Of Knights and Dogfights

by Ellie Midwood

  “Stop it at once!” Johann shouted, wishing just to erase the entire overheard conversation out of his mind.

  “Did you hear what they were saying? And openly, too. So, all of those people, every single person who was present during the dinner, knows what’s going on. Every. Single. One.”

  “Willi, this is just…” Johann shook his head as though trying desperately to clear it.

  “This is our country, Johann,” Willi finished, with a sense of some desolate finality about him. “This is what we’re fighting for. We’re protecting a regime that kills our own people.”

  Johann stared into space, pieces of the puzzle slowly coming together. “Remember how I told you that they wanted to take Riedman from us? How Rommel stood up for him, together with us? And Riedman is only half-Jewish. Those SS people were saying something about some new directive.”

  They drove in silence for some time before Willi finally spoke, voicing precisely the thoughts that Johann was having. “Has it ever occurred to you, Johann; the fact that we’re fighting on the wrong side?”

  Johann pondered his response before replying with a heavy sigh, “do we have a choice at this point?”

  “This war will turn out very ugly for us all, Johann. And to be completely honest with you, I hope I won’t live to see it.”

  Willi still put on a brave face for his loved ones. He still posed for the countless photographs that his mother and fiancée Lotte were taking and not once spoke about anything besides amusing anecdotes that he had brought from the front. For their sake, he made the service sound light and easy and for that, Johann was grateful. As he had promised, he had attended his best friend’s simple wedding as his best man and congratulated both bride and groom profusely before the two couples headed two separate ways; Johann and Mina to Beeskow to visit his parents and Willi and Charlotte to the Baltic coast for their improvised honeymoon. For a short while, a chimeric semblance of peace settled over them, tainted with a bitter taste of the truth.

  Twenty-One

  Africa, September 1942

  * * *

  They returned just in time. September 3, the British Eighth Army started a massive ground offensive striking west from Alam Halfa and taking German ground forces by surprise. Already planning a counterattack, Feldmarschall Rommel passed their airbase on his way to the frontline and in his usual unassuming manner asked the pilots to do their utmost to support the troops.

  “As long as you keep those bombers away from our men on the ground, we’ll be just fine,” Rommel assured them with a confident smile.

  Everyone nodded solemnly. Of course, they would.

  Johann resumed his duties as the Staffelkapitän and spent the very first day on the grim task of writing personal letters to the families of the men who had gotten killed in action in his absence. Much to his relief, most of the fighter aces were still there to greet their heroes upon their return, each bragging about the victories that they had racked up in the highest-scoring aces’ absence. It was the youngsters that they were losing in appalling numbers. He was only too happy to return to flying with that out of the way. Willi seemed to share his sentiments.

  After looking through the latest reports, Johann decided that due to the recent circumstances, the Staffel needed to have at least two fighters patrolling the skies at all times so that at the sight of the enemy the rest of the Staffel would scramble to deal with the threat. Willi was only too eager to provide his services, volunteering for the Freie Jagd – free hunt – as soon as the call came.

  Johann was concerned for his best friend. From the reckless, carefree, boisterous young man that he’d known from the flying school, Willi was slowly transforming into someone spitefully defiant, withdrawn, and positively detached from everyone and everything around him. Upon their return from Germany, he smoked ceaselessly and drank like a fiend, quite often getting into the cockpit after consuming quite a lethal amount of alcohol. Only after Johann’s threat to ground him for a week if he once again endangered himself and his comrades in the same manner, did Willi finally recover his senses and now would refrain from touching the bottle until the day was over.

  Along with general disillusionment, Willi had brought a new friend from Germany to keep him company at night. Insomnia. Johann would have been utterly unaware of this had it not been for the night guards who had reported it to their Staffelkapitän; Herr Oberleutnant has been up till dawn again. Nothing, just sitting outside, staring at the stars and smoking. One night Johann woke up and indeed, found Willi’s bed empty. Moving their mosquito net to the side, Johann stepped outside to find Willi sitting cross-legged not too far from their tent and smoking.

