Of Another Time and Place

by Brad Schaeffer

  Trautloft held up his papers. “Another major, since you boys love me so much. Major Hans Seebeck. I remember him.” I got the feeling Trautloft did not care for this other major. Although I’d have been upset too at losing my best swarm. “Very well then,” concluded the major. “The duty office will process you. You are hereby relieved from the Greenhearts. And may I say it’s been a pleasure.”

  Borner spoke for us all: “And we’ve been honored to serve under you, Herr Major.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant,” the major replied with a cracked voice. “Pack your things, gentlemen, and bid farewell to the worker’s paradise. Good hunting and Godspeed. Heil Hitler.”

  “Heil Hitler!” we all replied in unison as we leapt to our feet.

  Trautloft walked back to the idling staff car. We immediately dismantled our game.

  “Herr Major,” I called to him.

  He turned. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

  “How did these orders come about?”

  He gave me a puzzled look. “I believe you were requested,” he said.

  “By this Major Seebeck?” I pressed.

  “Who else? Someone in Berlin’s been following you, Lieutenant.”

  “Very strange,” I offered to the horizon with a shrug.

  Trautloft asked me: “You know Seebeck?”

  “No, Herr Major. But you do?”

  “We were cadets together. Bit tightly wound for all his money. But that was a long time ago.” Then he added: “He must really need help. You be careful, Harmon. And watch over these brave lads. It’s getting dangerous up there.” With that he hopped in his car. “Back to my hut,” he commanded the corporal behind the wheel. The enlisted man hit the accelerator, kicking up a cloud of yellow dirt in their wake as they sped off towards the main compound.

  I took in the vista of the hated steppe for the last time in my life. I had no love for Russia, and it certainly did not love me. But I’d honed my air combat skills here. And survived, so far. It would be good to leave—even though I had deep reservations about this whole transfer.

  Mueller looked at me as the dust blew away. “Now why would a man you’ve never met request you?”

  “I have no clue,” I admitted. I picked up my playing cards and replaced them in their box. Borner and Gaetjens were already walking to their tents. They were as elated as schoolboys before a dance. I didn’t know what to feel. And so I chose to feel nothing at all. And then let the cards fall where they may.

  20

  “I ordered you here, Lieutenant, because I need a man like you and your swarm.”

  Major Hans Seebeck peered up at me from his desk and let that phrase ferment in the air. I was standing like a wooden beam at attention as I reported for duty to him. My visor cap tucked in my armpit, my eyes focused on the portrait of the Führer hanging on the otherwise bare wall just above the major’s head. “I have your service record here. Quite impressive. I’m glad I could use my influence in Berlin to secure you.”

  “Why’s that, sir?” I could already tell, within minutes of meeting this broken man, that he was no Trautloft. He was a wounded predator, one to be wary of. My eyes flashed down to him. His wounds carved out deep canals on his face. A black patch covered the socket of his gouged-out left eye. He was lanky and frail, and he tottered around the base with the aid of a walking stick, which he played with mindlessly at his side while he spoke to me.

  “Very well. I will tell you. We’ve suffered cruelly at the hands of the Allies. The new men are coming in ill-prepared because petrol shortages are keeping their training hours down. We need experienced pilots to lead in the air. My group especially.” He leaned forward, bringing the stick up to lie across the pristine mahogany desk. “And I will be even more frank. The men are afraid. They see the Allies grow stronger by the day. The Amis even have the temerity to attack us in lumbering bombers in broad daylight—and with no fighter umbrella over them! And when we do see their fighters near the channel, they are superb machines. But even with drop tanks they can only go so far before they must abandon their charges. I think they’re insane to even try these raids. But the men unfortunately do not.” He heaved a deep sigh and ran his gloved hand over his scar. “I cannot lead them in the air anymore. I’m grounded, Becker. And now Berlin is threatening to remove me from command. Your name was mentioned as my replacement.”

  “My name?” I said with genuine surprise. So that was it.

