Churchill's Ace (Epic War Series Book 1) (34 page)

Winston smirked and looked at Wolf, “Because how can Wolf turn down the chance to fly a jet.”

Wolf laughed, “It’s probably more fun than sailing your dinghy.”

“But I can guarantee you won’t be dragging a bottle of champagne behind it.”

Randolph deadpanned, “You do realize you both deserve each other.”

* * *

Wolf found Madeline waiting for him, as he opened the door to Winston’s spartan like office. Wolf pulled her close to him and kissed her. When they stopped Madeline said, “You’re going aren’t you.”

“Yes. I have too.”

“That’s not the case. You could have declined. Why didn’t Winston send Randolph? He’s a pilot and now an ace to boot. His German is a little rusty.”

“Rusty? He doesn’t speak a word.”

Madeline said, “He doesn’t have to speak. Just grunt and say ‘Sieg Heil.’ Now when does the goose-stepping come in?” Madeline thru her hair back and Wolf couldn’t help but to love her. There was just something that drew him to her. That was obvious to Wolf the first moment he laid eyes on her, so many years ago, when he was young and idealistic. Perhaps the world had roughed up his edges. But one thing hadn’t changed...he would move mountains for Madeline. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going.

“It doesn’t... not for professional pilots like myself. I’m an ace in both air forces; how spectacular is that?”

“Cheerio for you. Try not to get shot down. Whose side are you really on?”

“Yours.”

“That’s the ticket. You will come back.”

“I promise. One way or the other. Even if I have to swim.”

Madeline became emotional and fell back into Wolf’s arms. “It is dangerous...what you’re going to do.”

Wolf shook his head. “Less than dogfighting.”

“Winston wouldn’t put you in real danger. After all, you’re like a son to him.”

“A son?”

“Oh Wolf, isn’t obvious.”

“I never really thought about it.”

“I’m not surprised; your head was always in the clouds.”

Wolf looked into Madeline’s deep blue eyes. “I’m coming back. I’m coming back for you.”

Zigfried Bockler, the Luftwaffe’s newest ace was welcomed at the Rechlin facility with open arms. The Nazi ace was now a somebody in the political organization. The fact that his father, Doctor Bockler was considered a martyr for the cause didn’t hurt either.

Unlike cadet school which seemed like a long time ago, Zigfried was issued his quarters that were private and more than comfortable. He liked it that way. No longer would he have to put up with the other pilots, like the ones from JAG 23, whose idea of a good time was chasing whores, drinking themselves blind and puking outside the barracks before the sun came up.

As far as Zigfried was concerned, they were besmirching the uniform and not fit to join the elite political class. The new Germany would be built by those who had pure Aryan bloodlines, thoughts, and motives. This was the only way to cleanse the Third Reich of the malcontents as well as the Jews.

Soon, Zigfried came face to face with the miracle jets, the Me 262. The two sleek jets were parked side by side in the camouflaged hanger at Rechlin. They were a thing of beauty. The pair of jet engines on the plane were exceptionally long and hung midway under both wings. Zigfried’s polished boots clicked on the floor as he walked around the plane. The nose of the jet had six 20 mm and 30mm cannons mounted on it. A voice behind Zigfried said, “That’s a lot of firepower; don’t you agree Captain Bockler?”

It was Rudi Waltzer, the former head flight engineer for JAG 23. He reached up and put his hand on the nose of the Me 262. “Not like the Me 109, which had a single cannon out the front. This could change the war and put the RAF out of business.”

Zigfried smiled. Rudi was a nonpolitical type, but he was efficient, took his duty seriously and was an excellent flight mechanic. Perhaps that was why he was now here. Zigfried said, “I was sorry to see you leave JAG 23. And so you came here.”

“About the time Wolf Kruger was lost. You were on leave when I left. Orders are orders. But I know this thing inside and out. It was quite a shock, Wolf getting shot down. I would never have thought that was possible.”

“He wasn’t careful.”

“Did you see it?”

“No.”

“Some of the other pilots said you were the nearest to him when it happened. Was it a Spitfire or a Hurricane?”

Zigfried turned nasty, “I told you; I don’t know, and don’t ask me again.”

