On Wings of the Morning

by Dan Verner

  There was much that Otto hated about farming, but probably he hated “inspecting” and fixing the fence around their property the most. It meant trailing behind Papa looking for breaks or sags and then mending them. He had to carry the roll of barbed wire, the stretcher bar, a hammer and some staples. He went to the barn and got the equipment, grabbed one of the empty feed bags lying around, put the tools and material into the bag and slung it over his shoulder. The bag was heavy and the day was hot already. They would be out all day with a break for lunch.

  They started with the section next to the house. One part had a staple pulled out of the locust fence post. That was easy to fix. Otto rummaged around in the bag and took out the hammer and a staple. He hammered it home, placing the staple so it secured the length of wire. He dropped the hammer back into the bag, shouldered it again, and followed Hans down the line. Once Papa saw what was wrong with the fence, he kept walking, leaving Otto to run to catch up.

  “Papa, can’t you stop and wait while I do the repair? That way I won’t have to run to catch up with you.”

  “Nein,” Papa said. “Ve must keep moving or ve will not finish. Then the cows will be in the corn and Herr Smith will not be happy with us.” The Smiths had the farm next door and they were not very good neighbors, always complaining about the condition of the fence and any cows that got over. It happened from time to time, and Hans always paid for damages, but it was always an unpleasant situation.

  Otto’s nemesis from high school was the youngest son of the family. He had dropped out his sophomore year and spent his time hanging around the pool hall in town. He had committed a few small burglaries, but the sheriff always released him to his family. He said he would put him in jail the next time. Talk around town was that would be a good idea. Steve was a foul-tempered troublemaker and most people avoided him except for his pool hall cronies. Otto had not seen him since their run-in freshman year. It was just as well.

  Otto and Hans followed the fence line all day, stopping only for lunch when they came around to the back acres where they could walk across the field to the house. Mata and Maria had lunch ready for them, and then they were off again, picking up where they had left off.

  They found a couple of breaks and repaired them and replaced a post that had rotted and broken off. As the sun lowered toward the horizon they finished their survey and repair and walked wearily back to the house. The women had supper ready, and they ate quietly. Otto went to his bedroom and picked up his Fortress book. He soon fell asleep, dreaming of being at the controls of the big bomber.

  ***

  A week later, Otto and Hans were painting the barn. A large black Ford sedan turned into the driveway. Otto recognized the occupants of the car first. It was the Smiths, the male relatives, all eight of them, and Otto didn’t think they had come to pay a social visit. He touched Hans on the arm, who straightened up from where he had been painting some of the lower boards.

  The Ford braked to a stop and the Smiths climbed out. John Smith, the patriarch of the family, strode over to Hans and Otto. He grew corn, and a couple of times in the past, Hans’ cows had gotten through the fence and eaten some of Smith’s corn.

  Smith stopped five feet short of where Hans stood. His sons crowded around behind him. They all had serious looks. Steve glared at Otto. Otto looked back at him, expressionless.

  “Listen, Kerchner, your damn cows have gotten into my corn again and eaten a bunch of it up! Here’s the bill! I expect you to pay—now!” He thrust a piece of paper at Hans.

  Hans walked over and took the piece of paper. “Otto,” he said quietly, “please go get my glasses from the table beside my chair.”

  Otto hesitated. “But, Papa, I don’t think—”

  Hans turned his head to him. “Please go get my glasses now.”

  Otto reluctantly went inside and ran back with Hans’ glasses. Hans put them on. He studied the hand-written figures on the paper and then started to chuckle.

  “What’s so funny, you Hun bastard?” Smith growled, taking another step forward.

  “I vas chust thinking,” Hans began, “that I want to know where you sell your corn. Because from these figures you’re getting about ten times the market value for it.”

  “Well, that’s what it’s worth.” He stuck out his chin.

  Hans reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty and handed it to Smith. “Here you go. You know, it’s funny that we inspected that fence last week and it was fine.”