  He paused, sizing up my ambitions. I had none other than to serve my country and make it home alive, but of course a man like Seebeck couldn’t understand that.

  “Yes, Captain. Which is your new rank now. I guess congratulations are in order.” He didn’t offer his new captain his hand.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  THWACK! I blinked as he smacked his cane on the desk like a whip. “Dammit all, Becker! How can they want to replace me?” He pointed emphatically at his eye patch. “After all I’ve given to them!”

  “I know nothing of this, Herr Major.”

  He waved me off. “It was that golden boy Trautloft’s idea. If he had to lose you, then he insisted that you be considered for a command of your own. Your promotion is, shall we say, our compromise.”

  Seebeck hoisted himself to a stand and hobbled around the desk to get in my face. He was slightly taller, but I could tell there was little meat under his sagging uniform.

  His breath reeked of stale cigarette smoke and schnapps. “You’re a good pilot, Becker. But I’ll be damned if you take my command. That’s why I brought you here before Berlin could—on my terms.” I didn’t flinch but continued to stare straight past him.

  “My only ambition here is to serve, Herr Major.” He gawked at me, studying my face like a confused doctor. Outside I could hear the hum of engines throbbing overhead. “But am I to understand that you’ve manipulated the lives of me and my swarm over your insecurities?”

  “How dare you!” he roared. He raised his cane in an abrupt gesture of command. “This is about rebuilding the group.” Then he added candidly: “Still, if it also allows me to keep you out of this desk, so much the better. And who knows? Anything could happen to you. Your chances are not so good here against well-trained crews in bomber formations bristling with machine guns as they were against Slavic Untermenschen in kites.”

  His implications were not lost on me. “I’ll try not to get killed, sir. For the good of your wing.”

  He shook his head. “Facts are facts.” He pointed to his collar. “You see this insignia, Becker? I am a major. You, a captain. You’ll remember that, ja? I have a powerful family with many friends in the party.”

  “So I gather…sir.”

  He ignored my snarky remark, as he was too caught up in his bona fides. “I’m in a position to either help you or harm you, Captain. The choice is yours. Help me. Work with my men. And I’ll protect your family—and Fräulein Engel.”

  My heart tripped. “Beg pardon, sir?”

  He gave me a smile that said much yet revealed little. “I know many things about you. This is the New Order, Captain. Remember that.”

  I stepped back. If I stayed where I was I might have choked this mercurial sot where he stood. In his debilitated state I could have. But I reined in my anger and swallowed my pride down hard. Facts were facts. In this case Seebeck had me. Because he somehow had my family. He had Amelia. I guess I really didn’t know all there was to know about this New Germany. Obviously though, raw power, and the protection of that power, was one virtue of the Nazi regime that the major had adopted for himself.

  “Will that be all, Herr Major?”

  “For now, Captain.” He reached for his phone and put the receiver to his ear. “Come in here,” he barked. Within ten seconds a bright-eyed Lieutenant Thomson stepped into the office.

  “Heil Hitler!” the polished young Prussian snapped at both of us while he raised his arm
and clicked his heels in a fashion that I could only imagine Paul was being taught this very day…wherever he was.

  “Heil Hitler,” Seebeck and I answered in unison.

  “Lieutenant Thomson is the duty officer on base here. Thomson,” he said while motioning to me, “this is our newest squadron leader, Captain Becker. He comes from Russia, so we need to get him used to the idea that Western skies are not target practice. Please show him the base and see to it that his men are billeted in the château.”

  “Jawohl, Herr Major. Follow me please, sir.”

  I donned my visor cap. “Lead the way, Lieutenant.”

  He ushered me outside. The air buzzed with the activity of a full-blown fighter base in wartime. Men busily walking to and fro. Mechanics cursing over the metallic dinging of tools to engines. A staff car whizzing by. The tower with its windsock manned by helmeted men scanning the heavens with binoculars. Anti-aircraft emplacements disbursed about the perimeter. The revving and releasing of engines being fine-tuned beneath camouflaged hangars. And, of course, the ubiquitous odor of ripe gasoline filling the air.

