On Wings of the Morning

by Dan Verner

  “Mr. Libeau, it must be so swell to fly an airplane like this one. She’s a beaut.”

  “Well, it’s a job, I suppose, but I understand what you’re saying. And I have a feeling that some day you’ll be flying something even bigger than this.”

  “Gosh, I hope so,” Otto said, threading past Libeau and down the aisle. He walked over to the Piper sitting by the hangar and began his preflight. The journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step, he thought. Or a single flight. He completed his inspection, climbed into the cockpit, pulled the choke, set the throttle, got out, pulled the prop through one revolution and then gave it a sharp swing. He backed away from the spinning blade as the engine caught. He jumped in the cockpit and taxied out to the runway.

  Otto checked the few instruments on the Cub’s panel and then advanced the throttle. The little yellow plane bounced and vibrated along the grassy surface for a bit and then lifted its tail When he could feel the controls lighten, Otto pulled back on the stick and the Cub was airborne, headed on a slow climb to some white clouds drifting along in the bright blue sky. Otto turned toward Pioneer Lake, not too far away, and was soon moving along above the streets of well-kept businesses and houses. He could see the mansion—for that was what it was—Betty lived in, the high school, the lumber yard, and all the rest of Main Street. Cars creeping along the road looked like insects.

  Flying was pure freedom for Otto. It always had been, and every flight brought something new. A bird, perhaps a falcon, paced him for a while as he flew over the town limits. The bird suddenly dove and was gone, evidently spotting some prey far below. He kept going for a while, enjoying a feeling of freedom from his concerns—Hans, Maria, the farm, his relationship with Betty—they all fell away in the sky. After a while, he reluctantly turned 180 degrees back toward the airport. He entered the traffic pattern, upwind, crosswind, downwind, base, final approach and landed smoothly taxiing to the hangar. He cut the engine and sat there a while, enjoying the feeling he always had when he finished a flight. He pulled his log book out of his pocket and put in the date, the time he was aloft and, under comments, “Nice flight.” Most of the comments said something similar. He noticed that the Lockheed was gone. He wasn’t sure what Mr. Ross did in Minneapolis, but thought it was something related to banking. He would be back later that evening. Otto made a mental note to talk to Wilson about lights for the field. That would be a big improvement. He walked toward the office.

  ***

  A week later, as Otto was washing some of the aircraft tied down outside the hangar, he heard the unmistakable sound of a large rotary engine which meant it belonged to a large airplane. He moved to one side of the hangar so he could see what produced such a noise.

  A silver aircraft of a type he hadn’t seen before turned on base leg. It looked to be the sleekest aircraft he had ever seen. As he watched, it turned smoothly onto final and made about the best landing he had ever witnessed. Whoever was flying it was one fine pilot. Otto knew of only one pilot who could fly like that--Charles Lindbergh, but what would Charles Lindbergh be doing at little Pioneer Lake? It wasn’t possible. Well, he would find out who it was soon enough.

  The big plane taxied in and pulled to a stop by the hangar. The pilot threw back the canopy and climbed out. He removed his helmet, goggles and gloves and slid down the wing to the ground. Otto went over to him and just about fainted. It was Charles Lindbergh! He would have recognized that famous face and piercing blue eyes anywhere! He felt as if he couldn’t speak.

  “Hello, young man,” Lindbergh said. “Can I get something to eat? And can you refuel my plane?”

  “Yessir, Colonel,” Otto returned. “We have some ham sandwiches I just made up and some coffee that’s not too old. I’ll go get the refueling wagon.”

  “And could you point the way to the bathroom?” The famous aviator smiled.

  Otto pointed. “It’s through that door in the ready room. You can’t miss it!”

  Lindbergh walked somewhat stiffly in the direction of the office. Otto followed him, pulling out the ham sandwich from the refrigerator. He poured some coffee from the urn into one of the white china cups they used. He set both on a tray and had it ready when Lindbergh came out.

  “If you wouldn’t mind—what’s your name, young fellow?”

  “It’s Otto, sir, Otto Kerchner.”

