Post by starlord on Dec 15, 2009 22:18:17 GMT -5
“’Twas the Night before Nikolaustag”
by James Stubbs
Edited by Don Walsh
by James Stubbs
Edited by Don Walsh
December 5, 1943
Gefreiter Niklas Fuchs pedalled quickly down the street toward the airfield, trying to keep the mud from splashing up onto his red trousers. He had already had to borrow one of his squadmate’s bicycles for this as it was. Leave it to Eichmann to come down ill and make a mess of the whole flight rotation and his night at the tavern. Sometimes Niklas wondered about Han’s frequency of sickness that always seemed to come along with the bigger bombing sorties by the Americans.
A gust of wind nearly took away the scarlet miter sitting on his head and he cursed at the frigid blast as he had done when he arrived at the Black Castle earlier. Tonight was a night best spent in a warm tavern by the fire drinking ale, laughing and celebrating the season rather than going up into the skies to kill or be killed. Didn’t the Americans know it was the night before Nikolaustag? A twig in their shoes!
He just wanted to get this over with. Fly up there, waste precious petrol looking for contrails, find nothing and come back home. At least he had stuffed some food and a flask inside his coat as he left. It’d be cold by the time he got to eat it but he’d had worse.
The children expected a visit tonight from Saint Nikolaus and he’d be damned if Eichmann and his ailment or this war kept him from it. It was with great sport that his friends talked the base commander into nominating him to don the red suit this year. After all, his name was close enough, and though he was certainly no saint, he didn’t mind.
He had planned to spend the evening taking a few warming draughts and then collecting the bag of treats from the tavern owner and setting off on his rounds of the village homes. Now he was taking the bag, awkwardly held against his shoulder as he tried to steer with his other hand, because there would be no time to return if he got back.
There was certainly little cause for joy lately but Christmas was special, something sacred, that should be nurtured and shared with the little ones. One day this would all be over and they could play in the streets without the menace of air raid sirens to send them running to hide from bombs that may or may not fall from the sky on their homes.
***
Albert, his chief mechanic met him at the front gate and thrust Niklas’s helmet, gloves and goggles into his hands. “No time!” he yelled over the throaty roar of Messerschmitts coming to life as Niklas made for his quarters to change into his flight suit. “You’ll have to go as you are!”
Inwardly still cursing Eichmann and acutely aware that he would be the first St. Nikolaus to go airborne, Niklas hastily stowed the bulging bag behind his seat, shrugged into his parachute and climbed into his cockpit as other planes taxied past him; a few quips about his attire were mercifully drowned out by the chop of propellers against evening air and the hot popping of exhaust pipes. He released the brakes and his craft lurched forward.
***
Niklas’s 109 leveled out at twenty-two thousand feet in the cloud cover and his flight began looking downward for the telltale condensation trails of high altitude bombers. He really missed his coat as the cold began to seep inside the cockpit against the heater that struggled even in the best of times. His red coat looked good but wasn’t much protection. At least Albert had remembered his gloves.
He looked at the wisps of vapor languidly parting against his windscreen. It all seemed so ethereal despite his airspeed. Anybody who ever really longed to fly could tell you that there was serenity to breaking the bonds of earth that only the lucky few could understand.
“Contrails at eight o’ clock” crackled over his radio.
So much for an uneventful day, Niklas sighed into his oxygen mask as he nosed his plane over. Just please let me live through it.
***
The first thing a young interceptor pilot learned is to never come at American bombers from anywhere but the rear if it can be helped. The only guns pointed at you are the tail and turret gunner and, with any luck, they’re preoccupied with one of your wingmen rather than you.
The only problem being, as tracers began to fill the sky when the flight dove out of hiding, once you’ve made your pass, your own rear is now open to the guns all over the rest of the damned thing.
Niklas’s ears buzzed with excited radio chatter as an orderly approach quickly turned into a furball once the orderly pairs of planes separated; dodged and weaved in amongst the box-like formation of bombers, taking what shots they could and trying to avoid the streams of return fire.
He streaked in and strafed a nearby bomber, relieved that only wild shots answered him. Niklas threw his craft into a roll as he neared the tail of the bomber so as to pass in its shadow only to have his plane shudder underneath his feet as if pounded on by hundreds of hammers.
His engine revved up, sputtered and then stopped. His heart leapt up into his throat as he watched the comforting blur of propeller blades slow. Not like this flashed unbidden into his head and, if in answer to his plea, his motor caught again.
Niklas turned away from the fight and began to assess what had happened. He had obviously been hit. He wasn’t hurt. That was good and the engine was running. There had to be some damage but he couldn’t see anything. He was thinking that perhaps he was fit to return to the fight and then he saw the needle on his oil pressure gauge drop and the first hints of black smoke waft from beneath his engine cowling.
***
Sergeant Frank Rock shifted uneasily in the back seat of the staff car. Sneaking about was not his thing and he could feel a cold bead of sweat run down the back of his gray uniform. He had to keep reminding himself that his name was Captain Konrad Schenck and that he was touring the forward defenses. Nice enough for the real Schenck to get lost and run into a patrol. It’d just have been even nicer to have an OSS man handy but that’s the price you pay for being Johnny-on-the-spot.
Ice Cream Soldier and Four Eyes were playing a good game up front with looking suitably distantly arrogant. Ice Cream was the best you could hope for in a driver – nothing seemed to shake him and Four Eyes was everything you’d want for riding shotgun.