  As if keeping an omniscient watch over the base, the red banner of Nazi Germany fluttered in the spring breeze atop the high flagpole planted near the château-turned-Kasino. Below it, in a brusque symbol of subjugation, drooped the black, yellow, and red bars of the Belgian flag…its primacy denied it by the Teutonic invaders now ensconced in its occupied country.

  I could see peeking, just visible, over the distant treetops not cleared away by our sappers, the ancient church spires of the little village of Andeville.

  I followed Thomson in silence until we were well out of earshot of Seebeck’s open window. Then to my surprise the young spit-and-polish adjutant spoke in a hushed tone. “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “Excuse me, Lieutenant?”

  “The door is thin. I heard your conversation. The major likes to demonstrate his authority over new officers. I don’t think it’s personal. If I may say so, sir. Let me know if I can ever help you. We’re not all like Seebeck here.”

  I winked at him. “Thank you, Thomson. I may take you up on that one day.”

  And with that I made my way over to my new quarters where I could sit in silence, undisturbed by anyone, and wonder what I’d gotten myself into.

  21

  That night I wrote to Amelia for the first time in many weeks. It started as the others did. But it was more mechanical in tone, which was reflective of my own diminished spirits. Still, I had to stay in touch with her. She needed to know I was okay, and I her. I tried to craft a correspondence that would pass muster of the state censors.

  April 23, 1943

  My Dearest Amelia,

  I hope the spring finds you well. You will be relieved to know that I am no longer on the Eastern Front. I have been transferred to Belgium for Defense of the Reich duties. I cannot speak in depth of my assignment, but know that I am in good health and improved spirits. I am satisfied in knowing that soon we will be in combat with those who attack our homes, instead of merely defending theirs. It is so good to be away from Russia. I feel like I am among the civilized world again.

  Do not fret for my safety. We fly good machines, and the Greenhearts taught me well.

  I am anxious for news of Stauffenberg. Please write and keep me informed. I briefly spoke with Willy Spiegel as his unit passed through our base on his way to France. You remember him from gymnasium, with the different-colored eyes? He is a mechanic with JG 1 and mentioned that, when he is not in the field, Johann Keitel is SS Kommandant of the town. I need not tell you that he is a most capable and diligent man. I hope you are working well with him. You understand what I mean. Although he must have more urgent matters to attend to than the past. I would like to know if my family is faring well without me. I fret about my parents. Paul is another matter.

  And of course I worry about you and Hanna. I miss you so. I should like so badly to see you, but this matter of the war that keeps us apart must be decided first I suppose. But let us both take solace in that it cannot go on forever.

  All My Love,

  Harmon

  It would take several weeks to get pilots into even a semblance of fighting order, but the major now had not just one but four Experten (aces) to show the youngsters the way. I began training the men in earnest with the aid of Mueller, Gaetjens, and Borner. Two years in Russia had aged me, and I was ready to assume the heavy mantle of command. With my swarm’s help I impressed upon our pilots the value of teamwork. I was squadron leader, with Mueller on my wing forming the lead pack. Borner and Gaetjens I separated to be swarm leaders within the squadron.

  They were as close friends as Mueller and I, and also as different. Just out of his teens, Borner was the epitome of the dashing knight of the air with his thin mustache, penetrating brown eyes, and haughty swagger. But for the war he most surely would have been in the movies. At twenty-eight, Big Werner was an irascible man, older than the rest, portly and unkempt, and completely without pretense. He let the kill markings on his rudder speak for him. Both were magnificent fighter pilots, and I granted them considerable latitude to take the men up at their discretion, assuming they had adequate fuel, which was rarely.

  We utilized our combat experiences to ram into eager young minds all we had learned on the Eastern Front; we hoped to try and save these excellent young German boys’ lives.

