The Rough English Equivalent (The Jack Mason Saga Book 1)

by Stan Hayes

  “He didn’t have to spend much time with me to be convinced that I wasn’t guilty. He asked me if I could think of anybody who’d want to get me in such serious trouble. I could only think of one person: Tanner. I told him about Lídia and me, and while he didn’t congratulate me on my morals, he was real happy to have the circumstances to use in the trial testimony.

  “The day of the court-martial finally came. I was scared shitless. Davis had told me that I could get as much as five years’ hard labor if they found me guilty. That was enough, but the whole process is so deadly serious that it puts the fear of God into you. A Captain, a Commander and what looked like the oldest Chief Petty Officer in the Navy sittin’ as the court. Not Davis, though. Once he found out, which he did, that Tanner knew about Lídia and me, he put a defense together that the prosecution couldn’t shake. He called Tanner as a witness. A character witness, for me! There wasn’t much that he could say except good things; my work was good, I’d never missed duty, and so forth. He had old Rogers scared that the whole plan to get me was goin’ to come out, so his testimony against me wasn’t too believable.

  “When Davis made his closin’ argument, he told the court that there was no real evidence against me, and that the entire question of the evidence, of its discovery, and Rogers’ reason for suspectin’ me were suggestive of a plot to exact revenge on me for sump’m I’d done. I think Tanner and Rogers thought that the other one was goin’ to break and admit that there’d been a plot, but Davis was smart enough to avoid goin’ too far into that part of it. That way, since the court didn’t press him to probe further, Lídia’s and my affair didn’t come out. At least, not in court. They found me not guilty in about an hour. Enough people knew the truth, though, that it was impossible for us to see each other again. Within a month, I was transferred to the Naval Station in Jacksonville, Florida, and finished my hitch there.”

  “What happened to Lídia?”

  “She left Tanner. She wrote me a letter that reached me a couple of months after I got to Jacksonville, tellin’ me that three days after she’d moved back to Índio, Tanner, who had moved into the Chiefs’ quarters in the barracks, was found dead in his bunk. He’d slit his own throat.”

  “My God.”

  “Yeah. It was one of those things that, lookin’ back on it, you could see might be comin’, but it was a hell of a shock, to both of us. And we both felt guilty about it. It really made it impossible for us to get together again, at least for a long time. We fell completely out of touch durin’ the war. You remember when I first came to Bisque? I was on my way to Cuba, after all that time, to find her again.”

  “But you stayed.”

  “Yes, I did. And you know why.”

  “Mom.”

  “Yes sir. Your mother pole-axed me. Nothin’ I ever felt for any woman, Lídia included, compares to what I felt for your mother. But we’re jumpin’ ahead again. By the time my enlistment was up in 1933, I was sick of the Navy and, fool that I was, of the country too. I was bitter about bein’ court-martialed, about bein’ transferred from Gitmo even after I’d been found not guilty, and from what I’d seen of the effect U.S. businesses like United Fruit had had on the lives of the Cuban people, in Baracoa and, as far as I knew, all over Cuba. I was back at my parents’ place by June, and there didn’t seem to be any more there for me then than when I’d left four years before. By September, I was on a ship to Germany.”

  “No kidding.”

  “Nope. Since my father was still a citizen of Germany when I was born in New York, I had dual citizenship. My father’s brother lived in Berlin, and he agreed to let me live with him and his family. He owned a large tailor shop, and he thought that he might find a job for me through some of his customers. Sounded pretty good to me at the time.”

  “I guess it did.”

  “So I had a lot to get used to in a hurry. Like the language. I grew up hearin’ my parents speak German, and I spoke it with them as a child, but the important thing for me to be was American, and so as soon as I went to first grade I used it very little. My uncle’s family helped me out, and in a couple of months, workin’ in the shop, I was comfortable again in a German-speakin’ world. And Berlin was a pretty hot town; I was gettin’ to know how to get around, and havin’ a pretty good time forgettin’ Lídia.

  “One day my uncle called me over to meet someone, who was just finishin’ up with a fitting. He was in the Luftwaffe, the German air force; a Captain- Hauptmann- named von Durant. ‘I understand that you know something about aircraft,’ he said, after we were introduced.

  “ ‘Yes; I was an aviation mechanic in the Navy,’ I said.

  “ ‘The United States Navy.’

