“It’s the best school one can only dream of!” Followed the passionate reply.
“Do you want to be in the SS too, when you grow up?” Willi demanded.
This time Harald shrugged with uncertainty.
Willi crossed his arms and said in a sudden loud voice, “do you know that your brother knocked out an SS man about two months ago? Broke his nose. Caught him square in the chin, too; the fellow went down like a sack of potatoes.”
Harald only stared at his brother with his mouth faintly ajar.
“Why would you tell him that?” Johann tilted his head to one side, reproach evident in his gaze.
“So that he’d know that sometimes belonging to ‘the best’ doesn’t mean shit. Sorry, Mina.”
“Nothing I haven’t heard from you before,” the girl countered, admirably unconcerned. “Did you really hit the SS man, Johann?”
Encouraged by a spark of interest in her eyes, Johann nodded somewhat bashfully.
“Good for you,” she offered with a coy smile, lifting her long eyelashes in a sideways glance.
They walked for some time chatting about their flying school and sharing the most amusing stories with Mina. Johann offered them to stop at a coffee shop to warm themselves with some hot chocolate before they continued to Johann’s house.
“I can’t wait for my parents to meet you both,” Johann admitted with a warm smile, handing his guests and little brother their cups.
“What about your friend Alf?” Willi inquired, taking a sip. “Is he waiting for us there or shall we pick him up on our way?”
Willi quickly put his cup down at the sight of Johann’s face.
“Alf doesn’t live here anymore.”
“Did they move?”
“Papa said, they just disappeared one day. The entire family. A German family now lives there. I went by their house as soon as I returned from visiting you but the lady who lives there now says that she’d never heard of them and doesn’t know where they went. No forward mail address, nothing.”
“People don’t just disappear like that,” Willi protested.
“It seems, they do now.”
Six
Advanced Flying School. March 1939
* * *
The morning was alive with the thaw. Raw winds of the past few weeks that tormented them without mercy mellowed into a slight breeze. It didn’t bite into their exposed faces any longer but kissed them softly instead, kindling the cheeks of the future Knights of the Sky with a faint glow. They smiled as they turned their sharp faces towards it – it was a good day for the fliers.
Johann listened intently as the gunnery instructor was finishing the theoretical part before he would admit them to their first aerial gunnery effort.
“You will fire your guns. For that purpose, you will need to know your guns and ammo. You don’t have to understand the purpose of every screw, or to remember all the parts of your weapons.”
Willi nudged Johann with his elbow, his mischievous face bearing an, “I told you, you don’t need to know all that stuff,” look. Johann chose to ignore him.
“However, you must understand its basic assembly, operational cycles, and limitations of use,” the instructor continued.
This time Johann shoved Willi. See? We’re not quite wasting our time with all this theory, you know. Willi responded by rolling his eyes, looking utterly unimpressed.
“You must also know your ammunition and the length of fire for each weapon. Master your weapons. Too many pilots manage to maneuver into excellent firing positions but are unable to shoot because they forgot that the safety switch was still in the ‘on’ position. Know how to load your guns. When they are loaded, the appropriate mechanical or electrical indicators will show that the guns are ready to fire. Make sure that your counters are set correctly; otherwise, in the midst of combat, you will be uncertain how many rounds of ammo are left. Check the correct loading of your ammo and know how to position your ammunition belts properly. When you know how to do it yourself, in case of an emergency landing, where no armorers are available, you will be able to load your ammo yourself.”
“I’d rather not have any emergency landings and particularly behind enemy lines,” Willi remarked under his breath, causing several cadets to snort with laughter.
“Of course, you’d rather not.” The instructor still heard him, it appeared. “But these cases will happen and more often than you hope. So, you’d better listen to me properly as this information can save your life one day, Cadet von Sielaff. Now, before engaging the enemy, make sure that the safety switch on your weapons is set to off and check the ammo indicators and round counters.”
