On Wings of the Morning (13 page)

Otto poured four big glasses of milk and set them on the table. Hans and Maria were sitting there. Mata began cutting up Maria’s sausage.

“Good morning, Mama,” Otto said. “How are you? Did you sleep well?”

Maria looked at him with some confusion in her eyes. “Hans? Is that you?”

Mata raised her eyebrows and nodded slightly at Otto as she fed Maria a piece of sausage which she chewed slowly.

“Ja, it’s me. I’ve been out tending the cows.”

Maria smiled. “You are so good with cows, Hans. It’s like you can talk to them.” She faded off as Mata continued to feed her.

Hans spoke up. “So you are going off to war, Otto.”

Otto and Mata looked at each other. “How did you know that, Papa?”

“Well, I might be crippled, but I’m not deaf. And you’re just the age I was when I joined up. Have you thought about how you will feel possibly fighting people who might be your relatives?”

“I won’t think of them as relatives. I am an American and they are the enemy.”

Hans nodded slowly and turned to his food. He didn’t say much after his injury.

“So, Otto, I think all the girls will think you are very handsome in your uniform when you come home on leave,” Mata teased.

“I think they will think I look like every other soldier in an Army uniform,” returned Otto.

“Oh, but I know Betty Ross will be very impressed with your appearance.”

“Betty and I are friends,” said Otto, blushing.

“That’s not what I hear,” Mata teased. “I hear that you two are sweet on each other.”

“We’ve been out a few times.”

“I hear you’ve been out a lot of times to Spenser’s and to the airport. You take her flying.”

“I’m glad everyone is so interested in what I’m doing.”

“I think it’s adorable. My brother, going to marry the banker’s daughter.”

“I’m not going to marry anyone! And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Where are all your beaux? I’d think there’d be a different one here every night.”

“If you’ve noticed, dear brother, the pickings are pretty slim around here.”

“There’re are the guys at school. Some of them are nice.”

“Yeah, nice and stupid.”

“What about the boys at church?”

“Honestly, Otto, for heaven’s sake!”

“Are there any men in this county who meet your high standards?”

Mata’s expression turned serious. “Probably not. I’m OK with my girlfriends. We have a good time when we go out. I’m sure I’ll meet someone nice one day.”

“I’m sure you will, sister.” Otto stood up from the table. “Thanks for preparing lunch.”

Mata smiled. “It’s more like you prepared it.”

“I just fixed what
you
had prepared.”

“Get to work, M. le Chef. I know you have plenty to do before you go off to save the world.”

Otto stood with his hand on the doorknob. “So I do. I’d better get to it.”

***

The two weeks until Otto reported for basic passed rapidly. He worked hard on both the airport and farm to make sure they were prepared for his absence, although he had no idea how long that would be. It could be years or he might be back very quickly if he washed out of flying school. He hoped not, but that was a distinct possibility.

He was cleaning up the aircraft on his last day at home when he saw Wilson’s plane in the landing pattern. The big man landed, heaved himself out of the cockpit, and walked over to Otto. “Can you come to the office?”

“Sure,” Otto replied. He noticed that Wilson was carrying a package wrapped up in brown paper. They went into the office and Wilson sat at his desk.

“So today’s your last day?”

“That’s right. I ship out tomorrow.”

“Have a seat.” Otto sat. “I got a little something for you. Here—” Wilson handed the package to Otto. It was heavy.

“You didn’t have to get me anything. You’ve been so good to me.”

“Yeah, well, I take care of my boys. And you’re one of them. Open the package.”

Otto tore open the paper, and there was a beautiful pearl-handled Colt .45. He gasped. “Mr. Wilson, I can’t accept this. It’s too expensive.”

Wilson waved his hand. “I want you to have it. You’ll need protection against the Nazis. Hell, you need protection from the yahoos around here.”

“Well, I’ll take it and wear it proudly. Thank you and thank you for all you’ve done for me.”

He and Wilson stood at the same time and shook hands. “Good luck, kid. Knock ‘em dead.”