  “Well, if it’s all right with you, I’d like to take my sandwich and coffee and eat over by the airplane. I don’t want a lot of people knowing I’m here, although you’re the only one I see at this point.”

  “Yessir, I’ll take your tray, and the only people here are my boss and the chief pilot and they’re both, uh, asleep. I’ll keep anyone else that shows up away.”

  “Thank you, Otto. I appreciate it. You seem like a sensible young fellow.”

  Otto and Lindbergh walked back over to his aircraft. Lindberg sat on the wing and tore into the sandwich, taking occasional sips of coffee.

  Otto ran over and got the refueling cart and ran the hose to the filler hole in the Lockheed. He turned the crank and quickly transferred the fuel to the aircraft’s tank. He pulled the hose out when he was done and coiled it neatly on the cart.

  Lindbergh was finishing his sandwich. “Well, I’d better get on to Minneapolis. It has been nice to stop here. Is this a good place to live?”

  “I think so, sir. It’s quiet and there’s a lot to do if you like the outdoors.”

  “Do you like airplanes, Otto?”

  “Do I ever, Colonel Lindbergh! And I’ve been a big fan of yours since I was a kid. I got my private pilot’s license four years ago and I want to be a flight instructor.”

  “Very impressive,” said Lindbergh. “I hope it works out well for you. I’d better be on my way.” He reached out and shook Otto’s hand. “It has been a pleasure meeting you. Happy flying to you.”

  Otto took his hand, feeling the firm grip. “The pleasure is all mine, sir. I can’t believe you flew into our airport.”

  “Oh—one thing more, Otto. If you would, please don’t say anything about my presence here to anyone. The reason I’m on this trip is very secret and it would be better if no one knew I was in the area.”

  That meant he couldn’t tell anyone he had met Lindbergh. Well, he would know it and that was what counted. “I won’t tell a soul, Colonel.”

  Lindbergh put one foot on the wing of the fighter. He took the gloves he had pulled off in the cockpit and tossed them to Otto. “Here you go. A present from one pilot to another. I have a spare set in here.”

  Otto examined the well-worn gloves. What a treasure, he thought. He would keep them forever. He held them tightly as Lindbergh closed the cockpit cover. The engine fired up on the big aircraft. Lindberg looked over and snapped a salute to Otto, who returned it.

  The silver airplane taxied out to the end of the grassy field. Lindbergh held it there for a few seconds, testing the controls and then advanced the throttle. The big radial ran up to takeoff power. It was about the smoothest and most resonant engine Otto had ever heard.

  Lindbergh ran the airplane down the field, rotating it smoothly into the air. He climbed rapidly for altitude and waggled his wings as he disappeared to the west. Otto felt as if he hadn’t breathed the entire time the great aviator had been there. All he could think was oh wow oh wow oh wow.

  ***

  Shortly after Otto’s encounter with Lindbergh, he began training for his instructor certification in Eau Claire. Once a week, on Friday, he flew the Cub to the airport and spent the morning training in a Piper J-5, a more powerful and roomier version of Otto’s J-2 Cub. He quickly caught on to what his instructor showed him, and after minimal instruction time, he was certified. He returned to Pioneer Lake Airport and took up the bulk of flight instruction. He didn’t see much of Sparky, who continued to live at the airport, or Wilson either, but they were both there.

  Otto had a string of undistinguished students. Most of them would take far more than the average instruction
al time, but Otto didn’t mind. Wilson certainly didn’t mind, as long as the money kept rolling in.

  ***

  The war in Europe escalated, as Germany sent waves of bombers night after night in attacks that came to be known as the Battle of Britain. Otto listened to the BBC, which continued to broadcast even as the raids turned their targets from airfields to cities and towns in early September. He was mesmerized by an entire nation under attack. Mata left when he tuned in the big radio in the living room, saying she couldn’t bear to hear about more death and destruction.

  She also refused to sit through the newsreels when they went to a rare movie, preferring instead to visit in the lobby with some women she knew until the feature had begun. She went to movies for escape, not for information, she told Otto.

