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The bald old German ignored Pitt’s remark. His
face remained serious. “The end for Kurt, when it came, was from a cunning British trick. They studied his tactics closely and soon learned that be had a weakness for attacking and destroying their observation balloons. A battle weary balloon was overhauled and the observer's basket was filled with high explosives and a uniformed dummy stuffed with weeds. A detonating wire ran to the ground and the British then sat and waited for Kurt to make an appearance.” Von Till sat down in a deeply pillowed sofa. He looked up at the ceiling, but he didn’t see It. His mind looked, instead, into a sky that existed in 1918. “They did not have to waft long.
Only one day later, Kurt flew over the allied lines and saw the balloon swinging slowly in the offshore breeze.
He no doubt wondered why there was no ground fire. And the observer, leaning on the basket’s railing, looked to be asleep, for he made no attempt to leap out and parachute to safety before Kurt’s guns turned the hydrogen filled bag into a cloud of fire.”
“He had no idea it was a trap?’ asked Pitt.
“No,” von Till replied. “The balloon was there and it represented the enemy. Almost automatically, Kurt dove to the attack. He closed with the balloon and his Spandan machine guns began raking the thin skinned gas bag. Suddenly the balloon erupted in a thunderous explosion that covered the entire area in fire and smoke. The British had detonated the explosives.”
“Heibert crashed over the allied lines?” Pitt queried in thoughtful speculation.
“Kurt did not crash after the explosion,” von Till answered, shaking his mind back to the present again. “His Albatros burst through the inferno, but the gallant plane that carried him faithfully through so many air battles was badly shattered, and he was seriously wounded. With its fabric wings torn and tattered, its control surfaces blown off and a bloody pilot in the cockpit, the plane staggered over the Macedonian coastline and disappeared out to sea. The Hawk of Macedonia and his legendary yellow Albatros were never seen again.”
“At least not until yesterday.” Pitt took a deep breath and waited for an obvious reaction.
Von Till’s eyelids widened on his otherwise expressionless face and be said nothing. He seemed to be weighing Pitt’s words.
Pitt immediately came back to the original subject.
“Did you and Heibert often fly together?”
“Yes, we flew patrol together many times. We even used to take up a two seater Rumpler bomber and drop incendiary bombs on the British Aerodrome which was located right here on Thasos. Kurt would fly while I acted as observer and bombardier.”
“Where was your squadron based?”
“Kurt and I were posted to Jasta 73. We flew out of the Xanthi aerodrome in Macedonia.”
Pitt lit a cigarette. Then he looked at von Till’s old, but erect figure. “Thank you for a very concise and detailed account of Heibert’s death. You omitted nothing.”
“Kurt was a very dear friend,” von Till said wistfully. “I do not forget such things easily. I can even recall the exact date and time. It happened at 9:00 P.M. on July 15,1918.” “It seems strange that no one else knew the full story,” Pitt murmured, his eyes cold and steady with purpose. “The archives in Berlin and the British Air Museum in London have no information concerning the death of Heibert. All the books I’ve studied on the subject list him as missing in a mysterious situation similar to the other great aces, such as Albert Ball and Georges Guynemer.”
“Good God,” snapped von Till, exaspe
rated. “The German archives lack the facts because the Imperial High Command never gave a damn about the war in Macedonia. And the British would never dare publish one word about such an unchivalrous deed. Besides, Kurt’s plane was still in the air when they saw it last. The British could only assume their insidious plan was successful.
“No trace of man or plane was ever found?”
“Nothing. Heibert’s brother searched for him after the war, but Kurt’s final resting place remains a mystery.”
“Was the brother also a flyer?”
“No. I met him on several occasions prior to the Second World War. He was a fleet officer in the German navy.”
Pitt fell silent Von Till’s story was too damn pat, he thought He had the strange feeling that he was being used, like a wooden decoy on a flight of geese. A faint ominous tingling stirred inside him. He heard a tapping
of high heels on the floor and without turning knew that
Teri had entered the room.
“Hello everybody.” Her voice was light and cheer.
Pitt swung around and faced her. She was wearing a mini-dress, designed like a Roman toga, that swirled about her slender legs. He liked the color—a golden orange that complemented her ebony hair. She looked at Pitt, her eyes immediately drawn to his uniform. Her face paled slightly, and she raised a hand to her mouth in the same gesture he had noticed on the beach. Then she smiled thinly and approached, radiating a beautiful and sexy warmth.
“Good evening gorgeous creature,” Pitt said lightly, taking her outstretched hand and kissing it.
Teri flushed, then looked up at his grinning face. “I was going to thank you for coming,” she said. “But now that I’ve seen through the naughty little trick You’ve played on me, I’ve a good notion to toss you out on your bloody. .
