Of Knights and Dogfights

by Ellie Midwood

  “A mess you have here, Cadet Brandt.” He pointed at the floor, littered with the boys’ personal belongings which he had thrown there mere seconds ago. “That will be duly recorded in your personal file.”

  “Jawohl, Herr Fahnenjunker.” Johann clicked his bare heels and straightened even more, despite anger flaring up on his cheeks at such unfair treatment.

  He always made sure that their room was spotless for the morning inspection and the evening one and personally helped Willi make his bed in the proper way – on days when he’d actually slept in it, that is. Whether he was on duty or not, Johann always refolded his roommates’ tunics or sports suits if they weren’t folded correctly and double checked so that everything inside the closets was arranged according to the instructions. And now, he’ll have this record in his file simply because some Fahnenjunker decided to take his anger out on someone, without any consequences? Surely enough, he didn’t hit Willi as hitting Willi would send him flying out of the school.

  Meinzer looked him up and down and turned around to take his leave. After the door closed after him, Willi scrambled to pick up everything from the floor before Johann could. As Johann crouched next to him, he saw tears in Willi’s eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Johann! I’m so sorry,” Willi kept muttering, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s all my fault. Please, forgive me! I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble, I swear!”

  “It’s not your fault,” Johann replied in a soft voice, folding an undershirt on his lap. “Meinzer is a piece of work; that’s all there is to it.”

  “But he picked on you because of me!” Willi looked around as though searching for something all the while the boys were busy rearranging their items on their respective shelves, quiet and subdued; then grabbed a lighter that lay forgotten on top of his covers and thrust it into the unsuspecting Johann’s hands. “Here, take it, please. I know it’s a trifle but it’s all I have to offer you. Please, don’t be mad at me!”

  Johann burst out laughing despite his previous sour mood. “I’m not mad at you, Willi. I really am not. And I would never take your lighter from you; that’s your father’s gift – are you mad throwing it around like that?”

  Willi shifted from one foot to another, uncertainty still visible in his eyes as he accepted the lighter back with reluctance.

  “If you really want to make it up to me, don’t sneak out tonight at least, will you?”

  Willi nodded readily.

  When he heard shuffling under his bed after the lights-out, Johann half-expected to hear the familiar clinking of the lock on the window. Instead, two hands appeared on the edge of his bed; a smiling face lit up by the moonlight and Willi’s wiry frame as he pulled himself on top of Johann’s bed.

  “Did I wake you up?”

  “No, I wasn’t sleeping yet.”

  “Minding me?”

  Johann only snorted softly and moved closer to the wall, letting Willi lie next to him on top of the covers.

  “I’m sorry,” Willi started again, remorse evident in his eyes.

  “I told you, I don’t hold it against you. It’s not your fault, so don’t apologize.”

  “You’re a grand fellow, Johann.”

  “So my little brother says.” Johann smiled.

  “I wish I were your brother,” Willi blurted out suddenly. “I’m really grateful to you for everything, Johann. You always look after me even though I don’t deserve looking after. But you do anyway. I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate it.”

  “It’s really nothing,” Johann muttered, embarrassed.

  “Well, it’s everything to me. Thank you and… well, good night.”

  “Good night, Willi.”

  The boy was already back in his bed, snoring softly and Johann lay for a long time, staring at the ceiling and thinking how wonderfully well everything turned out after all. To hell with that reprimand; Willi opened up to him and called him his friend and that was much more important. People were always much more important to Johann than all the papers and notes put together.

  Three

  November 1938

  * * *

  The morning dawned drowned-gray. Dressed in their sports suits, drenched to the bone due to the slanting rain, the cadets lined up outside for basic infantry training. The instructor, with a bearing and an attitude of a right drill-sergeant, marched along the line, shouting in the faces of his new charges what they were about to endure at his hands.

