Churchill's Ace (Epic War Series Book 1) (16 page)

“I promise.”

“And that you will—”

“Yes, I will restore the family’s name...or die trying.”

“It’s better that you don’t die, I couldn’t bear it.”

“I won’t.”

With the House of Commons in session the very next day, the back biting and blaming came into full view. Suddenly, everyone claimed that they all along were on the right side of the equation. One House member after another stood and spoke their piece, as if what they had to say was of supreme importance.

What the House of Commons was waiting for, was for Winston Churchill to comment on the state of affairs, and his thoughts on what should and must be done. Winston sat with little emotion on his face as the session moved on.

When he did rise to his feet, the chamber became quiet. It was obvious that Churchill had a larger following now, after being proved correct in his predictions of Adolf Hitler’s ambitions. “Honored members of this house. The events of the past week, coupled with the devious escapades here before detailed in this chamber, finally shine a light so bright, so illuminating that a blind man can see them for what they are.

“Outright naked aggression by Herr Hitler and his Nazi cohorts, that has morphed into open conflict and now a war between Germany and the British Empire. Many will sit back on their soft cushions and ponder what has led to this terrible state of affairs that threaten our very survival. That is the wrong line of reasoning, for it is no secret to Hitler or our Allies such as France, that we are wholly unprepared for the daunting task in front of us.”

The House of Commons stirred at the remark that England wasn’t ready for war with Germany. It seemed to Winston that the fact wasn’t ready to be faced by every member in the chamber. A member spoke up. “If we are inadequate at this date, why poke the Nazi tiger in the eye? Let it sleep!”

Winston scoffed, “Is that to be taken at face value and with any serious contemplation? Tell me, honored sir, if that is the case, or can we assume you have taken leave of your senses at this late hour.”

“Honored member, I only speak from the heart. Just today before I entered these hallowed chambers, Adolf Hitler, the Chancellor of Germany spoke about you in a radio broadcast. He said, and I quote, “Winston Churchill is a warmonger, who has seen better days.”

Winston smiled, “Indeed, I have seen better days. But haven’t we all. Because my body is now thick in these later years, doesn’t mean my good senses have shrunk. No, I say it is quite the opposite.”

Another member said, “Then what is to be done if we are not ready for the coming conflict?”

Winston slowly turned his head as to get the attention of the entire chamber. “Dear sir and house members, the conflict is already upon us. We must get out of this Nazi wake and chart our course. We must put all effort and purpose into building planes, ships, tanks and then train the men who must use those instruments to crush the Nazi tyranny.

“Our very existence depends on that premise. Sirs, what must be done is not complicated or subject to academic debate. No, it is much more difficult than that. It will require brute strength and bravery on the part of our good and courageous people. As always, it is they who must be called upon to fight for the empire. God save the King!”

Applause slowly built from the bowels of the House of Commons and some of the members stood up and cheered Winston Churchill. That was something Winston hadn’t seen in a long time...a very long time.

Barely two weeks after returning from their shortened leave because of the onset of war with Poland and the West, the cadets were lined up on the parade grounds. They wore finely trimmed Luftwaffe cadet uniforms. Bright brass buttons ran down their chests in two rows, and polished black boots pointed straight ahead toward the podium.

The newly appointed Kommandant, General Harig addressed the newly christened pilots. “Men, your work is done here. I do apologize for the abbreviated service for the presentation of your wings, and the fact that your families can’t join us, but we are at war. I’m happy to report that the Luftwaffe has swept the Polish Air Force out of the sky, and the conflict in Poland is almost at an end.”

Hans whispered to Wolf, “Does Poland even have an air force?”

“Quiet.”

General Harig went on. “Therefore, none of you will be sent to Poland. But you are to report to your assigned units to finish your specific training. Those of you assigned to the JAG 23 will be forming a new fighter squadron. I’m pleased to tell you, that you will be flying the newest variant of our Me 109 fighter. It is the best combat plane in the world, so you have no excuse…” The cadets laughed. “Now some of you will be assigned to the bomber units. That is also an important duty. Fly straight and bomb even better. The rest... well the rest if there are any here, which I hope isn’t the case, will be assigned to fly transports.”

