by Dan Verner
Otto pulled out the flak jacket he sat on while over the target. Since most AA came up, the jacket did precious little if worn as intended. It probably wouldn’t do much anyhow, but it didn’t hurt to sit on it. He put it on.
He steered for a cloud bank ahead, but hadn’t reached it when top sang out, “Bandits! Twelve o’clock high! Jesus! There must be thirty of ‘em!”
Otto could hear shells perforating the aluminum skin of the fuselage. Detwiler called out, “Schmidt’s down. I’m checking him right now.”
Otto calmly replied, “You know what to do, Det.”
“Roger that. He’s hurt pretty bad.”
Otto thought quickly that he had never had a crew member injured. Well, Mata Maria was a lucky ship, but they weren’t flying her today. Damn the luck.
Machine gun fire rang from all stations as the Germans bore in time after time. The cloud bank was only a hundred feet away. The B-17 bucked and shook as if a giant fist has struck it. All the bullets hitting the skin sounded like a hailstorm.
“Damage report!” Otto called.
“Jesus, Lieutenant, a shell punched right through the fuselage! The hole must be three feet in diameter!”
Donovan was sweating profusely as he wrestled with the controls, which had gone mushy. Otto pushed into a gradual descent to keep from stalling. He didn’t know if he could recover from one if that should happen.
Wisps of cloud closed around them and then they were in the cloud bank, safe for the time being. Now if they could avoid running into another aircraft.
All Otto and Donovan could see was gray. At least the Germans couldn’t see them. The ’17 kept losing altitude gradually, so Otto had some hope of making the Channel. They could bail out and be picked up by the coastal patrol. He didn’t want to have his crew come down in German territory.
“Pilot, power’s out to the ball. We can’t get him out.”
“All right, Detwiler, take the fire ax and chop him out. Be careful not to chop him up when you do.”
Amidst the din of laboring engines Otto and Donovan could hear the ax ringing against the metal of the ball turret. After about five minutes, Detwiler called. “Pilot, we got him out. He’s white as a ghost.”
“Have him lie down. How is he?”
“Not good, sir. We need to get him some real help.”
“Stick him with a styrette. We’ll get this thing down as soon as we can.”
“Sir,” Donovan said, “Do we have enough altitude to make the Channel?”
“I don’t know, Donovan. Let’s pull up as much as we can. Watch for a stall.”
The clouds parted and they caught a glimpse of the Channel coastline ahead. A P-47 slid in beside them. Otto pointed to his headphone and shook his head. No radio. The ’47 pilot nodded and stayed just off their wingtip.
Otto made a decision. “Crew, prepare to bail out.”
Donovan didn’t move. “Donovan, that includes you. You stand a better chance by going into the Channel. SP will pick you up.”
“What about you, Otto?”
“I’m going to bring it in. If I can.”
“Sir—“
“Move, Donovan. That’s an order!”
Donovan undid his harness and stood. He clasped Otto on the shoulder. “Good luck, Otto. See you back at base.”
He went into the back where Otto could hear him arranging for a bail out order. They would send someone out with Schmidt and Riley. Maybe he should keep them on the aircraft. No, they would get medical attention more quickly if they bailed out. And landing in the water would be less rough than the crash landing he was about to make.
Chapter 32
Falling Fast—1227 hours Zulu
The Fort rattled and bucked as it came over turbulence created by the water of the Channel. Otto kept them at a thousand feet, but he was losing altitude faster than he liked. He punched the bailout horn and felt the aircraft lurch up slightly as each man jumped out the side hatch. He counted, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven . . . where was eight? Then he remembered that Schmidt and Riley had gone out with someone else. A good crew.
His thoughts flickered briefly to Alice and then to his mother and father and to Mata. He wrenched them back to the task at hand. Concentrate, Kerchner, concentrate. He had 35 miles to go to the airfield, and he wasn’t sure he could hold it up that long. He would have to. A straight-in approach.
He had plenty of fuel since only two engines were operating, even though they were at full power. He prayed that they would hold up, scanning constantly for potential landing sites. His altitude crept down gradually. He had to be trailing smoke, and surely the Jug in formation with him had radioed ahead about his predicament.
The crew had by now been recovered from the Channel, provided they landed all right. He would find out later. The CP did an amazing job of plucking fliers out of the water.
He saw the airfield from about twenty miles out. Five hundred feet. Otto kept his hands and feet busy, right at stall speed, which was about all he could manage. He didn’t have the bomb load, but he had more fuel than he wanted.
Four hundred feet. He was about fifteen miles out. Too soon to shoot the flare that would indicate to the ground that his radio was out and he was coming straight in on an emergency.
Three hundred feet. He had the controls wrenched all the way over to starboard and the big aircraft still wanted to pull to port. He was practically standing on full right rudder to keep what marginal control he had. He pulled the throttles back and the Boeing started to nose up into a stall. He rammed the levers back to full power. If the engines quit entirely it wouldn’t be a pretty picture.
Farms slid by, with farmers harvesting what looked like wheat or hay. They used horses. Otto idly wondered what his mother and father and Mata were doing at this hour. It would be about 8 AM in Wisconsin, and they would have been up for hours.
