White Eagles

by Elizabeth Wein

  Not much food reached Birky. The transport routes were a mess as soldiers fought and normal people tried to get out of their way. But Kristina could land her RWD‑8 in a farmer’s field without any trouble and was able to scrounge bread and cabbages and apples between missions. Once she even brought back a vodka bottle full of milk. At the airfield, one of the mechanics kept a fire going in an oil drum to bake potatoes, handing them out to any pilot who stopped by. Kristina and Leopold tried to meet at this makeshift cafe each day at sunset.

  “How’s school?” Leopold asked his sister. He always seemed cheerful, despite their desperate situation, but today he seemed truly radiant – as if he were nursing a wonderful secret. “Learn anything new today?”

  The war had been raging for one week, but it felt like months since they’d left home.

  “I learn something new every day,” Kristina said. “All of it horrible.”

  She wondered why Leopold looked so marvellously happy.

  It was already clear that the Polish forces were disorganised and badly supplied. They couldn’t stand up to their enemy. Britain and France had promised to come to Poland’s aid but had done nothing. The capital city of Warsaw was being bombed to pieces. The telephone lines were down, and Kristina’s communications work was vital – but that morning she’d narrowly avoided being hit by a volley of Polish anti‑aircraft guns. The idiots had taken her for a Luftwaffe bomber while she was delivering a message to another brigade.

  “You go first,” Kristina said to Leopold as they stood by the oil‑drum cafe. “You’ve clearly got something to tell me that will cheer me up.”

  Leopold flushed pink with pride. “I shot down a Luftwaffe bomber today,” he said.

  Kristina gave a wordless cry of fierce delight. Then she asked, “How? Aren’t they all newer and faster than anything we fly?”

  “They can’t dive as fast as a P‑11 without their wings breaking off,” Leopold said. “You have to get overhead when they’re not expecting you and dive at them like a hawk going after a mouse—”

  “Like an eagle, you fool!” Kristina teased.

  “Like an eagle. Of course an eagle!” Leopold agreed. He wolfed down his potato, eating it like an apple, without bothering to peel it. Tearing down the sky at six hundred kilometres an hour after enemy aircraft had given him an appetite.

  “Your turn,” Leopold said. “What have you learned today?”

  Kristina tried to make her answer positive.

  “We haven’t run out of fuel yet.” She winced. “That’s the best I can do. All the trains and supply lorries are being blown up by German planes.”

  Leopold nodded. He knew it; he’d seen it from the air.

  “The plans are changing all the time,” Kristina added. “The latest is that Lvov is supposed to get ready for a heavy attack.”

  Lvov, only ten kilometres from Birky, had been chosen as a safe place to keep supplies because it was a university city, not an industrial one. But that didn’t seem to make the faintest difference to the German Army. Hitler was set on wiping out anything and everything of value in Poland, and on grabbing Polish land. Even the weather seemed to be on his side, the constant clear skies letting the Luftwaffe roam wherever they wanted.

  “All the troops are supposed to meet here to stock up on supplies to take to Romania,” Kristina reminded her brother. “And the British and the French will back us up. People are starting to build defences around Lvov. We have to get to work to do the same out here at Birky.”

  She gave Leopold the blackened outer skin of her potato. She’d managed to get him to eat her potato skins for as long as she could remember. It vanished in an instant.

  “Well, if we’re defending Lvov, we won’t have to fly as far,” Leopold said, licking his fingers as if burnt potato skins were his favourite food. “And when we have to retreat, we can send Mum and Dad a postcard from Romania!”

  It sounded so silly – as if the entire Polish Army retreating to Romania were a Scouts camping trip. Better send Mum a postcard!

  But Leopold knew it wasn’t funny really. He put his arm around Kristina so that they could huddle close together as they headed for their camp beds.

  “Stay safe,” Leopold told her as they parted.

  CHAPTER 6

  That Friday afternoon, smoke began to rise from the village of Birky. It wouldn’t be long before the Nazis reached the airfield.

