“Not an accurate likeness if you ask me.”
“I agree,” Gabi said. “My eyes are green, not blue.”
They all laughed, relieved that Gabi had not taken offence. At that moment, Hans walked in.
“Quick, get rid of it.” She wasn’t sure how Hans would react to this piece of adult art and as their commanding officer, it was best not to put him in an awkward position.
The group stood at attention, giving Gabi time to hide the poster behind her back, passing it to Walter, who slipped it under the table with the skill of a magician.
They discussed details for that morning’s sortie to take out Russian frigates and supply ships destined for Leningrad, flying a three-pack formation; Walter would fly with Max, Otto with Kurt and Gabi would shadow Hans as usual.
It was overcast and condensation on the windscreen made visibility poor, but a fleet of Russian ships accompanied by a group of MiG-3 planes appeared through the haze.
Hans focused on his target, tailed closely by Gabi and Walter. Kurt broke away to the south, chasing a Russian into a cloud, Otto firing wildly at another that had closed in behind him. Walter and Max stalked a MiG-3 that seemed to have lost its nerve while Gabi zoomed in and out between Hans and two Russian planes. Hans had his sights on a frigate and was closing in.
“Captain, you’ve picked up an Ivan,” Gabi broadcast and she fired a spray of bullets across the fuselage and down to the tail-feather, sending the Russian plane into a tail-spin.
“You’re clear.”
Hans dove down for the kill, unloading his bomb and hitting its mark. A catastrophic boom followed by a plume of smoke saw the stricken frigate flounder, listing to one side and sinking beneath the cold Baltic Sea. Hans looked over his shoulder at Gabi and grinned broadly at his vigilant wingman.
Kurt was high above them all, trailing a Russian pilot with nerves of steel. Even Otto, Kurt’s wingman, cursed at this Ivan’s daring manoeuvres that kept both Kurt and Otto on edge. Kurt swooped beneath the plane and fired from below. The plane stalled and smoke billowed from behind, this Ivan’s fate was sealed. He watched the pilot open his canopy and jump, free-falling into the abyss and then Swallow appeared.
“Gabi, dive. Dive now!”
Kurt’s panicked voice sent a chill through Gabi and she thrust forward on the control stick without thought, frantic eyes searching to her left and right for the attacker. The Russian’s body slammed into her canopy, blood splattering across the cracked screen, the smashed face of the pilot shattering into an unrecognizable glob that slid down the front panel. Another shower of guts and gore sprayed before her as the body hit the propeller.
Hans looked on in horror as Swallow dove uncontrollably. “Pull up. Pull up, Gabi!”
Flying blindly, she grabbed the stick and pulled back. “I can’t see a thing. Am I clear?”
“You’re clear. Head thirty-three degrees west, maintain altitude,” Hans shouted. “We’ll finish this another time—we’re heading home.” He waved through the shield at Kurt. “Surround Swallow, we’ll escort her back.” Hans flew alongside Gabi’s unbalanced craft as it vibrated violently, giving instruction until she landed.
He touched down and watched Gabi scramble from her crippled plane and run out into the middle of a field where she doubled over and vomited. He ran to her, standing helplessly by her side.
“Are you all right?”
“I’ll be… I’ll be fine.” A spurt of vomit splashed up from the ground, soiling her boots.
Hans wrapped his arms around Gabi and with shredded nerves, they clung to each other, breath for breath, until their trembling passed.
“I thought I’d lost you. Oh, God, I love you. Don’t ever do that again,” he said.
“I’ll try not to fly the next time it’s raining Russians,” she joked feebly. They both looked over at Swallow’s bent propeller and a shuddered passed between them—lady luck had been with Gabi that morning.
The other pilots observed the covert lovers and for some, it was a revelation.
“Since when have Gabi and Hans been together?”
Walter removed his cap, walking alongside Kurt back to their quarters. “I think they got together at the award ceremony in June. Don’t tell me you hadn’t figured it out?”
Kurt spat on the ground. “He never said anything to me.”
“It’s not something a commander wants to get around if you know what I mean.”
Kurt eyed his comrade. “What exactly do you mean?”
Walter slapped Kurt on the back. “Well, Kurt, we all know you’ve got a mouth. You just can’t be trusted to keep it shut.”
It was a mild evening and Hans and Gabi were having coffee on a deck overlooking the southern sky. Pinke sat snugly on Gabi’s lap, her little paws stretched out before her to show off her fiery red nails.
Hans looked on, amusement in his eyes. “Only you would paint a dog’s nails.”
“It keeps my mind off things.”
“Like what happened this morning?”
“Yes, I can’t seem to get that image out of my head.”
“I know what you mean. I took some metal once that almost blew me away. It was a Spitfire—painted with a sword called Excalibur. That pilot had me chasing my tail… damn he was good; almost as good as me. I get the shivers just thinking about it. You know, I still look for that sword every time I see a Tommy.” He shook his head as if to rid himself of a niggling insect and took hold of Pinke’s little paw. “Nice job, but I think pink would have suited her better.”
Gabi took another sip of her coffee and turned to Otto, who was sitting on a tilted chair, rocking slowly and drawing on a cigarette. “And what do you think, Otto—red or pink?”
The rocking stopped and Otto pulled himself from the chair. “I think the war is turning everyone cuckoo.” He flicked his cigarette to the ground and walked away.
Gabi sipped her coffee, gazing idly at Hans who fidgeted with his watch, winding and holding it close to his ear. He removed the watch and tapped it on the deck.
“I don’t want you flying anymore. Why don’t you go back to engineering?”
“Pardon?” Gabi put her coffee down—this was no small talk and warranted her full attention.
Hans lowered his voice to a whisper. “I don’t want you to die.”
She slid closer to Hans, taking care not to disturb Pinke on her lap. “I don’t want to die either,” she whispered. “And I don’t want you to die, but we have a duty and both you and I serve the Fatherland best in the skies.”
“Do you get scared?” Hans asked, his voice still a whisper.
A memory, a fear rose against her will. “The cellar back home scares me. I can’t bring myself to go down there.”
“Yeh, cellars can be creepy. But do you ever fear flying?”
“Oh… flying. Yes, all the time. I peed my pants the first time I came under attack.”
The corner of his lips curled, and Gabi knew that he too had felt such fear. The whispering continued.
“How do you control your fear?”
“I don’t. But I’m not afraid to die—maybe that’s why fear never controls me,” Gabi said.
Hans bobbed his head. “I’m the same.”
But Gabi could tell by his abrupt tone that he doubted himself and that there was more to his fear then he let on.
That night, they made love. It was slow and gentle and Hans slept soundly afterwards while Gabi looked on, her feelings for him profound beyond meaning. She loved his lips; they were perfectly shaped for a man, and when he slept they took the form of a pout. His face had always been familiar to her—even before they met. She couldn’t explain it; perhaps they had been lovers in another life. Gabi’s nightmares had stopped, and she slept peacefully every night when Hans shared her bed. She knew what she had with Hans was special, that this man was her true love, her soul mate; there was no other explanation for it. She would die for him or she would die without him. Either way, Hans was her life.