by Dan Verner
Otto took his hand and shook it. “I’ll try, Doc. I’ll do my best to, anyhow.” Doc patted him on the back and Otto stepped through the door into the next room where, as Doc predicted, his papers were stamped by four bored-looking corporals. He was then sent home to wait.
***
Doc was also right about the waiting. It simply took time to gather the men necessary to run the biggest war machine ever built, to design the aircraft, ships, tanks, trucks and weapons, to mine the ores and resources necessary to build them, to manufacture these Articles of War and then to ship them to the people who would use them. And it took time to put into place the training systems where the people would be taught to operate the machines and systems designed to bring death and defeat to the enemy and his people.
And so Otto, along with millions of his fellow Americans, waited. They didn’t necessarily wait patiently, but they waited. Through long days, longer weeks, long months as they listened to their radios and to news of the war, which was mostly bad. They built camps and training facilities, and they began to train the young men and women who would carry the war to the far corners of the world.
Otto continued to operate the farm and to run the airport. Wilson was largely absent, in Minneapolis, he guessed, and Duncan spent most of his days in a drunken stupor. How he was still alive was beyond him. He seemed to subsist on sleep, stale ham sandwiches and whiskey. Otto wasn’t sure he knew there was a war on.
There was in truth little business at the airfield. The military had slapped heavy restrictions on civilian air traffic, and with fuel chiefly reserved for the military uses, no one else was flying, or driving much for that matter. Otto spent his days keeping the field clean and listening to the floating discussion group of pilots who sat in the ready room and exchanged opinions. There seemed to be little else to do.
“Well, I think this is Roosevelt’s war—one he started to make himself and his rich friends richer…”
“Ah, you’re full of it! How could Roosevelt control events thousands of miles away?”
“These rich people have their ways. They’re not like you and me!”
“Hey, Kerchner! You haven’t said anything. What do you think?”
Otto turned from where he was making another urn of coffee. “I don’t know. It is what it is, I suppose, and the sooner we get into it, the sooner it’s over.”
“Well, listen to the philosopher, will you?” This was followed by a round of laughter.
“You asked,” Otto said quietly, and went into the office. It was going to be a long war indeed, particularly if nothing happened.
Chapter 16
Last Days—March, 1942
Except for rationing and a few young men going off to war from Pioneer Lake, things did not seem to change much. There were still cows to be milked and fed every day, and forms to fill out and discussions to overhear at the airfield. Life went on.
One Saturday morning in February, Mata came back from the mailbox at the end of the drive bearing several letters. She waved a rather thick official-looking envelope at Otto. “This one’s for you,” she cried. “I think it’s from the Army!”
Otto tore it open and sat down at the kitchen table where he had been having coffee after finishing morning chores. He read rapidly:
February 16, 1942
Cadet Otto Kerchner
R.R. 6, Box 803
Pioneer Lake, Wisconsin
Cadet Kerchner:
You are directed forthwith to set your affairs in order and report to Camp Atterbury, Edinburg, Indiana, by 0800 hours on Monday, March 16 for basic training leading eventually to flight training.
Travel letters are enclosed for passage from your location to Camp Atterbury and meal chits are provided.
You will receive further direction upon completion of basic training at this facility.
There was more, but Otto didn’t read it right then. He put the sheaves of paper on the table and stared at them. Mata came into the kitchen. She had checked on Maria, who was in bed, and on Hans, who sat with his head down in the living room.
“Otto, what is it? Good news or bad news?”
Otto raised the sheets from the table. “Both, Mata. It’s my orders to report for training. I’m actually going to get to fly and fight.” He stood up and she walked over and embraced him. She was smiling at the same time tears ran down her cheeks. “I’m so proud of you,” she told him, “but also very frightened for you. Promise me you’ll come back.”
“I promise, Mata,” he murmured, but he was wondering, Will I come back at all?
They stayed that way for a moment, then broke apart. Otto stuffed the envelope and letters into the desk by the door. “So, what’s for lunch?” he asked, rubbing his hands. “I’ll need as much home cooking as I can get since I won’t have any for a long while.”
“I’ve fixed dumplings and sausage, your favorite,” Mata exclaimed, moving into the kitchen. “It’ll be ready in about ten minutes. Go ahead and wash up. I’ll get Mama and Papa going and would appreciate some help bringing the food out.”
“You got it, Sis.” Otto washed his hands from the kitchen taps Mata had installed the year before. He smiled as he remembered the first time he had seen indoor plumbing at Dr. Carter’s, such a long time ago. He dried his hands on a towel and lit the burner under the frying pan where Mata had placed the sausages and then did the same with the one under the pot containing the dumplings. He monitored both to make sure they wouldn’t burn. Mata came in as both were heating nicely.
“Whew!” she exclaimed, pushing her hair back from her face. “I must look a fright. Mama is harder and harder to get out of bed and dressed, but I got her to the parlor. Papa is not so bad to get him into his wheelchair. Give me just a minute.” She leaned on the kitchen counter, fanning herself with one hand.