Two hundred feet. He had the field in sight, straight ahead. He dropped the gear, hoping that the hydraulics weren’t shot out. The light for the port gear came on. Ah, crap. No starboard gear. He’d have been better off leaving the gear up and making a belly landing. He toggled the gear switch. The light stayed on. Stuck. Crap!
One hundred feet. Time for the flare. As if they couldn’t tell he was in trouble by looking at what must have been a smoking, tattered wreck.
Gott in Himmel, help me now, Otto breathed, opening the side window and sticking the flare gun out into the slipstream. He was at 100 knots. Needed to slow down to land. He popped the flare as the ’17 slid off to the left. Otto dropped the flare gun outside the window and slammed his hands back on the column. The aircraft wallowed and came back to a mushy, porpoising path. He pulled the flaps lever, to no effect.
The ground rushed up to meet him. He held the plane off the ground as long as he could to bleed off speed, and felt the port gear touch. The aircraft bounced, once, twice and then he was down, jouncing along on one wheel, trying to hold the wings level as long as he could. He could see an ambulance and a fire truck rolling toward him. He chopped the throttles and braced himself.
The starboard wing quit flying and fell to the grass. The Fort wheeled around the pivot point created as the stub of the wing dug into the dirt. The field whirled dizzily by. Otto thought of the ride at the county fair which twirled riders around and around. The aircraft slid around twice. Right before it came to rest, Otto heard the sound of metal tearing. It was probably the tail breaking off. He hit his head on the instrument panel.
Half conscious, he heard an explosion from behind him and then smelled smoke. He was on fire, but he couldn’t stir himself to move. He needed to undo his harness and get out, but he was sleepy…so sleepy…
The flames swept up around him. Otto closed his eyes. He did not feel the heat. He felt nothing.
Chapter 33
The White Room
He opened his eyes. He expected to feel pain from his burns, but he felt all right. All he saw was white, and at first he thought he was in a hospit
al ward. But no, he was standing. Somehow he was standing. As he became more aware of his circumstances, he saw that he was in a medium-sized windowless white room. There were no lights, but the walls themselves were luminous. A door stood in the wall across from him, so he went over, opened it and stepped outside.
He was in a small, carefully cultivated garden. The air was soft and fragrant with the scents of flowers he did not recognize. And there, seated at a small table with two chairs, sat his father, wearing a long white robe. He wasn’t the old man Otto remembered: he looked like the pictures taken during the war. And he was smiling.
He gestured to Otto. “Kommen Sie, Otto. Be seated. We have much to talk about.” He did not speak out loud, but Otto heard the words in his head.
Bewildered, Otto took the chair across from his father. “Papa, is that you? And is this—“
Hans put his hand on Otto’s shoulder. “Yes, ist me, Otto. And this is whatever you think it is.”
“It’s very nice…and am I--?”
Hans shook his head. “Nein, you are not dead. Why you are here I do not know. But you must return to your life. You have much left to do.”
Otto sat quietly for a moment. “And what do you do here?”
Hans laughed heartily. “I tend die Kühe, of course! It is what I do best!”
“But why do you have cows here? Do you need to eat?”
“We don’t need to, but it is pleasurable, so we do it.”
“This is unreal.”
“I assure you, mein Kind, that this is far more real than what you call reality.”
“How?”
“My cows are never sick and they never die. I have to tend them, but you know I love mein kinen. They are fed and milked.”
“Milked?”
“Yes, and I cannot tell you how or why, but in doing this I enable cows in your reality to produce milk and feed hungry children.”
“So you have a purpose here.”
“Yes, and so do you, dear Otto. That is why you must return, to play out your purpose until it is your time to join me here. Me and all our relatives.”
“Where are they?”
“In your partial state here you cannot see them, but they are here.”
“And what is my purpose, Papa?”
“I think you know, Otto.” The figure of his father wavered and gradually grew transparent.
“Auf weidersehen, mein Sohn. Take care of your mother and sister…” and he was gone.
Otto sat at the table for a few more seconds. Wow. This must be some load of morphine they had him on. Soon he would wake up. He closed his eyes.
Chapter 34
The Burn Unit—April, 1944
When he opened his eyes, he saw all white again. He thought he was back in the white room, but he felt tremendous pain all over his body. He reached up with his hands, which were wrapped in some sort of cloth, and put them to his eyes. There was a soft covering over his eyes. That was why he saw white. He called out, “Help me! Help me, please!”
He heard a rapid click of footsteps and felt someone by his side. He was lying on a bed.
A soft voice spoke, “All right, Lieutenant. Are you having pain? Nod your head if you are.”
My God, Otto thought, am I ever having pain. His whole body felt like it was on fire. He nodded his head as best he could and the pain became more intense in his neck when he moved.
“I’ll increase your drip, then.”
He heard the clink of metal against metal, felt something cold flowing into the vein in his arm. Darkness reached up and took over the whiteness.
***
Otto felt like he was swimming in a dark sea. He thought he turned his head upward and he could see the surface of the water as a brighter glow. He swam upward, noting with bemusement that he could breathe underwater. These must be some strong drugs, he thought. He made a long slow climb toward the light, surfacing, breaking the water.
