Defiant Heart

by Steere, Marty

  With the numbers three and four engines still providing propulsion, the right wing swung around the tip of the doomed plane, and one of the huge Wright Cyclone power plants, its propeller spinning at full revolution, came straight at Jon from above. He reflexively ducked, and, with his eyes closed, he tensed, waiting for the blades to bite into him.

  There was a deafening shriek of metal on metal. The sound lasted only a couple of seconds, and then, as quickly as it had started, it stopped, replaced by a strange whooshing sound. Jon opened his eyes and found himself staring up at the Browning, which was now dangling from its mount at an absurd angle. It took him a moment to realize that, to his right, there was nothing. Or, rather, nothing but sky. From Jon’s radio compartment back, the rest of the Widowmaker was simply gone.

  “Bail out. Bail out,” he heard someone call over the interphone. It might have been Tommie. Jon had no idea.

  He rolled onto his stomach and scrambled forward, his hand reaching out for his parachute pack. He found it, sat up, and, with fumbling fingers, snapped it onto the harness that he wore over his leather jacket. The floor tilted, and Jon was spared the necessity of jumping, as he slid right out into space, his power, oxygen and interphone lines snapping off as he did.

  With a disorienting feeling, Jon tumbled through the air. He reached for his chest, found the D-ring and gave a hard yank. A jumble of cloth and lines streamed out in front of him. With a sudden jerk, he felt as though he had been pulled upwards, and then he was no longer falling. Instead, he found himself dangling beneath a broad expanse of white. After the noise of the plane, the world around him was remarkably quiet.

  He twisted his body to look about. High above where he now was, he could see the formation of bombers receding in the distance. As he watched them, another parachute abruptly popped open, perhaps a hundred yards away from him and a little above. Then another appeared beyond that, followed shortly by a third. There were no others in that direction, so he looked around. He could see nothing but empty sky. And, of course, the ground, which he belatedly realized was rising up at a rate of speed he had not anticipated. He had just a second’s warning before his feet struck. He tucked in his chin, and he allowed his knees to come up and his body to roll forward.

  He went through at least two revolutions until he came to rest lying on moist ground between rows of what smelled like potatoes. He was tangled in his lines. He knew from the escape and evasion lectures he’d attended that the first few moments following a parachute landing were critical to the question of whether he’d be captured. With a sense of urgency, he picked at the lines. It took him about a minute, but he finally got clear. He stood and looked about.

  He’d landed near the edge of an immense field, about twenty yards away from a line of trees. He scanned the field, but did not see anyone. Shrugging off his parachute harness, he ran to the tree line and slipped into the relative cover it provided. He could see that, in actuality, he was now in a forested area.

  His first thought was to find the others who had gotten out of the plane. He’d been completely turned around by the landing, and he wasn’t sure in which direction he’d seen ‘chutes. However, thinking logically, he realized he’d been looking at the retreating formation when he’d seen them open, so the others had to be somewhere to the west. It was after noon, so he looked straight up, then drew an imaginary line to where the sun currently stood in the sky. That wouldn’t necessarily be due west, he knew, but it would be generally correct. The line led deeper into the wooded area. He set out in that direction.

  The further he walked, the thicker the overhead canopy became. He was soon picking his way through semi-darkness, even though it still had to be mid-afternoon.

  He heard a rustling ahead and froze. After a second, he scrambled forward as quietly as he could, and, at the base of a moss-covered trunk, he cautiously peered around. He was greeted by the sight of a man dangling from the cords of a parachute a few feet off the ground. The rustling he’d heard had been the attempts of the man to free himself.

  “Hey,” Jon called out in a hoarse whisper. The man’s head jerked around, and Jon could see it was Abernathy, Tommie’s copilot.

  “Oh, thank God,” Abernathy said, in his own whisper. “Can you help me down?”

  Jon nodded and hurried over to him. He put his hands under Abernathy’s feet and pushed up. With one hand gripping the lines from which he dangled to steady himself, Abernathy used his other hand to yank the cords that had caught up in his harness. Just as Jon was concerned he’d have to let go, Abernathy got the straps free, released himself, and then fell in a heap on top of Jon.