  Seebeck was pleased. But I knew the upcoming struggle with the Western Allies would be difficult. But just how dangerous I had yet to discover. Had I known what to expect in the coming months, I may never have left Russia at all. It would be that bad. And soon I would come to understand why Seebeck had me transferred to his post. It was simple really. Yet cunning. He wanted me to train his pilots better than he could ever have. Then he wanted me to die.

  22

  “You really think he wanted you dead?”

  I shrug. “That’s what I thought at the time. I don’t care anymore.” I yawn and lean back in the sofa.

  Rachael checks her watch and realizes that it’s almost lunchtime. “Do you want to take a break for a moment?” She can see my old face sags, as if melting under a hot sun.

  “I have to use the lavatory,” I announce with an embarrassed smirk. “I don’t think I could have flown then with my bladder as it is now.”

  “Are you hungry?” she asks. “I could go get us something…the Times’ treat.”

  As I hoist myself to my feet I tell her that Dora usually makes me a cucumber sandwich at this time. “That used to be her mother’s chore. It’s a taste I acquired from living here. I’ll ask her to make you one too.”

  Rachael respectfully declines. “Please don’t bother.” Her jet lag is kicking in, and she’s more interested in sleeping than eating.

  “No bother. Not offering to make it myself,” I kid. “You must be hungry after your long flight.”

  “I ate on the plane.”

  “Your loss.” Then I disappear through the kitchen to the WC.

  She follows my creaking form and wonders. Nothing she’s heard thus far gives her any reason to believe that there’s more to me than simply what I claim to be in my book. A stellar if lovesick fighter pilot who nevertheless found himself on the wrong side of a war.

  She hears muffled conversation between father and daughter in the kitchen—in German. She cringes. Remember, Rachael, she tells herself. This man fought so that you and all of your people would be wiped from the earth. Don’t let your guard down. Don’t be drawn into liking him. Be professional. This may not be the man.

  Dora emerges from the kitchen with a tray of sandwiches and two bottles of seltzer water. She places it on the table in front of the reporter.

  “Papa thought you might be hungry.”

  She laughs. “He doesn’t take no for an answer, does he?”

  “He’d be insulted if you don’t at least take o
ne bite. He’s very proud. More so than he leads on.” Then she pauses. “Miss Azerad—”

  “Rachael.”

  “Very well, Rachael. May I ask you something?”

  Rachael grabs a bottle and twists it open with a pssshhht! “Certainly.”

  “Why are you asking my father to re-open old wounds?” she demands. “The war was a long time ago. It took him many years to get past his experiences.”

  “I understand that,” Rachael replies, slightly put off. “But I assure you that I’m not here to re-open wounds, as you say, but to get a story. One I think your father may still have to tell.”

  Dora’s expression hardens. “Why don’t you just leave him alone? I can see you judging him. I heard you before.”

  Rachael shifts in her seat. “I’m not here to judge anybody.”

  The woman looks to the kitchen to see if her father is listening. “You are Jewish, yes?”

  The reporter raises an eyebrow. “I am.”

  “And yet you’re here to interview one of Hitler’s decorated soldiers. Why?”

  “Dora,” says Rachael. “How much do you know about your father’s past? During the war? And that of your mother?”

  “I know enough to let the past stay there, Miss Azerad. Whatever bad things he may have done, let them go. He’s old and harmless.” At that moment I enter the room. “My parents are good people.” Her lip flutters. “I still speak of my mother in the present tense.” Rachael opens her mouth to press the issue, but Dora intercepts her with: “Ah, Papa! Are you better now?”

  I sigh as she helps me to my seat. “I’m not an invalid, Daughter,” I remind her, shaking off her arm. “Not yet, anyway.”

  Then I turn to Rachael to continue my story. “Where was I? Ah, yes. The training went by quickly. And then we were thrown into the mix of an air battle that was growing more violent as the Americans weighed in with their awesome industrial might. After our first few missions against the heavies, I very quickly came to understand Major Trautloft’s dire prediction about our fate. And I realized that I was right about Seebeck’s wanting me to die while helping him to live. In time, he knew, the Americans would be his assassin.”