The time had come for Harald to leave, but I clung to him a few moments longer. I pulled his mouth down to mine and kissed him hungrily. There was no way to know when I’d taste his lips again. Those delicious lips that tasted of currant jam after breakfast and cognac tinged with cigar smoke after dinner. He pressed his forehead against mine, his hands on either side of my head. I tried to memorize everything . . . the sound of his breathing, the scent of vetiver soap, the warmth of his skin pressed against mine.
“I’ll be strong,” I forced myself to say when I knew he couldn’t delay his departure any longer. I summoned enough substance in my voice that if the words had come from another, I might have believed them.
Then he was gone.
I’d been given an extra day’s leave, before my monthly trip to Berchtesgaden, to bid Harald farewell. No kindness was spared to the wife of a departing soldier, but I knew if I stayed at home I would let myself soak in my despair over his absence like in a bath gone cold. After ten minutes of brooding, I changed from the frilly housedress that Harald loved on me into my practical gray pantsuit, took my bicycle from the front porch, and rode to the air base.
“I thought you were out today,” Louisa Mueller said by way of greeting as I entered the lab.
“And a pleasure it is to see you too, Flugkapitän Mueller, I trust you’re well,” I said as I strode around to the table space I used for drafting sketches of my designs. Improving the braking system for the Junkers Ju 87 aircraft was my mission, and it bothered Louisa that my engineering degree gave me different privileges than she had. She was a talented pilot but had allowed herself to become a show pony for the Third Reich. She flew to set records and to garner attention for the superiority of German aviation. I was the one entrusted with making our aircraft more maneuverable, safer, and in many cases, deadlier.
“Just a surprise is all, Gräfin von Oberndorff.” She spoke my title like an insult, but it was the one she insisted on despite my preference for “Flugkapitän” over “Gräfin” while at work. And unlike Louisa, I insisted on neither. Though she was a civilian, she had commissioned the female equivalent of a flight captain’s uniform and was never seen in anything else on base. If anyone dared to omit her title, she was quick to bare her fangs. “I simply thought you were off on holiday again.”
I controlled my urge to roll my eyes at the insult she didn’t even bother to veil. I sometimes wondered if she had any sort of life outside of aviation but didn’t care to get close enough to her to find out. If she saw a monthly visit to my widowed mother as a dereliction of duty, she wasn’t the sort I could ever consider a friend.
To be fair, part of me understood her stance. There was no equivocation on the party’s position of the role of women in the new Reich. We were to be wives and mothers. Caretakers of the home and moral guides for our children. Not test pilots or engineers. She and I were handpicked exceptions to the rule, and if we didn’t insist on a certain level of rigor, we would never be respected.
Just then, Peter, a special protégé I’d taken on to train as a mechanic, entered the office. He was a tall lad, and smarter than the rest of the mechanics put together. He’d been rejected from the program at least six times, though, because he was born with a twisted leg that forced him to walk with an extreme limp. He was the sort to be too proud for a cane, so I never dared suggest it.
“Ma’am, I just completed the adjustments to the steering you requested. Everything seems to be in working order.”
“Thank you, Peter,” I said, turning my back on Louisa. “Is she ready for me to take up?”
“Yes, ma’am. I can put in the flight request now.”
“Good,” I said by way of dismissal. He turned and limped back out toward the hangar.
“Is that boy really capable of the work?” Louisa wondered aloud. “He’s barely able to stand upright.”
“His back and hands are fine. And even more important, his brain. He’s one of the best we have.”
“Curious,” she said, without further comment. Typical. The Reich seemed to think that the handicapped were all somehow deficient. Peter wasn’t the only one who had been turned away from a job he was more than qualified for. But it seemed that was the way things were these days.
I put away the plans I’d thought to work on, squared my shoulders, and walked to the airfield without another glance back at Louisa.
The Junkers was waiting for me, gleaming in the autumn sun. The air was crisp, the sky seemed to glitter in anticipation of my ascent. I donned my helmet, climbed into the cockpit, and made a quick check of all the systems. All was in perfect working order under Peter’s careful eye. He was as meticulous a mechanic as one could dream of working with, and I made a silent prayer every night that the Reich would not find reason to remove him from his post.
With the flip of a few switches, the engines awakened with a roar, then settled into the efficient hum of their labors. I was given the signal for takeoff and coursed down the runway. Each time the wheels lifted off the earth and the plane rose into the heavens, my stomach clenched and my heart stopped for a few seconds of sheer marvel. Soon, I would put the plane through her paces, testing the steering system as well as the others I planned to improve, but I took just a moment to revel in the miracle of flight.
Up here, there was no war—yet. There were no politics. The scurryings of man were inconsequential from above the mountaintops. At the throttle of an aircraft, I found a solace more precious than any treasure.
Shortly after I married Harald, my mother-in-law, bless her, asked me when I planned to stop flying. She was anxious for grandchildren and for Harald to step fully into his role as Count von Oberndorff, which he had little interest in doing. My answer remained steadfast: “I’ll be able to leave my wings behind when flying ceases to be miraculous.”
Dearest Mama and Metta,
I trust this letter finds you well and that you are finding ways to be useful to the Reich. Of course, I cannot tell you many details about where I am or what I am doing, but I can assure you that I am in good health and spirits. I am liked by my fellow soldiers and have earned the respect of my superiors. A man can ask for little more. There is nothing more satisfying than hard work for the benefit of a truly glorious cause. I was pleased to learn that Harald will be joining up, though of course I wish his service had been voluntary instead of conscripted. Then again, he is a man of books, and not all men are built to take up arms. I hope he will be stationed nearby so that I might have the chance to know him better. Tell Johanna that I am proud of her work at DVL and that I am sure it is a credit to the whole family and to the Führer. I look forward to seeing you all when our work is complete.
Heil Hitler,
Oskar
“He seems well,” Mama offered after a few moments of silence. Metta and I sat on either side of her at the kitchen table, a plate of pfeffernuesse and a jug of milk untouched in the center.
“Climbing the ranks from the sound of it too,” I added. “Or soon will be.”
“It was nice he mentioned Harald,” Metta said, reaching for one of the cookies, but thinking better of it. The BDM had been strict about their guidelines for optimum health. The members were subject to regular inspections like they were enlisting in the army themselves.