  “I know that you imagine yourselves as some sort of playboys, in fancy uniforms and with silk neckties, flying your little planes and visiting your multiple lady-friends in your free time. But, before you get to those planes, you will have to learn what the everyday soldier must go through, for once your fancy little plane takes a hit and you are forced to bail, guess what you become? That’s right! An ordinary infantryman! And it’s up to me to teach you how to survive on that land because let me assure you right now, it’s a much more challenging affair than your fancy aerobatics.”

  Johann suppressed a chuckle as Willi grunted next to him, rolling his eyes – a stunt which fortunately went unnoticed due to the instructor turning all of his attention to some unlucky fellow at the beginning of the line.

  “Why are you shivering? Don’t look down, look me in the eye when I’m talking to you! You’re not a dog; you’re a future soldier and I’ll teach you how to act like one if you haven’t learned it yet! What is your name?”

  The cadet mumbled something inaudible due to the torrential rain and the vicious howling of the wind. Johann ignored shivers passing down his spine and pulled himself up even more, turning into a rigid statue; not because of the instructor’s shouts but solely to prove to himself that he was stronger than nature itself.

  “Louder!”

  “Joachim Hall!”

  “What happened, Cadet Hall?! Are you cold?! Drop down and perform fifty pushups at once!”

  From the side of his eye, as he stared straight ahead as was prescribed, Johann saw the cadet drop down into the mud. The instructor, with his whistle shimmering glumly on his neck, was slowly stalking along the line, repeating from time to time to all the unfortunates who also couldn’t control their involuntary trembling any longer.

  “Name? Are you cold too, my little, delicate nancy-boy? Fifty pushups!”

  White clouds of vapor coming out of his mouth, the instructor was approaching Johann and Willi. Johann stilled himself, applying all of his willpower; passed the test under the beady, scrutinizing eyes and exhaled only when the instructor passed Willi as well. The temperature that morning plunged just below zero. The grass was white with ice under their feet when they first stepped on it before the clouds broke down and decided to drown them all in icy rain.

  Most of the instructors at the basic flying school were demanding but likable fellows – former pilots, whom cadets looked up to and who they aspired to become. They were reasonably firm but just, invariably dressed in immaculately pressed uniforms, had creases on their trousers as sharp as a razor and talked in calm, confident voices – unlike this infantry training drill-sergeant whom Johann disliked for that very bellowing of his.

  “Only an ignorant person uses his voice when he can’t use reason; only a powerless person uses force when he can’t use diplomacy.” Johann’s father once noted in one of his quiet pearls of wisdom, while the two were working on one of Herr Brandt’s training gliders outside. “A true leader never raises his voice. He inspires the others with his actions, his personal example.”

  “Is that why the Führer always shouts?” Johann whispered back; bit his lip at once but instantly broke into a wide grin as he caught a bright reciprocal smile from his father.

  “Yes. That’s why all of them shout.”

  Johann knew better than to express the same sentiments around anyone besides immediate members of his more than liberal family. His father had always possessed the sharpest sense of justice and always taught his sons what he believed in. And so, instead of,
“we only love and respect those of German blood,” which the teachers drilled into the boys’ heads at school, he taught them that, “we only love and respect those, who deserve our love and respect, regardless of their race, nationality, or religion.” Johann found that it made more sense anyway. Why should he love and respect the headmaster’s son, who was a little weasel and a snitch, who invariably reported to his father every single student, who dared to greet his classmate with a “good morning” instead of the prescribed “Heil Hitler”? He much more preferred respecting Alf, who, even though he wasn’t of German blood, was still a much better German than the schoolmaster’s son, in his eyes.

  Herr Brandt saw Johann off to Vienna with a light heart; his oldest son was already an adult who knew how to think for himself but it was his youngest one, Harald, about whom he worried – he confessed it to Johann right before Johann’s departure. A few days ago, a new teacher replaced the old one – beloved by every single student – and demanded at once that little boys who were only ten years of age, act like little Gestapo agents.

