Remembering himself, he offered Kurtz a chair, and then sat down himself. “You ejected?” Tad asked.
Wojcik nodded knowingly. Back injuries were almost certain if a pilot’s spine wasn’t perfectly straight when he ejected. It was a common problem, but compared to being a thin red smear on the landscape…
“Unfortunately I landed in Poland. Where your soldiers found me and took me to hospital. Where they put me in a damned big cast. As much to keep me away from the beautiful Polish nurses as to help me, I think.” Kurtz smiled, swinging his arms to show his freedom. “Now that the war is over, they have released me. And I am on my way home.” He paused. “But in the hospital I asked who had shot me down. Natural curiosity, I think.” The German grinned again. “Imagine my surprise when they were actually able to find out. But I was not so surprised to hear that I was downed by an ace — a hot pilot.”
Tad remembered the fierce engagement. “You were pretty good yourself,” he countered.
The German leaned forward. “When you fired your cannon, it was a lucky shot?”
Tad nodded emphatically. “Yes. On your last turn, you slid further down than I expected, and I was pulling up…” His hands automatically came up to show the relative positions of the two fighters, elbows cocked as they moved.
Kurtz interrupted. “I was trying to force you to overshoot. My speed brakes were open and I had cut my throttles.”
“I did overshoot,” Tad agreed. “But only after my snapshot.”
He looked at the work on his desk, then at his watch. It was only two o’clock, but he wanted to know more, about that dogfight and this German pilot, so like himself. He stood up abruptly and picked up his uniform cap. “Come on, let’s get out of here and go over to the O Club. I’m buying.”
The two pilots left, hands already raised as they walked, Eagle and MiG maneuvering once more.
His suit had been carefully chosen to give him the “banker” look. Solid, respectable, not a man to take risks. The only splash of color was a fashionable tie, but Willi von Seelow had needed help with that. Like most soldiers, his civilian clothes were usually badly out of style, because they rarely wore out.
Now Willi, along with his rapidly growing assemblage of aides, supporters, and staffers, stood watching the large-screen television set up along one of the hotel ballroom’s walls.
Their “victory party” had started early, right after the polls closed. Food, beer, and music helped make the interminable waiting more bearable. Although Willi was confident, he believed the outcome was far from certain. His supporters, whose futures depended on his rising star, were of course sure of his victory.
And in the end, they were right. A newsreader, with grave formality, announced, “In the election returns from Berlin, our projections now show that Wilhem von Seelow of the New Democratic Party has defeated his opponent, Ernst Kettering of the Social Democrats, with fifty-five percent of the vote.”
The ballroom erupted in cheers, and in midsong the band suddenly switched to a stirring march. As probable as victory had been, the new party, formed in the weeks since Schraeder’s resignation, was only now meeting its first test, special postwar elections called to form a new, untainted government.
As suddenly as the cheers erupted, everyone hushed. A videotape of von Seelow speaking at an earlier political rally had flashed on the screen.
In it, Willi stood behind a podium, against a map of the Berlin district he was running to represent. The video clip cut in near the end of his speech. “Let there be no doubt. Germany will be a great power in Europe — and in the world. But that power must be used more wisely than in the past. I left the army, not because I was ashamed of my service, but because the army only serves those elected to office. And those who have never seen battle with their own eyes or heard the wounded crying for help with their own ears are often far more ready for war than the soldiers they would send. Germany’s brave men and brave women must never again be asked to shed their blood for a shameful cause — for aggression against our neighbors. Never again!”
Standing in the spotlights, his aristocratic bearing perfectly captured by the camera, Willi epitomized the good sense and decency the German people now knew had been lacking in Schraeder’s mob. Combined with a political platform that emphasized open markets, lower taxes, and a firm commitment to the new, brighter future being hammered out in London, his election had been more certain than he would have ever admitted.
Some of his supporters had wanted him to become party chairman. In their view the New Democrats needed a national spokesman and Willi was the perfect choice. He had turned that down, though. He had no political experience, and he wanted to act — not just to give speeches.
No, for now, the Bundestag was the place for him, although people were already speculating about what might come next. A few terms in the legislature for seasoning, then perhaps a cabinet post. After that, who could say?
Captain Mike Reynolds watched Alpha Company’s soldiers file into the belly of a C-141 Starlifter transport plane. He was sorry to leave Poland, but most of his men couldn’t have been happier. The hard work involved in rebuilding a nation ravaged by war had made them restless and eager to get home.
Reynolds was sure he would have felt the same, if he’d had a family waiting, too, but there was precious little in West Texas or Fort Campbell for him. Poland was far more interesting.
Nevertheless, the army said it was time to go. The speeches and ceremonies were over. The 3/187th’s battalion colors bore a new battle honor. Those who had fallen in combat were at rest — buried in a new cemetery outside Swiecie. And those who had lived had been decorated, feted by town after town on their march north, and generally given a hero’s farewell.
Reynolds straightened up, feeling the box containing the Silver Star he’d been awarded shift inside one of his pockets. He was proud of what that medal represented — proud of what he and his men had accomplished. Right now, though, he felt mostly sorrow for the men he couldn’t bring back with him, for the Poles who had died beside them, and, oddly enough, even for the French and Germans.
The line of soldiers shuffled ahead. Now it was his turn. The last Alpha Company soldier to leave Polish soil, he stepped onto the C-141’s ramp. Even this late in September, the dim interior of the plane was stifling in the afternoon heat, but that would change as soon as they were airborne.
Tomorrow they would be back at Fort Campbell, and in his mind Mike Reynolds was already starting to organize his thoughts around a peacetime schedule. The war was over. Now it was time to immerse himself again in the army routine — in training and more training, and, through it all, the continuous struggle to stay ready.
Until the next time.
GLOSSARY
ADC — British Air Defense Command, responsible for defending the U.K. against air attack.
Aegis cruiser (
AH-64 Apache — A sophisticated, first-line helicopter gunship, the Apache carries laser- guided Hellfire antitank missiles, unguided rockets, and a 30mm cannon, along with an array of sensors so that it can fight at night as well as day. It is heavily armored.
AIM-7 Sparrow — A medium-range (about 20 to 25 miles) radar-guided air-to-air missile, the Sparrow can be carried by most American and many other Western-built fighters. It is moderately effective, but is beginning to show its age. One problem is that the firing plane must keep its nose pointed at the missile’s target. Even though the Sparrow is fast (Mach 4), those seconds are too long to fly straight in air combat. Sparrow is being replaced by the more modern AMRAAM.
AIM-9 Sidewinder — Almost legendary for its reliability and simplicity, the Sidewinder has appeared in dozens of versions and has been carried by scores of different aircraft. It has also been extensively
