Churchill's Ace (Epic War Series Book 1) (12 page)

The snow seemed to turn dark, which was the herd of wild boars changing directions. They charged at the hunting blinds in a mad, uncontrollable headlong pursuit to escape the piercing lead from the guns, but they had no idea where or how to do it. Doctor Bockler and Zigfried fired as fast as they could. They shot wildly into the blowing snow, which was filled with the grunting of the beasts.

Himmler and his assistant blasted away as spent smoking cartridges fell at their feet. One boar and then another slammed against the Bockler’s hunting blind. Doctor Bockler was knocked over. Zigfried dropped his spent shotgun and blasted away with his Luger. A wild boar fell in front of the blind, as blood pooled on the snow from a wound to the animal’s head.

Himmler’s hunting blind shook as a snorting wild boar rammed into it. Himmler’s assistant screamed as he was gored by the tusk of the boar. In the confusion, Himmler calmly signaled to the soldiers who were in the military vehicle behind the blind. They commenced firing with machine gun pistols, and the boars were swept off their feet. They fired, at least, a hundred rounds and nothing could live facing that amount of firepower.

When the smoke and blowing snow cleared, Himmler’s assistant was carried to the limousine. Doctor Bockler and Zigfried ventured outside their hunting blind to look a the carnage. Some of the boars were in the midst of death throes. They shook and moaned on top of the snow. They seemed to be begging for mercy. They would receive none.

A German officer went from one wild boar to another and fired a shot into each of the wounded boar’s head. Soon the ground in front of the hunting blinds was silent.

Heinrich Himmler calmly walked among the boars, inspecting the carnage. He took off his rimmed glasses and wiped them clean with a handkerchief. He said, “My glasses seemed to have fogged up. That was rather entertaining.”

Dr. Bockler said, “Shall I look after your assistant?”

“He’ll be fine. What do you think of this boar?” Himmler pointed to a large boar in the middle of the carnage. “I think he’s the largest. But just as dead as the others.”

Dr. Bockler nodded, and Zigfried said, “A magnificent beast.”

“Yes... quite.” Heinrich Himmler turned to another soldier. “Put this one in the truck. As for the others... burn them.”

“Yes, sir.”

Zigfried said, “Burn them?”

“Is this your son Doctor Bockler?” asked Himmler.

“Yes, it is. Zigfried is a cadet at the Luftwaffe Flight School.”

“Yes. Zigfried, the boars have no value; the forest is filled with thousands of them. I understand there is some question as to the loyalties of the parents of a cadet at your flight school.”

“Yes.”

“Very well. Doctor Bockler, please ride in my car, and I will go with Zigfried and see what this matter is about.”

Himmler and Zigfried got into the limousine and it headed on its way back to Berlin. Himmler matter of factly said, “Make your case.”

“Sir, there is a cadet at flight school who is most abrasive, and he doesn't wear the Nazi armband.”

“That is no crime. Some serve the party; others are soldiers or airmen. The Third Reich needs both.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t be disappointed. What is the cadet’s name.”

“Kruger. Wolf Kruger.”

“Is Wolf Kruger a good pilot?” Zigfried hesitated. Himmler raised his voice. “Is he a good pilot? Is that such a hard question?”

“Yes, he is a good pilot.”

The limousine continued through the darkness of the Black Forest. Zigfried saw Himmler’s face flicker in the light as the car as gently shook from side to side. Himmler said. “And both parents teach at the university in Berlin.”

“Yes.”

“Do you know what they teach?”

“I looked into it myself. Political Science and Economics.”

Himmler scoffed, “Such useless disciplines. I’m sure they are on our list. And what about the son?”

“I doubt he will ever be a good Nazi.”

“There is time. But if you are jealous of him, I suggest you do something about it.”

“Like what, sir.”

“Out fly him.”

On September 30, 1938, Neville Chamberlain landed at the Heston Aerodrome, filled with pride and satisfaction. He had averted war with Hitler and Nazi Germany. The piece of paper Chamberlain clutched in his hand and which he held up to the throng of well-wishers at the airport was proof enough that there would be, “Peace for our time.”

