The next day Kurt confronted Hans in the privacy of their office.
“When were you planning on telling your best buddy about it?”
Hans leaned back in his chair, eyeing Kurt and twirling a pencil between his fingers. “About what?”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
Hans flipped the pencil onto the desk and watched it roll to the edge where it balanced without falling. “Frankly, it’s nobody else’s business.”
“When a commander’s humping one of his subordinates, I think it is.”
Hans tapped the pencil with the tip of his finger. Both men watched it topple onto the floor.
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that last remark, Lieutenant Dorfmann.”
Kurt saluted, resentment flaring in his eyes. He knew that he was out of order but he had never censored any dialogue with Hans before. Was this how it was to be between them from now on? He spun on his heels and left the room to clear his head with a drink.
It had been seven months and his so-called best friend hadn’t mentioned a thing about his relationship with Gabi. Admittedly, Kurt had spent much of that time away, having been seconded to JG 52, but he had returned two weeks ago and hadn’t noticed a thing.
How could he have been so blind to it—so utterly clueless? Annoyed by his lack of insight, Kurt’s fickle mood swayed between acceptance and malice. He was glad that Gabi had finally moved on from Heinz, freeing him from the burden he had taken on to watch over her. And it didn’t bother him either that Hans had abandoned his oath to bachelorhood and gone and found himself another woman. What Kurt couldn’t handle was his own jealousy; it would eat away at him, bit by bit, this he knew and over time he would hate them both for it.
It wasn’t long before Kurt requested a transfer. He didn’t care where to, as long as it was somewhere else. A few months later, paperwork was finalised and orders were issued—Kurt would transfer to North Africa under Generalfeldmarschall Kesselring’s command.
March 1943
He stood paralysed, watching as bullets tore through her body. He saw her on the ground, riddled with holes, her eyes frozen. He woke abruptly; sweat pouring from his forehead and down his chest. This was the third night in a row that Hans had woken from such a nightmare.
His panicked breathing settled but his body still shook so he walked to the wash basin where he splashed water over his face, running his fingers over his clammy head and through sweaty hair. He popped a pill into his mouth and waited for his fear to dissolve.
Tomorrow night, he would be with Gabi and this troubled him. They had been together for nine months and everyone knew that they were a couple, but no one spoke of it for it would not have gone down well with the Reich Air Ministry. He would spend every other night in her quarters, sneaking back to his room at sunrise. But since the nightmares had started, he would not allow himself to fall asleep in Gabi’s bed, instead, returning to his own room after their love-making to get some sleep.
Gabi’s collision with the Russian pilot had rattled Hans and he blamed himself for her brush with death, having failed in his duty to look out for his wingman. His victory tally had escalated beyond any expectation and he knew that Gabi, as his wingman, was placing herself in more danger than would otherwise be the case. He worried incessantly, often vomiting on returning from a sortie, his nerves frayed to the point of exhaustion, making him doubt his ability to command. Why must she fly? He asked this question over and over, knowing the answer and unable to argue against it. He had no right to tell her what she should do with her life, but he simply could not accept things as they were.
Hans confided in Otto that he couldn’t stand the thought of seeing Gabi die, that it haunted him and that he was thinking of transferring elsewhere to sort himself out. As things weren’t improving, Hans went through with his request. On March thirtieth, his orders to transfer to the western front for the Defence of the Reich were finalised. He summoned Gabi to his office that morning to break the news.
Did Hans know it was her birthday? She had deliberately not mentioned anything to anyone, preferring to keep her twenty-first birthday a secret to avoid all the fuss and embarrassment. She was sure her father would also forget, as he had a tendency to do, but it no longer bothered her and she had become accustomed to his belated gifts. But why then, would Hans ask to see her in his office, as though he had some official matter to discuss with her. It all seemed quite odd. Perhaps he was playing a trick.
Gabi finished her breakfast and went to see Hans, her mood light and cheerful. She knocked on the door and walked in to find Hans sitting behind his desk reading a report. He looked up and in his eyes, she saw despair, and she knew immediately that this meeting had nothing to do with her birthday. Gabi sat down and waited. Hans kept his head low.
“What’s wrong, Hans?”
“I don’t know how to tell you this.” A pencil twirled between his fingers and Gabi could tell that he was deliberately stalling, as he often did when dealing with unpleasant matters.
“Hans, tell me.”
“I’m being transferred to the western front.” His words were flat, cold, official like he was announcing the time.
A deep rut appeared across Gabi’s brow, her thoughts a jumbled puzzle with pieces that didn’t fit together. “Why? When?”
“I need to move on… I need a change… I leave tomorrow.”
Gabi shook her head, unable to comprehend his words as they struck, her eyes searching the room for something, anything to offset the rising panic. “What do you mean you need to move on? I’ll request a transfer, too. We can still be together.”
“No,” Hans said, his tone sharp, almost hostile. “I think it’s best if we spend some time apart.”
Gabi forced herself to calm, breathing long and deep, clasping her hands so tight they ached. “Hans, what have I done?”
Hans closed the report. “You’ve done nothing. The problem is mine; let’s leave at that.”
So, this was it. This is how they would break up. Her heart sank like a lead weight, her eyes filled with tears, her throat choked. She would have thrown herself at his feet and begged him not to go if it would change things. But he wouldn’t even look at her; he just sat there and gazed down at the report in front of him as if she was not there.
Gabi stood and ran from the room.
“Helmut, Helmut!” Helga was agitated. She had misplaced yet another precious item—a comb—and was beside herself with worry.
Helmut walked into the bedroom. “Yes, Madam?”
“Helmut, someone has stolen my ivory comb. It belonged to my mother, and she will be upset when she finds out. I want the thief arrested.”
Helmut shook his head. She was always difficult but as the months passed, she was becoming increasingly more so; fretful over trivial things, often delusional. Only last week, she had accused one of their maids of breaking her reading glasses, forgetting that while sitting down for breakfast that same morning, she had accidentally sat on them and crushed them herself.
General Richter rarely stayed on the estate nowadays, so it was left to Helmut to deal with these situations.
He exhaled a long, frustrated sigh. “I’ll see what I can do, Madam.” Hopefully, she will have forgotten by lunch. He’d make sure Chef gave her plenty to eat—nothing like a filling meal to divert her thoughts.