What is important is that the worker can say of the land in which he was born: It is my country, in which I can lead a free and happy life. It is important that in such a country the worker together with other workers exercise power, not the bourgeoisie that lives by exploiting the workers. The question of fatherland always was and is a class question. The worker’s fatherland cannot be a country where the last exploiting class on the planet lives, where the monopolists control the factories and slaughterhouses, the land, the army, the police, the courts, the press, radio, and television. The fatherland of the workers, farmers, and productive people is where he is free of exploitation and slavery, where the working people rule, united under the leadership of the working class and its revolutionary party. It is where the government serves the good of the people and the happiness of mankind. Only such a fatherland is worthy to be defended.
~ Heinz Hoffman,
The Meaning of Being a Soldier
Johann rubbed his eyes wearily in contemplating the maps he had laid out in front of him. The entire country was preparing itself for the worst and it seemed the Luftstreitkräfte might end up being on active duty far sooner than he thought. It was important to be ready.
There was a certain anticipation to the prospect of going up in the air into combat once more. The crackle of gunfire which could occasionally be heard from the Polish border had already given the airfield a sense of impending conflict in the preceding days. It left everyone on the base on-edge, a feeling those belonging to the new German air force had hoped to be free from with the revelation of their existence, only for events to leave Europe teetering on the edge of a cliff.
He liked to think Germany having an air force had made the fascists more apprehensive about an all-out attack, hence why the aggression had been limited to skirmishes so far, but there was a creeping fear that they were only waiting for certain stars to align. The sudden reappearance of the Crown Prince had felt like such a moment. His message over the airwaves to the German people, vaguely calling for them to stand in opposition to what he had claimed was a Bolshevik coup, could easily have been an activation order to the groups Hitler had spent the last few weeks warning everyone about. Chaotic figures similar to the strange creature he had witnessed in a Berlin cell. There had already been rumours of sabotage going on within Germany over the last few days, only adding to the tension on the base. There were former Reichswehr personnel amongst them after all.
His room onbase was still in the warm night all the same, Johann’s role as flight group leader was not quite as prestigious as the one he might have had within the Citizens Defence Council but this had been his goal ever since his days in the Ruhr Red Army and should Germany be thrown into the conflagration of another war he was glad to be at the front, in the air. He cast his eye dreamily to the science fiction novel lying on his bunk,
The Shape of Things To Come, before turning his eyes back to the maps of Polish targets that would be first to face the anger of the Luftstreitkräfte. It was hard not to think of his Polish counterparts doing the same to German targets at this moment, let alone the French and Italians. The French crew who had opposed him with so much defiant bravado over the skies of Russia, only to be sent to their deaths, came to mind. Perhaps friends of theirs were planning the same fate for him just now.
A blaring sound of alarm came from the base’s speaker system, calling on all stationed to assemble in the parade grounds at once. It was a means of collectively informing them all that something was wrong. Johann was disorientated from the noise after being taken out of his thoughts but he composed himself quickly. If this was it then there was no point in panicking. He casually threw on his staff jacket and walked out his quarters, the younger pilots under his care already filling the corridor, gossiping about what the alarm could mean whilst waiting for Johann to lead them out.
It was not an unpleasant night to be outside, the breeze from the Baltic sea broke up the humidity although those who had been forced to climb out of their beds shivered all the same. Perhaps some were struggling more than others to not look terrified. Johann remained blank faced; up in the air he was truly alone, there he could scream.
He drew his men to attention as their superior, Colonel Blaas, strode on to the parade ground. The base commander nodded with satisfaction before putting them at ease.
“Kamerdan, you may know that in these last few days our Fatherland has been the target of probing attacks across our borders. What you will likely not know is that less than an hour ago Polish troops began to march into East Prussia.”
Blaas let the news hang in the air, but there was no audible reaction from the well drilled pilots and ground crew. Johann tried to count in his head how many among them he knew were from East Prussia, and how many had family there.
“Our comrades on the border are resisting but have been forced to fall back. It seems the Poles have had help, either from infiltrators, or from traitors, to help them find weaknesses in our line. Plan Kolberg is now in effect. We must clear our runways at once and prepare for attack.”
With that the orders of mobilisation were barked out, there was no time, no place for any words of comfort. Johann and his men moved to change into their flight suits even whilst the runway was cleared for their expected arrivals.
The gossip was more alarmed now,
“It’s the middle of the night!”
“Oh no, did the Defence Council forget to consult you again?”
The back and forth between his men made Johann consider that it would have been good to have been on Citizens Defence Council at this moment. It would have been good to know what was truly going on.
Kolberg was a dread phrase for it was the name given to the hypothetical worst case scenario. It meant that in short order Germany was expected to come under attack from three fronts simultaneously and as such the thinly spread forces of the People’s Guard were being gathered to defend the interior. It had been predicted that such an offensive might start with a diversionary attack in the Polish corridor and so the plan called for sacrificing East Prussia in the process of not being caught short elsewhere.
The Luftstreitkräfte’s immediate role in this was the evacuation of its East Prussian assets to bases inside Germany proper. Given the suddenness of the Polish attack, Stolp would be expected to bear the burden of this. At night of all things. Every light on the base slowly came on, punctuated by the loud clicking of the flak gun’s searchlights, illuminating them on the horizon and with luck, thousands of feet in the air.
They were sitting ducks, even as they helped to roll their new Heinkel He-50 fighters into the turf surrounding the base to help make extra room. It was a physically demanding task, even when not in a flight suit and amidst the strain it had been possible to miss the first droning noise from up above.
The searchlights jerked towards the place in the sky the noise was coming from and the assorted pilots stopped pushing and pulling for a moment to see the shapes illuminated in the dark, heading towards the base.
Johann recognised the familiar buzz and silhouette and realised he had been holding his breath. He exhaled as the He-16 came into land. The German upgrade to the Soviet Polikarpov he had flown against the French was the first to make it to safety it seemed, the pilot quickly exiting the aircraft before joining in with the efforts to make room.
More fighters landed, taking precedence due to their lack of flight time and ease with which they could be moved to make way for the bulkier transports and bombers. The searchlights focused on the larger planes now circling above, waiting their turn. The way they swung back and forth was an uncomfortable watch, making it easier to focus on the task at hand. One misstep out of the light and a collision could become inevitable.
The sight made Johann’s stomach turn. He couldn’t help but think of those in Berlin, going through the same focus. With not only their own lives on the line but those of the country as a whole.
He was glad he couldn’t see the nation going through similar motions.
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The painting is
Internationale Blatt II by Arno Rink
rarehistoricalphotos.com
