“Don’t worry about it: they’ve probably had an engine failure or got lost or something and landed at another field. It happens all the time. Bad pennies always turn up somehow. Anyway, you’d better go and get a bite to eat. Kraliczek’s working on his monthly returns, so he can’t see you just yet.”
“Can Toth come with us for a drink in the mess?”
Meyerhofer suddenly looked doubtful. “No, no, I think not: better not risk it. Herr Kommandant wouldn’t like it—against regulations, thin end of the wedge and all that. But Toth can entertain you in the NCOs’ mess if he wants; can’t see anything against that.” So I shook my faithful coachman’s hand in farewell and made my way to my tent.
I managed about an hour’s much-needed nap before Petrescu shook me awake, obediently reporting that Herr Kommandant Kraliczek wished to see me now. I rinsed my face hurriedly at the canvas washbasin—I was still grimy from exhaust smoke—ran a comb through my hair and set off to meet him in his office.
As I stepped up to salute and report the success of our mission I could see at first glance that Hauptmann Kraliczek was not pleased. He returned my salute in perfunctory fashion, then bade me sit down. He however remained standing; in fact stalked around the office throughout the interview with his hands behind his back, addressing his remarks to the corners of the room so that I had to keep swivelling my neck around to listen to him. His first question emerged only after some moments of evident inner struggle.
“Pray tell me, how many kilometres did you fly today, Herr Linien- schiffsleutnant?”
“Forgive me, Herr Kommandant, but I have no real idea. It’s about fifty kilometres from here to Palmanova as the crow flies, but we took a more circuitous route to get there, over Gorz, and we flew some way to west of our target so as to be able to come at it from the direction of Venice. Meanwhile, as for our return journey, I can’t say exactly where we flew since we were engaged with the enemy for part of the way.”
“So you mean to say, in other words, that you are an officer-observer, but you have no real idea of how far you flew in total? Some might consider that a grave dereliction of duty.”
“But Herr Kommandant,” I protested, “surely the precise distance we flew is of no great importance? The point is that we reached our target, carried out our mission and returned unharmed to our base, having accounted for one enemy aeroplane on the way and successfully dodged another. Exactly how much ground we covered in the process is surely quite irrelevant.”
“Not in the least, Herr Linienschiffsleutnant, not in the least. The success of this unit depends, like the success of all military operations, upon minute precison and the scrupulous maintenance of records. In future I shall require your written combat reports and attendant forms to contain a clear statement, accurate to the nearest hundred metres, of the distance flown, so that this can be compared with the stated consumption of fuel for the flight. However . . .” he turned to address his remarks to a different corner of the room, “I have to say that there are other serious matters to discuss with you concerning your verbal report of this mission, at least as it was related to me a few minutes ago by Oberleutnant Meyerhofer. It appears that you shot down an Italian aeroplane?”
“I have the honour and satisfaction to report that we did—or rather, Zugsfuhrer Toth did.”
“I see. Of what kind?”
“Herr Kommandant, I really cannot say. It was a two-seater certainly, with a rotary engine, possibly of the Nieuport family. I cannot say for sure. Certainly it was not a type that I remember from my study of the recognition handbooks. If Corps Air Intelligence want a rough sketch I am sure . . .”
“So you really have no idea what aircraft it was?” he snapped.
“Not really. All that concerned me at the time was that it was manoeuvring under our tail to try and shoot us down.”
“And have you any tangible evidence of having destroyed it? Standing orders from Fliegertruppe headquarters are that positive identification of crashed enemy aircraft and their crews is to be secured wherever possible.”
It was some time before I could answer, the breath having been taken out of me by the stark idiocy of this question; by its total incomprehension of the conditions of fighting in the air.
“I regret, Herr Kommandant, but it somehow slipped my mind in the tension of the moment to follow them down and perhaps snatch off the pilot’s shoulder-straps as we passed. I’m afraid that having just narrowly escaped being shot down ourselves, with another enemy aeroplane closing upon us, twenty kilometres behind enemy lines, we thought it best to put our nose down and head for home without any further delay. Perhaps we could go back and get their names and addresses?”
