Churchill's Ace (Epic War Series Book 1) (8 page)

Lieutenant Dieter motioned for Wolf to come to the middle of the circle. Zigfried’s nose was bleeding. When Wilhelm went to wipe it with a towel, Zigfried pushed his arm away. Zigfried said to Wolf. “It’s not over. You have no idea what you have done.”

Lieutenant Dieter wasn’t happy at the comment and he came face to face with Zigfried. “I said it’s over.”

“We shall see.” Zigfried turned on his heels and walked away.

Hans said to Wolf. “You see that. You better be careful.”

“Yeah. But you’re the one who called him a little Nazi bastard.”

Hans tried to stop from laughing, “I didn’t do it to his face. I’m too smart and chicken to do that. But you Herr Kruger, you don’t care. What does scare you?”

“A wandering wingman. Don’t ever be that man.”

“I won’t. I’d be afraid what you would do to me when we landed.” Hans watched Wilhelm run to catch up with Zigfried, as the sore losers left the parade grounds in a huff. “I’ll tell you one thing.”

Wolf tossed Hans his gloves and put on his shirt. “What’s that?”

“You nailed him.”

That night after dinner Hans and Wolf took advantage of the little free time accorded them, and they sat on a log at the edge of the airfield. Much to Wolf’s surprise, Hans pulled out a bottle of Schnapps. “Where did you get that?”

Hans shrugged, “I packed it away.”

“If you get caught with that, there will be repercussions.”

Hans laughed and took a drink from the bottle. He handed it to Wolf. “Such as?”

“For starters, you won’t be allowed to join the Nazi Party and rub elbows with inbreds like Zigfried.”

“And?”

“They may send you back to the farm.” Hans motioned for Wolf to take a drink. Wolf did and wiped the bottle and handed it back to Hans.

“Now that’s something to be feared. Now like all good pilots…”

Wolf laughed, “We aren’t pilots just yet.”

“Anyway men in our position are supposed to talk about the women we have conquered in our brief but exciting life.”

“They have women on the farm?”

“Of course, and hay barns. A deadly combination for a farm girl with breasts and a person like myself. I must admit; the hay is rather itchy after a roll in it.”

“Tell me about her.”

“Who?”

“You’re girl.”

“I can’t; there’s several.”

Wolf shook his head. “Right.”

Hans smiled. “Her name is Helga.”

“And she lives on the farm next door. Am I right?”

“Lucky guess.” Hans pulled out a picture from his wallet. “This was taken at the livestock auction. And don’t ask me which one Helga is.”

“She’s beautiful,” said Wolf.

“Thanks; don’t get any ideas. You’re not a farmer, are you?”

“Me? No.”

“Good, then I have nothing to worry about. I’ve promised to marry her. How’s that for a playboy.”

“Then you’re sensible.”

Hans looked across the parade grounds and at the flagpole. The flag of the Third Reich fluttered in the early evening breeze. “We will have children I suppose. Unless there is war, then all bets are off. After all, I may never make it back to the farm and my potatoes.”

“You’ll make it.”

“What about you? There must be a frauline back home who tickles your fancy.”

Wolf laughed, “Not back home.”

“Is there anyone?”

“Well, just before I came here I did meet someone. I don’t think she likes me.”

Hans asked, “But you like her. Oh, that’s very sad. See her when you get a weekend pass.”

Wolf thought back to Chartwell Manor and what now seemed like a long time ago. “That may be hard to do… She lives in London.”

Hans handed the bottle of Schnapps to Wolf. “That is a problem. First that’s far away. And then, what if we go to war with the Brits? I don’t think she’ll like it if you drop a bomb on her head. Maybe it’s me, but that doesn’t sound very romantic.”

“No kidding.”

“Wolf, when do you think we’ll be flying, you know in combat?”

“I don’t know; ask Zigfried or Adolf Hitler.”

“My head hurts, now.”

“How much Schnapps did you have?”

Hans laid back on the log and closed his eyes. “Apparently not enough.”

Winston Churchill was a back-bencher in the House of Commons. His constant harping as to the fears of Germany rearming put him far out of the mainstream, landing him in what his critics, of whom there were many, in the “Political Wilderness.” Winston was more than by just himself; he was ridiculed and despised.

It was claimed that time had passed him by. That he was nothing more than an old warmonger who drank too much and who grabbed at straws to keep the crumbling English Empire together.

It wasn’t only the Labour Party who now thought Winston Churchill was out of touch with reality. His own Conservative Party would have preferred that he retired or perhaps just faded away. Of course, that wasn’t to be the case.

The leader of both parties saw Churchill as an alarmist. Who, including Germany, would want another catastrophic war so soon after the Great War? That was incomprehensible. The memories of death and destruction were still front and center, and no one on any side had forgotten the pain and suffering.

Sure, Hitler was a con artist, with a bag of anti-Semitic slogans. But was he a madman or a megalomaniac? No, was the answer that came from England and the rest of Western Europe.

It was late in the session when Winston Churchill got his chance to speak. When he rose the other members of the House of Commons rolled their eyes and folded their arms. He started in, “I’m more than dismayed at the state of affairs we find ourselves herein attached to. It is evident to anyone who cares to cull the facts that the Luftwaffe or German Air Force if you please, has exceeded so-called parity with the RAF.”

Right on time the catcalls commenced. They came from every direction, and a house member within earshot said, “Tell us something new, sir.”

Winston’s glasses slid slightly down his nose as he looked at the member. The member was in the crosshairs now, and he very well knew that. “The good gentleman will recall that on occasions previous, I have brought up my grave concerns on this matter, only to be ridiculed as to the preposterous notion that Great Britain would take a back seat to Herr Hitler’s Luftwaffe.

