Churchill's Ace (Epic War Series Book 1) (26 page)

True, a downed pilot could have bailed over enemy territory and now was a POW. But there was no way to know if that was the case. At least not until the Red Cross were notified by the British, who they had in their prisoner of war stockade.

That could take months to find out, and in any case, that pilot was a total write off, as far as the Luftwaffe was concerned. Months of training was down the tubes, as the captured pilot was now playing checkers or sleeping his time away in captivity, instead of doing battle in the sky.

When the time had passed, the adjutant put down his binoculars. “Colonel, that’s all of them.”

Colonel Dunkel only said, “Go on.”

“Two planes were gone. One of those belongs to Captain Kruger.”

Colonel Dunkel nodded and quietly climbed down the platform. A half hour later Zigfried was in the Colonel’s office. It was just the two of them. “Be seated Captain Bockler.”

“Sir.”

“I understand you downed your fourth plane this morning.”

“Yes and I killed him. He won’t be flying against us anymore."

“No doubt”.

Zigfried sat there stone face, acting as if he had no idea what Colonel Dunkel wanted to talk to him about. “The raid was a success. We left our target at Biggin Hill in shambles. These English don’t have the stomach for war. What can you expect from peoples who are an amalgamation of the lower classes.”

Colonel Dunkel said, “Now—”

Zigfried continued to talk over Colonel Dunkel. “But I think America is worse. They have mixed the lower classes with the negroes. My father, Doctor Bockler, surely you have heard of him, has performed important work on the effects of mixing the races. I’m very proud of his work. It is because of patriots like him that we will be victorious.”

Finally, Colonel semi-slapped his hands on the top of his desk. A stack of papers became unsettled. “Captain... Please, that is most interesting. But I can assure you victory will only be ours if we clear England of the RAF. Frankly, that is all I care about. I know nothing of mixed races or the mating practices of porcupines.”

“Colonel I was only trying to enlighten you as to the position of the Nazi Party. You do support the Nazi Party?”

“Captain Bockler, I will dance a jig on this table if the Nazi Party brought me a fresh squadron of pilots to replace our losses, and a squadron of fighter planes, preferably Spitfires. As you must be aware Captain Kruger failed to come back from this morning’s raid. By the way did you see him go down?”

“No sir. I don’t know what happened to him.”

“Well, in any case, JAG 23 needs a new squadron leader. Since you are now the senior member the job is yours. I’d say congratulations, but under the circumstances with the loss of Wolf, it is better to hope for the best.”

“As you wish... sir.”

Colonel Dunkel opened a folder on his desk. “We are still close to full strength, but losing a leader with the qualities of Captain Kruger will be difficult. Captain, you have some big shoes to fill.”

“Perhaps that is so, but I will not be shot out of the sky like Captain Kruger.”

“Dismissed.”

* * *

By 9 p.m. the pilot’s lair was awash in champagne and French prostitutes. Every pilot and commissioned officer in the squadron was in attendance. The realization that two more pilots had been lost only made the ones who had found the runway more cantankerous. The fact that Wolf Kruger had been lost only added to the off color toasts and pilot’s appetite to pass around the French ladies of the night.

The non-commissioned Luftwaffe personnel spent the night drinking beer outside the pilot’s lair. The officer’s club was strictly off-limits to the grease monkeys and ground crews. That was perhaps odd, considering the unassailable point that the ground crew held the champagne drinking pilot’s life in their greasy hands.

That was forgotten for the moment, and the non-commissioned men outside the pilot’s lair had to be satisfied with their beer and lack of available loose women.

Zigfried sat in the rear of the officer’s club. He watched with disgust his fellow pilot’s drink champagne from the bottle with one hand while fondling a girl with the other. If it were up to him, the prostitutes would be taken outside and shot. But these pilots were like most men, weak and full of lusty desires that clouded their vision and perhaps their duty.

Hans drank by himself at a nearby table. He was distressed from the unbelievable. Wolf Kruger, the most confident and yes best pilot in the squadron and maybe the Luftwaffe, had bought the farm. Not only was that distressing, but it also meant that anyone could be shot down...especially him.

Hans barely acknowledged Zigfried, when he pulled up a chair at his table. Zigfried said, “Why do they insist carrying on like this?”