  Smith folded the bill and put it in his front pocket. “Well, it’s broken now. You’d better keep your cows out of my corn or I will call the sheriff.” He stalked back to the car and waited for his brood to pile in. He jerked the car backward in a turn and then flew down the driveway.

  “Papa, why did you give in to them?” Otto said when they were gone. “You know they were making that up. They want to buy our farm and are trying to force us out.”

  “It is easy just to go along with them, especially when there are eight of them and only two of us. In the Army, if we were faced with a superior force, it was the better part of valor to retreat.”

  “This isn’t the Great War, Papa.”

  “It very well could be, Otto. Ve shall see.” He picked up the paint brush and continued applying the thick liquid to the boards.

  After lunch Otto and Hans went over to look at the fence line between their farm and the Smiths’. Halfway down, Hans picked up the ends of broken strands which created the gap where the cattle had gotten through. He looked at the ends carefully and grunted. “What is it, Papa?” Otto asked.

  “These ends have been cut,” observed Hans. “And I would suspect by our neighbors.”

  “What are you going to do about it?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Nothing at all. For now, anyhow. Let’s go home. Tomorrow is another day.”

  They walked back through the deepening twilight. Otto saw the moon rising, looking large and orange as it sat near the horizon. It was beautiful.

  Chapter 11

  Nazis and Spies—March, 1939

  Otto took some of the money he earned at the airport and bought a shortwave radio. He ordered it from a catalogue and waited impatiently until the mailman brought it in late January. He asked Hans if he could run an antenna wire from the barn to the house. Hans reluctantly agreed. “I do not want this radio taking you away from your responsibilities with the farm.”

  “It won’t, Papa. I’ll have more energy from listening to aircraft as they call each other.” Sometimes Otto saw silver transports, including the new DC-3, as they flew high over the farm. He knew that the pilots were in radio contact with the ground, and he wanted to listen in. That would be so swell.

  And so Otto put the radio in his room, ran the antenna and ground wires out the window and turned it on the same evening it came in the mail. He put on his headphones and heard the hiss of static and then a burst of German. With a shock he realized he was listening to Radio Berlin, which was no doubt spouting some sort of Nazi nonsense. In fact, he thought it was Hitler himself ranting. Otto quickly dialed past that, searching for aircraft transmissions. He finally found a channel for American Airlines and listened late into the night, lost in a new world.

  Listening soon became a nightly habit, and he heard not only aircraft transmissions but also the BBC World Service. He felt like he had a front-row seat on what was happening abroad. With what the Nazis and Italians were doing in Europe and the Japanese in Asia, war was inevitable. The powers that were could try to avoid it as much as they could, but Otto didn’t see how Britain and even the United States could stay out of the conflict. He knew there was plenty of sentiment in the U.S. to stay out of any war; even his hero Colonel Lindbergh was an isolationist. Well, time would tell.

  Otto had been listening for about two months and was in the barnyard one afternoon raking up material that gathered there. It was a tedious and smelly task. He saw a line of cars coming up the drive and
felt instinctively that they had not come for a friendly visit.

  “Papa! Papa!” he shouted, running toward the barn. Hans appeared at the entrance, pitchfork in hand. Otto pointed to the cars. Hans tossed the pitchfork to Otto and then went into the house, emerging with his Mauser from the war. He apparently had the same feeling as Otto. Mata and Maria came out. “Get back in the house, Mata, Maria,” Hans ordered. “There’s going to be trouble.”

  Mata and Maria obeyed instantly although Otto could see them peering out the window. “Get away from the window!” Hans shouted. Then the cars were upon them and there was no time to look around.

  The cars slid to a stop and twenty men got out of them. Otto recognized some of them. Smith was the apparent leader, with his sons close behind him.

  “Get off my land!” shouted Hans, raising the rifle. “You are up to no good and I order you off my property.”

  Smith just grinned and kept walking toward them. Otto lowered his pitchfork so that it stuck out like a lance.

  “Nazis can’t own property in this country,” Smith snarled.

  “Well, then I am not a Nazi, so you must leave.”