  “ ‘Yes.’

  “ ‘But your uncle tells me that you are a citizen of the Reich.’

  “ ‘Yes.’

  “ ‘The Luftwaffe needs pilots; many pilots. We need people who love the Fatherland and who’d like to fly for it. Would that interest you?’

  “ ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘it would.’

  “Turns out that this Hauptmann von Durant,” said Moses, “was an aide to General Milch, the head of the new civil airline, Lufthansa. I didn’t know a lot about it at the time, but the National Socialists- the Nazis- were in the process of takin’ Germany over. Adolf Hitler had been named Chancellor, and would soon get rid of von Hindenburg, the President, namin’ himself Füehrer. Everyone in Germany was pretty pissed over th’ Treaty of Versailles, that was signed to end World War I. The Nazis had played on the anger to get into power. The country had been pretty much bled dry by th’ war, and then th’ treaty, and Hitler had promised to make Germany a world power again.

  “To make good on that, he needed a war machine. Since the treaty limited German rearmament to a very small force, they were beginnin’ to rebuild secretly. Part of that rebuildin’ was the air force, ‘the Black Luftwaffe.’ It was buried inside Lufthansa. That’s where I went to work, on the books as a mechanic. But I was really a student pilot. I went into a “ground school” class with about fifteen other guys at Werneuchen, a base just outside Berlin. About halfway into ground school, we started flyin’, as new members of Lufthansa’s Aero Club. I loved it from the first time my butt hit the seat of that little HE 18, the two-seater Heinkel biplane that they used as a trainer. We soloed in the 18, and then learned some basic maneuverin’ and aerobatics in the HE 21, a more powerful version of the 18. I may not have been th’ best, but I turned out to be a pretty damn good pilot.

  “A couple of months later, we took a long train ride into Russia, to the secret Luftwaffe trainin’ base at Lipetsk, in the Caucasus. We flew th’ HE 45 there, as much as th’ weather would let us durin’ the winter and spring of 1933. When we weren’t flyin’, there was always more ground school, and nights ridin’ around half-drunk on the squadron’s motorcycle/sidecar outfits. I’ve loved sidecars ever since, because you can ride ’em, drunk or sober, in any kind of weather. In May, we got three new Heinkel 51s, and we spent our last few weeks at Lipetsk transitionin’ to them, includin’ gunnery flights. They’d be the same aircraft that we’d fly later in combat. The 51 was a big, beautiful single-seater, good for well over 325 kilometers an hour in a dive. That’s over 200 miles an hour, which was pretty hot stuff for that time.” He paused, getting up from his chair. “How ’bout a grits break?”

  They returned to the terrace with bowls of grits and a plate of bacon, which Moses put on the glass-topped table between them. “We weren’t back in Werneuchen for long before we were in uniform, but it wasn’t a German one. In July, they gave us 300 Marks advance pay and put us on another train, this time to Italy. When we were across the border, we were issued uniforms of the South Tyrolean army, and stayed on th’ train as Italian soldiers until we got to a town called Asolo. Trucks with ‘Regia Aeronautica’ stencilled on th’ doors met us there, and we rode out of town for about an hour to what looked like a pretty good-sized airfield. As we rode down a street that ran along th’ edge of th’ hangar
area, we saw several Heinkel 51s, all with Italian markin’s.

  “When we got out of th’ trucks, a man in th’ uniform of an Italian Air Force colonel, but who spoke to us in German, identified himself as Oberst Wenckmann, a Luftwaffe colonel. He told us that we were there to train for combat in th’ Heinkels, but as Italian Air Force Officers. Those who successfully completed th’ trainin’, he said, would return to Germany as Luftwaffe Flight Officers. Don’t think that didn’t excite me; it hadn’t been four years since I’d been an American navy swab jockey, gettin’ kicked in th’ ass by fuckin’ marines.