  “Those will kill you one day,” he joked grimly, lowering to the ground next to the pilot.

  Willi only smirked in response. “Something has to do the job if the British can’t.”

  Johann bore his gaze into Willi’s brooding expression, searching his face carefully. Death talk again, only this time it was something different, something much darker and much more profound. As though in confirmation of Johann’s fears, Willi spoke slowly, “I’m not afraid anymore. We’re all going to die someday. It’s better to die fighting, while one is still young and strong.” He suddenly turned to Johann and an old mischievous grin split his face. “They made some nice films about me while we were in Germany. I look good in those, don’t I?”

  “Very good, yes,” Johann grinned.

  “This is how I want to be remembered. A national hero who died before the nation went to shit, together with his whole country.”

  “Wilhelm—” Johann started with a warning in his voice. Not against something provocative that could have been overheard; not at all. The whole Staffel, hell, the entire JG and maybe even the entire Luftwaffe almost openly despised the Nazis and their regime. He only wanted to stop Willi before he’d say what he was fearing to hear the most.

  “I want to die an innocent man, Johann. I want to die before my name gets associated with whatever horrors will come to light eventually. This all won’t end well for us; we both know it. I don’t want anyone, after my death, pointing their finger at me and saying, here’s the Nazi. Here’s the Nazi by association. Here’s the damned Nazi who fought for the terrible Nazi regime. Here’s the Nazi because he wore the Nazi uniform. Everything will become Nazi after the war, Johann, you’ll see. We’ll all be cursed as conspirators, regardless of what we stood up for and what we thought. We’ll all be called ‘damned Nazis.’ So, I figured if I die early, maybe they’ll be kinder to me? Maybe at least my family won’t suffer that much?”

  “You have just married Lotte. How do you think she’d take it if you died?” Johann appealed to the only thing that was still alive in Willi; his kind heart. Apart from that, everything else had burned out in him. The light was gone out of his eyes.

  Willi took a long, deliberate drag on his cigarette before replying. “I should have never married her.”

  “What are you saying now?”

  Willi shook his head vigorously, from which his overly long hair fell to his eyes. He swiped it off his face with a somewhat irritated gesture. “You don’t understand. I love her, I do love her with all my heart, it’s just… it was very selfish of me to marry her. I knew it already back then that I’d never make it back to her. I knew that I’d never give her a normal life. Yet, I still chose to do the selfish thing because I’d finally found a woman who was just like me and I wanted to marry her.”

  “I married your sister and I don’t know if I’ll come back to her. I don’t regret it,” Johann argued.

  Willi only patted his hand with a smile. “You will. You will come back to her. You’re a much better pilot than me and you have a good head on your shoulders. You think everything through before acting and I’m a reckless sort. You’re the protector, who always looks after everyone. I’m the one who needs constant guidance. I get lost easily and you always find your way back. You’re much stronger than me, Johann. I always admired that in you.”


  “If you need guidance, you’ll always have me.”

  “That’s what I just said. You’re the one, who everyone relies on.”

  “Let me help you then. Just tell me how! Do you want more flying missions assigned to you? It clears your head, I know. Do you want to fly together again, as a team? Or do you want to train replacement pilots in your spare time, so they can look up to you instead?”

  Willi only stared at him, with a wistful grin, for a very long time. When he spoke again, his tone was soft and delicate, as though he had finally set his mind on pacifying his friend for the time being. “Yes. Let’s fly together again. I’d love that.”

  The day dawned both hazy and bright azure. After conferring with the bomber unit, they set off on the Stuka escorting mission just after 8 am, Johann and Willi flying in the same Rotte once again.

  “Like in the good old days, White Nine!” Willi’s voice came over the radio.

  “Mind the Stukas, Red Four.”

