A mechanic standing beside Art sniggered. “Those Jerries are full of surprises. No wonder this war has dragged on so long.”
Gabi worked closely with the engineers, a suspicious bunch of mumbling introverts, but she had a genuine way with people that soon won them over. They dismantled and re-assembled each section in a total overhaul, systematically stripping, checking and cleaning the turbines, compressors and exhaust assembly. As they worked, the engineers shared more and more of themselves with Gabi and she knew she had earned their respect. After a week, the work was done and a wondrous roar and trembling of the earth announced their success to the base.
Art’s eyes fixed on the radiant face of his attractive instructor, his heart pounding like that of a besotted schoolboy.
“The 262’s not like a propeller fighter, you know… she has slow throttle response that takes some getting used to.”
Gabi frowned at her pupil, unimpressed by his vacant stare. “Art, are you listening to me?”
Art blinked himself back and his cheeks flushed faintly “Yes. Of course, I’m listening, Captain. Please continue.”
“Good, then pay attention—your life depends on it.”
Art rolled his eyes. “That’s a little dramatic, isn’t it?”
“Dramatic? I wouldn’t be too cocky if I were you. She may fly like a dream at high speed but make no mistake, the 262’s clumsy at take-off and unpredictable at landing. Too hard on the throttle and you’ll overheat and catch fire, too soft and you’ll risk stalling the engines. Now, if you want to find out the hard way, that’s fine by me.”
He sat upright in his chair and saluted. “Yes, Sir, Captain Sir!”
On the day of the 262’s first flight, Gabi found her mended leather jacket on her bed along with her princess cushion, now a clean, vibrant pink. She pressed the cushion to her cheek, resting her head on its softness, running her hand over the embroidery so meticulously stitched by the loving fingers of a mother, and it filled her with hope. It was time to make amends.
The Me-262 rumbled onto the runway, its engines idling at 3000 rpm and sending a buzz of anticipation through the crowd of spectators that had gathered on the field. Gabi took hold of the throttle and eased the craft into motion, gaining speed rapidly as it thundered along the strip, lifting gracefully into the air and shooting into the southern sky.
“Where’s she gone?” a group captain yelled, wiping his balding head and neck with a handkerchief. “She won’t do a runner, will she?”
Art covered his ear, straining to hear Gabi over the radio. He knocked the ear-piece against the desk and the crackling cleared. “Come in, Captain Richter. How are you travelling?”
“I’m good—just checking my instrument readings. All looks in order.”
“Roger that.” Art turned to the panicked group captain, whose head glistened in the heat of the noon sun. “No, Sir, she’s not doing a runner, just spreading her wings.”
A faint rumble could be heard, its pitch rising slowly like that of a whistling kettle, building as the jet drew nearer. The charged air boomed and the earth shook with energy and the crowd covered their ears and opened their mouths as they gasped.
What a sight, Art thought, and his eyes followed the 262 as it flipped and rolled at a speed that left him winded. Soon, it would be his turn, and his stomach churned with excitement. He watched the plane land, and forcing his breath to a steady pace, greeted Gabi as she climbed down.
“Impressive show but you look a little off colour.”
“I’ll be fine.” She removed her cap and took a deep breath and the colour returned to her cheeks. “Just be gentle with her.”
Art let out a jittery chuckle and climbed on board.
“Remember, easy on the throttle,” she called up to him.
He nodded and settled into his seat to perform his checks.
Gabi watched for a while before tapping on the plane’s underbelly.
Art opened the canopy and yelled down. “What is it now?”
“Did you remember your lucky coin?”
He rummaged through his pockets, eventually pulling the coin out and holding it high. “Ready for take-off,” he said.
Gabi laughed, both at him and at herself, for although she was not superstitious, she felt a sense of relief that he had his lucky coin with him.
Waving through the canopy, Art eased the throttle forward, accelerating with a smooth and steady climb. Gabi held her breath, watching Art rise and bank into the clouds before sprinting to the control tower.
“Looking good—come in Wing Commander Wilson,” she announced into the radio.
The jet broke through the cloud, shifting unsteadily from side to side as it gathered momentum.
“I hear you, Captain Richter, just catching my breath—I think I’m in love.”
“Don’t give your heart away too lightly,” Gabi said. “She can be a temperamental lover.”
An awkward silence fell over the pair, ending the banter for the remainder of the flight.
April 1945
A shaft of gold filtered through the rain-stained window of the library, casting a dusty beam across an armchair where she nestled with a book. A shadow engulfed the light and Gabi’s gaze flickered.
“Your father has been in contact with us. He requested information regarding your status.” Art paused and took a deep breath. “We have advised him that you are alive and well and are being held as a prisoner of war.”
Gabi closed her book and stared vacantly at the cover, waiting for his words to stir something in her. “Does he know where I am?”
“No. He only knows that you are alive. He also wishes you a happy birthday.”
Her birthday… he had remembered. She closed her eyes to the memory of her father, and her emotions came alive. She felt his torment, his utter despair and she cried for him.
Art lowered himself onto a footstool and waited for her sobs to pass. “When was your birthday?”
“Two days ago. I turned twenty-three.”
“Then birthday wishes are in order—happy birthday.”
She parted her lips, staring sadly out the window, unable to bring herself to speak.
“What do you wish for?”
Her eyes closed and after a while, they flickered wide as if waking from a dream. “I wish the war was over. I wish Kurt were here. I wish that my nightmares would end. I wish that I was home, lying beneath the old oak and dreaming the daydreams of my childhood.” She paused and turned to the window again, searching. “I wish that my father knew that I still love him.”
She pulled at a thread that had worked its way through the stitching of her trouser leg, holding it high and letting it blow free with a soft puff. “Before the war, my conscience was clear. The war has changed just about everything in my life, but it will not stop me from loving.”
Gabi took a deep breath, holding and expelling it slowly. She had shared her innermost thoughts and fears with Art and she felt somehow cleansed at having done so. She touched his hand, a friendly gesture of gratitude.
Art closed his eyes and his lips arched into an insightful smile. “You’ll have all your wishes, I promise.”
“You’re sweet,” she said but she pulled away, unnerved by his nearness. “I’m sorry.”
They sat in awkward silence, vulnerable to emotions that they could not express.
Gabi eventually spoke again. “What do you wish for?”
“But it’s not my birthday.”
“It doesn’t matter. Tell me, what would make you happy?”
Art took her hands, stroking them with his thumbs. “I wish I could hold you in my arms.”
Gabi gazed at a man that reminded her of all the men she had loved. Was it the way he looked or spoke, the way he would wink at her and smile. Perhaps it was all or none of these. But she could not deny her feelings for him. “It would be so easy to fall in love with you, Arthur.”