From San Paulo, which lies about 280 miles inland from Rio de Janeiro, we had good opportunities of carrying out long-distance soaring flights.
Though Brazil, with its vast, unpopulated plains and virgin forest was full of dangers for glider pilots who, like us, did not know the country, we soon found ourselves undertaking ambitious flights, thanks, largely, to the black vultures, or “Urubus,” as the natives called them.
These birds feed on carrion and in South America act as a kind of sanitary service. As soon as they see flesh that is beginning to decompose, they descend in dense, black swarms and consume it with unbelievable speed. About as large as a goose, they are revoltingly ugly, with their grey plumage and bare, featherless heads, but they are wonderful thermal gliders. We always searched round for them as soon as we took off, for we quickly discovered that wherever they were to be seen, hovering with motionless wings in the air, we too would be able to soar in our gliders.
The “Urubus” were easy to find, as they almost always appeared in groups of several hundred birds together. They never flew off at our approach or even bothered to make way for the plane and they often came so close to the cabin that one involuntarily drew one’s head in. So we would circle up, surrounded by the vultures, as high as the thermals would carry us, then, gliding down, head in our chosen direction, all the while keeping a look-out for the next cluster of birds so that we could work out way up again. In this manner, we found it possible to fly over wide stretches of lonely plain and forest, which we would never have been able to do without the aid of our reliable “pilots.”
Finding the Urubus so helpful, we conceived the idea of taking some back with us to Germany. What records would we not be able to achieve in the Rhön Soaring Contests, for example, if each of us had our own private Urubu! So at Bahia, on the return voyage, we took four of them on board, placing them in a large, open-air cage on the top deck and supplying them daily with large quantities of meat and fish.
So as to acclimatize them as gently as possible, we took them, on our arrival in Germany, to Darmstadt, which is well known for its mildness. Darmstadt was also the home of the Institute for Glider Research, of which Professor Georgii was the Director. The beasts were given a beautiful big cage and we continued to feed them with devotion and zeal, though, in the light of its effects, I would not presume to claim that the diet which we selected for them was by any means the most suitable for our purpose. We were bold enough to hope that, when we opened the door of their cage, they would take-off for a short demonstration of soaring flight and then return of their own accord to their dining-room, but when, after some three weeks, we finally did so, the birds with one accord refused to budge.
In vain we chivvied, enticed and cajoled, the Urubus stayed exactly where they were, hardly bothering, even, to take a single step, let alone to spread their wings. So we had no alternative but to take long poles and positively drive them out of their cage. But even then, they refused to fly, clambering, instead, like monkeys—only with considerably less skill—up the trunks of some nearby trees, there to settle themselves contentedly in the branches. We were powerless. We thought of taking them up in a plane, but then decided it would be useless, as they would probably crash to the ground. Apart from that, they pecked so fiercely at anything within reach, that in our small sports planes, which were the only ones available to us, we would have been exposing ourselves to considerable danger.
However, in due course one of the Urubus decided to become independent and walked to Heidelberg, where it was seen in the streets. It was even said to have been seen crossing the Rhine on the ferry, but the source of this information was unreliable and I cannot say if that detail is correct.
We gave the other three birds to the Frankfurt Zoo, where we all hoped they would begin a new and more useful chapter in their lives.
**
When the day arrived, Hitler invited me to take tea with him. It was served in the big room overlooking the countryside of Berchtesgaden where he usually held his tea-parties and the only other person present was his Luftwaffe Adjutant, Colonel von Below.
I did not hesitate to take this opportunity of putting forward our plan, but the conversation which developed as a consequence took a somewhat unexpected course. Hitler’s first reaction was to reject completely the idea of suicide missions. He did not consider the war situation sufficiently serious to warrant them and, in any case, believed that this was not the right psychological moment for the idea to be acceptable to public opinion. The decision as to when, and if, that moment did arrive, he reserved for himself.
Hitler expounded his views on the subject in a series of lengthy monologues, supporting his argument with numerous illustrations from the pages of history. These were certainly recounted in compelling and memorable phraseology, but on reflection I could see that, while superficially apposite, they were, in reality, irrelevant. I therefore ventured the remark that I felt the situation in which Germany now found herself was without historical precedent and could only be remedied by new and extraordinary methods.
My objection caused Hitler to continue his lecture on a somewhat different theme, and to expatiate on the use of jet-aircraft. Now I knew for a fact that, in Germany, jet propulsion was still only in the early stages of development and that many months would pass before jet-aircraft reached the production stage, and many months more before they became operational.
Hitler, I could see, was living in some remote and nebulous world of his own and the appalling implications of this discovery suddenly burst upon me. Forgetting for a moment the respect due to his position, I broke in on his reflections in mid-sentence and objected loudly: “Mein Führer, you are speaking of the grandchild of an embryo.” Hitler looked up with a start and stared at me questioningly.
I did not wait for him to break the painful silence which now ensued—I caught sight of his Adjutant’s face, glazed with horror—but went straight on to tell Hitler the facts, of which I was quite certain, that proved him to be under a misconception.
But I had quite destroyed Hitler’s good humour. Although he retained a conventional politeness, his face wore a disgruntled expression and his voice sounded peevish as he gave me to understand that I was not sufficiently informed of the situation to be able to form a correct appreciation.
The discussion on which I had pinned all my hopes now threatened to end in disaster, but too much was at stake for me to give up without trying once more to obtain Hitler’s agreement to our project. I returned to the subject of suicide-pilots and, reminding him of his statement at the start of the conversation, asked permission for us to start experimental work on the type of plane to be used so that when Hitler decided that the right moment had arrived to employ it, the suicide attacks could be started at once. Hitler then agreed to do so, with the proviso that we were not to worry him further during the development stage.
from: The Sky My Kingdom
Hanna Reitch’s memoir
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