“I know. I was there, remember?”
She wanted to slap him, throw something at him, anything to smash that smug look from his face. She clenched her fist. “He’s offered me a place with Kommando Nowotny flying the Me-262.”
“And?”
“I’ve accepted. I leave at the end of the week.”
Kurt said nothing.
She shook her head. “You’ve got nothing to say?”
“What is there to say?”
Kurt was right; what did she expect him to say? Standing at an open door, resigned to the fact that he didn’t care enough to stop her, Gabi’s words cut through the tension that separated them.
“You know, Kurt, not everyone can move on so easily; some people never stop loving someone that they’ve lost.” The door slammed shut behind her.
October 1944
Gabi marvelled at the machine. It was a beautiful aircraft with sleek wings and a streamlined fuselage. Two Junkers Jumo 004B turbine engines powered the beast and four 30-mm cannons protected it. Gabi had undergone a few weeks’ instruction, and it was time to see for herself what all the fuss was about.
She climbed into the cockpit, immediately impressed by its spacious dimensions. She placed her princess cushion on the seat, lowered herself down and commenced the start-up routine. The turbines roared and the jet shook with defiance as though rebelling against the engine’s authority.
“You’re clear to go.”
Gabi gently pushed the throttle forward, easing the 262 to a coasting speed of 160km/ph. It ascended steadily, its climb like that of an albatross, awkward and demanding. She flexed the rudder pedals and was less than impressed with its sluggish response.
“Feels a bit clumsy,” she said over the radio.
“Give it time.”
The 262 continued to climb to ten thousand metres.
“Let’s see what she can do.”
Gabi pushed the throttle and the jets exploded with 1800 kilos of combined engine thrust, its twin turbines roaring at 8700 rpm, her senses roused to the point of rapture. She banked and spun, whirling in a vortex of velocity that left her breathless, her heart pumping adrenaline through every vein, fuelling her ultimate fantasy—she was finally flying like a swallow.
Never had Gabi seen so many chrysanthemums, a sea of wreaths smothering the grief of a nation in mourning for a war hero. Walter was dead, killed in action on November eighth and buried in Vienna after a state funeral that spared no expense. ‘Fly till we die’ they had hollered aloud as brash, young jagdfliegers, high on life and naive to consequence. But lady luck was no longer with the Luftwaffe and all the pilots knew it.
Kommando Nowotny was redesignated to JG 7 but losses continued to plague the unit, especially during take-off and landing when the 262s were most exposed to attack from allied aircraft. A Jagdschutz of propeller fighters was established to defend the 262s during these vulnerable periods and JG 54 was assigned protection duties. Kurt and Gabi would fly together once more.
“And remember, every shot must count. We can’t afford to waste fuel either so keep on course and fly conservatively—no stupid stunts.”
She watched Kurt from the back of the room, sipping her coffee and only half-listening, her eyes flitting up and down discreetly to avoid eye contact. Kurt was briefing the group before a sortie, and Gabi couldn’t help but notice how much he had changed.
He was an experienced wing commander now with responsibilities and demands well beyond reason for one so young. This would most certainly account for his disciplined, level-headed demeanour. But was it the sole reason for this new sensibility? Gabi thought of something her father had said a lifetime ago: “Nothing like a sensible woman to help a man mature.” Had Kurt found himself a sensible woman?
The pilots left on their sortie, acutely aware that they no longer held the advantage. Tensions were high and tempers flared…
Gabi sprinted from her machine like a rabid greyhound, her target leaning against his plane watching the riggers refuel. Erich’s sneering eyes turned to Gabi as she bounded up and planted a clenched fist into an exposed jaw. He tumbled to the side, landing heavily with a grunt.
Gabi flung herself at him again, fists flying into his nose, chin, eyes, any target as long as there was impact. Erich thrust back, throwing her across the asphalt before hurling himself at her in a frenzy of blows. Gabi, shielding her head, kicked wildly at him, cursing and cussing with all the foulness within her. Kurt yanked at Erich, pulling him off Gabi, yelling for calm.
“What the hell are you two doing? Isn’t it bad enough that we have to watch each other die at the hands of the enemy? Do we have to kill each other, too?”
Gabi wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth. “He took a swipe at me. Pelted me when no enemy craft was anywhere near.”
“Don’t be stupid—you flew across my path of fire, you crazy bitch.”
“Shut up, both of you,” Kurt said. “You’re never to fly together again… ever! Do you understand?”
Gabi and Erich glared at one another, mutual hatred hanging thick like the putrid stench of sewage in the air. Erich snarled, saluted and walked away, leaving Gabi shaking before she too headed off in the opposite direction.
Kurt let the incident pass without reprimand, for it would mean consequences that neither he nor the Reich could afford. Both Gabi and Erich were needed badly and a court-martial served no purpose to a dying force.
Later that evening, Kurt approached Gabi, not as a commander but as an old friend who cared.
“I meant what I said this afternoon. Stay clear of him; he can’t be trusted—his ambitions are set on revenge. If given the opportunity, he’ll have you by the throat and slice you like a knife in butter.”
“Just let that farmer-boy try… bah. He’ll cut me like a dead dog bites!”
“He’s a loose cannon and even you need to watch your back, impressive as your right jab is.”
Gabi winced and patted her split lip, smiling with her eyes at Kurt’s unwavering concern for her.
“Göring wouldn’t know what rations are; he’s such a fat pig. Put an apple in his mouth and you could serve him up for Christmas dinner.” Gabi had had enough of Reichmarshall Hermann Göring.
The war in the air was lost and Göring blamed the fighter pilots. They bickered and squabbled like seagulls at a picnic but nowhere was it more treacherous than at the top. Reichmarschall Göring and General Galland could agree on nothing and in an effort to restore some sense of unity, Dr Göbbels struck a temporary truce under the guise of fabricated success. They would celebrate the brilliance of the Me-262 with an event, a ball of grandeur and stateliness, attended by all prominent Luftwaffe personnel. Surely, this would lift the spirits of a demoralized force?
Heavily bombed, the once mighty metropolis of Berlin was now a labyrinth of bunkers and foxholes and so the event was held in a large bomb shelter that served two purposes: firstly, it offered some protection in the event of a night raid and secondly, the acoustics were brilliant.
Göbbels saw to the preparations personally and only the biggest and best would do: a fifty piece orchestra complete with conductor, a vast table embellished for a sumptuous feast and enough champagne to satisfy a banquet at Versailles. The charade continued.
Gabi arrived at the ball, escorted by her father who led her through the crowd to an area reserved for high command. He looked dashing in his full dress Waffenrock tunic adorned with ribbons, silver braid belt and white gloves and although in his late forties now, the General still cut a handsome figure that was sure to be popular with the ladies.