There was a groan from the cadets. Hans shrugged and looked the ground. “Please, not me.”

Wolf saw that Zigfried and Wilhelm were looking at Hans and him. Wolf raised his voice, “Nazi bastard.”

Hans lowered his voice, “Not so loud. But we’ll never see his ass again. Thank God for that.”

General Harig said, “That is an important duty, especially if you’re hauling petrol and condoms for the front line troops. Try not to crash, or else the Wehrmacht will be out of fuel, but laden with syphilis!” There was a tremendous cheer by the cadets.

Hans whispered to Wolf. “He’s a general?”

General Harig egged them on. “Tomorrow you leave; tonight is to celebrate your wings!”

Hans looked at Wolf. “Welcome to the Luftwaffe.”

The cadets who were now Luftwaffe pilots milled around the parade grounds and then hustled over to the announcement board outside the Kommandant’s office when the cadet postings were revealed. Wolf hung back as the throng of cadets pushed forward to see which branch of the Luftwaffe they had been assigned to.

Wilhelm shoved the others out of the way and made his way to the board. He nodded and went back to Zigfried, who was coolly waiting at the foot of the steps to the Kommandant’s office. He said loudly so everyone could hear, “JAG 23, fighter pilots both of us!”

A look of immense pride came across Zigfried’s face. He turned to Hans, who was next to him and said, “Go get your transport duty.”

Hans didn’t say anything, and he went up the stairs. He only got halfway when a cadet at the bulletin board said, “Hans, you and Wolf are fighter pilots. JAG 23 congratulations, you bunch of brown noses!”

Hans stood up straight and walked down the steps. He approached Wolf and saluted, “Hans Meyer your wingman, reporting for duty.”

Wolf smiled and saluted. “Good to have you.”

“Now can we get drunk? Hans and Wolf laughed as the walked away. Hans said to Zigfried and Wilhelm, “Men, see you there. Try to stay out of our contrail. We’re going to be flying fast... very fast.”

Zigfried replied, “Hopefully into the ground.”

It was after midnight the next day when Zigfried arrived at the Frankfurt Institute for Hereditary Biology and Race Hygiene. Doctor Bockler had informed Zigfried that he would be busy performing special experiments throughout the night. The start of the war had demanded that his critical work on identical twins be put aside for awhile.

Instead, the higher ups in Nazi regime and the Luftwaffe were concerned about pilot survival in cold weather. That was known as Directive 219, a list of experiments and solutions for pilot survival in freezing conditions. So that work, if you could call it that, took top priority. Zigfried was congratulated as he passed the main checkpoint into the medical facility. A guard saluted him, “Sir.”

Zigfried smiled, “It’s me, Zigfried.”

“Sir, you are now a pilot. Go right in.”

Zigfried was led into the rear of the facility. He found his father Doctor Bockler, looking into a glass chamber. Inside the small cage like chamber was a Polish prisoner. The prisoner was naked and shivering. The chamber was a mini freezer used for various experiments. In this case, Doctor Bockler and his macabre staff were trying to determine how cold a temperature a pilot could withstand before he died. Freezing air was pumped into the chamber. The temperature steadily dropped minute by minute, and the Polish prisoner was slowly but surely freezing to death.

Doctor Bockler looked up and greeted his beloved son. “Ziggy my boy. You wear the wings of the Luftwaffe very well. Your mother would be so proud.” The Polish prisoner huddled into a ball, and his shivering increased.

“Father.”

“Come closer and take a look. This is my second test today, to see how long the subject, in this case, a useless Polish prisoner can survive in freezing temperatures. The first was fully clothed in the Luftwaffe’s experimental survival gear. He survived to under 20 degrees.” Doctor Bockler laughed, “He was fine, he wouldn’t die. We had to pull him out of the chamber and shoot him. I assure you he is dead now. How would it look to return a Polish prisoner to the Waffen SS.”

They both got a hearty laugh as the Polish prisoner hands dropped to his side. Zigfried smirked, “This one is nearly kaput.”