  “Wenckmann and his instructors all had flown in World War I, and they put us through th’ wringer, simulatin’ war conditions as closely as possible. We worked at altitude, dogfightin’ in th’ mornin’, and down low in th’ afternoons, strafin’ trenches full of Italian infantry with live ammunition. They kept their heads down, wavin’ balloons on sticks for us to break. That meant gettin’ really low, to get a good angle on th’ balloons, gettin’ bounced around as th’ hot air rose up off th’ ground. It definitely felt like a real-life experience of what war in th’ air was all about, and not everyone could handle it. By th’ end of th’ course thirty-one of us were left, a bunch bein’ sent back alive and three dead. If we hadn’t realized what a dead-serious business we’d gotten into when we started, we had no illusions left by th’ time we got back to Germany. We were now Luftwaffe officers, sworn to personal loyalty to th’ Fuëhrer, and we were rarin’ to go, even though we had no idea where it would be.”

  “How old were you then?” Jack asked.

  “Twenty-six. Along with several others, I was assigned to Group II of Jagdgeschwader Manfred von Richthofen, based at Juterborg-Damm, 80 kilometers or so due south of Berlin. We stayed busy trainin’ throughout 1935, and got a little operational experience when Germany took back th’ Rhineland in March of ‘36. It wasn’t much, but it was welcome after over a year of trainin’. It was a clear sign that Germany would soon be in a real war, somewhere in Europe, in th’ very near future. But when war came, it wasn’t where any of us expected.

  “While I was in th’ Rhineland, I got a message from my uncle in Berlin. My mom and dad had been killed in an auto accident out on Long Island. March 8th, 1936. They were cremated, accordin’ to their wills, and th’ ashes were bein’ held at th’ undertaker’s. There’d been no question of my bein’ given leave at that point. I didn’t get back to New York ‘til May. My folks didn’t have a lot; they’d left me everything, a little over six thousand dollars and their personal effects. I scattered their ashes into th’ sea from th’ fantail of th’ ship that took me back to Germany.

  “In July, our commander told us that we were to be part of a ‘volunteer’ group that was bein’ created to support th’ Spanish Nationalists, who had revolted against th’ Spanish government. France and Russia were sendin’ volunteers, supplies and weapons to th’ government, and Hitler had decided to join th’ Italian dictator, Mussolini, in sendin’ aid to th’ Nationalists. It began with th’ secret movement of us and our equipment to Spain. We first went to Berlin, where they gave us some ratty civilian clothes and 500 Spanish Pesetas each. We were told that we would be posin’ as tourists headin’ for Italy, takin’ part in a Nazi civilian program called Kraft durch Freude; strength through joy. Our mail would be forwarded to us through a blind address, ‘c/o Max Winkler, Berlin, S.W. 68.’

  “Then, with our uniforms and flight gear stowed in our luggage, we took a train to Hamburg, where we boarded a ship, th’ S.S. Usaramo. There were large pieces of equipment on deck, lashed down under tarps. When we got closer to them we realized that they were our aircraft, disassembled to travel with us. Whatever was goin’ on in Spain, th’ plan seemed to be to get us into it as soon as possible.”

  Chapter XXV. Tradecraft

  “Instead of Naples, our ship’s declared destination, we docked at Cádiz, on Spain’s southern Atlantic coast, on August th’ fifth, a Wednesday. We went from there by truck to an airbase near Seville. Once you were off th’ coast, it was hot and humid, a lot like Cuba. We drove through miles of marshland, with feedin’ cattle wadin’ from one patch of long grass to th’ next. Th’ marshes began to run out as we saw Seville in th’ distance, th’ land grassy but much drier, and still hot.

  “Officers’ quarters were in one of a bunch of newly built, raw-pine barracks on th’ west side of th’ field. ‘Legion Kondor’ was stencilled in big black letters on th’ front door. There were already quite a few Luftwaffe people there.

  “Our Squadron Leader, Hauptmann Linder, and another officer, Leutnant Brück, briefed us on our mission; escortin’ Junkers 52 tranports that were bringin’ General Franco’s troops from Morocco, due south across th’ Mediterranean in North Africa, to Seville. You’ve seen pictures of Ford trimotors; pretty much th’ same thing, but bigger. Republican aircraft were operatin’ off th’ coast, and we were there to make sure that th’ transports were safe from attack. Th’ flight times would be two to three hours, dependin’ on which airfield was involved. Our aircraft, th’ six that came with us, would be ready to test-fly on Sunday. Th’ rest would arrive durin’ th’ followin’ week. We were to be ready for full flight operations, with eighteen aircraft, by 1 September.