The crowd broke into delirious applause. War had been averted. Mothers wouldn’t have to send their boys off to fight in some faraway battlefield that no one could pronounce. Cities wouldn’t be bombed, and the fallen wouldn’t come back in pine boxes. If only that was true...

Hitler had rattled his saber, demanding that the German Sudetenland region of Czechoslovakia have the right to self-determination. Hitler was no fool. The whole business of so-called Czechoslovakian atrocities to the German inhabitants was just a ruse by the Nazis to get their hands on the valuable prizes of the region.

That would include vast pockets of natural resources that the Nazi war machine eyed with pleasure. Soon, the Czechoslovakian Skoda Arms Factory would fall into Hitler’s lap. The complex was second only to Germany’s own Krupp’s military production factory.

But on this day, none of that mattered, as Neville Chamberlain was the toast of London, and indeed, later he would take a “Royal Curtain Call,” from the balcony at Buckingham Palace. For good measure, the jubilant scene was then played out in front of 10 Downing Street, the Prime Minister’s Residence.

It was as if all of England was at a party, celebrating until the wee hours of the morning. It was only after they had sobered up, did Neville Chamberlain realize what had happened. The hangover was still a year away, but that didn’t stop Winston Churchill from brooding over the fact that Czechoslovakia in no uncertain terms, had been sold down the river.

That night, Winston found himself awake even though it was well past midnight. He looked at the massive globe in his study and realized that the evils of the world were inexorably on the move. He poured himself a scotch and went out onto the veranda. The air was crisp, maybe even chilly. Soon he was joined by James his driver. Winston poured him a glass of scotch. “I see that the sandman has also kept you waiting.”

James nodded sadly. “A terrible day.” He took a drink and they looked out over the horizon.

“No one took notice. But I’m afraid that the next world war was born today. A whole country and one mind you that had treaties with the so-called great Western powers is turned over to Adolf Hitler. I’m sure he’s in an uncontrollable delirious rage. I understand he chews on the carpet when he loses his senses. Tonight he won’t be doing that, for he has won a great victory without firing a shot.”

“What was Mr. Chamberlain and the government’s reason for this treachery?”

Winston paused and gathered his thoughts. “Treachery... I don’t believe so. It stands more to reason that Neville is clutching to a fairy tale.”

“What will you tell him?”

“You were given the choice between war and dishonor. You chose dishonor, and now you will have war.”

James shook his head and grimaced from the leg wound he received during the World War I. “Then our sufferings from the Great War didn’t mean anything. I plead with you Sir Winston to tell me that isn’t so. I’m still haunted by so many faces of friends and comrades who would never live to see another peaceful night, such as this one.” Tears came to James’ eyes. “But I will fight when the time comes.”

Winston gently reminded James, “I don’t think dodging a German machine gun, with that leg of yours is in the cards. We will do our part in our own ways. I would be most grateful if you Colonel James Mallory of the Coldstream Guards, serves at my side. I’m not sure where that will be or even if we will live to tell the tale to those not yet born. But as I see it there, we have no choice in the matter. The die is cast.”

James smiled, “Julius Caesar. Appropriate for the situation we find ourselves in.”

“We don’t need fancy quotes or fine bottles of scotch. We desire planes, ships and men waiting to fight for what they believe in.” Winston looked down at the table and turned sullen. “But for tonight, we will have to settle for this bottle of scotch.”

The cadets fell into line as another morning of physical training was on the agenda. Hans stood next to Wolf and complained. “All we do is run. How’s that going to save me when the British get on my tail.”

Wolf shrugged, “Be quiet.”

Hans tried to loosen up his arms and legs. “Oh, I forgot; you’ll save me. You will won’t you? I’m your friend... right? I feel old.”

“You look bad, too.”

“Oh…”

The main gate to the flight school swung open, and a fancy Luftwaffe staff car rolled past the cadets. It kicked up dust, and the cadets choked on it. The shiny Luftwaffe car was in pristine condition. The sight of the staff car was normal as they came and went all day long. What was more than odd was the unmarked black sedan following behind it.

The cadets watched both cars stop next to the Kommandant’s Office. Two stiff looking men, wearing dark trench coats and matching hats got out of the black sedan. One of them took a second to stare down the cadets. The cadets became more than unsettled. Zigfried, however, smirked, “Well, well, well.”

