Someone somewhere would note that, again, Amelia Earhart had racked up yet another record on this leg of her round-the-world flight, having made the first flight from Africa to Asia, from Assab in Abyssinia to Karachi.
Old pilots -- the two men were both in their mid-forties, and they knew that there were old pilots, and bold pilots, but no old bold pilots -- knew not to walk into the prop, and so they waited as the American flier brought her plane to a halt, stopped the engines, and let the ground crew put chocks under the wheels. She pushed open the door then and stepped out.
"She looks tired," the guest said.
"I wonder where that navigator fellow -- what's his name, oh Noonan -- there he is, behind her. Miss Earhart, welcome to Karachi!"
Earhart had pulled off her flying helmet. There was a good bit of strain in her face, not just from the long flight, either, it seemed. The setting Indian sun lit up the tarmac and helped make the air close. She looked at the greeter, then blinked. "Hello -- Oh yes, Commander Collishaw! From Berlin! You were calling us? Thank you."
Then she looked at the guest. "And wait a minute, you were one of the Germans."
The guest clicked his heels and stood at attention. "Korvettenkapitan Theodor Osterkamp, at your service. We did indeed meet at the event in Berlin, and you may call me 'Daddy' -- 'Vati', we say in German."
"And it's Wing Commander, technically," Collishaw said. "I ain't in the Navy no more. Let's get out of the b-- the heat. You have to go through quarantine, but I can't see any problem. Your agent Vicomte de Sibour is in there, out of the sunlight. Damned sensible of him, if I may say so."
Fred Noonan fell in behind them as they led a string of excited RAF men into the building.
"Ice water?" Noonan said, looking at the glass. "I thought Brits never touched the stuff. And what's an American doing in British uniform anyhow?"
"He's Canadian, Fred," Earhart said. "Raymond, don't think I don't appreciate the help, but what have I done to deserve it?"
They sat at a table in the Officers' Club, drinking that unnaturally iced water. Collishaw took a drink, put his glass down, and said, "Oh we can have the stronger stuff later, if you aren't going to be flying tomorrow. As for the reception, it's his fault." He pointed at Osterkamp.
They all looked at him. "Not me, not me," Osterkamp said. "I am only following orders -- not even those, just our Chancellor's wishes. He said, 'Theo, if you're going to be in Karachi when Earhart flies through, send her my greetings.' So consider them sent."
"But what are you doing in Karachi?" Noonan said. "A German officer? Everyone hears about Richthofen building a new air force, but what are you doing out here with the British?"
Osterkamp tapped his shoulder. "Navy. Our navy has a few planes, and the high command figured I ought to see how a naval support air squadron is run. And Collie Collishaw here was originally from their Navy, so they figured we had something in common."
"You mean besides trying to shoot each other down during the War," Earhart said, disapprovingly.
"Well, true, but that's all in the past now," Osterkamp said.
"Yes, we figure the nasty Huns have learned their lesson and are now good Germans," Collishaw said. "But why be so formal. Call me 'Collie' -- all my friends do."
"Collie. Daddy." Then Earhart laughed. "You are still like boys! Well, I'm Amelia. I need to freshen up and then we'll eat something.
"Imagine, a call all the way from New York! I told G.P. what a wonderful time we had and the great reception. Do you think I can meet some of the maharajahs?
"Thanks, but no thanks, about the stronger stuff. If you had seen my father . . ."
"I just need to go to bed," Noonan said as he got up from the table. "Those damn Italians couldn't have been more trouble. . ."
"Oh God, I feel so embarrassed!" Earhart said. The cliché about Englishmen dressing for dinner in the tropics had proven to be true. Collishaw was bestrewn with medals, as were many of his subordinates, and among the Air Force officers Osterkamp stood out in his naval mess dress, the blue star of the Pour le Mérite blazing at his throat. Her clothes were clean and neat, but hardly up to the standards of the glittering array of uniform and decoration there.
"We are being selfish," Collishaw said. "No soldiers or mere sailors here tonight. Mr. Noonan is resting, I take it? Well, let us have the honour of escorting you to dinner."