“Yes, this lower class subhuman Pole has been stripped clean. As you can see, he is close to death. He has reached critical mass, with his vital signs much quicker than the others. We won’t have to shoot him. But I’ll have to wait several hours for his organs to thaw out before I dissect his brain. His frontal lobe should give me interesting information on how the freezing has affected his tissue matter.”

“I do see the importance of you work.”

“Yes, yes. Everything must be done to ensure that pilots like yourself can survive in freezing conditions if that is necessary.” Doctor Bockler pointed at the Polish prisoner who rolled onto the floor of the chamber. “The goal is for our pilots to survive so they can fight another day and kill the enemy.”

“Is he dead?”

“Most assuredly. Now let me buy you dinner. This taxing work has a tendency to make me hungry, though remind me to skip dessert. I must keep myself in shape.”

“You look great father. A true credit to our Fuhrer and the Nazi Party!”

“Thank you, my boy. I would like nothing better than to perform these tests on an RAF pilot. They are somewhat close in heritage to us. And it is my theory that they can withstand a lower temperature than Polish subhumans. In fact, I know that is the case.”

“With my squadron coming online, You may not have to wait much longer.”

“That would be splendid my son.”

Captain Randolph Ashton’s bags were neatly stacked in the foyer of Harding Barrow. Randolph was in his RAF uniform and was about to open the door to leave. He thought better and walked down the hallway. He lightly tapped on Madeline’s door. Randolph entered and found Madeline in bed with the curtains drawn. She stirred, and he said, “It’s like a morgue in here.”

It was evident that Madeline had been crying. “Is that you Randolph?”

“James will be here shortly to take me to Biggin Hill, and then I’m off to France. You weren’t going to say goodbye?”

“I’m sorry, but as Winston would call it, the “black dog” has got me. I can’t shake it no matter how hard I try. I do miss Owen; I want you to know that. And I truly loved him.”

Randolph took hold of Madeline and gently shook her. “You have to try. Father is lost but Madeline, not you. Don’t you understand you’re the strong one of the family? You’ve always been the glue that has held everything together. That is even truer since mother flew the coop and took up with…”

Madeline sat up in bed. “His name is Harold Ickes, the theatre big shot. With so many actress floozies at his disposal, one has to wonder why he chose mother. It certainly wasn’t for her charming personality.”

Randolph smiled, “Perhaps she’s a fine cook.”

“I doubt very much that she knows the difference between a spoon and a ladle.”

“I’m not sure I do.”

Winston’s Rolls Royce beeped its horn outside the house on the gravel roundabout. “Off you go.”

Randolph asked, “Will you be all right?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No... no you don’t.”

Randolph leaned down and gave his sister a hug. She said, “You will write.”

“Every chance that I get.”

“That means never. Now take your leave and close the door behind you. I'd like to sulk a little bit longer.”

“Goodbye, my precious sister.”

“Do be safe.”

Randolph closed the door, and Madeline wondered why all the men in her life had either died or gone away to this new war. She fell asleep and dreamed of happier times.

* * *

James was kind enough to place Randolph’s luggage in the trunk of the Rolls Royce. He thanked him and opened the rear door to the Rolls Royce. It was only then that he saw Winston Churchill sitting quietly in the back of the car with a cigar in his mouth. “Sir Winston, this wasn’t necessary.”

“Nonsense. Every soldier deserves a proper send-off.” James closed the door, and the Rolls Royce pulled away. A curtain over a small window at the front of the estate was pulled back, and Winston saw the face of Lord Ashton. Winston nodded as the sedan kicked up the gravel on the driveway and left Harding Barrow.

“Do you think she harbors feelings for this Wolf Kruger?”

“I’m not sure that matters now. Captain Ashton, I could use an adjunct from the RAF to help me navigate the complexities of the coming air campaign. Your help would be most valuable.” Randolph squirmed in his seat, showing his displeasure.

“Sir Winston did Madeline put you up to this?”

“Most certainly not.”

“I see.”

“I could demand that you take the position.” Winston chomped down on the cigar as he watched the countryside roll by.

“But you won’t do that.”