  Abernathy rolled clear and sat up. “Sorry about that,” he whispered. “But thanks.”

  Jon nodded. “Have you seen or heard anything?”

  “Yeah. About five minutes ago, I heard voices coming from over there.” He pointed to the right of the direction Jon had been traveling when he’d come upon Abernathy.

  “Germans?”

  “They weren’t speaking English.”

  “Who else got out?”

  “Pilot and top turret.”

  Jon was relieved to hear that Tommie had escaped the crippled bomber. “Navigator and bombardier?”

  Abernathy shook his head. “I don’t know.” A look of sadness crossed his face. “But I don’t think so. What about the guys in the back?”

  Jon winced. He thought about his friend, Shim. “I don’t know how they could have. That other bomber cut the whole back of the plane off.”

  Abernathy grimaced, but said nothing.

  “We should try to find the others,” Jon whispered.

  Abernathy nodded.

  “This way,” Jon said, and, with Abernathy in tow, he struck out in the same direction he’d originally been walking.

  They’d been at it for about twenty minutes when Jon felt Abernathy’s hand on his shoulder. He looked back, and Abernathy pointed off to the left. Through the trees, Jon could see a sliver of white. They switched directions and worked their way over to it.

  What they’d seen had, indeed, been the canopy of a parachute. However, as they got closer, Jon could see that the fabric had torn and was practically in two pieces. At the base of a nearby tree lay an American airman. He was not moving.

  Afraid of what he might find, Jon put a hand under the man’s head and gently turned his body. It was Turner, the top turret gunner, and he was obviously dead. When Jon let go of his head, it lolled sideways at an unnatural angle. Jon guessed that death had come instantly.

  The sound of a loud snap startled Jon. He looked at Abernathy, who tipped his head in the direction they’d been traveling. Jon pointed to Abernathy, then to a large tree behind him. He tapped his own chest and pointed to another tree. Abernathy nodded, and they both moved quickly to take cover behind the trees indicated by Jon. Keeping low and offering as small a profile as possible, Jon carefully looked back around the trunk.

  He heard some faint sounds. Then, after a moment, a figure appeared. Jon breathed a sigh of relief. It was Tommie.

  Tommie was carrying a pistol, and he held it out in front of him at the ready. Jon didn’t want to be accidentally shot, so, from behind the tree, he whispered, “Tommie. It’s me, Jon.”

  “Jon?”

  Jon stepped from behind the tree. Tommie lowered the gun. “Thank God. Anyone else?”

  Jon nodded in the direction Abernathy had gone, and the copilot emerged from behind his tree. “Unfortunately,” Jon whispered, and he pointed to the body of Turner.

  Tommie looked, and his shoulders slumped. He looked back at Jon. “Turner?”

  Jon nodded.

  Abernathy joined them. “What’s the plan?”

  Tommie squatted, and Jon and Abernathy did likewise. Tommie jerked his head back in the direction he had come. “I landed in a field, near the edge of these woods. The place is crawling with German soldiers. I was able to get into the trees before they started shooting.”

  Jon pointed to what he
assumed was southwest. “I say we head that way. If I’m right, Belgium and France are in that direction, though it’s a long walk. I think our only hope is to try to meet up with the Resistance.”

  Tommie thought for a moment. “I don’t have a better plan.” He looked at Abernathy.

  “Works for me,” Abernathy whispered.

  Jon started to stand, and Tommie grabbed his sleeve. “Jon, give me your dog tags.”

  Jon wasn’t sure why Tommie was asking for the identification tags he wore around his neck. Then he remembered. The last line on each tag was stamped with an initial identifying the religion of the wearer. Jon’s tags were stamped with an “H,” indicating he was Jewish. Because of concerns about how captured Jewish flyers might be treated by the Nazis, the army recommended that they dispose of their tags if capture was imminent.

  Jon nodded. He slipped the chain containing his tags off his neck and handed it to Tommie. Tommie rose, walked to Turner’s body and crouched over it. He returned a moment later and handed a set of tags to Jon. A quick glance confirmed they were Turner’s.