  Otto tried to sign up for the Army Air Corps in September when he was in Eau Claire on some airpost business. The sergeant told him there was no need for more pilots at present funding levels. If war came, they would need his piloting skills and those of many more men. That promise had to be good enough for Otto for the moment.

  Chapter 15

  Remember Pearl Harbor—December, 1941

  Otto and Mata sat in the living room as was their custom on Sunday afternoons, listening to the radio. Otto nodded over the paper and Mata busied herself with some mending. Maria remained sitting at the dining room table, expectantly watching the door to the outside. Hans had gone to sleep in the bedroom after lunch.

  Their customary program was interrupted by an announcement:

  From the NBC Newsroom in New York: President Roosevelt said in a statement today that the Japanese have attacked (the) Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, from the air. I’ll repeat that, President Roosevelt says that the Japanese have attacked Pearl Harbor from the air. This bulletin came to you from the NBC Newsroom in New York.

  There was a moment of silence. Than Mata said, “Otto, did you hear that?”

  “Yes, the bulletin woke me up when it came on.”

  “What do you think will happen?”

  “I think there will be war.”

  “Oh, no…”

  “We have to fight now. They’ve attacked us.” He stood up. “I need to get out to the airfield. It should be secured and there’s no one there on Sundays.

  “I thought Mr. Duncan lived there.”

  “Just as I said, there’s no one there on Sundays.”

  Otto went over to the closet and took out Hans’ Mauser. “No, Otto, not a gun!”

  “I don’t know what I’ll run into, Mata. Don’t worry; I’ll be careful!” He ran out the door, climbed into the pickup and roared off.

  Mata went into the kitchen to be with Maria. She decided not to tell her about the attack. “Where was Hans going?” she asked Mata.

  “He just had an errand, Mama,” Mata told her, patting her hands. “He’ll be back soon.”

  ***

  Otto drove the familiar road to the airport, not sure of what he would find. The office looked secured and the hangar and aircraft untouched, but when he opened the locked office, a familiar rough voice greeted him. “Otto? That you?”

  He went over to Wilson’s office whose door was open with the light on. Wilson was in his customary pose with a bottle on the desk and a drink in his hand. He uncustomarily had a Minneapolis extra edition open to the front page on his lap. Duncan lay asleep on the sofa across from him.

  “Siddown. In the chair, kid. Unless you want to sit on Duncan. I don’t think he’d care too much.”

  Otto sat in the chair. “So what do you think, Mr. Wilson?”

  “What do I think? I think we’re as good as at war. And I think there’s a lot of money to be made in the years ahead. Oh, not by young guys like you, poor guys. It’ll be made by guys like me who stay home and own the ‘means of production’ as someone once said. Yep, we’ll stay home and produce the things you need to beat the Jap and the Hun and Uncle Sam will pay us handsomely because that’s what your mommies and daddies want for you—only the best.”

  Wilson stopped, out of breath. It was a long speech for him, but he seemed to be habitually out of breath.

  “You sound like you think the war is a good thing, Mr. Wilson.”

  “I ain’t sayin’ it’s good or bad, kid. It just is, and because it is and because it had to be, there’s money to be made. So it might as well be made by the likes of yours truly.”

  “What will you make it in?”

  “Oh, various things. Businesses I have interests in. This and that.”

  Otto knew better than to push him for specifics. Wilson was always vague about the nature of his “businesses.” All Otto knew was that they were profitable—Wilson always dressed in tailored clothes and wore flashy watches and rings—and that they were probably illegal. He suspected the airport was a cover for some of his criminal activities. Not that the airport was one bit out of step with the law. Mata made sure of that. All the books were above board and accurate and reflected a growing—and honest—business. The others, no one knew but Wilson, and he wasn’t telling.

  “So, what are you planning to do, Otto?”

  “I’m going to sign up for the Army Air Corps first thing in the morning. I know there’ll be a line and I want to be at the head of it.’

  “Well, good luck to you, kid.” Wilson raised his glass. “Good luck to us all.”

