In the Way of the Reich. Paula Astridge
you must not worry about me, my friend,’ he continued. ‘What is untamed in my nature is balanced by my stronger grasp on self-preservation. In or out of a plane, I’m the most level-headed man I know. I have plans for my future and death is simply not on my agenda.’
It hadn’t crossed Goering’s mind that it might be on Richthofen’s. And that was because such a prospect was unthinkable when it came to the indestructible, God-like Red Baron. But suddenly on the issue of death and the future, Richthofen had fallen silent, his stone-like expression telling a startling truth: that he had had a premonition of his own fate. He was going to die … and soon.
However, not wanting to put such a thing into words, Richthofen quickly changed the subject.
‘What do you think of this young hotshot, Udet, we keep hearing about? He’s already chalked up 10 kills.’
‘So I’ve heard. But at the phenomenal speed he’s managed to do it, I’ll be doubly impressed if he manages to survive till he’s shot down 20.’
In regard to Udet, Goering’s usual good humour and magnanimity deserted him. He felt piqued and fiercely competitive about this newcomer, Udet, who was suddenly breathing down his neck in the race for The Blue Max. Easy as it was to play second fiddle to Richthofen and his aristocratic hold on all that was fine, Goering felt no such noble instinct when it came to the blue-collar ring-in, Ernst Udet.
But evidently, Richthofen was quite a fan. ‘Do you know what that young upstart’s got written on the tail of his plane?’
Goering raised a disdainful eyebrow. ‘Can’t imagine.’
‘Definitely Not You!’ Richthofen filled him in. Saying it with a certain pride in Udet for having put the bold words where his enemy could best see them. It was a dare designed to mock and further infuriate his would-be opponents. That was, in the unlikely event that any one of them should be lucky or skilled enough to have him in their sights.
‘Brave words,’ Goering put in, still not quite ready to concede that he too found them amusing. ‘But I’ll reserve my opinion of him until I’ve seen him in action.’
‘But that’s just it,’ Richthofen interrupted. ‘I have! Two days ago, young Udet saved my life.’
Stunned, Goering swung round to look at his friend. He had no idea that Richthofen’s life had come under threat. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that I was ambushed. Got caught out resting on my laurels. Guilty of the very thing I’ve just been preaching to you.’
‘Well what happened?’
Goering’s words had picked up pace with concern. If the Red Baron or the legend surrounding his success were shot down at this crucial point in the war, it would be enough to make Germany lose it.
But not nearly as perturbed as his friend, Richthofen continued his account with a nonchalant shrug.
‘I’d finished my mission successfully and thought the skies were clear. So I was flying solo back to base, when out of nowhere they came at me in a pack: six of the Frenchie’s Nieuport 28s. Made short work of two of them, but with four still left on my tail what could I do? I was only one man. A dead duck! l braced myself for the final hit and was in the middle of rattling off the Lord’s Prayer when suddenly one of our boys came diving out of the sun. Shot down three of the planes in quick succession, and very graciously left the fourth to me.
I hadn’t a clue who he was. I threw him a wave of thanks as he flew past. He gave me a wing-wave goodbye and then was off. That’s when I saw the words on the back of his plane. Needless to say, I didn’t have to ask around at Headquarters for long to put a name to a license plate like that.’
‘Well thank God for Udet then,’ Goering said, nipping his petty jealousy in the bud.
At this point, he figured it was unproductive to begrudge another’s talent, as he’d be better off taking advantage of it. So instead he embraced it with a certain condescension that alluded to his own superiority: ‘The young man really deserves some sort of commendation.’
‘If I can track him down,’ Richthofen said, ‘I intend to ask him to join my Fighter Group One. I wouldn’t mind having a flyer of his calibre close at hand. That kind of skill and courage are hard to find.’
CHAPTER FOUR
Udet could vouch for that, because he’d had to hunt for that courage of his when he found out that he was a coward. Not long, in fact, after he arrived at Habsheim to take up his Fighter Pilot career.
The incident occurred on his third mission; a mission that had been simple enough, but disappointing to the extent that there were no enemy encounters. In a fool’s paradise, he had been flying home alone with a darkening blue sky above and a carpet of white clouds below. The surreal peace and beauty of the moment had him take time out to note that clouds did not actually have a silver lining, but one of gold, their soft edges reflecting the mellow afterglow of day.
He looked to the west to see the source of that beauty and had to shield his eyes from the glare, squinting suddenly to focus on the small black dot he saw on the western horizon. Two seconds more and he recognised it as an Allied Caudron coming straight at him.
The aircraft was closing in fast and was soon near enough for him to identify its wide wing span, dual motors and gondola hanging narrow between its wings like a bird of prey. There was no question in his mind that it was on the attack.
‘But this is against all the rules,’ Udet thought.
The Allied pilot, however, was speeding towards him, more intent on breaking those rules than Udet was on upholding them. Quickly, Udet reminded himself of his code of ethics: ‘Caudrons are strictly Observer planes and I am a Fighter. I must not fire.’
And so he didn’t, despite the fact that the Caudron was almost upon him. Close enough for Udet to see the square rim of the pilot’s goggles, behind which were the eyes of a killer — a killer who had just locked his deadly sights on his victim.
‘Hang the rules of war!’ Udet finally told himself. Suddenly, it had become a case of kill or be killed.
But when he grabbed for the bullet release button on his stick, his thumb froze with fear. The blood, suddenly coursing ice-cold through his veins, had paralysed his whole body and rendered his brain defunct. Numb with terror, he just sat and stared as the Caudron flew past, rattling off a machine-gun load of bullets into his plane, one of which ricocheted fair into his face, its impact ripping off his goggles and peppering his eye with a molten-hot volley of glass and metal splinters.
His right hand, which instinctively reached up to protect his face, was dripping red with blood. The raw agony of the wound was intense, but not as intense as the sweat-drenched panic that had him push forward, hard on the stick to nosedive through the clouds. With the instinct of a cornered beast, he fled for his life, making a frantic dash for home and safety.
‘You’re a coward, you’re a coward!’ were the words hammering away in his head when he finally managed to level out both his plane and pounding heart. His renewed clarity of mind making room for the more expedient thought: ‘Thank God nobody else saw this!’
Back safe and sound, but thoroughly ashamed on home ground, he said nothing to the ground crew who came running to see to his welfare. Nor did he open his lips to the medics who painstakingly removed the tiny glass and metal shards which had inserted themselves around the circumference of his right eye.
‘You’ve been lucky, Udet,’ one of them said, as he plucked out the last of the pellets and dropped it, with a clank, to a metal tray. ‘Not one of them actually penetrated your cornea. Half a millimetre to the left and you’d have been blinded for life.’
‘But what use was 20/20 vision,’ Udet asked himself, ‘if he could no longer look another man in the eye?’
It was in this self-deprecating state of mind that he went to his barracks and threw himself down on his bunk.