  “You ARE a Nazi,” Smith shouted in a sudden fury. “And a spy! There’s the antenna to your Nazi spy radio.” He pointed to the wire running between the barn and house.

  Hans looked up quickly. “Nein. That is the antenna for Otto’s shortwave that he listens to airplanes with.”

  “Or you broadcast secrets to your Nazi handlers. Let’s just have a look at this spy radio.” He turned toward the house.

  “NEIN!” shouted Hans and shot at Smith’s feet. The dirt kicked up and the bullet ricocheted away into the pasture.

  Smith stopped short and turned, his face contorted by fury. “Now you’ve committed assault, you stinkin’ Hun.”

  “I am defending my home,” Hans said, standing his ground.

  Steve ran around the little group with something in his hand. Otto ran toward him. Steve lit the match he was holding and, diving into the barn, threw it on the nearest pile of hay. The dry material exploded into a fireball. In seconds the barn was engulfed in flames. Otto heard the cattle lowing in fear.

  Smith stumbled out of the barn. Otto was waiting for him and decked him with one hard blow to the jaw. The group of men cheered the fire. Hans shouted, “Mein kinen! Mein kinen!” and dropped his rifle, running into the barn.

  “Papa, no! Don’t!” Otto started after him. A couple of cows came wandering out. He could hear Papa shouting at the cows to get them out, and then there was a tremendous crash as part of the loft collapsed. Otto put his head down and drove toward the location of the crash. Through the smoke he saw his father pinned by the huge beam which lay across his back. He was unconscious. Otto pulled on the beam with a strength born of desperation and lifted it from his father. He pulled Hans out into the barnyard.

  Mata and Maria were there, holding on to each other. When Otto appeared dragging Hans, Mata ran over and helped him. Hans’ eyes flickered. “Mein legs…” he gasped. “I cannot feel mein legs.” Maria knelt down and held him. “Shush, Hans, you will be all right,” she whispered.

  They sat there as the barn continued to burn. The vigilantes had left while Otto was in the barn.

  In a few minutes, a different line of cars appeared in the driveway. Neighbors had seen smoke from the fire and came as quickly as they could to help put it out. As they pulled up in the barnyard, it was obvious there was little they could do. They stood and watched as the barn burned completely down. Ed Lawrence, from two farms over, knelt down beside Hans. “Hans, can you hear me?”

  “Ja, I can hear you. I cannot move my legs.”

  Ed looked at Hans’ bent legs. “We’d better get you to Doc Carter,” he said. “Otto, can you get a large board, large enough to put your dad on?”

  Otto ran off to the woodpile where they kept scraps of lumber and picked out a piece that would serve as a backboard. He and Ed and several other men carefully slid Hans onto the board and put the board onto Ed’s pickup. Otto climbed into the passenger seat.

  Ed started the truck and drove off toward town, leaving the silent group of neighbors and Mata and Maria standing in the barnyard. There was only the roar of the flames from what was left of the barn and a huge plume of smoke rising high into the clear sky.

  ***

  Doc Carter examined Hans carefully. He looked up at Otto and Ed and shook his head. Doc put a hand on Hans’ shoulder. “We’re going to have to send you to the hospital in Eau Claire, Hans. There’s not much I can do here.”

  Hans sighed. “I understand.”

  “You are not having any pain?”

  “Nein. I just cannot feel or move my legs.”

  “OK I’ll get Rose to call an ambulance.” He indicated with his eyes that Otto and Ed should go out with him. They followed him into the waiting room.

  Mata and Maria came through the door. “How is he—?” Maria started. She saw the look on their faces.

  “Everyone please sit down while I go speak to Rose.” Doc went out of the room. They all took seats in the overstuffed furniture. Otto put his arm around Maria. She was holding a handkerchief to her mouth. Mata sat on the other side. Ed sat across from them.

  Doc came back quickly. “I have to tell you,” he said, “that I think the paralysis is permanent. Probably severed his spinal cord. I’m sending him to the hospital in Eau Claire for further tests, but I saw too many injuries of this sort in the war. I’m sorry.”