He followed up his words by pointing out the mentioned indicators inside the fighter, in the cockpit of which he was sitting.
“You must fire your weapons at the ranges for which they were designed. Usually, you should not fire at ranges greater than 400M, since on the longer distance the bullets or shells trajectory will turn downwards before reaching the target. This also applies to heavy weapons, for example, MK108. It is a common mistake to believe that the larger the caliber of your weapon, the greater range a bullet or shell will travel and the aiming of heavier weapons is not as precise as the aiming of weapons of smaller caliber. Precisely the opposite is the case! Since your ammo is limited, you must use it sparingly and fire only when you have a reasonable chance to hit your target. The shorter the range, the more hits your target will get. In fact, the chance of hitting your target with a 30mm weapon is the same as with a gun of a smaller caliber! Accordingly, you must take accurate aim and fire your weapons, no matter what their caliber is. Even more so, in the case of heavier guns, you have to shoot more accurately because you have less ammo available. If you have a weapon of a small caliber with 1,000 rounds available, a burst of 50 rounds missing a target doesn’t mean much. However, if you are using, say, the MK108, with only 60 rounds available, you cannot afford to waste 50 rounds, which is almost all of the ammo available to you, without obtaining any results. Come closer! Aim carefully! Fire accurately! By closing on the enemy to the minimum range, you will make the enemy gunner so surprised and nervous that he may even forget to open fire and you will be victorious. Remember; start firing only at a range of 400M. When a target is in your gun sight, fire short bursts only, or your ammo will be expended too soon. Make sure that you know what maintenance procedures your guns require. Help your armorer with gun servicing and ammo loading! In that case, you will be certain that your guns will work properly.”
As he was climbing out, the instructor slapped his hand on the wing of the fighter as one would typically slap a good cavalry horse. The eager-looking cadets nearly choked with anticipation.
“Brandt! You’re up first.”
Johann had almost forgotten that they had been divided into smaller groups for this practice and his name was the first one on the list. He looked around with uncertainty, as though unsure if it was indeed his name that was called; raked his hair in a somewhat nervous gesture and quickly climbed inside the aircraft.
It was a Messerschmitt Bf-109 – his favorite one – equipped with training 7.62mm machine guns, with a bright yellow nose and beautiful silver wings. Johann loved this fighter; it was so easy to maneuver and it followed each command with such commendable compliance that Johann often found himself laughing in delight as he nose-dived and performed his rolls, stalls, and low approaches. But, prior to this day, Johann only used the fighter’s stick to steer the plane; not shoot down his targets. He wetted his lips, which felt suddenly parched and gently placed his finger on top of the gun button.
“Remember my instructions before using it.” Johann’s lips twitched in gratitude for the reassuring gesture, as the instructor patted his shoulder prior to jumping off the wing. He was on his own now.
It was a perfect spring day, with the sky bright blue and clear, with just a hint of wind in the air. Johann slid the canopy top closed, started the plane, double checked all the indicators,
and began preparing for his take-off. Painfully aware of all the eyes on the ground boring into his aircraft with greedy fascination, he gazed helplessly into space for a few moments and forced himself to concentrate on one thing only; the instructor’s words. He performed an exemplary take-off, soaring up into the sky without any visible effort. Now, he just needed to focus on the drogue, which was towed by another fighter and aim at it with all he’d got. If he were completely honest with himself, Johann only hoped not to kill the pilot by accident. After all, it was his very first effort and no one, let alone Johann himself, could possibly predict how good of a gunner he would make. Herr Leutnant’s instructions, Herr Leutnant’s instructions, Johann kept repeating to himself with the religious zeal of a fanatic as he locked his aim in sight.
When the enemy is in sight, quickly check; guns – switched on?
On.
Guns: loaded?
Loaded.
Indicators visible?
Johann checked. They were.
Is gun-sight on?
Yes.
Sighting image is not too bright?
Perfect.