Otto got the plates out, measured out some of each part of the meal, and walked the plates to the kitchen two at a time. He came back where Mata was still standing. “And what, dear sister, would you like to have to drink with your lunch?”
She leaned her head to one side. “If you have any, sir, I would like some milk.”
Otto bowed in her direction. “You are very lucky, Fraulein, because today we are featuring—” Here he opened the ice box with a flourish “—milk!” The interior of the chest was packed with bottle after bottle of milk, which, as Mata was fond of saying, was only to be expected on a dairy farm.
Otto poured four big glasses of milk and set them on the table. Hans and Maria were sitting there. Mata began cutting up Maria’s sausage.
“Good morning, Mama,” Otto said. “How are you? Did you sleep well?”
Maria looked at him with some confusion in her eyes. “Hans? Is that you?”
Mata raised her eyebrows and nodded slightly at Otto as she fed Maria a piece of sausage which she chewed slowly.
“Ja, it’s me. I’ve been out tending the cows.”
Maria smiled. “You are so good with cows, Hans. It’s like you can talk to them.” She faded off as Mata continued to feed her.
Hans spoke up. “So you are going off to war, Otto.”
Otto and Mata looked at each other. “How did you know that, Papa?”
“Well, I might be crippled, but I’m not deaf. And you’re just the age I was when I joined up. Have you thought about how you will feel possibly fighting people who might be your relatives?”
“I won’t think of them as relatives. I am an American and they are the enemy.”
Hans nodded slowly and turned to his food. He didn’t say much after his injury.
“So, Otto, I think all the girls will think you are very handsome in your uniform when you come home on leave,” Mata teased.
“I think they will think I look like every other soldier in an Army uniform,” returned Otto.
“Oh, but I know Betty Ross will be very impressed with your appearance.”
“Betty and I are friends,” said Otto, blushing.
“That’s not wh
at I hear,” Mata teased. “I hear that you two are sweet on each other.”
“We’ve been out a few times.”
“I hear you’ve been out a lot of times to Spenser’s and to the airport. You take her flying.”
“I’m glad everyone is so interested in what I’m doing.”
“I think it’s adorable. My brother, going to marry the banker’s daughter.”
“I’m not going to marry anyone! And what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Where are all your beaux? I’d think there’d be a different one here every night.”
“If you’ve noticed, dear brother, the pickings are pretty slim around here.”
“There’re are the guys at school. Some of them are nice.”
“Yeah, nice and stupid.”
“What about the boys at church?”
“Honestly, Otto, for heaven’s sake!”
“Are there any men in this county who meet your high standards?”
Mata’s expression turned serious. “Probably not. I’m OK with my girlfriends. We have a good time when we go out. I’m sure I’ll meet someone nice one day.”
“I’m sure you will, sister.” Otto stood up from the table. “Thanks for preparing lunch.”
Mata smiled. “It’s more like you prepared it.”
“I just fixed what you had prepared.”
“Get to work, M. le Chef. I know you have plenty to do before you go off to save the world.”
Otto stood with his hand on the doorknob. “So I do. I’d better get to it.”
***
The two weeks until Otto reported for basic passed rapidly. He worked hard on both the airport and farm to make sure they were prepared for his absence, although he had no idea how long that would be. It could be years or he might be back very quickly if he washed out of flying school. He hoped not, but that was a distinct possibility.
He was cleaning up the aircraft on his last day at home when he saw Wilson’s plane in the landing pattern. The big man landed, heaved himself out of the cockpit, and walked over to Otto. “Can you come to the office?”
“Sure,” Otto replied. He noticed that Wilson was carrying a package wrapped up in brown paper. They went into the office and Wilson sat at his desk.
“So today’s your last day?”
“That’s right. I ship out tomorrow.”
“Have a seat.” Otto sat. “I got a little something for you. Here—” Wilson handed the package to Otto. It was heavy.
“You didn’t have to get me anything. You’ve been so good to me.”
“Yeah, well, I take care of my boys. And you’re one of them. Open the package.”
Otto tore open the paper, and there was a beautiful pearl-handled Colt .45. He gasped. “Mr. Wilson, I can’t accept this. It’s too expensive.”
Wilson waved his hand. “I want you to have it. You’ll need protection against the Nazis. Hell, you need protection from the yahoos around here.”
“Well, I’ll take it and wear it proudly. Thank you and thank you for all you’ve done for me.”
He and Wilson stood at the same time and shook hands. “Good luck, kid. Knock ‘em dead.”
“I plan to, Mr. Wilson. I plan to.”
***
That afternoon Otto went to town to pick up some things for Mata. There he ran across Betty in front of the town hall.
“Otto! How have you been?”
“Busy, like everyone else. I’m sorry I haven’t gotten back to you. I suppose you heard I enlisted in the Army Air Corps.”
“Yes, I did.” She studied his face, and, for once, he could not read her expression.
“Could we go somewhere and talk for a few minutes? I’d like to catch up.”
“Sure. We can go in my car. Not to be rude, but are you ever going to get a new truck?”