“I plan to, Mr. Wilson. I plan to.”

***

That afternoon Otto went to town to pick up some things for Mata. There he ran across Betty in front of the town hall.

“Otto! How have you been?”

“Busy, like everyone else. I’m sorry I haven’t gotten back to you. I suppose you heard I enlisted in the Army Air Corps.”

“Yes, I did.” She studied his face, and, for once, he could not read her expression.

“Could we go somewhere and talk for a few minutes? I’d like to catch up.”

“Sure. We can go in my car. Not to be rude, but are you ever going to get a new truck?”

“Some day,” Otto told her as he climbed into the Packard. “Is Spencer’s okay?”

“It’s fine,” she said as she started the car, put it in gear and backed in a semi-circle into the street.

Five minutes later they were seated in a booth by the window at Spencer’s. Betty ordered a Coke; Otto, a coffee, and they looked around as they waited for their order.

“So, when…” they both said at the same time. They laughed and Otto started again. “Ladies first,” indicating that Betty should go ahead.

“So, when do you leave?” she continued. “It has to be soon.”

“Tomorrow on the 2 PM. I’m about ready. Mata keeps packing and repacking my bag although I’ve told her I’ll get all the clothes I need in the service.”

“Mata is such a sweetie. Grownup for her age, too.”

“Yes, she has pretty much run the farm since Papa’s injury.”

“I still feel so bad about your Papa. I know he was always so active.”

Otto peered into his coffee cup. “He gets around. He’s just not too happy. That’s understandable, considering.”

“You’re so philosophical and understanding, Otto. I really admire both qualities in you.”

“I guess I’m just resigned to what happened. Don’t think I haven’t laid awake nights thinking of ways to hurt the whole Smith tribe—preferably by crippling every last one of them. I’m not proud of those thoughts, but I have them.”

She reached over and took his hand. “Those are perfectly natural thoughts, I’d say.”

He smiled at her and then grew serious. “I want to talk about us, Betty.”

“Us?”

“Yes, as in what kind of relationship we’re going to have while I’m gone.”

“What kind of relationship do we have now, Otto?

He spoke carefully. “A friendship, I’d say.” Again, he couldn’t read her expression. She looked sad and serious at the same time.

“All right, we have a friendship, then. So what does that mean for us in the future?”

“I think it means that we’ll continue to be friends.”

“All right, we can do that.” She definitely looked angry now and her tone was sharp. Betty stood up and stuck out her hand. “Good-bye and good luck, Otto. I wish you well.”

Otto took her hand and shook it. He was puzzled. Had he said something wrong? “Will you write me if I write you, Betty?”

“Oh, sure,” she said with a sarcastic tone he had never heard her use with him before. “We can be little pen pals and write each other little letters. I hope you’ll enjoy doing that.” She turned on her heel, slammed the door to the diner, got in her car and spewed gravel all over as she tore out of the parking lot and onto the street. By the time Otto paid the bill and got to his truck, she was gone.

Smoothly played, Kerchner, he thought. Smoothly played.

March 27, 1942

Dear Mata,

I’m writing to you from Camp Atterbury. It has been raining ever since we got here. I am with a group of 200 other cadets for what is called basic training. It’s the Army part of the Army Air Corps. Some of the fellows from the city are having a rough time of it. I don’t think they had to get up before dawn to tend cattle or do much physical work.

We get up, “police” (clean up) the barracks, march to breakfast, try to recognize what they’re feeding us (I miss your cooking!), do some more marching, have some sort of training, eat lunch, march some more, attend classes on military law and protocol, do some shooting on the rifle range (not that I expect to ever carry a rifle—pilots carry sidearms), have supper and then some free time to read or write or play cards or whatever.

Some of the fellows got passes to go into town this past Friday. I stayed here and read. I have little interest in “painting the town red.” Maybe it’s because I have painted too many barns red, ha ha.

The other cadets are from all over the Midwest and we all have one thing in common. We want to be pilots. As far as I know, no one else is a pilot already, but I’m not telling anyone that I am. I have a feeling that the Army wants to train us in their own way, not in the civilian method.