This was a different sort of treat. Over the past few weeks the officers of the Karachi station had been entertained with ripping tales of the Other Side of the War, and the Old Man had unburdened himself of a few of his old stories ("chap used to carry his dog, a big white beagle it was, in the cockpit, said it was his good luck charm") of the old days. But now they had someone really really famous. Her khakis were better formal dress for her than the finest of modiste's creations could ever have been, and the fliers hung on her least word.
Over the sweet Osterkamp suddenly raised a question. "I hope you aren't mad at us Frau, er Amelia."
"Mad? Mad? This hospitality is -- overwhelming! I hope I haven't gone over my weight limit."
Collishaw shook his head. "No, I was wondering about that myself. You didn't seem to be quite answering our wireless -- radio -- calls."
She looked blankly at him. "Radio?"
"Yes, we wondered about that. You sounded so . . . detached. I remember it was mentioned you left behind the long antenna, but we could pick you up all right."
Earhart now looked puzzled. "We had some problem with the wiring but I thought that was taken care of . . "
Collishaw smiled then. "If you can wait another day, I will have our fitters look over your aircraft and bring it up to spec. It shouldn't take more than a couple of days but we'll make you right as rain. You can see those maharajahs and all the splendour of the Raj."
"Oh good heavens no, I can't begin to afford that. The costs. . . "
"You had your own spares here, didn't you? No problem, I can charge the labour off to the welfare fund, provided . . ." He let his voice trail off.
"Provided what?"
"Provided that tomorrow night, instead of gadding around with some local prince, you give a talk to the lads about your experiences. We shouldn't keep you for just the officers!"
"I'd love to hear more about your flights myself," Osterkamp added
And two days later Earhart set off on the air road to Calcutta, Lae, and eventually Oakland. The good help by the Royal Air Force station filtered back to London, and also to Berlin, where it was eagerly noted -- until other news intervened.
Reichskanzlerpalais, Berlin, Brandenburg, Germany, Friday, August 20, 1937
In due time, Manfred supposed, UFA would take some of this footage and make a German newsreel. As it was, he had had this one flown over from England, and indeed it had been brought there straight from Tempelhof. Newsreels had powerful images. That one newsreel, the one shown over and over again with the Hindenburg burning, falling, crashing, people fleeing . . . he would sit in the projection room alone and watch the reel they had assembled of the races to try to recover his calm.
For some reason, Udet had seen fit to interrupt his work schedule, and there were a fair number of people from his staff who packed into the viewing room in the Reichskanzlerpalais. "Put out the cigarettes, guys," Bolko shouted, coughing. "We want to see the film."
They all took their seats, the lights went out, and the screen lit up with the logo of the British firm. Then the narrator began discussing the Events of the Day. Which as usual ran through a medley of local events; the King's visit to someplace or other to snip a ribbon, the victory of some cricket team, a local election producing an unexpected result. Someone shouted, "Can't they make it go any faster?"
"Only if you want to break the film!" Udet shouted back. He would know about the technical end of things there.
Now the newsreel shifted to "foreign" news. Groaning greeted the coverage of another damned Red or was it Nazi riot in Emden. The war in Spain seemed to be far too popular, and so
meone who had been observing with the Nationalists shouted out, "The Reds don't have that many planes!" To be shushed.
Then the American news came up. All the fliers fell dreadfully silent at the title that filled the screen; even those who knew little or no English could tell what it said:
AVIATRIX FEARED LOST
AMELIA EARHART GOES DOWN IN PACIFIC
Whispered translations undercut the narration: "Famed American aviatrix Amelia Earhart, on the most dangerous leg of her round-the-world flight, went down in the Pacific on the third of July." They all watched with various degrees of technical knowledge and comments on the flight of the twin-engine Lockheed Electra, as the newsreel showed clips of it taking off from various airports around the world.
The scene shifted to a tropic desert isle. "U.S. Coast Guard technicians and sailors were waiting here on Howland Island in the South Pacific to receive the valiant flier and prepare for her return to American soil." Sailors in various stages of undress toiled in the sun preparing the landing field. Ordinarily the airmen watching might have called for half-naked native maidens, but all and sundry were too intent on the news story.
