Fatigued into submission, he accepted his damnation. After all, were they not all damned? The Nazis may well wear the blame but the German Volk would carry the shame of these atrocities for generations to come. This would be his legacy to the people of Germany.
He tossed in his bed, slamming his head down into the pillow. It was no good; sleep would elude him another night. A prayer stuck in his mind turned once again like a scratched record. Please God, let me speak with Gabi; give me one more chance to tell her that I love her and make amends. The record played over and over.
The next morning, he called his old friend Albert Kesselring—if anyone knew how to contact the enemy and find out about Gabi, it would be Albert.
She followed the boundary to the far end of the field, to a restricted building located on the south side of the grounds. A wire fence had been erected around the compound with a large ‘OFF LIMITS’ sign on the gate. Gabi had noticed some activity on the site the previous day that had sparked her curiosity and now, enticed by a good measure of boredom, she found herself scrambling along the fence line looking for a break. A sizeable hole made by a tenacious fox provided the means.
Kneeling, Gabi scooped her hands and trawled at the dirt, the musty smell of earth stirring memories of her childhood, when she would dig for worms near the brook back home determined to present Chef with a sizeable trout for dinner. She shuddered at the cool soil that packed beneath her fingernails but kept digging until the gap was sufficiently large to wedge herself under.
She ran to the hangar doors and pulled the handle but it was locked so she crept to the back of the building, spying a partially open window. Gabi clambered up and hauled herself through the opening and down into a dark and sinister crypt, feeling her way along a wall to a panel with a switch. The room flickered, leaving her momentarily blinded. But the light steadied and all became clear.
In the centre of the room stood the ruined carcass of a Me-262, its fuselage blackened and rutted with bullet holes. A white number five identified its pilot—it was Peter’s plane.
“Now you know why you’re here.”
Startled, she turned to the voice and Art stepped through the door.
“No—I haven’t a clue.” She walked alongside the plane and poked a finger into one of the bullet holes. “Where was Peter shot down?”
“We chased him back to the coast. He was hit but managed to land the plane in one piece. He didn’t make it, though. I’m sorry.”
Art paused, as though waiting for Gabi to speak, but she continued to stare at the plane so he continued. “Our engineers have been tinkering, but they’re having trouble firing her up. As soon as she’s ready, you’ll show me how to fly her.”
“Surely your engineers can work it out. I’ve heard the Gloster Meteor is comparable to the 262.”
“Comparable? Let’s just say, she still needs work.”
Gabi walked outside into the warmth of the morning sun where a flock of starlings rode a furious wave, rising and falling and turning back on itself, and her thoughts flooded with memories of those she had lost—so many lives wasted. They had all done what they thought they had to do, riding a wave of destruction and for what? She watched the flock disperse, and it made her sad.
“I can’t betray the Fatherland. It will all be over soon anyway.”
“Then what does it matter?”
Gabi could not answer him.
She was like a swallow with a broken wing. Unable to fly, Gabi hobbled about the base, aimless and yearning for Kurt and his love. But nothing could bring Kurt to her. She ran her hand over her widening belly, still barely noticeable, and allowed herself a moment’s solace; it was not all bad. She had something of him inside her after all.
She simmered in guilt. Why had she refused to help Art? Did she really owe the Fatherland her loyalty? Hitler and his generals were morally corrupt, sadistic criminals responsible for the destruction of her homeland and its people, turning it against itself with hatred and prejudice. She had played along, like everyone else, following orders and questioning nothing aloud. And for what? They had lost the war and rightly so, for neither she nor Germany, had considered the consequences of looking the other way and their time of reckoning had come.
Gabi searched the base for Art. She made her way to Excalibur and found Art in the cockpit, his face buried low while he foraged behind the seat.
She knocked on its undercarriage, and his face appeared.
“What are you doing?” she said.
“I lost my lucky coin, and I think it may have fallen down behind the seat.”
“I didn’t take you for a superstitious man. You know it’s totally irrational.”
“Since when is anything about this war rational?”
“Fair point.” She ran her hand along the dented body of the battle-weary machine, and for the first time noticed an inscription painted beneath the cockpit. She read it out aloud.
“Thenne he drewe his swerd Excalibur, but it was so breyght in his enemyes eyen that it gaf light lyke thirty torchys.—Le Morte d’Arthur by Sir Thomas Malory. I read his works many years ago.”
Art smiled down at her, impressed that she was familiar with the prose. “I’ve always had a fascination for King Arthur and the knights of the round table. As a boy, I’d spend hours fashioning swords and shields out of fence palings. My parents said that they named me after King Arthur, but I think they just said that to humour me.”
Art resumed his search, twisting his body and grunting aloud as he squeezed his hand down into a crevasse.
“Found it.”
He held a bronze object triumphantly in the air, a Roman coin unearthed as a child while fossicking with his father on the east Devon coast. It was the most treasured thing he owned and his relief on finding it once again reignited his resolve.
“Have you given any more thought to the 262? The engineers seem quite optimistic that she’ll be operational any day now.”
Gabi watched him flip the coin and thought how easy it would be for him to lose it again behind the seat. “Do you know why I enlisted in the war?”
He shrugged and tossed the coin again.
“I wanted to fly. That’s all. I never wanted to be in any war. It was always about the flying. Now, show me the plane.”
The coin slipped through his grasp and clattered beneath the seat. “Oh, well, at least I know where it is.”
He led her to the building out by the field where a crew worked on the 262’s engines. The men swore and cursed at the machine, and Gabi found herself stifling a laugh.
“Are the turbines clear?” Gabi asked a man with eyebrows that stood like the spines of a hedgehog. He nodded and she climbed on board and leaned into the cockpit. “Do you mind if I try to start her?”
The engineer looked at Art and shrugged. “Sure, but I can’t see the point of it. We’ve tried that a hundred times… they don’t work. What can you do?”
Gabi ignored the question and switched on the starter motor. The engine did nothing and she jumped down from the platform and walked to one of the jet engines, where she pulled the d-ring cable. Nothing again. She pulled a second time with the same result so she set to work dismantling one of the engines.
“Hey, don’t touch that—it’s sensitive equipment,” the chief engineer yelled as he moved towards Gabi and grabbed her hand. A spanner fell to the floor and she cursed, twisting her wrist to release his hold and retrieve the spanner.
“Relax—I know what I’m doing. I helped build one of these from scratch not that long ago.”
“You did what?”
“I trained as an aeronautical engineer before I became a pilot.”