  It was fifteen days after the invasion of Poland, and just three fighter planes were still stationed at Birky, including Leopold’s. Kristina’s sturdy, reliable RWD‑8 was their one last liaison plane, but Kristina had spent the past few days on the ground, helping with the frantic work to dig defensive trenches around the airstrip. The German Army was so close that the defences felt almost pointless. Lvov was already being bombarded; you could see the smoke in the sky as the city burned.

  And still the sun shone, giving the Nazis the advantage of clear skies and dry roads. Two weeks ago, the Polish Air Force had five hundred planes. Now there were fewer than a hundred left.

  Leopold was maddeningly cheerful about still being able to fly. He seemed unconcerned that Lvov was under siege, that the airfield was surrounded by enemy soldiers, and that he was about to be evacuated to Romania.

  Leopold was in the air early on Saturday morning when the Germans attacked the small Polish airstrip next to the village of Birky. The German Army was overwhelming, travelling in countless armed lorries, and the half‑trained Polish soldiers and Air Force pilots without planes were far outnumbered. The German troops in dull green uniforms stormed their weak defences and filled the air with furious rifle fire.

  Kristina sheltered behind the oil drum that had been used for baking potatoes. She had a pistol that her commanding officer had given her for her liaison flights, but it was no good against heavy rifle fire.

  The battle for the airfield at Birky was over in less than twenty minutes. The German soldiers swept across the field and into the buildings, gathering prisoners. Behind the oil drum, Kristina found herself staring up the barrel of a German rifle.

  “Aufstehen!” the soldier ordered. Get up! His helmet shadowed his eyes. Kristina couldn’t tell how old he was. His expression was neutral, not angry. He barked another order at Kristina, but this one she couldn’t understand.

  The German soldier was standing right in front of Kristina. With her body half hidden, he didn’t see her pistol. She could have shot him.

  But there were a dozen other soldiers in the same green helmets standing behind him, all holding rifles like his. Kristina knew that shooting one of them would only lead to her own swift execution. If she did as she was told now, she might get a chance to make a run for it later. She put her pistol in the pocket of her tunic before she stood up. Then she held up her empty hands as she stepped out from behind the oil drum.

  The soldier who’d found her moved his rifle to indicate that she should walk in front of him. Kristina didn’t argue. A crowd of people she recognised were on the dry, dusty grass of the airstrip – mechanics, soldiers, officers and a few other pilots. One or two of them were bleeding as they stood in untidy rows. Everyone looked grim and stunned. Someone caught Kristina’s eye and held her gaze for a moment, then looked away.

  What will Leopold find here when he returns from his flight? Kristina thought.

  She wondered if the Germans were just going to line everybody up and shoot them. She knew they’d done that in other places.

  Suddenly the roar of aeroplanes interrupted the silence. Both the soldiers and prisoners looked up at the sky.

  Two fighter planes screamed over the airfield, one German and one Polish.

  They came racing after each other, almost as if they were flying in formation at an air show. All the people on the ground craned their necks at the same time to see, as if they were watching a tennis match.

  As she saw the fighter planes lined up in the sky together, Kristina understood why the Polish Air Force hadn’t stood a chance ag
ainst the Luftwaffe. The open cockpit of the Polish P‑11 made the plane look like an antique. The German Messerschmitt seemed a thousand times more deadly, with its low, blade‑like wings and sleek, streamlined body.

  But the planes weren’t firing at each other.

  The fighters sped low over the airfield and wheeled skyward again, and Kristina worked out what was going on. The planes were both out of ammunition, and the German pilot was also running out of fuel. He was trying to land. The Polish plane was hard on his tail and turned sharply to cut off his landing path.

  And as the Polish plane flashed past Kristina, she saw its number. It was Leopold’s plane.

  CHAPTER 7

  The German pilot curved around to try to land again. He was taking his time, lining up with the airfield – he knew that the Polish plane behind him couldn’t shoot him down.

  Leopold didn’t follow the German pilot around this time. Instead, he climbed into the sky. He spiralled up higher until his plane looked like a toy silhouette against the blue.