Now they were interviewing an officer of this second American Navy. "Our radio office picked up the communications from Miss Earhart throughout the last half of the trip. She indicated that the fuel consumption had been problematic.
"Then, at 1930 hours she said, 'We are on you but cannot see you. Am turning on beacon.' We were able to get a direction on that signal and informed her of the course into Howland. Her plane had drifted off course to the north.
"At 2007 hours she said, 'Am on last fuel in main tank, will ditch. Do you have my position?'"
Then the film broke. As the sudden spreading light blazed into everyone's eyes Udet said, "Gottverdamnte film! No, don't get up, let me see to it." He got to his feet and went back to talk to the projectionist, while worried pilots chatted in the sudden light, or regarded the Sphinx who sat before them. Manfred pretended to look at the screen as if he could see beyond it, to the barren little island in the south sea where the landing strip waited, unused.
"Damn splices," Udet said, loudly. "It will break at those, and it shredded a few meters of the film. All right, on with the show."
The lights went out again and a different film stock appeared now, showing a ship coming into port. "The Coast Guard cutter Itasca returned to Honolulu week before last with the news."
Then the scene cut to a hospital bed, where a wasted figure was sitting, held upright by a nurse. "I am very grateful for all the help the Coast Guard gave us and all the effort they put into our rescue," Earhart was saying, but then the voice-over was drowned out by the pilots cheering.
The original radiograms from the South Pacific had been disturbing. Manfred had looked over the messages. Osterkamp, off in India learning about the modern ways of flying over water, had reported on the poor state of the airplane's wiring and the atrocious maps, saying, "Collie was extremely helpful. He is having fits now about not having done enough, but his people did everything men could do."
Then the news had come, the desperate search around the last position, the sight of the little orange fleck in the sea; soon, Manfred expected, he would be seeing more pictures and a more detailed report, but for now the preliminaries were enough.
After some cursing the projectionist got the film rewound to where Earhart had started speaking and they heard her out. She thanked their coast guard, the airplane's manufacturer, the sponsors, the ground crews around the world -- "and particuarly Canada's Raymond Collishaw and his colleague, Germany's Theodore Osterkamp, who pointed out the problems with the ship's wiring and had it fixed, and got us good maps." She mispronounced Daddy Osterkamp's name but they clapped for him anyhow.
Then they fell silent for the climax. "I would like particularly to thank General Udet of the German Air Force, for his suggestions, Bolko von Richthofen, for his donations, and very particularly the German Chancellor, Manfred von Richthofen, for his great help in directing that part of the enterprise, and his support throughout our preparations and flight, moral, material, and financial.
"And most of all, my husband George, who has suffered more than anyone can imagine . . ."
The lights went up and someone touched Manfred on the shoulder. "I know how much you were relieved. We'll have to decide if she gets a promotion. The Red Eagle, perhaps? Fourth class?"
Behind him he heard a few of the older officers getting up, saying respectfully "Your Majesty." For most of the younger ones, of course, the real monarch was The Red Battle-Flyer, but Louis-Ferdinand still was on the table of organization of the Reichswehr and the Reichsluftstreitkräfte (and also the Reichskriegsmarine), at the head -- or, as some of the older officers saw it, All-Highest Supreme Warlord. Or Airlord, or Warlord of the Air, or something like that.
"I'm grateful you came, your Majesty," Manfred said, and turned to see that the Kaiser was indeed in his Air Force uniform. Fitting in.
Louis-Ferdinand was rather cheerful. "And it all turned out right in the end," he said, relieved. "They rescued her, and I expect President Roosevelt will have a hero's welcome on hand when she is well enough to travel. Her and Herr Noonan, though I understand he's not at all well.
"I knew you would be seeing this, of course. It's been a good year for you this year, hasn't it? First that horse of yours winning the Triple Crown, and now this."
"I don't own War Admiral," Manfred said. "Just a stake in him. Mr. Riddle did all the work. It was just like Earhart's problem. Ernst here made the suggestion and he had his people do the digging."