Rudi let it go and moved a ladder to the cockpit of the Me 262. “Since you’re going to be flying this bird, do you want to take a look?”

“Yes.” Zigfried climbed the ladder and made his way into the cockpit. It wasn’t all that different than the Me 109. “Looks straight forward.”

“What happened with Colonel Dunkel and the situation of the RAF pilot who escaped? You remember that?”

“It was embarrassing, but he never mentioned it the pilots.”

Rudi was surprised. He climbed the ladder until he was face to face with Zigfried. “That was a weird night. I was working on a Me 109 that was just off the runway. The place was empty except for the duty officer who was sleeping in the watch shack. Anyway, Wolf was flying to Frankfurt and then to Berlin to get his ace medal. He taxied that the piece of crap Storch plane to the far side of the runway.”

Zigfried was running out of patience. “So what.”

“He waited at the end of the runway for the longest time. And then when he took off, he banked, left not right.”

“What?”

“Wolf was heading for the enemy lines. I don’t know what he was doing.”

Zigfried said, “Yes, what was he doing?” Zigfried pointed to a pair of external fuel tanks that were in a cart next to the jet. “Are those for this plane?”

“Drop tanks. You’ll be testing those tomorrow. It will increase the range of the jet to over 1100 kilometers.”

“I see. Lieutenant Waltzer was it not your duty to report your suspicions about Wolf Kruger to Colonel Dunkel and if not him, then the Gestapo?”

“Gestapo?”

“You would do well to remember your allegiance to the Fuhrer and the Third Reich.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But since Wolf Kruger is dead, we will never know if he was a traitor...”

Dulwich Village was fast becoming a destination for wayward Luftwaffe pilots. The two upper floors resembled more of a fraternity than a prisoner of war dungeon. The food was great, cigarettes were plentiful and afternoon tea was served exactly at 4 p.m. The German pilots scratched their chins and looked around for something a little stronger than tea to tickle their taste buds.

Since Dulwich Village was bugged and monitored 24 hours a day by British Intelligence, schnapps was allowed to be smuggled in. Loose lips sink ships, was the British motto, and it was hoped that the ample stash of schnapps and later brandy would untie the tongues of the Luftwaffe’s finest.

It all became very interesting as the listening post for the British Intelligence was in the basement of the building. The three-man listening crew spiked their tea with the same liquor that the Germans were given. It made one wonder, that British Intelligence should have just thrown a huge party on the bottom floor, and invited the snoopers and the snoopees. Everyone would mingle, and by midnight in a drunken stupor, secrets would surely be revealed.

As it was, Wolf Kruger entered the RAF Annex, well past midnight. He was in his Luftwaffe flight uniform, and he took a bunk at the end of the room. Hans was on the same floor. It would have been too obvious for British intelligence to put Wolf next to Hans. So Wolf closed his eyes and went to sleep, knowing that in the morning he would once again see his friend.

Hans was up early. He had taken a liking to the coffee that was made on the first floor by the makeshift commissary. Hans sipped his coffee and carefully carried it back up the stairs. He thought how foolish his situation had become. It wasn’t that long ago that he was flying his Me 109 at over 335 mph, in pitched dogfights with the RAF. Now he was worried about spilling his coffee on his shirt sleeve.

The other pilots were still asleep. Many were snoring away without a care in the world. Hans laughed.
The vaunted Luftwaffe in all its glory. Maybe I should go back to sleep
. When Hans walked past the second cot, and he looked at who was in it.
Place is filling up fast
. He did a double take when he saw that it was Wolf who was sleeping away. “Wolf!” He poked at Wolf, who turned over in the cot. “Wolf, it’s you!”

Wolf turned over with groggy eyes. “Oh Hans, welcome to England and the pilot club... minus the plane.”

Hans lifted up Wolf, so he was sitting up in bed. “I thought you were dead. It was quite a shock you buying the farm.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“I don’t have an excuse; I’m not an ace.”

“I have a little news for you. Guess who shot me down.”

“Some stuffy RAF officer who drinks warm beer.”

“Right. Out little Nazi friend opened his guns on me, after the raid on Biggin Hill.”

“Zigfried?”

Wolf put his feet on the floor and stretched out. “Do you know any other little Nazi bastard?”