  “Our new teacher told us that Herr Schmitt had lost his position because he was ‘politically unreliable.’ He also told us that older boys from the Hitlerjugend will initiate a Streifendienst and will report us to the teacher if we don’t follow the doctrine,” little Harald mumbled, munching on his marmalade sandwich. “They will watch us at school and in the streets too. He said, if we go near Jewish shops, we’ll be reported. If we don’t greet each other with the salute, we’ll be reported. And if we don’t report someone, who didn’t reply to us with a salute, we’ll be reported. He said I must report you all too if you don’t salute me back. But I would never report you, Papa! And I’d never report Mama or Johann,” Harald even shook his blond head vehemently in the confirmation of his words but then paused in uncertainty. “But how do they know if we don’t greet each other properly? The teacher said that Der Führer has eyes everywhere. Does that mean he can see us now?”

  “No, son, he can’t,” Herr Brandt rushed to reassure him. “The teacher is just trying to scare you like your Mutti used to scare you with the big gray wolf so that you wouldn’t wander into the forest alone.”

  “There’s no wolf there, Vati,” Harald grinned. “It’s a children's tale. I’m not a child anymore. I’m a Jungvolk member.”

  “Adults tell each other tales too, Harald. ‘To keep them out of the forest.’ Like the one that the teacher told you about Der Führer watching you all the time. Der Führer is only a human; he’s not some all-mighty God.”

  “The Führer needs soldiers, not nancy-boys which you represent in your current state!” The instructor’s barking, as he was back to abusing one of the cadets, cut into Johann’s thoughts. “You can’t do fifty pushups? You’ll be lying face down in the mud until you’re done and I don’t care if you drown in it! The rest of you – fifty sit-ups with your arms stretched in front of you, as though you’re holding a rifle, the right to hold which you haven’t deserved yet; now!”

  Johann nearly beamed in relief at the command; he could swear his toes would freeze to the ground hadn’t it been dispatched.

  The remainder of the practice proceeded in the same manner. The instructor abused them unmercifully, both physically and mentally and as though the poor shivering horde didn’t suffer enough, he had sent them on a five-kilometer run, which he would time – and God help you if you didn’t make it back in under twenty-five minutes!

  Johann always excelled in sports despite his delicate frame; it was the academics which came to him with some difficulty. Willi – he couldn’t stop marveling at his friend – managed to get excellent grades without bothering to open his textbook once and ran marathons with such ease as though he had been training for the Olympics and not getting over yet another hangover nearly every morning. Walter, the prodigy pilot and the most studious of the group, also managed to keep up; it was Rudolf, his black bangs falling in his eyes, who started falling behind very quickly. Johann slowed down to cheer him up a bit, waving the rest of his friends to go ahead.

  “Come on, Rudi!” Johann clapped his hands, running backward to encourage Rudolf with a smile. “We passed the three kilometers mark! Two more and we’ll go to the showers and then have our lunch! Just push yourself a little more!”

  “I can’t,” Rudolf moaned, holding his side. “I was never a good runner. Go on without me. I don’t want him to punish you for not making it in time.”

  “I won’t leave you alone!” Johann protested. “Come on; together we’ll do this, you’ll see! I won’t run fast, just try to match my steps and breathe through the nose, not through your mouth. Steady, deep breaths!”

  “I can’t… My side is killing me.” Rudi stopped altogether, his palms resting on his knees as he struggled with catching his breath.

  “No, no, no! Don’t stop, you’ll only make it worse!” Johann was already pulling him by the soaked sleeve of his gray sports suit with a Luftwaffe eagle embroidered on it. “Little steps. Run as slow as you can but don’t stop!”

  They were the last ones to turn onto the finish line. As soon as the instructor saw Rudolf’s arm around Johann’s shoulder, who was nearly dragging his roommate after himself, he trotted towards the couple, seething with fury.

  “What do you think you’re doing, you numbskull?! The enemy will not wait for you to pick up all of your comrades who can’t run fast enough! In the army, it’s each for their own, you fucking crap-head! Drop him this instant and march towards the finish line!”

  Johann only pursed his lips into a thin unyielding line and stubbornly refused to let go of his comrade’s arm.