“Some day,” Otto told her as he climbed into the Packard. “Is Spencer’s okay?”
“It’s fine,” she said as she started the car, put it in gear and backed in a semi-circle into the street.
Five minutes later they were seated in a booth by the window at Spencer’s. Betty ordered a Coke; Otto, a coffee, and they looked around as they waited for their order.
“So, when…” they both said at the same time. They laughed and Otto started again. “Ladies first,” indicating that Betty should go ahead.
“So, when do you leave?” she continued. “It has to be soon.”
“Tomorrow on the 2 PM. I’m about ready. Mata keeps packing and repacking my bag although I’ve told her I’ll get all the clothes I need in the service.”
“Mata is such a sweetie. Grownup for her age, too.”
“Yes, she has pretty much run the farm since Papa’s injury.”
“I still feel so bad about your Papa. I know he was always so active.”
Otto peered into his coffee cup. “He gets around. He’s just not too happy. That’s understandable, considering.”
“You’re so philosophical and understanding, Otto. I really admire both qualities in you.”
“I guess I’m just resigned to what happened. Don’t think I haven’t laid awake nights thinking of ways to hurt the whole Smith tribe—preferably by crippling every last one of them. I’m not proud of those thoughts, but I have them.”
She reached over and took his hand. “Those are perfectly natural thoughts, I’d say.”
He smiled at her and then grew serious. “I want to talk about us, Betty.”
“Us?”
“Yes, as in what kind of relationship we’re going to have while I’m gone.”
“What kind of relationship do we have now, Otto?
He spoke carefully. “A friendship, I’d say.” Again, he couldn’t read her expression. She looked sad and serious at the same time.
“All right, we have a friendship, then. So what does that mean for us in the future?”
“I think it means that we’ll continue to be friends.”
“All right, we can do that.” She definitely looked angry now and her tone was sharp. Betty stood up and stuck out her hand. “Good-bye and good luck, Otto. I wish you well.”
Otto took her hand and shook it. He was puzzled. Had he said something wrong? “Will you write me if I write you, Betty?”
“Oh, sure,” she said with a sarcastic tone he had never heard her use with him before. “We can be little pen pals and write each other little letters. I hope you’ll enjoy doing that.” She turned on her heel, slammed the door to the diner, got in her car and spewed gravel all over as she tore out of the parking lot and onto the street. By the time Otto paid the bill and got to his truck, she was gone.
Smoothly played, Kerchner, he thought. Smoothly played.
Chapter 17
Basic—late March, 1942
March 27, 1942
Dear Mata,
I’m writing to you from Camp Atterbury. It has been raining ever since we got here. I am with a group of 200 other cadets for what is called basic training. It’s the Army part of the Army Air Corps. Some of the fellows from the city are having a rough time of it. I don’t think they had to get up before dawn to tend cattle or do much physical work.
We get up, “police” (clean up) the barracks, march to breakfast, try to recognize what they’re feeding us (I miss your cooking!), do some more marching, have some sort of training, eat lunch, march some more, attend classes on military law and protocol, do some shooting on the rifle range (not that I expect to ever carry a rifle—pilots carry sidearms), have supper and then some free time to read or write or play cards or whatever.
Some of the fellows got passes to go into town this past Friday. I stayed here and read. I have little interest in “painting the town red.” Maybe it’s because I have painted too many barns red, ha ha.
The other cadets are from all over the Midwest and we all have one thing in common. We want to be pilots. As far as I know, no one else is a pilot already, but I’m not telling anyone that I am. I have a feeling that t
he Army wants to train us in their own way, not in the civilian method.
In any case, it’s comfortable here, the food is edible, and I’m eager to get this step behind me and go on to some actual flying.
One funny thing—whoever hooked up the toilets goofed up and ran hot water to them. There’s a sign that warns users to beware a hot water spray when they flush! I’m glad someone put up a sign or there would be a lot of surprised soldiers!
I hope you and Mama and Papa are well.
I am your brother,
Otto
Otto finished the letter, folded it, placed it in the envelope and put on a stamp. He was glad that Sundays were quiet. Most of the fellows slept or played cards or talked quietly. He liked to write letters and read. Just then he was about halfway through Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. He thought Conrad was a master of English prose, which was incredible considering that his first language was Polish. He had taken the book out of the small base library which seemed to have castoffs of trashy novels with a few classics like Conrad mixed in. In truth, most of his fellow soldiers seemed to prefer activity to sitting and reading. Otto just needed a period of calm in the midst of all that was going on. He figured they would have about six weeks of learning to be soldiers and then about the same amount of time on “advanced basic” training where they would probably learn to be even better soldiers. He wouldn’t get near an airplane for another six months. He hoped he didn’t forget how to fly.
Chapter 18
Advanced Basic—June, 1942
June 16, 1942
Dear Mata,
Now I’m in the South and I do mean the South. Everyone here except the cadets has a strong Southern accent, y’all. They use “y’all” a lot, like “y’all need to come over here.” It’s a funny expression. Most of the instructors have accents but we don’t say anything about it since we don’t want to have to do pushups.