“Why don’t you ask them? Don’t forget to give the Sieg Heil, while you do it.” Hans poured himself another glass of champagne.

“Why don’t you get yourself a whore like the others?”

Hans picked up the champagne bottle and tossed it against the wall. “I’m a potato farmer. That’s right Zigfried, a potato farmer with a girl waiting for me at home. She’s never been more than 20 kilometers away from that farm. She’s a smart girl. Now, is this when you gloat about Wolf getting shot down? I warn you to be careful; I might take offense and take up where Wolf left off.”

Zigfried calmly said, “There is nothing that can be done for Wolf. Not now.”

“Do you think he’s dead? Oh, that’s right you don’t care, but you hope he is.”

“I will let all of that pass. You’re upset, and I can see why. You were his wingman and feel responsible. But it wasn’t your fault.”

Hans looked up and wasn’t sure if it was the champagne, but Zigfried was making sense. “I did what he told me to do. That’s my friggin job.”

“Hans, I now require your services as my new wingman.”

“What?”

“It’s no secret that you’re the best one in the squadron. With you by my side, we will avenge what has happened to Wolf.”

“You know that’s a bunch of crap. But I assume that is an order.”

“If it has to be, but I was hoping you would do it willingly. You may not like me, but I do offer you the best chance to live and see your fiance again. What was her name?”

“Helga.”

“Yes, a fine and pure name.”

Hans finished his drink and said, “One thing.”

“What.”

“Did you have Wolf’s parents killed?”

Zigfried deflected the question with ease. “I will not honor that with an answer. Where did you dream up such fantasies?”

“Yes or no.”

“Of course not... but I understand they weren’t loyal to the cause. That could lead to unpleasant consequences no matter where you live.”

The construction crews worked to get Biggin Hill operational, as soon as the Luftwaffe had done their damage. The hangar was unscathed, but the runway had massive bomb potholes scattered about in a random pattern. Smoke billowed for most of the day, as the RAF ground crews and accompanying civilians, first fixed the runways. Bomb craters were filled in. Then the rest of the night would be spent preparing the Spitfires for the next day’s struggle.

The general pilot quarters were a shambles from two direct hits, and two lorries were filled with tired pilots and taken over to Harding Barrow. Lieutenant Marsh saluted Captain Randolph as the “boys” were whisked away. “Don’t you worry Captain; we’ll have this place ship shape in time to get your buggers back in the air.”

Randolph said, “The men will get squared away and then off to bed.”

“Very well sir, you don’t want a sleepy-eyed pilot coming face to face with the Luftwaffe.”

“Carry on.”

“Sir.”

The lorries were greeted at Harding Barrow by Madeline and a hastily assembled RAF support staff. 24 pilots from Biggin Hill came through the front door and were fed a hot meal and assigned rooms. Some found their way to the veranda and relaxed with a round of drinks. Soon the noise grew louder and more boisterous. Madeline watched Randolph and the other pilots from the dining room and couldn’t help but think how the Harding Barrow had suddenly come back to life.

The circumstances may have been more than unusual, but all the same, the house was filled with laughter and perhaps a bit of senseless banter. Madeline paused as her father slowly made his way onto the veranda. Randolph brought Lord Ashton into the middle of the pilots and said, “Gentlemen this is my father. Lord Ashton was an ace with the RAF in the Great War.”

A cheer went up and the pilot’s prepared to toast him. He was given a glass full of brandy. They hoisted their glasses and drank. Lord Ashton put his glass on the table, without taking a sip. Randolph looked thru the window and nodded to Madeline.

The pilots sat back and watched the moon as it slowly rose on the horizon. One of them asked, “Lord Ashton, what can you tell us about the mindset of the German pilot?”

“Yes, well it has been over 20 years since I have done battle with the Hun. But that doesn’t matter. It comes down to shooting him down before he gets you. But yes, I do have some thoughts on the subject.”

Randolph was summoned inside to take a phone call. He looked stunned and then put down the phone. Madeline became concerned, “What is it?”

“I don’t know how to say this. Wolf was shot down today.”

Madeline stood there dumbfounded. So it finally has happened. “And?”

