsing down an unpleasant aftertaste.
“I’d like my engineering books. They’re in my room back at the academy. Could you send them, please?”
“Of course. Now, let’s try these petits fours. They’re from Belgium, you know—the very finest.”
He walked into the dormitory and threw himself onto the bed. Fellow cadets lounged about the room, reading and playing chess, the mood gloomy and subdued.
“How is she?” asked Frank through his teeth, his chin nestled on his fist while he contemplated his next chess move.
“She’s getting better,” said Heinz.
“When will she be back then?”
Heinz rolled over, turning his back on the mob. “She won’t be back.”
A charge of bodies jostled for position around Heinz’s bed.
Erich pushed his way through. “What do you mean she won’t be back?”
“She’s not completing her pilot training,” Kurt mumbled into his pillow. “She’s had enough of us giving her a hard time.” He punched at the pillow and buried his head.
“What’s up with you?” Erich leaned over the bed and winked at his captive audience. “I reckon you’ve got a crush on that slampe.”
Heinz rolled over and glared at him. “Shut up, farmer-boy.”
“Don’t you start,” Erich spat back.
Heinz hauled himself off the bed, thrusting his broad chest out and into the face of the farmer-boy. “Get out.”
He watched Erich skulk out of the room, satisfied that he had put Erich in his place. But the stench of guilt mixed with the musty odour of adolescence still tainted the room and Heinz felt the pressure of nausea build in his throat. “Pauli, go open the window—it stinks in here.”
Pauli gaped at the glass “Who’s that?”
An official’s limousine stood boldly at the main entrance, blocking access to the building. The door swung open and out stepped a high ranking officer.
“It’s a general. What’s he doing here?”
Heinz bounded over the bed and peered outside. He recognised the officer immediately. “Shit. It’s Gabi’s father.”
“Gabi’s father’s a general? She never mentioned anything. We really did pick on the wrong person.”
Major Stern greeted the general with a rigid salute and escorted him inside. “Gabi’s room is just down this corridor. How is she doing?”
“Gabi’s recovering well and should be discharged soon. She asked that I collect some of her books for her to study at home.”
The major opened the door to her room, stepping aside for the general.
“I’ll leave you here for a moment, if you don’t mind, General,” he said.
General Richter wandered over to a desk stacked with manuals and textbooks. “Yes, of course. Close the door behind you.”
He ran a casual eye over the books before circling the room. It was as he expected; simple and in keeping with Gabi’s modest needs. He made his way to a chest of drawers on which stood a photograph of Gabi and Spitz standing in the shade of the old oak. It was a charming image, one that he had never seen before and he wondered when it had been taken.
Another photograph stood alongside and he recognised it with a cringe. It had been taken some ten years ago at a local fair, and he had worn civilian clothing, not unlike that of a hick farmer. And to make matters worse, his expression reminded him of his own father, cheerless and stern. What had he been thinking to pose for such a picture?
He placed the photo frame face down on the chest and made his way to a wardrobe, pulling open the latch. Postcards, photos and newspaper clippings of heroic pilots were pinned to the back of the door. His lips curled; she was a teenage girl after all.
A firm knock rattled the general, and he slammed the wardrobe shut.
The major entered the room. “Sorry to startle you, General. Have you found what you were after?”
“Yes—I’ll be taking the books on the desk.”
The major studied the stack of engineering manuals. “When is Gabi likely to complete her pilot training?”
“She won’t be returning.”
The major drew breath. “May I ask why?”
Walking to the window, the general peered outside at the exercise yard, taking his time to respond as he always did when addressing subordinates. “Apparently, she found the training too hard.”
“Too hard?” the major said, his pitch rising. “I find that hard to believe. She would have graduated top of the class.”
Their eyes locked and the major immediately adjusted his tone. “I know that Gabi was given a hard time by the other cadets. Perhaps this is the real reason.”
The general eyed Major Stern, asserting his position with a stare that left no doubt who was in charge and the major bowed his head.
“I’m not going to encourage my only child to become a fighter pilot. If she chooses not to continue, whatever the reason, so be it.”
“Yes, of course, General Richter,” Major Stern said dutifully. “I understand.” He opened the door for the general and saluted but could not suppress one final retort. “Such a waste, though—she would have made a brilliant fighter pilot.”
“Nurse, may I have a mirror?” Curiosity, incited by boredom, finally drove Gabi to disregard her father’s advice. She needed to see the cut on her head. Gabi ran her finger down the stitches—they felt horrible, like a chain embedded in her skin. Did it look as bad as it felt? The nurse returned a few minutes later with a hand mirror, and Gabi waited for her to leave the room before holding the mirror up to her face.
Tears welled; Heinz’s horrified stare had been an honest reaction. She now understood why her father was so adamant that she not see herself; she looked like Frankenstein’s monster. Gabi placed the mirror on the side table and curled up under the blanket. She would never look in a mirror again.
October 1940
It was a grim period for the Luftwaffe. The Battle of Britain was a humiliating disaster, the invasion called off so the Fatherland could lick its wounds. The mood was sombre around the academy, the cadets grounded while their instructors attended urgent meetings.
Heinz wallowed in guilt and regret over Gabi’s injuries and her decision to drop out of pilot training. He wanted to make things right again but knew not how and this bothered him.
He gazed out over the airfield at the trainee planes on the tarmac, all of them looking drab and uninspiring, and it occurred to him that Gabi’s Arado Ar96 could do with a fresh coat of paint. Heinz remembered how he and Gabi had watched swallows swoop over their exercise yard one morning before a drill. She had said that she dreamed of flying with the swallows, and he had laughed at her.