Free On Wings of the Morning by Dan Verner Page B

finished their survey and repair and walked wearily back to the house. The women had supper ready, and they ate quietly. Otto went to his bedroom and picked up his Fortress book. He soon fell asleep, dreaming of being at the controls of the big bomber.
    ***
    A week later, Otto and Hans were painting the barn. A large black Ford sedan turned into the driveway. Otto recognized the occupants of the car first. It was the Smiths, the male relatives, all eight of them, and Otto didn’t think they had come to pay a social visit. He touched Hans on the arm, who straightened up from where he had been painting some of the lower boards.
    The Ford braked to a stop and the Smiths climbed out. John Smith, the patriarch of the family, strode over to Hans and Otto. He grew corn, and a couple of times in the past, Hans’ cows had gotten through the fence and eaten some of Smith’s corn.
    Smith stopped five feet short of where Hans stood. His sons crowded around behind him. They all had serious looks. Steve glared at Otto. Otto looked back at him, expressionless.
    “Listen, Kerchner, your damn cows have gotten into my corn again and eaten a bunch of it up! Here’s the bill! I expect you to pay—now!” He thrust a piece of paper at Hans.
    Hans walked over and took the piece of paper. “Otto,” he said quietly, “please go get my glasses from the table beside my chair.”
    Otto hesitated. “But, Papa, I don’t think—”
    Hans turned his head to him. “Please go get my glasses now.”
    Otto reluctantly went inside and ran back with Hans’ glasses. Hans put them on. He studied the hand-written figures on the paper and then started to chuckle.
    “What’s so funny, you Hun bastard?” Smith growled, taking another step forward.
    “I vas chust thinking,” Hans began, “that I want to know where you sell your corn. Because from these figures you’re getting about ten times the market value for it.”
    “Well, that’s what it’s worth.” He stuck out his chin.
    Hans reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty and handed it to Smith. “Here you go. You know, it’s funny that we inspected that fence last week and it was fine.”
    Smith folded the bill and put it in his front pocket. “Well, it’s broken now. You’d better keep your cows out of my corn or I will call the sheriff.” He stalked back to the car and waited for his brood to pile in. He jerked the car backward in a turn and then flew down the driveway.
    “Papa, why did you give in to them?” Otto said when they were gone. “You know they were making that up. They want to buy our farm and are trying to force us out.”
    “It is easy just to go along with them, especially when there are eight of them and only two of us. In the Army, if we were faced with a superior force, it was the better part of valor to retreat.”
    “This isn’t the Great War, Papa.”
    “It very well could be, Otto. Ve shall see.” He picked up the paint brush and continued applying the thick liquid to the boards.
    After lunch Otto and Hans went over to look at the fence line between their farm and the Smiths’. Halfway down, Hans picked up the ends of broken strands which created the gap where the cattle had gotten through. He looked at the ends carefully and grunted. “What is it, Papa?” Otto asked.
    “These ends have been cut,” observed Hans. “And I would suspect by our neighbors.”
    “What are you going to do about it?”
    “Nothing.”
    “Nothing?”
    “Nothing at all. For now, anyhow. Let’s go home. Tomorrow is another day.”
    They walked back through the deepening twilight. Otto saw the moon rising, looking large and orange as it sat near the horizon. It was beautiful.
     

Chapter 11
Nazis and Spies—March, 1939
    Otto took some of the money he earned at the airport and bought a shortwave radio. He ordered it from a catalogue and waited impatiently until the mailman brought it in late January. He asked Hans if he could run an antenna wire from the barn to