  “You know, I’m starting to rethink this whole ‘flying together’ thing, White Nine.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I don’t appreciate your commanding tone.”

  Johann chuckled and exhaled in relief. Maybe that was what Willi needed; a bit of the old comradery and banter they had always indulged in with such pleasure.

  “You’ll just have to get used to it because I permanently assigned you to my Schwarm, Red Four.”

  “Can this day get any worse?”

  A Staffeladjutant, who was left to mind the radio on the ground, chimed in, his voice strained from his unsuccessful attempts to stifle his laughter, “it can, Red Four. The ground forces just radioed in that they had spotted about twenty American bombers with full escort heading your way. Enjoy!”

  Willi’s “bastard,” grumbled under his breath, sent both the Staffel in the sky and the crew team on the ground laughing. Willi and Johann were already pulling up, preparing for an upcoming attack. Leaving the Stuka bombers with a single Schwarm for protection, the rest of the fighters were soon diving onto the enemy that flew in the usual Lufbery formation. Johann grinned when Willi entered the formation so smoothly that allied pilots didn’t even have time to react to an unexpected Messerschmitt that was suddenly among them like he’d belonged there. Willi opened fire and sent his first victim down within seconds; the second one followed before anyone had any idea what was going on. Johann slid into the unprotected gap and simultaneously shot down two other fighters to clear Willi’s tail.

  Peeling away quickly and getting the “kill” confirmations from their respective wingmen, they started gaining altitude for the second round and the second formation.

  “How are you fellows doing there, White Seven?” Johann radioed the Stuka protecting Schwarm.

  “Doing fine, White Nine. Heading to our destination without any problems. Keep them busy, please!”

  Johann had already pulled up to a Spitfire’s blind spot and fired a short burst, quickly peeling away as soon as the aircraft started falling apart in the air. Willi was shouting something to Riedman about a Hurricane to his six o’clock. Johann cursed when his front mounted machine gun got jammed, leaving only wing guns operable.

  “Fucking sand!” He cursed out loud before rolling onto his back as two P-40s dived down on him from two different directions. Despite their faithful mechanics doing their utmost to prevent such things from happening and cleaning every single part of the aircraft to the best of their efforts, after multiple sandstorms and just regular wind, the sand accumulated everywhere, making it virtually impossible to foresee what sort of damage was going to happen, this time, at the worst possible moment.

  “I got him!” Riedman’s excited cry came over the radio, followed by Willi’s confirmation.

  Soon, more and more “kills” and “damaged aircraft” announcements started pouring from the radio, much to the ground crew’s delight. The Staffeladjutant had apparently had the battle on the loudspeaker and each victory was met with a roar of ecstatic joy. It wasn’t just the fact that crew chiefs rooted for their brave comrades; it was the fact that during the bombing raids it was precisely them, the ground crews, who were at the most risk and therefore they cheered every allied bomber’s destruction as it meant that fewer bombs would fall on them during the next raid.

  Johann pulled up next to Willi once again and grinned as he saw the latter’s beaming face and four fingers that he was holding up in the air. Johann responded with a purposefully unimpressed shrug and held five fingers to the glass of his cockpit.

  “Oh, you’re making it up, White Nine!”

  “My wingman has been keeping count.”

  “I actually counted five kills and two damaged aircraft,” the radio crackled to life only to be met with Willi’s rolled eyes.

  Johann started laughing openly; not about the recent victories but because Willi appeared to be almost back to normal.

  “Still have ammunition left, White Nine?”

  “Who do you take me for, Red Four? About two-thirds left.”

  “Ready to send their bombers packing then?”

  “Always.”

  The rest of the Schwarm followed, watching in awe as the two aces performed their airshow with virtually unprotected bombers. Left without any fighters’ support, weighed down with bombs and therefore unable to outmaneuver or even escape the Luftwaffe Rotte, the bombers quickly released their loads in the hope of at least gaining the needed speed to avoid certain death.