The pain slipped in again, about as bad as before. He opened his eyes and saw darkness this time. He called out, “Is anyone there?” His voice was muffled and his lips flared with pain as he moved them to speak.
He heard the same rapid footsteps and then the soft voice. “I’ll increase your drip, Lieutenant.”
“Don’t put me totally out. Where am I?”
“You’re in the hospital. You were badly burned in the crash. You need to lie quietly and rest.”
“What about my crew?”
“They were all rescued. They’ll be in to see you when you’re feeling better.”
Otto felt the darkness creeping up on him again but he fought it. He was barely conscious when he heard heavier footsteps and the voice of what must have been a doctor.
“How’s he doing?”
“He’s in and out. He’s on a lot of morphine. I don’t think he’ll make it.”
“All right. What a shame. Keep him comfortable and inform me if there are any major changes.”
“I will, doctor.”
Otto slipped into dark dreams. He was back in his fifth grade classroom. Miss Smith was there, looking stern, and Dr. Carter, who appeared to be very sad, and his father, who sat with his arms folded. Miss Smith spoke first:
“I warned you not to have anything to do with airplanes. They are death machines. But you wouldn’t listen, would you, Otto? Now look where you are! Well, you’ll never fly again!”
Dr. Carter nodded. “That’s right, Otto. Even if you recover from your burns you won’t be able to hold the controls. I told you what happened to my son. But you persisted. And you see what it got you.”
His father looked at him sternly. “You should have been a dairy farmer like me, Otto. I should not have let you go to that airport so much. Now who will help run the farm? Your mother and sister are struggling. And you will be no good to them, if you survive.”
His last words echoed, “If you survive…”
***
Otto opened his eyes. He saw white and knew that it must be day. “Is anyone there?” he called. The pain was perhaps a bit less intense, but still present, still burning all over his body. He was hungry.
The nurse came up to his side. “Yes, lieutenant. Are you in pain?”
“Yes,” he said, “but I’m hungry. Can I have something to eat?”
“What would you like?”
“Some applesauce and milk, please.”
“I’ll check with the doctor to see if it’s all right. You’ll have surgery tomorrow.” She clicked off.
Otto tried turning his head from side to side. The pain shot through his neck. His skin felt so tight. He couldn’t imagine what he looked like. He shoved the thought out of his mind and tried to guess how many days had elapsed since the accident. His skin was itching where his beard had grown, so he supposed it had to have been several days at least. He couldn’t tell.
The nurse returned. “All right, Lieutenant. I have the applesauce. I’ll take some of the bandages off so I can feed you. Let me know if it hurts too much.”
“What’s your name, ma’am?”
“I’m Lieutenant Robinson.”
“I meant your first name.”
She hesitated. “It’s Doreen.”
“Pleased to meet you, Doreen. My name is Otto. Please call me that.”
“Well, all right, Lieu—Otto.” He could feel the bandages being unwound from around his jaw. “Open your mouth.”
Otto did so, and pain coursed through his mouth and lips. He felt the cool sweetness of the applesauce and the metallic taste of the spoon. The food tasted wonderful. It was worth the pain to have it in his mouth.
“Is that all right, Otto?”
“Yes, Doreen, it tastes very good.”
“OK. And now some milk. I’ll put the straw in your mouth.”
Otto thought that milk never tasted so good. He sucked the cold liquid and felt it cool his mouth and throat. Everything else on him felt as if it were burning up.
“How badly am I burned?”
“You�
��re burned over 50% of your body. We thought you weren’t going to make it. You’ll stay here for a while and then we’ll send you back to the States. I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to have a number of surgeries to remove dead skin. It’s a painful procedure.”
“What do I look like?”
“I’ll let you judge that for yourself, Lieutenant, when the time comes.”
That didn’t sound good. Otto fell back on the pillow. “May I have some more morphine?” The pain was starting to build.
“Certainly, Lieutenant.” He felt the familiar coldness creep up his arm and then he felt nothing at all.
***
Doreen removed the bandages from his eyes a couple of days later. She had dark hair, bright green eyes and a small, pretty face. Otto’s vision took a while to clear. He was in a bay separated by white curtains from other beds in what seemed to be a large ward. Other soldiers lay in their beds, wrapped from head to toe as he was.
“Are all these fellows burned?” he asked Doreen.
She nodded as she adjusted his IV. “Yes. This is the burn unit. You’re in the hospital in Taunton.” Most of the soldiers lay still. Some groaned from time to time. I know why, Otto thought. His skin felt tight all over his body. Doreen said that was scar tissue forming.
“Would you like to see your crew?”
“Yes, very much.”
“I’ll let them know. They can come in this afternoon. Now, they’ll be shocked when they see you, but they’ve asked about you every day since you’re been here.”
“How long have I been here? I’ve lost track of time.”
“About two weeks.”
“And my parents and sister? Do they know?”
“They were notified only that you were injured. You can write them or I can write a letter for you.”
“Thank you. I’d like that.”
“All right, lieutenant. Try to rest now.”
“Doreen?”
“Yes?”