  Maria stood. “May I see him?” she asked.

  “Certainly,” Doc answered. “Rose will go in with you. Stay as long as you like.”

  Maria went out of the room. Doc turned to Otto, his face flushed. “So the Smiths are responsible for this.”

  Otto nodded, his mouth tight.

  “They’re a no-good bunch we would do well to be rid of. I’ll call Sheriff Draper. He’s been looking for an excuse to put Steve in jail, and I think this will do it.”

  Rose came out. “She wants to go to the hospital with him.”

  “That’s fine,” Doc said. “Mata, you and Otto go on home. He doesn’t need a lot of company until he gets settled. You can see him tomorrow.”

  The three stood. Otto shook Doc’s hand. “Thank you, Doctor Carter.”

  Carter sighed. “I wish I could do more, but I can’t. Go on home.”

  Ed drove them back in silence. He dropped them off, saying “Anything you need, let us know. I’ll come back tomorrow to see about the barn.”

  “Thank you, Ed,” Mata and Otto said in unison. They stood and watched him go. They turned to the pile of charred lumber which had been the barn. It was still smoldering.

  ***

  Otto was out a couple of hours later poking in the debris when he saw the sheriff’s car coming down the drive. He stood still as Joe Draper climbed out of his car. He walked over and surveyed the damage, pushed his cap back on his head and whistled.

  “I’m sorry, Otto,” he finally said. “The Smiths did this?”

  Otto nodded. “Steve started the fire, but he was with the whole bunch.”

  “Well,” said Draper, “I suppose my next stop is the Smith farm. Steve has been heading for something like this for a long time.” He clapped Otto on the shoulders. “We’ll take care of this, son, don’t you worry.”

  Otto hung his head. “Thank you, Sheriff.”

  Draper climbed back into his car and drove off. Somehow, Otto didn’t feel any better. He went into the house.

  He supposed he was in charge of the farm now, although he didn’t want to be. Maria couldn’t run it by herself. Mata could, so maybe she could be in charge. They could hire a man to help, and that would give him more time to work at the airport. Business was up sharply, and Wilson needed him practically full time. He would have to think about his options. As soon as he saw to his father.

  ***

  Ed Lawrence came by early the next morning. “I have a message from your mom,” he told them after Mata
had invited him in for a cup of coffee. “Maria called last night and said that your father might be in the hospital for a few weeks, so she has found a nice German woman near the hospital to stay with. She asked that you bring her some clothes and some money.”

  “I can fly over there this afternoon,” Otto told him. “I need to start cleaning up the barn site.”

  “I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” Ed said. “Look out the window.”

  Otto and Mata went over to the kitchen window and saw a caravan of cars and trucks bearing building materials. They recognized their neighbors, and friends from church, even Doc Carter, Betty Ross and her father from the bank, and old Mr. Rice who ran the hardware store. Ed pulled out some work gloves. “We’re going to build another barn for you. You go work at the airport and take the stuff to your mom. Don’t worry about it—we’ll take care of it.”

  Mata began weeping. Otto shook Ed’s hand. “Thank you, Mr. Lawrence. I have a feeling you had a lot to do with this.”

  “I’m not doing anything one neighbor wouldn’t do for another,” Ed told him, and he and Otto went outside to greet the workers.

  ***

  Otto drove out to the airport with the barn well under way. Some of the men had built more than one barn, so, with their supervision, the structure went up quickly.

  He parked in the lot and pulled the bag with Mama’s clothing and cash out of the back seat. He went into the office to check with Wilson.

  “Otto! Good to see you!”

  “I need to take the Cub and fly this bag to my mom at the hospital in Eau Claire,” he returned.

  “Fine. Take it. I heard you had a fire at your place yesterday.”

  “Yes, we did.”

  “I heard it wasn’t accidental.”

  “No. Steve Smith set it. My dad was badly hurt trying to save his cows.”

  “So I hear,” mumbled Wilson around an unlit cigar. “I hear this Smith is a punk.”

  “That’s one of the nicer terms I would use. His family is bad news.”