  Jon put the chain over his head and tucked the tags under his t-shirt. “Ok, let’s go.”

  They struck out, Tommie leading the way with the gun.

  #

  Jon was awakened by the sound of voices. His eyes flew open, and he was immediately aware that he was in danger, though it took him a moment to remember where he was and how he had gotten there.

  The prior afternoon, Jon, Tommie and Abernathy had worked their way through the forest until it ended at a spot overlooking a small town perched on the banks of a river. They’d halted there to rest and wait for the cover of darkness. Though, on several occasions throughout the afternoon, they had heard the sounds of men calling out to one another behind them in the woods, those sounds had faded as they’d put distance between themselves and the place where they had come down. They’d fortunately encountered no other people.

  When the sun set, they made their way down the incline and around the town, giving it a wide berth, for the most part keeping to the fields. At one point they almost walked right into the side of a farmhouse. They retreated quickly and worked their way around the structure. A dog started barking, but it didn’t come after them.

  They stumbled across a carrot field and dug up several of the vegetables. When they came to a small stream, they gulped large handfuls of water, then washed the carrots in the current and ate them. It was their first food since breakfast the previous day.

  Shortly before sunrise, they found a thicket of shrubs surrounding a large tree on a knoll by the side of a field. It seemed to offer good concealment, and they stopped. Jon was dead tired. He’d been awake for over twenty-four stressful hours. He gratefully stretched out in a crook formed by two large tree roots and apparently dozed off.

  Above him now, bright mid-day sun was filtering down through the branches of the tree overhead. Jon rose slightly and saw that Tommie and Abernathy were also awake and alert. Tommie pointed beyond the tree, and, when Jon looked, he saw three people walking in their direction. The approaching figures were on a well-worn path that would lead them directly to the spot where Jon, Tommie and Abernathy were hiding.

  Now that it was light, Jon could see that, from the knoll where they were crouched, they had a view down a lush valley. In the distance, he could see the steeple of a church and the roofs of a few buildings. He guessed it was the town they had skirted the night before.

  The sound of laughter reached him, and he realized it came from a female. As the trio approached, Jon could see that all three were women. Two were carrying baskets, and the third had what appeared to be a rolled-up blanket under one of her arms. Great, he thought, they’d managed to hide in the exact spot where these women now intended to have a picnic.

  Knowing that he and his colleagues were moments away from being detected, Jon stood and called out, “Guten tag.”

  The three women stopped suddenly, startled expressions on their faces. Jon could see they were young, probably in their early twenties, if that.

  “I’m sorry,” Jon said in German, smiling broadly. “I didn’t mean to startle you. My friends and I,” and he turned slightly, putting a hand out and making a quick gesture to indicate they should stand, “were just resting a moment and admiring the beautiful view.”

  Behind him, Tommie and Abernathy stood.

  “We didn’t mean to take your picnic spot,” Jon said. “We were just about to leave.”

  After a moment, one of the young women stepped forward and said, “You’re wearing strange outfits. Are you soldiers?”

  “We’re pilots,” Jon said, immediately. “Fighter pilots.”

  “They must be stationed at the airdrome,” another of the girls said to the one who had stepped forward.

  “We are. We’ve been given passes for the day, and we’ve been out walking.”

  “You’ve walked a long distance,” the first girl said.

  Jon nodded. “Yes. It’s good exercise. When you spend as much time as we do sitting in a cramped cockpit, you appreciate the opportunity to stretch your legs.”

  That seemed to be an acceptable answer. “I can tell from your accent that you’re from Bavaria,” the first girl said.

  “You have a good ear for accents. I’m from Munich.”

  The girl looked at Tommie and Abernathy. “Your friends are very quiet.”

  Jon chuckled. “They’re shy. When it comes to flying planes, they know exactly what they’re doing. But they don’t know how to talk to pretty girls.”

  One of the other girls giggled. She reached out a hand and touched the arm of the first girl. “Ask them to join us,” she said.

