Like A Rose

ENGINE IDLE-Karl Christian von Kluge was a happy man. He was a blond, blue-eyed handsome youth of twenty whose features embodied his beloved Fuhrer's Aryan ideals. A former Hitler "Jugend" member, he was now a zealous party man and an ambitious "Leutnant" in Hermann Goering's Luftwaffe. He was proud to have been decorated personally by the Field Marshall after the Polish campaign.

He loved his life as a warrior. He loved to fly, and, most of all, he loved his JU87 Stuka fighter bomber and the things he could do with it. The Stuka was a relatively slow aircraft when compared to the whippet-fast fighters like the ME 109, but in its roles of dive bomber and ground support fighter, the Stuka was unsurpassed. It had proved itself in Spain,Poland,France and the low countries and was the spear point of the new "lightning war". "BLITZKRIEG!" The word leaped from his brain like a thunderbolt, and Karl knew that the very word alone brought terror to the enemies of the Fatherland.

Karl chuckled to himself as memories of the Polish campaign flooded his consciousness. He remembered his last mission there. As he performed a wing-over at several thousand feet, he pointed the nose of the Stuka downward in an almost vertical dive at a dusty road filled with retreating soldiers and civilians. The wind rushed past the fuselage and through the siren attached to the underside of the aircraft.The shrill, piercing scream it made caused the "untermenschen" below to scatter like ants from a stirred pile. At one thousand feet, he could almost see their subhuman faces recoil in fear as he released the two five hundred pound bombs and pulled the Stuka out of its steep dive. Looking back, he watched the explosions blossom like beautiful roses. This sight always excited him. He felt that he was an artist creating exquisite floral tableaus as he destroyed the enemy. He created many such displays in Poland, Belgium and France from September, 1939 through May and June of 1940.

ALOFT-Now it was early July. The Battle of France was over. The Wermacht had marched triumphantly down the Champs Elysees in Paris. Hitler had danced his little jig at Compeigne. Now England lay at the mercy of his mighty Luftwaffe. Goering had promised the Fuhrer that the RAF would be destroyed in thirty days so that "Operation Sea Lion", the planned invasion of England, could begin. Karl angrily thought that the arrogant Englanders should have surrendered. Their expeditionary army of four hundred thousand bedraggled men had been evacuated from Dunkirk, but almost all of their weapons and equipment had been left behind. "Wait a minute!" Karl thought. If they had surrendered, he wouldn't have the glorious opportunity to attack the RAF today.

Karl began to concentrate on the mission. His group's objective was the RAF fighter base at Southampton on the southeast coast of the island. He hoped that most of the Spitfires and Hurricanes would be caught on the ground, but if they came up the 109s would take care of them. Karl looked down and could see the whitecaps on the English Channel. Accompanying his flight of Stukas were the Heinkel medium bombers and the 109s flying cover above and below. Surely, the Englanders' meager number of fighters couldn't begin to staunch the flood of his invincible companions. It was only a matter of time before the Wermacht marched in a victory parade around London's Picadilly Circus and through Trafalger Square. Karl looked forward to visiting London. Perhaps he would try the fish and chips and some English frauleins.

ATTACKED: Suddenly, something above him caught his eye. His radio crackled: "Achtung! Bandits-Eleven o'clock high!" He squinted into the sunlight above and slightly to the left and saw eight Spitfires flying in two finger-four formations. He couldn't help but admire the beautiful fighters and the courage of their vastly outnumbered pilots. As they rolled to the attack and slashed down downward., he felt the rush of adrenaline pumping through his system. He pushed the stick forward and went to full throttle to get as low as possible while the 109s engaged the Spitfires.

Now he was over land and screaming downward. His mouth was dry, and he tried unsuccessfully to swallow. Fear raised its ugly head, clutching at his throat and chest, and he could hear and feel his heart pounding rapidly against the walls of his chest. When he pulled his beloved Stuka out of its dive and leveled off near treetop altitude, he reflected that this was the first time he had faced fighter opposition. Just when he as able to slow his rapid breathing, he felt something akin to rocks being thrown against his aircraft.

"Scheiss!," his brain shrieked. "Those aren't rocks.! I'm hit!" The Stuka shuddered violently as Karl fought to maintain control. The attacking Spitfire flashed by his aircraft, and the pilot grinned and gave him the thumbs up sign. Karl cursed aloud as the controls became mushy, and oil spattered against the windscreen in front of him. He knew the Spitfire was still out there like a shark circling for the kill. He thought about bailing out but knew he was too low to jump. He turned the nose of the Stuka upward and fought for altitude, but the attempt was futile. The next fusillade of machine gun bullets ripped through the Stuka, and he felt lightning bolts of pain in his right thigh and back. He became nauseated as the sickening warmth of his lifeblood gushed out of him. The Stuka nosed over again and began its final dive.

GARDENING- As the Stuka screamed downward and planted itself and Karl into the dark earth of the English countryside, a massive explosion blossomed heavenward----just like a rose blooming in the sun.