“And what if I had let him go only to face him again the next day or the day after? What if lady luck were on his side on that day? I’ve seen our boys, defenceless with no ammunition, taken out by Russian snipers, never knowing what hit them. Is that honourable?” He paused as if waiting for Gabi to respond but she kept her head bowed so he continued. “No, Gabi. You are wrong to have such noble expectations. We do what we have to do to win this damn war and to stay alive. Whether he is in his plane or not, he is the enemy and we must do what we must do.”
Gabi met his gaze, his eyes clear and fixed on hers, his words spoken with conviction. She didn’t accept that what he said excused his actions, but she did acknowledge that he believed it was the only thing to do.
December 1941
December was a month sent from hell. Germany had failed to take Moscow, testament to the strength and determination of a proud Russian people. The Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbour, forcing the Americans into the war. It was the turning point the general had prophesied—the beginning of the end.
General Richter took a swig of brandy and immediately felt the sharp stabbing of his ulcer as it fought against his decadent lifestyle. He sat at his desk, staring blankly at the layers of books that lined the walls. A knock at the door broke his trance, a graceful shadow gliding behind him, two willowy arms folding down around his neck.
“Come to bed,” she whispered. “It’s late, and you need to sleep.”
The general’s face softened and he leaned back into the chair, drawing the apparition around to his lap. She nestled into him and kissed him softly.
“I cannot sleep.”
“Well, then, Max, I’ll have to think of some ways to help you relax.”
He swathed a hand over her shoulder and glided it down her willowy arm. “Go, warm the bed. I’ll be there in a minute.”
The apparition disappeared into the bedroom, leaving the general once again to his thoughts.
It was Christmas Eve and the first Christmas without Gabi. He was more or less alone but for the company of his young mistress—one of many who entertained him in his Berlin apartment. But she was his favourite and knew how to pleasure him with little effort—sometimes it just clicked between sexual partners. He took a sip of brandy and suffered another painful spasm. He shouldn’t be drinking this cheap paint stripper; it couldn’t be good for his health. But where to find a decent cognac? He stroked his chin and contemplated his list of reliable cohorts. Sepp Dietrich would be able to get his hands on some; he wasn’t much of a general but there was no questioning his resourcefulness.
It was bitterly cold outside, possibly the coldest winter he could remember and Gabi was in Russia, in temperatures of minus thirty-two degrees. He shuddered at the thought. They had spoken only yesterday to wish each other a joyful Christmas and she had assured him that she was in good health and spirits, saying that the base was well equipped to handle the extreme cold although she mentioned nothing of her flying duties. How cold must it be for a fighter pilot at five thousand metres? Another sharp pain shot through his abdomen.
He pondered his life and where it had taken him. Ambition had always been a driving force, as was his lust for all things fine. On his walls hung examples of fine art—Monet, Vermeer, Degas; the spoils of victory. He had a fine wine cellar with the best French vintages. His apartment housed many examples of baroque furniture, and he shared his king size antique mahogany bed with a harem of fine women. Yes, life was fine, very fine indeed, perhaps too fine…
“Max, come now or I’ll start without you.”
The general chuckled to himself and stood, undressing as he made his way to the bedroom.
January 1942
“I don’t have it. I’ve lost it… no, I’ve left it behind,” she declared as she rummaged frantically through her bag for something precious, something she could not live without.
“We must go back. I must have my mirror.”
A mirror is not the only thing she’s lost, Helmut thought to himself. He bent down and with a groan, lifted the confused, obese woman from the train station bench and ushered her to the limousine.
General Richter had summoned his sister Helga to Meissen fearing a Red Army invasion of East Prussia was only a matter of time. But the years of loneliness and idleness had left Helga scatty and vague, not to mention twenty kilos overweight.
Helmut endured fifteen minutes of relentless ranting on the drive home to Manor Grand Oak. She complained about the filthy conditions on the train, the stale food in the dining car, the smelly passengers, the disrespectful ticket inspector who insisted she shared her cabin with peasants and, of course, her missing mirror. Helmut shuddered at the thought that this crazed woman would be living with them—indefinitely. Perhaps it was not too late for him to enlist in the war.
June 1942
“Aren’t you just a little bit excited?”
She straightened the map, stooping to study the fine print. “Excited? No, nervous, yes. I hate standing in front of a crowd. Besides, it’s just a piece of metal.”
Hans looked at Gabi from across the table. “The German Cross in Gold is not just any piece of metal. And your Knights Cross is pretty impressive too.”
“For a girl, you mean.”
“You know what I mean.” Hans narrowed his focus to a point on the map. “We’ll catch a transporter to Neuhardenberg and then drive to Meissen. I better telegram my mother—she hates surprises.”
Hans left Gabi in the meeting room where she slumped over the table, wrestling principles that would not submit. They had been summoned to Berlin to attend an award ceremony celebrating their victory counts, and it did not sit well with her. Unlike the others, Gabi did not have Swallow’s rudder painted with a scorecard; she saw nothing honourable in taking the life of another man—even if they were the enemy. Her life as a fighter pilot had become a matter of survival, not victory and glory for the Fatherland. It was her duty to fight and defend her country and its people, and death was a tragic outcome, nothing more.
Hans however, thrived on his success. Though only twenty-five, he had already achieved the rank of captain and commanded one of the best groups in the Luftwaffe. How proud he had been when awarded the Swords of the Knights Cross at the Wolf’s Lair back in March, presented by the Führer himself. How he gloated over his many victories, mocking his adversaries and their misfortune, and it bewildered her that he could be so callous. But he was not the only one in Germany who had become detached from humanity and this troubled her most of all.
The car travelled along a forest of elms, skirting the base of a hill that rolled gracefully into the estate.
“That’s Grand Oak. That’s the tree I’ve been telling you about.”
Hans stopped the car and peered at the solitary oak cloaked in a mantle of jade, its girth as wide as four barrels, its age beyond the memory of any living being. “Impressive—must be a least two hundred years old.”
“At least,” Gabi said. “It’s where I go to get away from this mad world.” A vision of fancy crossed her thoughts and her lips curled. “I’ll show it to you one of these days.”
They pulled up at the entrance of the manor and Hans gaped at the grandeur of Gabi’s country home. “You live in a castle. It looked big from the air, but it looks even bigger now.”
“It’s just an over-sized barn with a lot of plaster.” She strained under the weight of her bag, hauling it over the back seat and hurling it out of the car. “I’m sure I didn’t pack any bricks.” She unbuttoned her jacket and loosened her belt, inhaling the sweet scent of home like a tonic to the soul. “Would you like to come in for coffee and cake?”