  For the first time, Jon saw the hint of a smile on the face of the first girl. “Yes,” she said, after a moment. “Won’t you? We have plenty.” Her smile widened. “And you can tell us your flying stories.”

  As improbable as it was, Jon had the sudden sense the girl was flirting with him.

  He smiled and shook his head. “That’s very kind of you, but we must be getting on. As you know, we have a long distance to walk.”

  She seemed disappointed.

  “Well,” Jon said, turning to Tommie and Abernathy, “we’d better get going.” He motioned for them to follow, and he stepped down the path, nodding as he passed the girls. “It was very nice meeting you.”

  After they had walked a short distance, the first girl called out from behind them. “What is your name?”

  Jon stopped and turned. “Meyer,” he said. “Johan Meyer.”

  The girl gave him a friendly smile. “Perhaps I’ll see you another time, Johan Meyer.”

  Jon returned the smile. “Perhaps.”

  When they were far enough away they couldn’t be heard, Abernathy whispered, “What the hell was that?”

  “They think we’re German fighter pilots.”

  “Jesus,” Abernathy said.

  Jon could see Tommie giving him a big grin. “That girl was coming on to you, Jon.”

  Jon didn’t know what to say, so he simply shrugged.

  Tommie snorted and looked at Abernathy. “We better find another hiding place quick, before she comes back after him.”

  When they’d walked a few hundred yards, they left the path and made their way into a wheat field. They lay down, and the stalks were high enough that they were completely shielded from view. They started out again an hour after sunset, and they’d been traveling about three hours when they encountered the other man.

  They were making their way down a narrow country lane, bordered on either side by a line of trees, beyond which were more fields. Off and on, they’d heard the sound of planes overhead. There was a quarter moon out, and the sky was clear, so they had just enough light to pick their way. The hard-packed dirt surface of the lane was scarred with narrow ruts that appeared to have been made by wagon wheels. Those ruts looked to be the only tracks, and Jon hoped it meant they would be unlikely to encounter a fast moving vehic
le.

  They were in single file, Jon leading the way, followed by Abernathy. Tommie was bringing up the rear. They were moving quietly, and they stopped every couple of minutes to listen for noises.

  Jon felt a tap on his shoulder. He stopped and turned. Tommie had stepped up and stood next to Abernathy. “I think we’re being followed,” Tommie whispered.

  “Followed?” Abernathy whispered. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I’m not making it up.”

  “How long?” Jon asked.

  “Not sure. I thought I heard something a few minutes ago. Then I decided it was my imagination. But I was looking back just now, and I swear there’s someone back there.”

  “All right,” Jon said, softly. “Let’s take cover.”

  They stepped off of the roadway, and each took up position behind a tree. Nothing happened for several minutes, and Jon was beginning to think that Tommie had, indeed, imagined it. He was about to say something when he saw a dark figure approaching from the direction they’d just come. The man was in a crouch, moving cautiously. When he got to the point where they’d taken cover, he appeared to look around.

  “Hey,” the man said in a hoarse whisper.

  There was a loud distinctive clicking sound, and Jon realized Tommie had pulled back the hammer on his .45. “Jon,” Tommie said quietly, “tell him I’ll blow his brains out if he moves. Find out who he is and what he wants.”

  Jon quickly translated. There was a long moment of silence. Then the man said, “Jon, since when do you speak German?”

  To his surprise, but overwhelming relief, Jon realized it was Shim.

  They huddled by the side of the road, and Shim told them what had happened to him. When the Widowmaker had been struck by the other bomber, the tail section had spun away. Shim had found himself pinned against the side of the fuselage by the rotational pull. He’d been certain he would die. Fortunately, the spinning had slowed, and the tail section had gradually turned so that the open end faced down. Shim had barely enough time to clip on his parachute before he slid out of the severed portion of the plane and found himself hurtling toward the earth. His parachute had opened no more than a hundred feet above the ground, not enough altitude to slow him sufficiently to avoid multiple broken bones. However, he’d been incredibly lucky. He’d landed smack in the middle of an immense pile of dung.