  “Brück, a tall, skinny blond about my age, was from th’ intelligence service. He summarized th’ general military situation. Seville and th’ surroundin’ area were secure in Nationalist hands; th’ Republicans controlled th’ capital, Madrid, and pretty much everything to th’ north and east. After landin’ in Seville, General Franco’s troops would proceed toward Madrid, where they would link up with Nationalist forces in th’ northwest for an assault on th’ capital. After all th’ troops were brought from Morocco, our squadron would support th’ Nationalist advance to th’ north.”

  “What was th’ war about, anyway?” asked Jack.

  “A lot of Spaniards were unhappy about Spain’s changin’ from a monarchy to a republic. Most of those people supported th’ Nationalists. And a lot of others wanted to get rid of th’ Catholic church in Spain, and give land that was owned by th’ church and th’ aristocrats back to th’ common people. Most of those were for th’ Republic. There was more to it than that, but that’s it in a nutshell.”

  “I’ve never learned anything at all about it in school.”

  “Yeah. It really got buried within th’ bigger picture of World War II. But it was a three year rehearsal for th’ main event. And after all’s said and done, I don’t see that Spain’s any better off, even though Franco did keep them out of th’ big war. They just killed each other instead. Anyway, our aircraft were ready on Sunday, and after a final preflight briefin’ on th’ local area, we began test-flyin’. I was scheduled for takeoff at 10:00 that morning.

  “Corporal Schmidt, th’ mechanic assigned to my aircraft, stood beside it, waitin’ to help me get aboard. ‘How’s she feel, corporal?’ I asked him, shoutin’ over th’ idlin’ engine. Th’ maintenance crews had worked day and night to get six aircraft put together and flyable in three days.

  “ ‘She’s all right, Herr Leutnant, but she doesn’t like this Spanish petrol so much; she’ll be a little down on power. You’ll probably feel the difference. They say that we’ll have more fuel from the Fatherland in a few days.’

  “Th’ engine sounded just fine, and seemed responsive enough as I gunned it to get rollin’ and taxi into takeoff position, headed east. It didn’t want to take throttle quite as quickly as I was used to. I released th’ back pressure on th’ stick to let th’ tail come up, gradually goin’ to slight forward stick. Thinkin’ of what Schmidt had said, I held her on th’ runway a little longer than usual to build up a little extra speed. As I released th’ forward pressure, she broke ground immediately, takin’ us to about five hundred feet in a hurry. As I rolled into a shallow left turn, th’ engine coughed. I leveled th’ wings and reduced power, droppin’ th’ nose. She coughed again, then quit. I was droppin’ back through five hu
ndred feet, nose slightly down to maintain flight speed, and lookin’ for an open spot to put her in. At that altitude, I knew I’d never get her back to th’ field.

  “I saw what I was lookin’ for, a pretty good-sized pasture, off th’ nose about thirty degrees to my right. I turned toward it as gently as I could, tryin’ to hold onto as much altitude as possible. As I lined up with th’ pasture, I could see that I had enough left to make it in a power-off glide. I touched down less than a minute later, stallin’ her a couple of feet off th’ ground to shorten th’ landin’ roll. Then my luck ran out. My left wheel hit sump’m. It turned out to be a large rock, which I couldn’t see from th’ plane’s nose-high landin’ attitude. Th’ impact sent me back into th’ air, right wing down, just enough to let th’ nose drop through. I saw th’ ground comin’ up again, this time over my head. I released th’ controls and grabbed th’ cockpit rail with both hands, bracin’ for th’ impact.

  “Th’ aircraft hit hard, knockin’ th’ wind out of me, but my lap belt held. Th’ tail had collapsed, leavin’ my head inches from th’ ground. I hurt all over; I didn’t know then, but both th’ bones in my lower right leg were broken. As I struggled to release th’ lap belt, afraid to imagine how long I had before th’ aircraft would begin burnin’, I felt myself bein’ raised up. ‘Can you hear me?’ someone shouted.

  “ ‘Yes,’ I said.

  “ ‘We’ll have you out soon,’ th’ voice said. And they did. Th’ voice was Leutnant Brück’s; he had been returnin’ from Cádiz with a workin’ party, and had seen my approach to th’ pasture. If there hadn’t been enough of them to lift th’ aircraft, I would’ve been barbeque. I lost consciousness as they were pullin’ me out, but he told me later that th’ plane blew up a couple of minutes after they’d gotten me to their truck.”