Stay calm. Normally you still have plenty of time before you open fire.
Johann took a full breath and slowly released it, concentrating on his target. Coming as close as he could at the speed at which he was going, Johann released a rapid burst of machine gun fire at the white drogue. The entire cockpit appeared to reverberate with the power of the shots, clipped, precise, and deadly. His “enemy” was escaping him now, diving low and fast and Johann dipped right after him, quickly adjusting the fighter to the correct position for an interception.
Here it was again, to the right of him. Lips pursed into a thin, unyielding line, light brows drawn tightly in concentration, Johann followed it with unwavering determination and shot at his target from a close range, releasing just enough ammunition without wasting any. He only had fifty training rounds, after all, and he had shot more than half of them already.
The third round he released from a further range, cursing at himself for not coming close enough and ready to burst into tears at the very thought of how he had just failed his very first gunnery exercise.
“Twenty four out of fifty.” The instructor’s words barely registered in Johann’s mind as the instructor shook him out of his desperate state, clapping his shoulder and laughing at his most promising cadet’s dazed look. “The best result that I’ve ever had since I became an instructor here! Are you sure you haven’t practiced anywhere prior to this?”
“Quite positive, Herr Leutnant,” Johann replied bashfully.
“Well, cadets, you have some example to follow now!” The instructor was already motioning the next student toward the aircraft. “Excellent work, Cadet Brandt! I think you’ll make an exemplary fighter pilot if that’s what you want to be.”
“Yes, Herr Leutnant!” Johann’s eyes shone with delight. “That’s exactly what I want to be!”
Our Leutnant said he’d recommend me for a fighter pilot’s position once I graduate, Johann wrote later that evening to Mina. She wrote to him first, right after both Willi and he returned back to school. Johann still cringed when he recalled the expression on his friend’s face as he handed him the letter, written in perfect calligraphy. Someone has the hots for you, you stud. Johann reddened to the roots of his hair and hid the letter in his pocket, to which Willi only laughed – don’t you think I have read it already? It’s my baby sister we’re talking about.
After that, every time Willi was writing home, he invariably asked Johann if he should enclose anything else in his envelope. Johann always had a letter, addressed to Mina, on hand for him.
Schwechat, Austria. May 1939
* * *
Rudi burst into the room, accompanied by Walter and a few other cadets – all in the highest of spirits – and pulled a face at the sight of his roommates, Johann and Willi, lounging on Willi’s bed, each with a book in his hands.
“What are you fellows doing? They finally give us the two-days May Day leave after all the abuse they’ve put us through and you’re still not dressed? Willi, you were supposed to show us the best place around, if I remember correctly. Erm, you didn’t mean your bed, did you?”
“Can’t go out,” Willi grumbled in response. “I’m restricted to quarters.”
“Again?” One of the boys made a desperate gesture with his hands.
“No wonder, after what you pulled during the aerobatics exam.” Walter’s lopsided grin instantly reflected on Willi’s face.
Johann also grinned, in spite of himself, at the memory. Needless to say, in Willi’s eyes, he didn’t “pull” anything. It’s just he was too bored to fly in tight formation together with everyone from his group; so, he decided to demonstrate to the instructors what he was really capable of, so he broke the formation and began performing his own stunts. All right, he finally admitted later, he might have flown far lower than any safety precautions demanded of the students and passed over the airfield at the ten feet mark instead of the permitted eighteen; and perhaps he shouldn’t have gone low and slow and picked up a white windsock off its pole with the tip of his wing just because he could and perhaps he shouldn’t have shouted from the wing of his fighter, “can your RAF do any of that?” once he climbed out of the cockpit… Yes, definitely shouldn’t have done that last thing, Willi concluded once he saw the wrathful faces of his instructors.
Another punishment and negative entry went into his service record, which was by now thicker than a small-town telephone book. A reckless sort; not reliable in teamwork; unprofessional in military bearing and attitude; noncompliant and disrespectful to his superiors, made up only a few of the great number of violations.
