Ellie Midwood - Of Knights and Dogfights

“I don’t know you, Harald. You’re not him .”

He considered for a moment; nodded slowly. “You’re right. I’m not him. That was perhaps my biggest mistake; my desire to be someone different. Do you think it’s too late for me? For all of us◦– to change?”

“I don’t know.” She sounded defeated. A voluminous sigh rose from her chest. She walked over to the chair and sat in it, with her back to Harald.

She didn’t hear him approach her, only felt his hand on top of her head as he removed her nurse’s cap and undid her hair.

“Mina, I’m sorry for what I’m about to do but it’s for your own good. It’s only hair; it’ll grow back, I promise.”

The first gilded lock dropped onto her lap. Mina stared at it without comprehension.

“What are you doing?”

“You’ll see.”

Mina finally relaxed a little in her chair and patiently sat, without moving, as Harald stood above her, chopping off her long, beautiful hair. She even firmly gripped the top part that he asked her to hold while he cropped the rest of the hair close to her skin. He clipped the top just to the right length, neatly brushed it to one side and grinned in spite of himself.

“A perfect Hitlerjugend, if I do say so myself. I should have been a barber.”

He then extracted a folded uniform from under his tunic and assured Mina that it came from a local school locker, not some stiffened corpse. It didn’t seem to matter to her now. She was smiling brightly at him, her previous fearful expression gone, vanished like the fog outside.

“What about my footwear?”

“Here, put on my boots, only stuff the socks inside them first so that you can walk without difficulty.”

“What about you?”

“I’m sure that Parteigenosse, who had left this villa in such haste, left something for my feet upstairs.” Harald winked at her and disappeared in the direction of the staircase.

Indeed, in one of the bedrooms, Harald discovered not only a few pairs of brand new boots but a few perfectly starched uniforms as well. They still sat there, perfectly undisturbed, next to the rest of the empty hangers. A Nazi Party pin gleamed softly on the dressing table, next to a rare edition of Mein Kampf, embossed in gold. The small safe stood open on the floor. The drawers had been pulled out, emptied. So, the man took what was dear to him, Harald smirked. Fucking hypocrites, all of them. His former leaders, whom he looked up to with such reverence .

He shoved his legs into stiff black leather, caught his reflection in the full-length mirror and, in a sudden spasm of anger, he grabbed the bust of Der Führer from the dresser and hurled it at his own reflection. Drunk on sudden fury, he swiped everything that was left off the redwood tabletop, smashed the dresser’s mirror as well and had just finished tearing the uniforms apart when Mina suddenly appeared at the door, in her new attire. Harald quickly noted to himself that had he seen her in the street, he’d never even consider, as a distant possibility, that this rascal in front of him was a female.

“Harald! What on earth happened?”

“Nothing.” He stood, beaming and clear-eyed, in the middle of the devastation, among the remnants of one’s past life. “Everything is fine. Everything is just as it’s supposed to be. I think we’re both safe now.”

Her hand still trembled in his when the first tanks rolled through the street just where they decided to stay. She still cowered behind Harald’s back when the first infantrymen burst through the door with their rifles trained before them.

“Kapitulieren.” Harald held a napkin for them both, despite the white flag that was already hanging outside.

Then there was the already familiar talk.

“Where from?”

“Locals.”

“Your house?”

“No.”

“Where are your parents?”

“Dead.”

“Your comrade?”

“My brother.”

The “boys” were allowed to stay in the cellar and even received some potatoes to add to their canned preserves.

Germany, May 1945

When a call came through on the R/T, from the neighboring airbase, to see if the nearest city had been occupied yet, Johann took off from the runway alone, with a sinking feeling in his stomach. When, after flying for barely ten minutes, he saw columns of smoke rising from the ground underneath, he knew it was all over for him; for them all. He landed, taxied back to his usual spot and shook his head at his loyal crew chief Lutter when the latter asked him if he should refuel his bird. With the reluctance of a lover abandoning his beloved, Johann climbed out of the cockpit and patted the fuselage with infinite fondness. This bird would never fly again.

The airbase had long ago turned into a sort of gypsy town, with the wing’s families, relatives, and other civilian refugees camping nearby, for there was nowhere else for them to head. As a Gruppe Commander, Johann ordered his men to herd them all as far away as possible.

“We’ll burn everything here to the ground.”

By noon, they brought their battered fighters as close to each other as possible and thoroughly pretended not to wipe annoying tears as they doused everything in gasoline. The ammunition was piled not too far away; the fire would take care of it once it spread on the petroleum-soaked ground. They only took their log books and photo albums with them. By dusk, they were heading westward, a veritable pyre bursting into the sky behind them. Johann didn’t look back at his bird. He marched amid his own men and civilians, tears streaming down his face which otherwise remained utterly impassive.

At night, the Russians came and overtook their little camp that they’d set up in the middle of a meadow. They came with tanks and trucks, drunk like pigs and instantly got to sorting their trophies; first the German wristwatches and later, the German women◦– in that exact order.

Johann stood as still as a statue, stunned and uncomprehending, as some Ivan was stripping him of his personal belongings. The wristwatch, the Knight’s Cross, the Diamonds◦– all found their way into the Ivan’s pocket. Johann remained where he was, hugging his logbook to his chest when the Ivan pulled one of the wing crew members’ wife and daughter out of her husband’s hands, whom he had just as promptly relieved of his personal items. That’s when the madness started, the real one, which he had never seen or could imagine in his worst nightmare during all of the years of his service. The men threw themselves on the Russians and were immediately gunned down or beaten in front of their weeping wives and daughters. The women were then thrown on the ground right where their dead husbands lay and raped◦– mothers, daughters, and old women alike.

Junior Leutnant Renke flew as his wingman just a few months ago. Johann watched as he collapsed on the ground when his wife’s turn came and she fell on her knees before Herr Commissar and begged him to take her but spare her daughter. There she was, little Lisl. Why would Renke bring them here? Thought he could protect them, no doubt… In a perturbed spasm of grief, Johann fell to the ground as well and wept, together with them all, the husbands and fathers, who turned from brave aces into victims of the war overnight. He wished the Russians would just shoot them all and be done with it. It was an easier death, surely. Anything but this living hell into which they had been thrown for all their sins. Holding his logbook as a shield in front of himself, Johann begged God for one thing only; take him, along with them all but spare his Mina from this.