  ***

  Otto didn’t have a problem getting up early since it was his habit to do so to tend the cows anyhow. The frozen mud of the barnyard crunched underfoot as he made his way to the barn, fed and watered the stock and attached the milking machines one by one. He was glad they no longer had to milk by hand. Mata had made a good investment, and their production had gone up. He wondered what would happen to demand with the coming of war.

  His morning chores done, Otto left the cows to the hired man and ducked back into the house. Mata was sitting at the table nursing a cup of coffee.

  “Guten morgen, Bruder.”

  “Guten morgen, Schwester.”

  He sat down across from her. “I’m off to join up.”

  Her eyes looked troubled. “I wish you wouldn’t.”

  “If I don’t they’ll draft me. This is something I have to do.”

  “Let me see if we can get you an agricultural deferment. Those are available for certain types of farmers.”

  “I don’t want to dodge this, Mata. I want to get over there, defeat these monsters and get back as soon as I can. You’ll see. I’ll be back in a year, tops.”

  He stood up, went over and kissed her on the top of her head. “I’ll be fine. You’ll see.” Mata put her left hand up and he took it. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Be careful, dear brother.”

  Otto went out to the truck, got in, started it and soon was driving through familiar fields, glowing golden this morning with the low sunlight illuminating the frost. Traffic grew as he neared the recruiting station located down from the high school. There were so many cars and trucks parked nearby he had to park two blocks away and walk over.

  Inside the small office, organized chaos reigned. Four Army sergeants formed up the men who had come into four lines. The would-be recruits stood talking with each other, each grasping a sheaf of paper, waiting to be called back into the medical office.

  Sergeant Johnston, the head recruiter, recognized Otto from his prior visits and rushed over to him. “Hey, Otto, no need for you to wait in line. I have your paperwork we filled out the last time you were here, so we can use that.”

  “Thanks, Sergeant. Looks like you’ve got your hands full.”

  Johnston surveyed the room. “Yep, we’re pretty busy. But they sent me a telegram last night telling me what to expect and sent along some help from Minneapolis. Those are the four handsome gentlemen you see out here. We’ll get it done but it’ll be a long haul. You can go right through that door and Doc Carter will examine you.’

  “Thank you,” Otto said as Johnston turned to the next man in line.


  Otto opened the door to the examining room where the fellow before him was pulling up his pants. Doc handed him a sheaf of papers and pointed to a door on the other wall. Otto handed him his paperwork and as Doc glanced at the name and then up at Otto’s face, and frowned. “So you finally will have a chance to kill yourself in the air, huh, Otto?”

  Otto sighed. Here it came again. “I just want to serve my country and win the war.”

  “Couldn’t you do it from the ground? Or the sea?”

  “I suppose I could, but I want to do it from the air. I want to fly.”

  Doc motioned for him to take off his shirt and then moved a stethoscope around his back as Otto breathed in and out four times. “Well, I suppose I could fail you on the physical…”

  “Have you found something?” Otto asked sharply.

  “Oh no, just doing a little theoretical thinking. But I suppose I still do have some integrity left… look left…look right…OK, cough…that’s it. You have a pulse and you’re breathing, so you’re qualified.”

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  “Don’t thank me. Now you’ll learn the most basic part of military life.”

  “What’s that?”

  “’Hurry up and wait.’ Take your papers, go through that door, collect some stamps from the happy fellows at the table and then wait until you’re called.”

  “Wait? How long?”

  “Until you’re in service? No one knows. We’re new to this. Weeks. Months. Maybe years . . . .”

  “Years? But the war is going on now!”

  “Yeah, and don’t get too anxious about getting into it. There are people who are seriously dead as a result of war.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “No, it’s not.” Carter studied Otto for a long moment. “I’ve known you since before there was a ‘you.’ Took care of your mom when she was carrying you. Tried to take care of that hard-headed German father of yours, God bless him.” He shook his head.

  “So listen to an old man who knows you and who knows what he is talking about. Please be careful no matter where you are, no matter what you end up doing. There are plenty of dead heroes. I’d rather welcome back a live ordinary guy who had the smarts to survive.” He stuck out his hand. “Promise me you’ll do that much.”