“Spare me your facetiousness, Prohaska: I am not amused. Nor am I amused by the fact that your wanton engagement of enemy aircraft—clean outside the scope of your orders, I might add, since they made no mention of aerial combat—has led to extensive damage to yet another of this unit’s aircraft. In fact, following Oberleutnant Rieger’s writing-off of a machine the day before yesterday . . .”
“. . . Not to speak of Oberleutnant Rieger’s writing-off of himself.” “Be silent. As I was saying, following the loss of our machine just back from repair, and following Feldpilot Toth’s recent criminal mistreatment of yet another aeroplane, the effective establishment of Fliegerkompagnie 19F is now reduced from six aircraft to four: two Hansa-Brandenburg CIs and two Lloyd CIIs. And I wish to leave you in no doubt that I regard this as highly unsatisfactory. I gather from the Technical Officer that your own aeroplane, number 26.74, is likely to be under repairs for at least a fortnight, so please comprehend if you will . . .” he tapped a graph with a little ebony pointer like that used by orchestral conductors, “. . . please comprehend exactly what it is that you have done. The graph line for Effective Against Reserve Aircraft for the month of August should have gone—so. Now it will have to go here.”
“Herr Kommandant, with respect, we may have damaged an aeroplane, but we brought it home intact. And not only that but we carried out our mission successfully and destroyed an enemy aeroplane in the process. Surely that should more than make up for some minor damage to one of the unit’s aircraft? After all, this is a war we are engaged in, not a statistical exercise . . .” I stopped: this last remark had clearly brought Kraliczek to that condition which, in any normal person, would manifest itself as bellowing purple-faced apoplectic rage and flinging the inkstand at the head of his interlocutor. That is to say, he grew even paler than usual and pursed his thin lips.
“What? How dare you question the value of statistics! Perfect knowledge of what is going on will win this war for us. If it were not so then why do you imagine that at my own expense—my own expense mark you!—I have designed and had printed a series of return forms to supplement those used by the War Ministry? That, Herr Linienschiffsleutnant, is how deeply I care for the efficiency of this unit: why I slave here in this office into the small hours of each morning without even an adjutant to help me, collating information for Army Headquarters. Anyway . . .” he looked at me triumphantly over his spectacles, as if producing an argument to stop all further debate, “anyway, as regards your mission this morning, your Italian aeroplane shot down is of no consequence whatever. Flik 19F is a long-range reconnaissance and bombing unit, so there are no statistical returns emanating from here as regards enemy aircraft destroyed, and will not be until such time as I have devised an appropriate record form. The aeroplane which you say you have shot down may be claimed by you as a personal victory—unconfirmed by the way—if you wish; that is entirely your own affair. But as far as my reports are concerned no mention will be made of it. Such anomalies do not lie within my purview, I am afraid.” “Herr Kommandant, you may call it an anomaly if you wish, and there may, as you say, not yet be any suitable piece of paper on which to record it. But I feel compelled to point out that the victory took place, and that it was not mine but entirely the work of Zugsfuhrer Toth. It was his flying and marksmanship that brought the Italian down.”
He turned to look at me again, smiling a curious little self-satisfied smirk. “Ah, Herr Linienschiffsleutnant, there I am afraid that I have to correct you: the victory, if it is credited to anyone, must be credited to you as commander of the aeroplane.”
“But all the shots were fired by Feldpilot Toth, from the forward machine gun. I did not fire the rear weapon once.”
“Perhaps so; perhaps not. Altitude and the confusion of combat cause people to make mistakes. My reports after you landed were that you had fired the shots.”
“But this cannot be. I can show you if you wish.”
Kraliczek rolled up his eyes in a look of weary patience such as one reserves for dealing with tiresome and confused elderly relatives. He sighed.
“Very well, if you insist I shall accompany you to look. But I cannot take long: I am a very busy man with only two clerks to assist me and the end of the reporting month is drawing near.”
