Her father excused himself; he had some important matter to attend to. She reassured him that she would be fine and wandered into the Court of Honour alone.
High back chairs arranged like Roman sentries at the Colosseum stood before an elaborately decorated stage with massive, elongated swastika banners shadowing an adler, its wings extended across a lectern, a menacing eye staring threateningly down on the assembly.
To the side of the hall was a long trestle table covered in white linen and adorned with an assortment of cakes and biscuits for afternoon coffee and cake. Gabi spied a delicious crumb cake that drew her in like a fish on a reel, inspecting it closely and licking her lips at the sight of lush plums generously inlaid and sprinkled with a delicate layer of icing sugar.
“Why don’t you take a piece?”
Gabi looked up at the striking features of a young officer with dancing eyes and a playful grin to match.
“That wouldn’t be right,” she said.
“Do you always do the right thing?”
“Yes,” she lied.
He laughed. “Good for you. What brings you here today?”
Gabi nibbled the inside of her mouth. She could feel the heat of her cheeks as they reddened. What did he want with her? The room swarmed with attractive women eager to gain the attention of such a fine-looking officer, yet he had approached her. Perhaps he knew her father.
“I’m with my father; he’s over there.”
The officer cast a casual eye in the general’s direction but made no comment, instead gazing inquisitively back at Gabi.
“You’re wearing a cadet’s Luftwaffe uniform. Don’t tell me you’re going to be a pilot?” His voice was incredulous but good-humoured, as though he was making a joke.
“Fighter pilot actually,” she said.
His jovial expression fell from his face, replaced with a fretted brow. “Is that how you were injured?”
She nodded. “It happened in training. A plane lost control and crashed on landing.”
He peered into Gabi’s eyes as if searching for something, and she pulled at her hair to cover her scar and looked down at the floor.
Seemingly sensitive to her discomfort, he quickly resumed their dialogue. “I’m so rude. I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Lieutenant Hans Philipp.”
“Cadet Gabriele Richter.”
The Lieutenant extended a friendly hand which he promptly withdrew on seeing the reddened mark on her palm.
“It’s fine now,” she said, “I can shake.”
He offered his hand again, his grasp firm but soft enough to send a tingle down Gabi’s neck. At that moment, a woman joined them, stylishly dressed in matching shoes, handbag and Hollywood hair, perfectly coiffed. Gabi stood mesmerized by the woman’s attractiveness, envy and awe leaving her mute.
“Hans, I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” she said. “And who have we here?”
“Cadet Richter, this is Eva Schmidt, actress.” Hans bowed theatrically. “Eva, Cadet Gabriele Richter, trainee fighter pilot.”
Gabi, unable to think of anything to say, merely gaped at the actress and waited for her to speak.
Alert to the girl’s plight, the actress adopted a condescending tone. “Cadet fighter pilot? We must be desperate. They’ll let anyone defend the Fatherland.” She leaned in closer. “Whatever happened to your face, dear? Lets’ hope that scar fades; you would have such a pretty face.”
Gabi’s jaw fell. She looked across at Lieutenant Philipp, who responded with a kind but uncomfortable smile and pity in his eyes. He felt sorry for her.
Tears welled, lips quivered. She made her escape, rushing across the room, bumping into people and apologizing awkwardly before spotting her father near the stage.
“Papa, I want to go home.”
“You’re not feeling well?”
“No, Papa. I just don’t want to be here any longer. People are staring at me, and I don’t want their pity.”
“Gabi, you did an incredibly brave thing. Being awarded the Iron Cross is a great honour. You should be proud. Besides, the ceremony will start soon and will be over in no time.”
“But, Papa…”
The general held up a hand and Gabi ceased her whining, taking a seat in the front row.
Her father was right about the ceremony starting soon but he was dreadfully wrong about it finishing in no time—the speeches and presentations were endless. Gabi flexed her fingers and rubbed her wrists as they were stiff and sore. She poked her finger under the cast of her broken arm to scratch an exasperating itch. She yawned continuously, fidgeted and basically drove her father mad.
“For God’s sake, Gabi, sit still,” he scolded.
She frowned, but her annoyance quickly passed; the Master of Ceremonies, Colonel-General Otto Dessloch, had called Lieutenant Hans Philipp to the stage to receive a Knights Cross medal and Gabi was all goosebumps and tingles. She leaned forward, captivated by the handsome warrior, an ace fighter pilot with twenty victories under his belt and a smile that could easily claim another victory over her heart.
Hans walked onto the stage and saluted as the medal was presented and hung around his collar. He looked over and winked at Gabi. She blushed and turned to her father, blushing even more on seeing her father’s bemused expression.
Gabi was called up shortly after. Colonel-General Dessloch gave a brief recount of her brave deed. She winced; how she hated this attention—especially looking the way she did. Rising from her seat, Gabi strained to clear the faint haze in her left eye, the blur distorting her perspective. She misjudged the first step and tripped clumsily up the stairs. Flushing again, Gabi kept her gaze fixed on the floor as she carefully walked up to the MC and waited. He looked at her kindly and pinned the medal to the lower left side of her uniform. She dare not look up, knowing that everyone would be watching her and waiting for her to fall down the stairs on her way back to her seat. She turned to make her escape.
“Colonel-General Dessloch, I have a question,” a voice called from the propaganda ministry. The journalist introduced himself and continued.
“Cadet Richter is extremely courageous. How is it that none of the other cadets came to help?”
Gabi looked anxiously about her. Was she expected to answer this? She turned to the MC for guidance, who prompted her to respond. Scratching her right palm, she positioned herself in front of the microphone and glanced down at her father, who nodded encouragingly, and across at Lieutenant Philipp, whose adorably crooked mouth and dancing eyes roused a momentary smile from her. She coughed to clear her throat, sending an amplified rasp that echoed her distress throughout the hall. She waited. Nothing. All eyes were on her and waiting. Waiting for what? The truth? How could she tell them the truth—that Heinz’s fellow cadets would rather see him die than listen to her? She took a deep breath.
“It is not my place to speculate why the others did not help; they can debate that with their own consciences. I did what I could. My conscience is clear.”
General Richter beamed with pride, the MC nodded his approval and Gabi returned to her seat safely.
The general took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “Well done,” he whispered. “But you must remember to speak up next time.”
Gabi made a dash for the cake display the very moment the ceremony ended. To her dismay, the crumb cake was nothing but a barren platter with only a circle of sugar to mark its being. Glumly, she studied the remains of the buffet and settled on a piece of fruitcake. A familiar voice whispered in her ear.
“I think you deserve better than a dried out fruitcake. Here, I’ve saved you a piece.” Lieutenant Philipp handed her a large slice of crumb cake.
“How thoughtful,” Gabi said. “Thank you so much.” She accepted the cake, succumbing to his beguiling eyes that sparkled at her, and she was sure that he liked her. Why she did not know, nor did she care at that moment. She was under a spell, lightheaded and deliriously happy. He turned away and beckoned someone from across the room to join them.