  As the German plane came in on its landing path, Leopold plunged down at it like an eagle diving at a hare.

  Kristina thought she was about to see her twin brother’s plane go up in a ball of flame in the middle of the sky.

  Her heart thundered in time with the aircraft engines. They were so loud that Kristina didn’t hear the impact as the two planes met overhead.

  There was no ball of flame. Instead, just like an eagle, Leopold pulled up gently out of his calculated dive.

  He’d somehow managed to hit the tail of the German aircraft with the propeller of his own plane. Leopold must have destroyed his propeller in the impact, but his plane was still in one piece. He straightened its wings and glided calmly overhead, passing above the staring soldiers and prisoners.

  The German fighter plane was not so lucky.

  Leopold’s propeller had sliced its tail off, which had sent the Luftwaffe fighter into a plunging spin. Without the tail section, the German pilot couldn’t control his plane. It plummeted out of the sky and hit the airfield so hard and fast that it buried itself in the earth up to its wings.

  Still there was no explosion. But in the half‑buried plane, crumpled like a sheet of paper, the German pilot must have been killed instantly.

  The Polish prisoners let out a roar of triumph. The German soldiers kicked people up and down the crowded lines, whacking them with rifle butts. It didn’t take them long to restore order. But the prisoners’ feeling of stunned defeat seemed to lift. Kristina could hear people whispering behind her. Everyone’s eyes were still on the sky – on the plane that was miraculously still flying, and on Leopold, who was miraculously still alive.

  Leopold’s plane cut through the sky in silence. He must have shut down his engine after he lost the propeller, to avoid a fire. He made an elegant turn at the other end of the airfield and landed smoothly, near the wreckage of the German plane he’d knocked out of the sky.

  Leopold pushed up to sit on the side of his open cockpit above the wing. There was another roar of excitement as he climbed out of the plane. People surged forwards to welcome Leopold and also to shout warnings.

  “The Germans are here!” the prisoners yelled. “They’ve burned the village at Birky! We are being held—”

  Leopold’s face was glowing, flushed with success and adrenaline. He pushed back his goggles and flight helmet, grinning in spite of the warnings, and swung lightly down from the cockpit of the P‑11. The silver wings of the eagle badge that Kristina had given him glinted for a moment in the sunlight.

  “Look out—” someone shouted.

  Even if the warning had come earlier, Kristina didn’t think there was anything Leopold could have done about it.

  Leopold reached for his pistol, but not fast enough. Two of the German soldiers grabbed him by the arms and a third hit him hard across the face as Leopold struggled. He staggered for a moment, sagging against the grasp of the soldiers.

  The crowd parted suddenly as a German officer swept forwards. The soldiers pushed people aside to make a path. The officer wore a grey uniform with shining black boots. A jagged double S, like a pair of crooked lightning bolts, was embroidered on the officer’s collar. His face was utterly blank, as if he felt no human emotion.

  Leopold straightened up to face the SS officer as he stopped in front of him. In one swift, calm movement, the officer pulled out a narrow black Luger pistol, pressed it between Leopold’s eyebrows and shot him in the head.

  CHAPTER 8

  The soldiers let go of Leopold’s arms. His body fell back against the plane. Behind him, the cockpit windscreen was speckled red with spattered blood.

  Kristina fell too, gasping, and for a few moments was unable to breathe. She knelt in the dust of the airstrip, choking on air.

  Seconds later, Kristina became aware that the prisoners around her had gone berserk. The execution of Leopold hadn’t taught them a lesson – it had whipped them to desperation. They might have been unarmed and outnumbered four to one, but they began a brief, frantic riot of revenge. People ran around Kristina, fighting the German soldiers with their feet and empty hands. She heard guns being fired not far away, the sound thundering in her ears. Someone jumped over Kristina’s back as if he were playing at leaping goats in a school playground.

  Kristina sucked in air. Behind closed eyes, she saw again the moment of her twin brother’s murder.