Wilhelm, Zigfried’s big lackey said, “Things are going to change.”

Zigfried looked at Hans and Wolf. “Sooner than they think.”

A single Luftwaffe officer joined them at the top of the stairs. He adjusted the tie to his uniform and then he opened the door to the Kommandant's Office. The two men brushed by the Luftwaffe officer and went inside. The second man, however, stepped on the side of the Luftwaffe officer’s right shoe, as he walked by.

The Luftwaffe officer sighed and reached down to rub out the smudge on his shoe. He shook is head slightly and went into the office.

Down below on the field, Hans turned to Wolf. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know; you can bet it’s not good.”

Hans whispered to Wolf, “Who are the thugs is the black suits.”

Wolf and Hans looked at Zigfried who was just down the row. Zigfried had a smirk on his face as if to say. Watch and learn.

Wolf said to Hans, “You better be quiet.”

Han’s face turned sour. “I’ve had it with him. Why don’t you put your fist all the way thru his face this time?”

“You’re brave today.”

“Why not? You’re the one doing the punching. You know what a wingman does, don’t you.”

“No, what?”

“When the pilot he’s suppose to be covering buys the farm, the wingman goes to the pilot’s fiance and comforts her. One thing leads to another and before long, the wingman ends up with the girl. See how that works?”

“What if the pilot puts water in his wingman’s gas tank before they take off? Right into the Channel.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Bring you lifejacket.”

Lieutenant Dieter was at the front of the formation. He had quite enough of the disruptions. “Settle down unless you want to run until lunchtime. Gentlemen, that’s enough excitement for one day. Get moving!” The cadets fell into line and jogged out of the compound.

* * *

Inside the Kommandant’s Office, Major Otto Van Bruen was surprised by the early visitors. He took one look at the men in the black suits and knew they were part of the Gestapo. That didn’t sit well with him...not by any means. The Luftwaffe General he knew. It was Josef Korton a fast rising general in the Luftwaffe, who preferred tailored uniforms and sweet smelling perfume. General Korton fancied himself a lady’s man. Major Van Bruen was disgusted by men like General Korton.

No doubt General Korton had curried favor with Hermann Goering. Major Van Bruen wondered if General Korton got down on his knees and dusted Hermann Goering famous miniature train set collection that was in the attic of Goering’s house at Carinhall. He could only imagine what other favors General Korton afforded the rotund General.

Major Van Bruen saluted General Korton and ignored the Gestapo officials. Major Van Bruen said, “General Korton, who are your friends? I take it they aren’t here to give me a medal. But we could use another hand with the lavatory detail. Not that they are qualified.”

The Gestapo officers squirmed in their chairs. The older of the two reached into his coat pocket and put his hand on a Luger pistol. Easy old man.

General Korton said with phony earnest. “Major Van Bruen don’t make this any more unpleasant than it already is.”

The head Gestapo agent said, “You have been relieved of your duties at the flight academy, on orders of Hermann Goering. I suggest you gather your things; you’re coming with us.”

Major Van Bruen was more than indignant. “I won’t go.”

General Korton softly said, “Major the Luftwaffe applauds your service here, but this is now a matter for internal affairs.”

“What have I done?”

The Gestapo agent said, “There is some question of your loyalty to the Fuhrer.”

“Who has made this preposterous claim? Present him to me at once.”

The Gestapo agent gently tugged on the Luger. “Major, I must insist that you come with us.”

Major Van Bruen became more indignant. “And if I refuse?”

Now the Gestapo agent pulled the Luger out of his coat pocket so Major Van Bruen could look down its barrel. “Major... then I have orders to have you shot.”

General Korton tried to make light of the situation. “Come, come now Major, let’s leave the dramatics for the theatre.”

Major Van Bruen looked at General Kortin. “Have you ever flown a plane over enemy territory?”

“Of course not. I had other duties during the First World War.”

“And what was that, porking French women in the safety of the rear lines?”

“Enough Major you forget your place.”

“Do I? It’s the other way around you fool. I have led men into battle. Boys who fought and died for Germany. For Germany! I was shot down twice over France, but I flew until the end.” Major Van Bruen stood up. “I was credited with eight kills; what have any of you done? Nothing. The door…”