"Which reminds me, I need to send them a telegram. She can ask more for the film rights now that there's a thriller ending to the story!" Udet said.
"Which reminds Me, General der Flieger Ritter von Udet, hadn't you better see to your -- or My -- air force first?" the Kaiser said.
"Wever keeps the day-to-day stuff off my back -- did you say 'General der Flieger'?"
More clapping echoed through the room. "We didn't want to tell you this until the Reichstag voted on the promotion, but that'll be Monday, so I guess you can have some fun on the weekend," Manfred said. "Just be sure I get an invitation to the party you're going to have. When the new fighter group started training, and the dive bomber ones, we figured that it was time enough to have an air force commander closer on a level with Fritsch and Raeder, you see. So here you are, a double step no less."
The Kaiser added, "Herr Noske presented the list of proposed promotions yesterday. I get to look at them before the Reichstag votes on the appointments, anyway. It's not like the old days. But you deserve the promotion, Udet."
Manfred clapped his hands and said, "Let's hear it for the General der Flieger!" Then amid the applause he snapped off a salute. "Major von Richthofen reporting, Herr General!"
Udet said, "Oh my God, you don't salute me!"
"First salute, Ernst. I owe you that. And you owe me a Mark."
The pilots cheered and clapped as an unnaturally shy Udet rummaged in his pockets to give the officer who had given him his first salute a Mark coin, fulfilling the old custom.
"Is there anything else on Miss Earhart?" Louis-Ferdinand said.
Manfred shook his head. "Not really. I suppose I'll hear from George tonight, if he can find the time to send a wire. If you don't mind, I'll wire him back and tell him all this."
"Certainly, but I can do better. There's a consul in Honolulu, isn't there? He can deliver the official best wishes of the Kaiser."
"And of our family," Bolko said, from where he had been sitting at his brother's elbow throughout the film, a land animal in a room of fliers. "Poor Doris, she had to watch Carmen's heart break, and then when the good news came, keep her from flying without a plane. She'll want to add her congratulations."
"And those of the entire Air Force!" Udet added.
"Thank you," Manfred said, then he had a thought. "Were there any race results on that newsreel?"
CHAPTE
R 26
Griefswalder Oie, Pomerania, Germany, Wednesday, December 8, 1937
The flock of pheasants lifted from the reeds and Manfred whipped up his shotgun to fire. Crashing blasts echoed from the left and right, and he watched in satisfaction as a few birds fell. They would have a good dinner tonight in the Officers' Club on the mainland.
But shooting with the Education Minister's son was not the principal reason he was here on this island in the Baltic. The mice had something to do with it, but there were other, more severe reasons.
It had been in the second year, before Dollfuss had taken out after the Social Democrats in Vienna. Noske had asked to see him that day, and he brought along someone, a little academic-looking fellow. "I seem to have inherited an unusual project from Herr Schleicher," he said. "It may be of interest to you."
The man spoke with a decided accent -- not like Rickenbacker's Swiss patois, but as "overseas" as his was. The diagrams and plans he presented bore a certain familiarity. "There are, of course, many reasons why rockets should not have wings," he said as he produced a drawing of a propellorless aircraft, "but it is possible to build a rocket-propelled airplane. I have a drawing of the general appearance here on page 280 of my book, if the Herr Reichskanzler will be good enough to read it."
"But Herr Oberth, I read Wege zur Raumschiffart when it came out," he said. So that was what had happened to Hermann Oberth, the writer on rockets and space travel. "I think my copy is at home in Schweidnitz. Please do go on, though. I'm fascinated!" And the writer on rocketry continued to lecture a most appreciative audience.
That summer they all went out to the Army test site outside of Berlin, at Kummersdorf, to see the fireworks. So to speak. The officer in charge, a Major Dornberger, introduced the Herr Commander-in-Chief and the Herr Reichswehr Minister to his chief designer. "I believe you already know Wernher, Herr Reichskanzler," he said, able to omit that introduction.
"I owe your son the January issue of Astounding Stories," von Braun said to him. "I borrowed it from him, and that Schachner story . . "
A Man and a Plane: An Alternate Germany Page 40