  Why did you land here? WHY? Kristina shouted at Leopold in her head. You must have seen the village on fire! You must have seen the Nazi lorries and soldiers!

  But maybe the only thing Leopold had been looking at was the Luftwaffe fighter plane ahead of him in the sky. And after he’d attacked, he couldn’t have flown anywhere else – he’d lost his propeller.

  If only he’d landed further away – by the treeline of the forest – maybe he could have run. He could have run …

  Run, Leopold’s voice repeated in Kristina’s head. Run.

  Kristina scrambled to her feet. She was still half blinded by tears and grief, but she was no longer frozen. She could think and move.

  She ran.

  She’d been on the edge of the crowd, and Kristina dodged between the German soldiers in the chaos of her comrades’ last violent, hopeless battle. In a moment or two she’d managed to get herself clear of the struggle. Kristina’s RWD‑8 liaison plane was still standing by itself near the trees at the edge of the airfield. One of the fuel tanks was still full, Kristina knew – she’d checked it herself after her last flight.

  She ran for her plane.

  Guns rattled behind her. Kristina didn’t know if they were firing at her or at someone else, and she wasn’t going to waste time looking back to find out. They’d get her or they wouldn’t, and there was nothing she could do about it.

  She ran.

  When she reached the small RWD‑8, Kristina yanked the wedges out from under the wheels. She used all her strength to throw the propeller around to start the engine. Then she hauled herself up over the side of the plane and tumbled into the cockpit. She took off recklessly, without even a look at the flight instruments to make sure they were working.

  There wasn’t any time now for following the normal rules. The only thing that kept Kristina from squeezing the controls in a death‑grip was her hundreds of hours of flight experience. She turned the plane to get the wind behind her, and it took her away from the airfield, eastwards out over the forest and towards the rising sun.

  Kristina wasn’t wearing a flying helmet or goggles. The noise of the RWD‑8’s engine was deafening, and she had to squint in the propeller’s wind. After a few minutes, the city of Lvov came into sight. Smoke and flames rose from where it had already been attacked. Kristina was flying in the wrong direction. If she wanted to escape, she needed to head south or west.

  Stay safe! You’re too close to the trees. Climb a bit higher. Don’t fly into the sun.

  Kristina couldn’t separate Leopold’s voice in her head from her own
thoughts. The conversation went on as if nothing had happened to him.

  She turned slowly until she faced away from the sun. Her eyes watered and the tears dried instantly in the wind. If anyone was shooting at her from the ground, or chasing after her in the air, she couldn’t hear them or see them.

  Still in shock, Kristina climbed higher, putting a bigger cushion of air between herself and the ground. But she didn’t want to risk going too high in case a powerful Luftwaffe fighter saw her and she wouldn’t be able to outfly it. Being close to the treetops kept her camouflaged.

  For the next quarter of an hour, all Kristina did was fly away from her twin brother’s brutal murder. She was aware of nothing but the sun and wind and air and sky. Her hands and feet moved automatically to keep the plane aloft, as if she were a puppet.

  Kristina had no idea where she was. Her compass told her she was flying south. She’d left behind the smoke of Lvov, and she didn’t have a map. If she landed anywhere in Poland, she risked facing the same fate as Leopold.

  Kristina had no choice: she’d fly until she found a safe place to think and rest, or until she ran out of fuel.

  Kristina held her course and kept flying.

  PART 2:

  Escape

  CHAPTER 9

  Kristina thought she’d been flying for an hour, more or less. She chose a narrow field to land in at the edge of an orchard. It was hardly more than a green lane of grass between a line of old apple trees and a dense birch wood. She guessed there must be a farm or cottage or even a village somewhere nearby, but Kristina hadn’t been able to spot it. That was a good thing – maybe then no one would notice one little runaway Polish plane sneaking back to the ground. Kristina lined up over the orchard, prayed that there weren’t hidden rocks or stumps or apple baskets lying in the grass and gently glided to the ground.

  She landed with a soft thump, and the RWD‑8 rolled to a stop in the long grass. Kristina cut the power and let the engine die.