In any case, it’s comfortable here, the food is edible, and I’m eager to get this step behind me and go on to some actual flying.

One funny thing—whoever hooked up the toilets goofed up and ran hot water to them. There’s a sign that warns users to beware a hot water spray when they flush! I’m glad someone put up a sign or there would be a lot of surprised soldiers!

I hope you and Mama and Papa are well.

I am your brother,

Otto

Otto finished the letter, folded it, placed it in the envelope and put on a stamp. He was glad that Sundays were quiet. Most of the fellows slept or played cards or talked quietly. He liked to write letters and read. Just then he was about halfway through Joseph Conrad’s
Heart of Darkness.
He thought Conrad was a master of English prose, which was incredible considering that his first language was Polish. He had taken the book out of the small base library which seemed to have castoffs of trashy novels with a few classics like Conrad mixed in. In truth, most of his fellow soldiers seemed to prefer activity to sitting and reading. Otto just needed a period of calm in the midst of all that was going on. He figured they would have about six weeks of learning to be soldiers and then about the same amount of time on “advanced basic” training where they would probably learn to be even better soldiers. He wouldn’t get near an airplane for another six months. He hoped he didn’t forget how to fly.

June 16, 1942

Dear Mata,

Now I’m in the South and I do mean the South. Everyone here except the cadets has a strong Southern accent, y’all. They use “y’all” a lot, like “y’all need to come over here.” It’s a funny expression. Most of the instructors have accents but we don’t say anything about it since we don’t want to have to do pushups.

I thought basic training was disciplined but not too hard. Now I’m in advanced basic and it is like military school. We have to eat in “brace position” which means we sit stiff and erect at the table with our chins down against chests. Our instructors circulate to make sure we’re maintaining a “good military posture,” and if we don’t, we have to do pushups. I’ve avoided having to do too many, although some fellows are going to have the world’s most developed biceps from doing hundreds of them.

It’s hot here. And it’s humid. In Wisconsin, I imagine it’s pleasant now. I am really getting to see a lot of the country, although it has been from trains, not from airplanes. We spend days on troop trains getting from place to place. A lot of times we pull onto a siding and let trains carrying tanks and jeeps pass. I suppose they’re vital to the war effort, but then so are we. We’ve all become very good at “hurry up and wait,” which is a favorite expression in the Army.

I’ve “hurried up and waited” so long I’ve probably forgotten how to fly. It’s been four months since I’ve been in an airplane. They seem determined to keep us away from them until they’re good and ready. Supposedly that comes with the next phase of training.

Your letters caught up with me from a while back. Thank you for the news. I’m sorry Mama is not doing well. You are one of those who “only stand and wait” for your service, only I don’t see you standing and waiting at all! You do far too much!

I have become quite good at cleaning my part of the barracks. Maybe we could have a house cleaning contest when I get back. I think I would lose.

It’s about time for dinner. Sundays they give us steak, so I don’t want to miss that. My love to you and to Mama and to Papa.

Your brother,

Otto

Otto re-read what he had written and then folded the letter carefully and put it in the envelope. He stamped it and slipped it into his pocket and went out to drop it in the letter drop. Other cadets were making their way to the mess hall. He dropped the letter off and caught sight of Bob Donovan, a fellow from Eau Claire he had befriended. One of the first things troops did when they met up for the first time was try to find someone from near their home town. Donovan was in a different barracks, and he and Otto had hit it off the first time they met.

“Otto! What’s going on?” Donovan exclaimed.

“Not much, Bob, what’s new with you?”

“Oh, New York, New Jersey, New Brunswick…you know.” They both laughed although Donovan had used the line hundreds of times.

“You ready to eat, OK?”

“Yeah, I’m starved. Let’s go!”

They made their way in a crowd of jostling, joking cadets to the mess hall. Sundays were good, Otto reflected. Time to think, time to write home and time to have a steak dinner. He went into the dining hall in a state of high expectation, intensified by the smell of freshly cooked steaks.