LOCHNER’S COMMANDING OFFICER

HAUPTMANN OTTO POLZ  

LUFTWAFFE  -  AGE 32

 

EXCERPTS FROM CHAPTER FOUR

 

“I am beginning to lose my patience with you, Lochner,” Polz said. “You lack sufficient Nationalist Socialist zeal. The British are swarming overhead in numbers unseen till now, and yet you are unable to find even one.”

“Well, If you keep me stuck on the ground all the time—“

“Enough!”

Slim and athletic, with an aquiline nose, chiseled features and slickly pomaded dark hair, Polz liked to think of himself as the embodiment of the heroic Teuton. He might have been judged handsome, were it not for the reptilian, heavily lidded pale eyes.

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Polz curled his lip, pretending to search through Lochner’s file. “What is your score now, Lochner?”

“Four! You know very well I have four Abschusse.” 

“Hmmm. Not so good.”

Lochner wanted nothing more than to smack the imperious sneer off the Staffelkapitan’ face. It’d be almost worth the prison time. He said, “There are many crews with fewer than four.”

“They are beginners,” Polz scoffed dismissively. “But you are an able pilot, Lochner. In training you were graded outstanding, so one wonders why you’ve not done better. Perhaps in the circumstance you are a little, er, wary.” He picked a pencil off his desk, wagging it between two fingers, as if teasing a small child. “I understand you could never know if your target Kurier was from any particular enemy Squadron, your brother’s squadron, for example, but there is always that chance, isn’t there?” He paused, now pretending to doodle on the file in front of him. “Perhaps the English are not the best enemy for you. I think you might do better against the Russians—?“

“I’ll fight here!” Lochner snapped. “The British are killing our people and we need every night-fighter we have.”

Polz sat upright, feigning shock. “Quite right,” he said, smiling sardonically. “Well said, Lochner. Very well said indeed!”