Bombers Moon

Louis arrives in Berlin on a rainy day, and the view from the porthole transitions from gray clouds to equally gray fog.The huge transport plane taxied on the runway, slowly slowed down and stopped, and the engine quieted down.It was April 1946, 4, and a cold, rainy spring ruled Germany and northern France.

Loiseau met him on the tarmac, holding a tent-like black umbrella.When they walked into the headquarters, the hems of their trench coats were already wet from the rain.Louie was introduced to a dozen or so pilots, and there were two Spitfire squads here in Berlin, and Louie would be their commander.

"Are the Americans sharing the airfield with us, too?" he asked, watching a row of Mustang fighter jets in the rain.

"Unfortunately, we share more than the airport."

He went on to visit the commander of the U.S. Air Force in Berlin, a gray-haired, middle-aged man who laughed before he spoke, said "Right?" It gave them a lot to talk about.Later, when the two got to know each other better, Louis tentatively asked at a lunch meeting if he could find out information about American prisoners of war.

"A friend of mine named Charles Sinclair went missing in Germany on 'Black Thursday'."

"Isn't he on the POW list?"

"No. But you also understand that these lists are not entirely accurate. Maybe he escaped, or was not caught."

"Or they were thrown into a refugee camp instead of a prisoner-of-war camp. In this case, they are basically impossible to find. The Germans don't keep such detailed records, and refugees cannot be exchanged for ransom."

"I understand." Louis forced himself to smile, "Just ask."

"I'll keep an eye out for you, but don't get your hopes up, we haven't figured out what the fuckin' camps are all about."

This was their first and last conversation about the prisoners of war, and nothing came of it. At the beginning of 1947, when the Cold War was getting colder and colder, the gray-haired commander was transferred and returned to the mainland.The new Yankee was younger, with a commanding arrogance, as if all Europe owed him.Georges Loiseau and he disliked each other, and Louis feared that the two would one day draw their guns and knock off each other's heads.

Louie rarely left the air force base.There's not much to see outside either, and Berlin hasn't recovered from being nearly flattened by bombing two years ago.The rubble was still there, and weeds had grown from the sun and rain.From the air, he could see the riddled city more intuitively. After escorting the transport plane back, Louis would occasionally circle in the air a little longer, overlooking the gray ruins.Of course, you can't go too far, otherwise the Soviet fighters will take off nervously and trigger diplomatic incidents at any time.

No one was really surprised when the Soviets cut off the railway to Berlin in late March 1948.The Americans have been confronting them in Berlin for a long time, and the temporary calm is like a layer of ice hanging above boiling water, and it will not last long.More transport planes have been diverted from mainland Britain to West Germany in preparation for the worst. On March 3, Louis sent a telegram to his parents, telling them not to worry, the Soviets only asked for identification, and American and British freight trains could still enter Berlin.

By June, the worst has come.

Railway transportation was interrupted across the board, and roads were cut off by Soviet checkpoints.The Americans had to use a large number of transport planes to drop supplies and hoard food and ammunition. In case the Soviets suddenly attacked, the troops staying in Berlin could still handle it.Louie and the Spitfire set off daily, escorting transport planes in and out of Berlin.The Soviet fighter planes became aggressive and even flew with them not far or near, as if they were going to shoot them down at any time.It was like the summer of 1940, when Louie would wake up in the middle of the night and mistakenly thought he heard the screech of an air-raid siren.The airfield they were on was nothing to Soviet bombers, and a few well-placed high-explosive bombs could roast them all.

Airlifts quickly expanded to drop food and household items to civilians.Almost every transport plane was operating at full capacity. Louis took off early in the morning, came back at noon to refuel, and flew again immediately.I always came back exhausted in the evening, and dinners on base offered little solace, since rationing often left tinned meat and tasteless mashed potatoes on my plate.After dinner he had to fly again, escorting the last transport plane out of Berlin for the day.

"Captain Linden?"

Louie paused in the hallway, impatient, and if anyone else wanted him to sign some stupid document, they'd better shut up and wait two hours.He was stopped by a young British pilot with straw hair and pointed canine teeth. "The new transport captain wants to see you, sir."

"I've seen him."

"Not our transport plane, sir, the Americans, they want to talk to you about shift scheduling."

"Wait when I get back."

"I thought you'd really like to see me." A voice cut in.

Louis turned his head away, froze.He didn't know what his expression was at the moment, but it must have looked scary, because the young subordinate asked him several times, "Are you all right, sir?"

"I'm sure he's fine," Chuck replied, rolling his eyes. "It's all right here, thank you, Sergeant Hardy."

"Yes, Ensign Sinclair."

Louie didn't even notice that the sergeant walked away, staring blankly at his ghost.Chuck had lost weight, and the stubble on his chin hadn't been shaved, either out of time or on purpose.The hair is no longer shaved, but has returned to a soft curve that falls on the forehead and ears.The scar at the corner of the eye was still as Louis remembered it.He held out his hand, but hesitated to touch Chuck.Chuck took a step closer and wrapped Louie's hand in his palm.

"I think about what I should say first. How about 'hello'?"

Louie wanted to laugh, but couldn't make a sound.Chuck pulled him into the corner under the stairs, touched his cheek, and slid his thumb over the corner of his eye to wipe away his tears.

"Charles." Louie said the first word hoarsely.

"it's me."

"You should be dead."

"You always talk so romantic." Chuck stroked his stubble. "After the smugglers sold me and my uncle to the Wehrmacht, I thought so too. I almost died in Dresden, with a fever all the time, because the wound was infected, and you I know how troublesome it is. They were going to drag me to the Eastern Front to dig trenches, but at this time the Allies landed like crazy-I only found out about this last year, can you imagine? There is no wind in the POW camp , but fewer and fewer guards were transferred to Berlin. After I escaped, I went to France and walked on two legs. I stayed in Le Havre for two weeks and returned to the United States on a destroyer. .By the way, I must tell you about raw eggs."

Louis blinked, completely unable to comprehend the endless narrative. "What?"

Chuck laughed, pushed him further down the stairs into the shadows, and kissed him.Louis gasped slightly, grabbed his collar, and pulled him closer.A piercing bell rang, calling the pilot to take position.They parted breathlessly, Chuck pressing his forehead so their noses touched.

"Still flying the flame?"

"of course."

"The Mustang is the best fighter."

"You've flown a Spitfire yourself, and you should know which is best."

Chuck chuckled, "Remember to take care of me and my transport fleet, sir."

"I will."

"Can I see you tonight? Tell you all the stories?"

"Come in through the front door, don't climb the window."

The second time the bell rang, they were already late. "You go first, sir." Chuck bowed his head and pecked Louis' lips, helping him straighten his tie.The two went out side by side and ran to their respective planes.In the temporarily free sky of Berlin, the setting sun was about to burn out, and the twilight showed the pale shadow of the rising moon, a huge, bomber moon.

End of the full text.