A Higher Call

by Adam Makos

Steinhoff embraced Roedel, his old friend from flying school, then hurried nearby to one of his unit’s fighters that had rolled to a halt. Bypassing the plane’s pilot, Steinhoff darted behind the wing and fiddled with the wireless radio hatch in the fuselage, where the black cross had been painted and the first aid kit was housed. He opened the hatch and leaned into the fighter’s storage compartment. Steinhoff reached, struggled, then pulled a man out of the plane—by his feet. The man hugged Steinhoff then fell to the ground and kissed the dirt. As the propellers of the other planes wound down to stillness, Steinhoff rushed to another fighter and popped the hatch, freeing a man inside while the plane’s pilot buried his face against his gun sight, exhausted. Steinhoff’s pilots had left their tools, bullets, and spare parts in Africa, but they had not abandoned their mechanics. Instead, the pilots had helped the mechanics crawl into the dark, claustrophobic confines of the fighters’ bellies. There they rode out a forty-five-minute flight from hell. No room to wiggle. No parachutes. No hope of escape.