“How they haven’t thrown you into the infantry yet is beyond any understanding.” Rudi shook his head.
“They can’t. I’m a good pilot,” followed an unconcerned reply.
“Johann, are you coming?” Walter demanded.
“No. Someone has to keep Willi company.”
“You can’t babysit him your entire life! Let’s go!”
Willi stirred in his bed and spoke with a lazy gaze in his friend’s direction, “they’re right, Johann. Go, enjoy yourself. I’ll be fine here. I have my book and all.”
Johann cast him a doubtful look – Willi and books didn’t quite go together – but finally gave in to Willi’s ardent reassurances that he needed some time to relax anyway. Only a few hours later, when the cadets were celebrating May Day in one of the taverns, it was none other than Willi who appeared before their astounded faces and cringed after one single critical look around.
“Is this your idea of fun, you miserable virgins? Austrian yodeling, beer, and no women? This place is boring me to tears. Come with me; I’ll show you what it means to celebrate with taste!”
“Are you quite mad, you ignorant bumpkin?! Herr Hauptmann will have it with you! You watch how fast they throw you into the Wehrmacht right before graduation,” Johann hissed in his ear as the company was marching down the street mere minutes later following their newly assumed leader, like mice behind the Pied Piper. “Aren’t you restricted to quarters, you dung beetle?”
“I un-restricted myself.”
“I knew I should have stayed there with you!”
“And how exactly would that prevent me from going out?”
Johann only sighed in response. It wouldn’t.
“Don’t fret. We’ll have a grand time!”
That evening Johann was certain that this latest stunt of Willi’s would have him expelled right before graduation. Yet, Willi stood right next to him when the instructors were awarding the best students, in the presence of Reichsmarschall Göring himself. Both graduated with honors for gunnery and aerobatics.
September 1939
* * *
At the end of August, Johann, Willi, and Walter were posted to the same I Jagd Lehrgeschwader (LG) 2 – the original combat composite unit and assigned to the Leichte Jagd – �
��light fighters,” while Rudi received his assignment to the Gruppe IV, Stuka – his favorite dive bombers. Four days later the war broke out.
Their usual banter in the mess was interrupted with a sudden fanfare blast of a Sondermeldung, which was followed by a special bulletin on the Deutschlandsender – the national radio network. They listened to the declaration of it silently, their still boyish faces taking on guarded, mature expressions as it hit them all at once that the time of horseplay and harmless aerobatics was over and from now they would have to shoot not at the drogue but at a very real enemy.
A Staffeladjutant appeared in the door, a breathless figure with a suddenly paled face. “Finish your meal and march to receive your orders from your respective group commanders at once. You’re flying out within the next hour. Heil Hitler.”
And just like that, their childhood ended.
For the first time, they strapped on their parachutes in charged silence. For the first time, there was no exchange of jests and guffaws over the radio; only their Staffelkapitän’s voice directing them to Poland. Stuka dive bombers – in the front, below them; a Staffel formation of Messerschmitts – right behind them, providing cover. It was oddly quiet in the sky, not as Johann had always imagined it would be. He kept shifting his eyes from his unit leader’s fighter to Rudi’s Ju-87; saw him follow his bomber unit leader and dive down; felt something strange stir inside as bright orange flowers bloomed in rapid succession over a Polish military airfield, destroying planes and hangars without any discrimination. What was its name again? He forgot…
Stukas below them repeatedly plunged, one after another, until they jettisoned all of their deadly load and only then turned languidly back to the base to be refueled and rearmed. Messerschmitts trailed after them without engaging in combat even once. It appeared as though the Polish Air Force didn’t have time to order any of their fighters into the air before the Luftwaffe struck in the graying hours of the morning. Johann wondered if Polish pilots on the base were aware of the war at all.
Of Knights and Dogfights Page 6