“He’s alive.”

Madeline said, “That’s good. I suppose... isn’t it?”

“From what I’ve been told, he was shot down by one of his men. A fanatical Nazi.”

Then that doesn’t count... does it? “Where is he?”

“With Winston at 10 Downing Street.”

“He’s here!”

“You know Winston, unconventional and all that. James is on his way to fetch you.”

“But why in the world is he doing that?”

Randolph kissed Madeline. “Please don’t be so daft.”

Wolf languished upstairs in the corner room of the Prime Minister’s residence. He was still trying to make sense of his world that had been turned upside down. Below him, the streets of London were still quite active.

However, as he looked closer, he saw sandbags stacked up and down the street, by the entrances to various government buildings.
The British are preparing for a long war. More planes will be shot down and pilots lost on both sides. And for what? Why did Hitler and the Nazis start this war?

And what about his fate? Wolf’s parents were dead, and he had been purposely shot down by Zigfried, who was most likely beside himself that his nemesis had been killed. He worried about Hans, who had become like a brother to him. His friend was a competent fighter pilot, but that wouldn’t be good enough. Wolf knew he would be shot down...it was only a matter of time.

Wolf wanted to crawl out of his skin when he thought of Zigfried. The bastard was next in line to command JAG 23. That was Wolf’s squadron. Now the card carrying Nazi would do whatever it took to become an ace. There was no doubt in Wolf’s mind that would be accomplished. Zigfried was an excellent pilot. And Wolf had misjudged Zigfried Bockler... and badly.

What kind of a man would shoot down a fellow pilot? What else were these Nazis capable of? Are they crazy? No
. Wolf sat on the edge of the bed and it hit him all at once.
They’re not crazy. They’re evil. More than anyone can imagine and capable of anything.

Hans and the others stayed clear of Zigfried, Why? Because they were afraid of him, and the Nazis. Was that any way to live? The country is lost. Still I have a duty to Germany... but what is that now?

Wolf opened the window and looked down. Was it time to take hold of the drain pipe that was within reach of the window and climb down and disappear into the night? Where would he go? If nothing were done, Winston would have no choice but to send him off to Canada with the growing list of captured Luftwaffe pilots.

First, Wolf needed to get out of his uniform and into civilian clothes. And then there was the problem of his wounded shoulder. It needed further attention. Wolf opened the closet door in the room. He went through the clothes that were hanging on a closet rod.

Wolf went so far as to put on a jacket that he found. It was two sizes too big and looked to be something a “man of privilege” would wear to the theatre. Wolf decided that he wasn’t a man of privilege, just a fighter pilot without a plane. The door to the room opened. It was Madeline.

She looked as beautiful as ever. Even though he hadn’t seen her in two years, it was as if Wolf had never gone away. When he looked at her, a sudden calmness came over him. She stepped into the room. “That jacket doesn’t fit.”

“I know.”

Madeline went over to the window and looked down. “You’re the brave one.”

“What.”

“Thinking of climbing down this rusty drainpipe. You’d take a tumble into the bushes. Mind you they aren’t herbaceous bushes, but they do look rather prickly.”

“I haven’t tripped since I last saw you.”

Madeline closed the window. “But you did get shot down. And by your side.”

“Who told you that?”

“It’s a well-known fact. I’m sorry. I mean that’s not very fair.”

“Thanks for your concern.”

Madeline sat on the bed next to Wolf. She was close to him now. She touched the wound and he winced. “Winston’s physician will be here shortly. From what James told me in the car, it’s always the same. The doctor tells Winston that he must improve his diet, exercise a bit, and tone down his drinking. In the end, Winston and the doctor, will share a bottle of scotch and reminisce about the Charge of the Light Brigade.”

“That sounds like him.”

Madeline touched Wolf’s hand. “Why did you save Randolph? Granted, you shot him down.”

“I’m not sure why.”

“And if they would have found out?”

Wolf smirked, “I don’t think they would have given me the award for becoming an ace. More than likely they would have shot me.”

“That’s gratitude. Thank you for helping my brother escape.” Madeline turned to Wolf and kissed him. It was more of a peck and then she looked straight ahead. They stood up. “Winston wants to see you, in his study of course.”