Their papers and act had gotten them through every checkpoint and inspection. By now, Frank was getting good at his song and dance routine even if the idea of talking their way through anything had him quaking in his boots. Lord knows its times like these where he just wanted his gun against the whole German army. At least that was simpler.
“I’ll be damned, Rock” Four Eyes muttered skyward.
“Ixnay onway ethay Ockray,” the sergeant hissed.
“It’s a rainin’ Santee Clawses” he continued, undeterred.
They all looked up to see a bright red-suited man in a pointed hat clutching a bag parachuting from the sky.
Just when you think you’ve seen everything, Frank thought.
***
Niklas looked down and saw the familiar shape of a staff car and its three occupants in the dim light of evening, staring at him coming down and he sighed in relief. He had gotten lucky to come down on his side of the war. With any luck, he could ask them to give him a ride back to his base. He still had treats to deliver before the night was done.
“Whadda we do, Sarge?” Ice Cream asked quietly.
“You two shut up and let me do the talkin’,” he answered.
“<Is this some kind of joke?>” Sgt. Rock called out to the man in German as he touched down.
“<No, Captain, no joke. My name is Niklas Fuchs,>” the pilot said with a rueful grin. “<I was going to deliver treats to the children for Nikolaustag and got called up to fly a patrol. I didn’t have time to change. Is there any way you could drive me to my base?>”
<I have other duties, Gefreiter Fuchs,> Rock began
“<Captain, please, think of the children…>”
Ice Cream Soldier looked back at Rock with a raised eyebrow. They had planned for lots of eventualities and questions but never had the idea of helping deliver Christmas gifts to kids in enemy territory come up. One of the charms of being Easy Company.
Rock frowned but thought quickly. This was prickly. If he played his cards right, not only would he get a ground report but he could peek in at a forward air base but the chances of discovery got even higher. Hell, he came to a decision, you only live once.
“<Get in.>”
***
Niklas reached into his coat and pulled out his flask. The chill of evening began to set in and the movement of the open-topped car didn’t help his already under-dressed status. The warmth of the liquor flowing down his throat helped.
He offered a drink to Rock who shook his head and then to the two men up front. Four Eyes nodded, took a drink and then passed it to Ice Cream Soldier who took the time to produce and pass his own flask back. It was the soldierly thing to do and no one thought anything about it although Rock made a note to ask him later where he was getting hooch on the sly.
The same could be said when the now-cold sausage links were withdrawn from his coat. This, however, was too much for the Pittsburg-born and bred Rock and he happily shared some of his chocolate ration.
“<Do you have any children, Captain?>” Fuchs asked out of the blue after a few minutes of contemplating the darkening countryside.
“<No,>” he replied and added in without thought, “<Do you?>”
“<Little Gerard,>” A look of happiness crossed Niklas’s face to be replaced with sorrow, “<I just wish this war was over so I can see him again.>”
“<Do you think we’ll win?>” Rock inquired
The pilot took a long swig from Ice Cream’s flask “<I don’t care.>”
Rock looked at the man and he continued.
“<You can blame the drink but I go out and kill some Englishman or American. Some of them get one of my friends and, eventually, me. To what end? We gain some land. In another war, we lose it again. The only thing that remains the same is a lot of us dead.>”
“<What about the Fuhrer?>” Frank pressed.
Fuchs snorted. “<Captain, I fight because I’m told to fight. Any sane man doesn’t go looking for war but nobody has ever proved any politician sane.>”
“Amen to that” came as a fervent whisper from the front but Fuchs didn’t seem to hear.
***
They arrived in Fuch’s village just as the last rays of the sun dipped below the trees. Frank Rock was all for letting the pilot out and hightailing it back but the young man would hear nothing of it. He insisted that they accompany him on his rounds, giving out gifts to the children. Only the social awkwardness and fear of being found out kept them there.
It didn’t take long for them to warm up. No matter what race or nationality, a child is a child. Seeing their eyes light up at Saint Nikolaus in spite of the daily horrors and devastation could break even the mightiest Rock. To their credit, Four Eyes and Ice Cream kept their mouths shut but smiled and laughed along with everyone else. They even kept their grins to a minimum when Frank had a bouncing kid on each knee as they giggled through a mouthful of candy.
It didn’t end there though. After every child had their gifts, they were led to the tavern where they joined in the toasting, food and libations of the goodwill of the Germans. Once again, the warmth and cheer of the small tavern seemed to shield everyone inside just briefly from the cold outside and the world gone crazy. Just for that one night, peace on earth extended just to the four walls but it was enough.
They left when they could and made their way back out to the car, glad to be going but strangely sad to be leaving the celebration.
“<A moment more, Captain?>” Fuchs had followed them outside.
“<I really must be…>” Rock started before the young pilot interrupted him.
“Just thank your driver for the excellent bourbon,” he replied in fluent English. “We never get it here.”
Rock and his men started but Fuch’s raised his hands placatingly.
“Frohe Weihnachten, ‘Captain’ … and thank you. I never would have been able to make it tonight if you hadn’t helped.” He snapped a salute.
“Merry Christmas, Mister Fuchs,” Rock extended his hand and shook on it.
They drove off with their new friend waving to them in the rear view mirror.
“Never thought I’d have Christmas in Germany,” Four Eyes mused.
“Yeah, what’re we gonna do on the twenty-fifth for our Christmas, Rock?” Ice Cream said.
“I don’t know about you two dogfaces, but I’m plannin’ on doin’ a lot of hopin’.”
THE END