  “Drop him this instant, I said!!!” The instructor bellowed in his ear, bristles of spit mixing with rain on Johann’s cheek. “If you refuse to follow my orders, I’ll leave you without lunch and dinner today and have you stand in the courtyard till the lights-out!”

  “Johann, leave me,” Rudolf implored him quietly, prying his arm free. Johann pulled it back, supporting him by his waist with a most unwavering determination. At last, both made it across the finish line, where the rest of the cadets were waiting.

  “Congratulations,” the instructor addressed them sardonically. “Your heroics just cost you both your lives. The enemy caught you and has taken you prisoner, or worse – killed you both. Are you satisfied with yourself, Cadet Brandt?”

  “Jawohl, Herr Instructor. I didn’t leave my comrade and I’ll die happy, knowing that my conscience before him is clear.”

  “You’re an idiot then. Well? Why are you still here? Didn’t I tell you that I’ll send you standing at attention in the courtyard for the rest of the day if you don’t follow my orders? Go on, trot along, Cadet Brandt! I’ll be checking on you from time to time; I better not find you sitting on the ground!”

  By four o’clock, the rain had finally stopped. Thick fog replaced it, growing denser, more impenetrable with each passing minute, obscuring the silhouette of the school from sight, turning it into a ghost house. By five, Johann had lost almost all feeling in his shoulders, back, and legs. By six, he could swear he’d drop any moment now, either from hypothermia or from exhaustion. A little after six, Herr Hauptmann himself appeared with Willi in tow and silently motioned Johann to follow him. This time it was Willi, who nearly carried Johann’s collapsing frame, on his shoulder, back into the welcoming warmth of the school.

  In the Hauptmann’s office, the fire was lit. He ordered Johann to undress and sit in front of it at once. Willi was already waiting with a towel in his hands, with which he started vigorously rubbing his friend’s skin that had taken on a grayish tint. Herr Hauptmann, meanwhile, poured him three fingers of cognac and forced him to drink it. Johann’s teeth shuddered uncontrollably as they came in contact with the rim of the glass.

  “You did the right thing,” the Hauptmann spoke in a low voice. “Not abandoning your comrade. We never abandon our kind. That fellow, your new instructor he’s a bit…” He sighed, waved his arm in a dismis
sive gesture.

  “I know,” Johann grinned with lips which didn’t listen to him too well. “My brother Harald has a teacher like that at school. Also teaches them all sorts of nonsense.”

  The Hauptmann hid a grin and poured him more cognac. Johann finally felt warm.

  Four

  November 1938

  * * *

  Johann woke up from someone shaking him frantically and cringed at the overpowering smell of liquor assaulting his senses.

  “Willi, what the hell?!” he groaned. Ignoring the disheveled boy, who was desperately trying to tell him something, he shoved him off of himself, pulled the blanket over his head and turned to the other side.

  “Will you listen to me?” Willi hissed into his ear, his voice strangely sober.

  Johann sat up after Willi had yanked the blanket off him, his eyes shining with some odd gleam in them. The window, through which he’d climbed in, was still open, icy gusts of November wind biting exposed skin on Johann’s neck. Willi was out of breath, his hands closing and unclosing into fists.

  “What is it?” Johann probed gently. “Did you get in trouble with the police?”

  “No.”

  “Did the sentry catch you at the gates?”

  “Don’t be daft! Had he caught me, I wouldn’t have been here talking to you, would I now?”

  “What is it then?”

  “You have to come with me.”

  “Have you gone off your head?” Johann tried to make out the time on his wristwatch in the scant light provided by the moon. “It’s almost two in the morning! We have to be up in four hours.”

  Willi shook his head vigorously, sending his long bangs falling over his eyes. His forehead shone with a thin film of sweat; Johann had just now taken notice of it. “You must come with me. You must see this.”

  “Willi, I told you already, I’m not going to any of those parties of yours! And especially in the middle of the night! What’s gotten into you—”