  Johann dived down and fired a short burst into the first one’s engine, carefully aiming so as not to injure the pilot. As soon as the heavy bomber started smoking, he watched in satisfaction as the pilot bailed out, his white parachute opening to carry him to safety. After a short exchange of fire with the second bomber’s gunner, Johann followed the aircraft to the ground where he waited for the two men to be at a safe distance before he strafed the bomber until it burst into fire.

  “A kill,” he announced, getting an immediate confirmation from his wingman.

  “Oh God, no!” Willi’s cry suddenly broke through the radio. “That poor bastard!”

  “What happened, Red Four?” Johann demanded, quickly gaining the altitude.

  “I damaged his aircraft, and he was jumping out when he hit his head on the aircraft’s rudder! I think he knocked himself out! I can’t see the parachute opening! That’s it, he’s in my blind spot. Can anyone see him?”

  Just at that very moment, a small figure passed in the periphery of Johann’s vision, heading helplessly toward the ground.

  “Oh God,” he whispered as well and averted his eyes, unable to witness the tragedy.

  Willi’s fighter was already on the way down and after leveling his Bf-109 with Willi’s, Johann once again saw his friend’s face. He was holding his mouth with one hand.

  “I see him,” he finally announced in a grim tone.

  “Give me the coordinates.” Johann held the pencil to his knee-map to mark the spot.

  “No, it’s all right, White Nine. I’ll write them down myself. Allow me to deliver the message to his comrades later?”

  “Of course, Red Ten. I’ll go with you.”

  Against Göring’s direct orders but according to a true warrior’s conscience and the latter was always more important than the first.

  Twenty-Two

  October 1942

  * * *

  October rolled in with its velvety winds around silver wings of Messerschmitts, with the relative calmness of prolonged nights, with fresh faces in place of fallen comrades. Ich hatt’ einen Kameraden... I once had a comrade; a better one you cannot find... They had forgotten how many times they sang their farewell song under those indifferent foreign skies. The New German Reich had made them into world travelers and gravediggers – both at the same time.

  They accepted it with a healthy measure of a cynical fatalism and concentrated on counting their victories instead of their bitter losses. Despite being heavily outnumbered by the
enemy, they managed to put even more victory bars onto their respective rudders, solely due to personal skill and not a numerical advantage. Johann, with a hundred and sixty kills, had just received the news from their Gruppenkommandeur that he would be heading home on leave soon, to receive Diamonds to his Oak Leaves from the Führer – personally.

  “What about von Sielaff?” he scowled into the black receiver of a field phone. “He scored his hundred and fifty-second just two days ago!”

  “I recommended you for the award and the promotion before he had scored his hundred and fiftieth. You’re already approved. Von Sielaff will just have to wait.”

  “Perhaps I can wait, Herr Gruppenkommandeur,” Johann suggested politely, hoping not to come across as ungrateful. “That way, when he gets approved, we’ll both go together. Like the last time.”

  He realized of course how miserable he sounded, how his tone was just short of begging but it didn’t bother him in the slightest. The Führer could keep his awards if Willi were not getting his.

  “So, the rumors that the two of you are attached at the hip, are true?” the Gruppenkommandeur’s kind-hearted snort came in reply instead of a reprimand.

  “I’m afraid so, Herr Gruppenkommandeur.”

  “Have it your way then. I’ll file his recommendation right away.”

  “Thank you, Herr Gruppenkommandeur.”

  On Monday, after two days of interminable wait, Johann summoned Willi and broke the news to him. We’re both getting Diamonds! We’re both getting promoted to the rank of a Hauptmann. We’re both going home, Willi… Home. Both instinctively twisted simple golden bands on their fingers; Willi’s still brand new and shiny. Outside, a fiery sunset suggested strong winds the following day.

  “Lotte will surely be surprised,” Willi spoke with a tender smile and averted his eyes quickly, poking at some papers littering Johann’s desk.