A Higher Call: An Incredible True Story of Combat and Chivalry in the War-Torn Skies of World War II Read Online Free Page A
backward into a cabinet. Other laborers seized Franz and slammed him to the floor. One kicked Franz in the ribs. Another punched him in a kidney. Together they ground his face into the dust-covered floor.
“You have no idea!” Franz shouted, his cheek pinned to the tiles.
T HREE G ERMAN POLICE officers arrived and blew their whistles to part the mob. The laborers lifted their knees from Franz’s back. The police hauled Franz up to his feet. The officers were strong and well fed by their American overseers. Franz wanted to run but could not escape.
With tears in his eyes, the manager told the police that Franz had demanded work ahead of the others and refused to leave. The angry mob confirmed the manager’s story.
Franz denied the accusations, but he knew a losing battle when he saw one. He was going to jail. But he needed to get his papers back. Franz told the officer in charge that the manager held them.
The officer motioned for the other police to take Franz away.
“Wait! He still has my medical form!” Franz objected. The manager handed over the note. The officer uncrumpled the waiver and read it to the other policemen:“… head wound, sustained in aerial combat.” The officer pocketed both of Franz’s papers and announced, “You’re still coming with us!”
Franz knew there was no point in resisting. The officers dragged him past the line of workers and into the street. A rush of fearfulthoughts raced through Franz’s mind:
How will I ever find work with an arrest record? What will I tell my girlfriend and mother? How will I provide for them?
Exhausted from struggling against the mob, hurting from the beating, and overwhelmed with grief, Franz fell limp as the police hauled him away. The toes of his heavy black flying boots dragged against the rough, upturned stones where bombs had fallen.
----
* Franz would remember what he told the manager: “See, I have a hole here, and if you don’t keep quiet I can’t control what I’m going to do.”
2
FOLLOW THE EAGLES
NINETEEN YEARS EARLIER, SUMMER 1927, SOUTHERN GERMANY
T HE SMALL BOY sprinted through the open pasture, his feet in tiny brown shoes. He chased the soaring wooden glider as its pilot took off into the sky. The boy wore thick knit Bavarian kneesocks, green knickers, and a white shirt with short sleeves. He ran with arms outstretched. “Go! Go! Go!” he shouted as he waved the machine and its pilot onward. The glider resembled the skeleton of a dinosaur with a web of wires running within it. It flew one hundred feet above the pasture, and the sound of flapping fabric trailed in its wake. The boy followed the glider to the pasture’s edge and stopped when he could go no farther. He watched the contraption shrink into the distance over the rolling hills of Bavaria.
The glider soared with a whoosh over a farmer herding cows. An older boy flew the craft and sat in a wicker seat positioned over a ski that ran the glider’s length. There was no windshield or instrument panel and only straps across the young pilot’s shoulders secured himto the spartan craft. Minutes later, the pilot steered the machine in for a landing. He aimed for a worn white strip of grass in a green field where many landings had happened before. There, on a hill next to the landing strip, sat a short, wide shed where the youngsters and their adult advisors of the glider club were finishing a picnic. The small boy stood waiting at the shed. He held a short-brimmed tweed hat in his hands. The pilot coasted from one hundred feet to fifty feet to twenty-five feet and made a gentle three-bump landing. The pilot put his legs down to keep the glider from tipping over as the small boy ran up to the machine and darted under its wing. The boy was twelve-year-old Franz Stigler. The pilot was Franz’s sixteen-year-old brother, August.
Franz stood alongside the cockpit as August removed his white safety straps. August swung his legs to earth and carefully lowered
“You have no idea!” Franz shouted, his cheek pinned to the tiles.
T HREE G ERMAN POLICE officers arrived and blew their whistles to part the mob. The laborers lifted their knees from Franz’s back. The police hauled Franz up to his feet. The officers were strong and well fed by their American overseers. Franz wanted to run but could not escape.
With tears in his eyes, the manager told the police that Franz had demanded work ahead of the others and refused to leave. The angry mob confirmed the manager’s story.
Franz denied the accusations, but he knew a losing battle when he saw one. He was going to jail. But he needed to get his papers back. Franz told the officer in charge that the manager held them.
The officer motioned for the other police to take Franz away.
“Wait! He still has my medical form!” Franz objected. The manager handed over the note. The officer uncrumpled the waiver and read it to the other policemen:“… head wound, sustained in aerial combat.” The officer pocketed both of Franz’s papers and announced, “You’re still coming with us!”
Franz knew there was no point in resisting. The officers dragged him past the line of workers and into the street. A rush of fearfulthoughts raced through Franz’s mind:
How will I ever find work with an arrest record? What will I tell my girlfriend and mother? How will I provide for them?
Exhausted from struggling against the mob, hurting from the beating, and overwhelmed with grief, Franz fell limp as the police hauled him away. The toes of his heavy black flying boots dragged against the rough, upturned stones where bombs had fallen.
----
* Franz would remember what he told the manager: “See, I have a hole here, and if you don’t keep quiet I can’t control what I’m going to do.”
2
FOLLOW THE EAGLES
NINETEEN YEARS EARLIER, SUMMER 1927, SOUTHERN GERMANY
T HE SMALL BOY sprinted through the open pasture, his feet in tiny brown shoes. He chased the soaring wooden glider as its pilot took off into the sky. The boy wore thick knit Bavarian kneesocks, green knickers, and a white shirt with short sleeves. He ran with arms outstretched. “Go! Go! Go!” he shouted as he waved the machine and its pilot onward. The glider resembled the skeleton of a dinosaur with a web of wires running within it. It flew one hundred feet above the pasture, and the sound of flapping fabric trailed in its wake. The boy followed the glider to the pasture’s edge and stopped when he could go no farther. He watched the contraption shrink into the distance over the rolling hills of Bavaria.
The glider soared with a whoosh over a farmer herding cows. An older boy flew the craft and sat in a wicker seat positioned over a ski that ran the glider’s length. There was no windshield or instrument panel and only straps across the young pilot’s shoulders secured himto the spartan craft. Minutes later, the pilot steered the machine in for a landing. He aimed for a worn white strip of grass in a green field where many landings had happened before. There, on a hill next to the landing strip, sat a short, wide shed where the youngsters and their adult advisors of the glider club were finishing a picnic. The small boy stood waiting at the shed. He held a short-brimmed tweed hat in his hands. The pilot coasted from one hundred feet to fifty feet to twenty-five feet and made a gentle three-bump landing. The pilot put his legs down to keep the glider from tipping over as the small boy ran up to the machine and darted under its wing. The boy was twelve-year-old Franz Stigler. The pilot was Franz’s sixteen-year-old brother, August.
Franz stood alongside the cockpit as August removed his white safety straps. August swung his legs to earth and carefully lowered
Readers choose
Cindy Holby
Nancy Kelley
Rachel Shane
Lisa Cardiff
Unknown
Stewart Binns
Annabel Joseph
Richard A. Clarke