“Would the Fuhrer count? I’m mean, we're in England. That kind of talk might get us a weekend pass.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

Hans had a guilty look on his face when he said. “I have something to tell you. When you got shot down, I was forced to be Zigfried’s wingman.”

Wolf laughed as if they were back in cadet school. “Why didn’t you shoot him down?”

“Someone got me first. I lost my whole tail section. I turned it over and out I went. That was a great shot; I tell you that. Where have you been?”

Wolf rubbed his eyes, “I was held at some place in Kent for the past month. Last night they told me to pack up and that I was moving. That’s pretty much it. It’s been boring as hell. Did they try to get you to play checkers?”

“Yeah. Hey, you want to eat, or how about a five-mile hike outside the fence?”

“Eat.”

“I think this is going to work.”

They went downstairs and sat at a long table that was next to the commissary. Hans went over to the middle-aged female cook, who he had gotten to know. She said in German, “Morning Hans. A great day for flying... for the RAF.”

Hans smiled. “Okay, don’t rub it in. What’s on the menu?”

“Powdered eggs, there’s a war going on after all.”

“Sounds good. By the way, this is Wolf Kruger. He was an ace in the Luftwaffe until he got shot down by some Nazi rat. How’s that for gratitude.”

The cook looked up at Wolf. “Looks like you’re on the wrong side.”

The boys of British Intelligence, who were listening to the conversation in their posting in the basement, got a good laugh out of it. One of them said, “Looks like the Jerries are just as screwed up as we are.”

The duty officer of the operation admonished the comment. “That’s enough, and don’t foul up the recording system.”

* * *

Wolf and Hans engaged in small talk for the rest of the day. They spent a good deal of time outside the RAF Annex compound. Wolf was feeling guilty for shooting down his friend. But he was ecstatic that he had survived.

However, he wasn’t feeling too content about the fact he was lying to Hans about what had transpired. Perhaps one day he would explain every detail to his friend. But that would have to wait until after the war and if they both survived.

The next morning, Wolf wondered when the supposed contact would make himself known to him. According to what Major Hollenby had said, it would have to be soon or else he wasn’t going anywhere. The mystery ended around noon. The sky was full of German bombers on their way to London for another daylight raid. While the planes streamed overhead, Wolf and Hans were joined by a Luftwaffe pilot, under an elm tree. The man said, “30 or 40 Heinkels, don’t you think Captain Kruger.”

So it starts
. “How do you know my name?”

“Let’s just say, Hermann Goering and the Luftwaffe wants their ace back.”

Hans whispered, “How are you going to do that. You’re a pilot right?”

“Don’t be a fool. Arrangements have been made for tomorrow night. During the nightly bombing raid over London, the lights will go out in this district. The gate will be unattended, but only for a short time. You will be driven to a secluded location on the coast, where an E-boat will pick you up and return you to Germany with honor.”

Hans said, “What is your name?”

“It doesn’t matter. Captain Kruger... your answer.

“I will only go if Hans goes with me.”

“Of course.”

Hans said, “We’re going home?”

Wolf nodded. “I’ve seen enough of England.”

“I never saw Big Ben, but maybe I’ll fly over it later.”

“What if you end up back here?” asked Wolf.

“At least, I know the menu.”

Winston had a late evening dinner at 10 Downing Street, with James. The air war had turned in England’s favor. There was no doubt about that. For that reason, James thought Winston would have been in a better mood. But he wasn’t. He was quiet and morose. James had seen this state of affairs before with Winston. The Prime Minister, especially during his years in the wilderness could be subject to bouts of depression and indifference.

But was that really different than anyone else who walked on the face earth? Perhaps it was just the fact that his ups and downs were of greater magnitude. James and Winston knew each other more than well. When you fight with a man in the trenches and see those around you die, everything is stripped away. Everyone is revealed as to who they really are. James said, “Are you feeling well, Winston?”

“A little troubled. A bit of second guessing has cropped up.”

“The SIS has served you well. I’m sure the lad will be fine.”

“Perhaps this was all a bad idea. I knew Wolf would agree to go. I just hope his hatred for those who killed his parents, won’t cloud his judgment.”