“We were promised superiority in the air, which in the end would afford but a modicum of protection from the Luftwaffe and Hitler’s territorial wishes. And have no doubt, Herr Hitler is on the move. Whether this noble house seeks to see the writing on the wall or not, that does not change consequences of our lack of action, and if we have been misled intentionally or not, that now does not matter. For if Nazi bombs fall on England, our good peoples who have put their faith in our judgment, will not care why that is the case, but only when we will put an end to it, before everything they and we hold dear is destroyed.

“Now, the idea of German air superiority is no longer preposterous, but, unfortunately, is prima facie fact. The London Times articles hence published articles, bear witness to the growing might of the German Air Wings. I for one do not gloat, because I was correct in my assessment of the situation so many months and I dare say years ago.

“I am saddened that my warnings did not head a significant call to order. The RAF could have and should have been upgraded with men and material. Instead, we are now three steps behind Adolf Hitler and his Luftwaffe. It seems rather than leading the way for the next decade of military air development, we have chosen to chase our tails around the schoolyard singing
Ring Around the Rosie
.”

The cat calls commenced again, but there were less of them. Another member chided Winston. “Then what is to be done if the Germans have more planes than our beloved RAF. I doubt they will dare attack us, for it will be their ruin!”

The House of Commons erupted in applause. Winston put up his hands, and the applause grew louder. When he laid down his hands, the House of Commons finally calmed down. It wasn’t because of his gesture but rather a fact the finely dressed House of Common members, for the moment had run out of energy. Winston went on, “The good gentleman and this body cannot, I propose, make decisions on the assumption of the goodwill of Adolph Hitler as to the protection of our country. Or even rely on the common sense of those who surround the German leader. I have seen the list of characters who walk in Herr Hitler’s shadow. Not only do they show a lack of respect for democratic principles, but they have learned their manners from the devil himself. And I dare say, that is not putting it too harshly.

“It is with honesty and without an ounce of brevity that I must remind this chamber that we are talking about the intentions of a frustrated painter. Is there no one further off kilter than an artist who pours his soul, even if it is dark like Herr Hitler’s, into a masterpiece, only to meet with abject rejection. There is nothing more dangerous than a man who feels scorned by the world. And what is his choice at that point? I tell you it is to destroy the very thing that quashed his dreams, even if those hopes were rank in talent and misguided in thought!”

The House of Commons laughed, and another member yelled to Winston. “But isn’t it true that the honored sir also a painter? After all, the good sir has had ample time to pursue such endeavors.”

The House of Commons jumped all over the demeaning remark and howled in delight. “Here, here!”

Winston smiled, “It is true that I dabble in the adventure of turning a blank canvas into a beautiful sunset over a placid lake with weeping willows gently swaying in the breeze. The good gentleman may consider partaking in such a hobby as to do something useful with his own blank canvas.”

The member laughed in agreement, “Touché.”

Winston continued, “Now to be serious. I for one will not roll the dice as to whether Herr Hitler will send his vaunted Luftwaffe over our shores. It would be a dereliction of duty for this honored body to even entertain such an idea.”

Still another member near Winston Churchill stood and said, “Then what is to be done? If there is no hope as you see it? Perhaps the honored sir should paint a portrait of this body before we are forced to eat sauerkraut in the commissary forthwith and forever, after which Adolf Hitler will see fit to disband this institution.”

Winston put his hands on his hips. “First, I doubt I can paint a proper portrait of this body. For it would require nothing more but a canvas filled with four-legged jackasses.”

A member called out to Winston. “Is that your answer then?”

“There is but one answer. Rebuild the capabilities of the RAF...and swiftly. Time is short and much needs to be done. Every second we delay brings defeat closer to our doorstep. A defeat that cannot be reversed or cast aside like a football match gone wrong. Defeat to a nation led by Adolf Hitler will mean a cloud of darkness will descend upon us – a blackness so complete that we will never see the sun shining on the River Thames or innocent children playing in the park. Now, all of that will be no more! Hasn’t enough been revealed to us as to Hitler’s true intentions. We all seek peace and prosperity. But we cannot hope to make it so. Peace, more often than not, requires sacrifice.”

The applause was lackluster, and Winston was befuddled. Didn’t these members with their elegant suits and Oxford educations know what was in for them? Bombs and more bombs no doubt.

Herr Hitler wanted war; any sane person could see that. “I must admit that I find the blindness of the members of this body to be discomforting and foolhardy. There is no other way to put forth my disappointment that we have now chosen to leave Great Britain defenseless. I submit to you what meaning does the statue of Lord Nelson in Trafalgar Square have if any, but of courage and duty. Duty I say to England and to her defense!”

Only a handful of members came to their feet to cheer. Winston surveyed the House of Commons and he knew not only would there be war...but England was wholly unprepared for it. He sat down and collapsed on his thoughts.
A ship of fools, with no one at the helm. I know you fear war, but the dye is cast. Our weakness gives comfort and intoxicates Herr Hitler that his grand schemes will come to pass
.

Harding Barrow, the Ashton family estate, had been handed down from Lord Ashton’s father. Lord Ashton Sr. had more than provided for his family, before he passed away just after the First World War. The English considered the conclusion of the war to be a victory. The Germans saw it as an armistice, thus sowing the seeds for the second go around on the battlefield.

Lord Ashton Sr. was a shrewd businessman and very much loyal to King and country. Therefore, when his son Captain William Ashton was discharged without honor from the RAF, Lord Ashton Sr. was devastated. However, son and father never broached the subject. They just let it lay out there untouched. In any case, what was there to say? There was nothing that could be done to change history. It was over, but for some not forgotten.

It was William Ashton who came back from the war, with more than a blemish on the family’s good name. He couldn’t forget or forgive himself. Soon and not by accident, the fortunes of the family changed as well.

It was a slow and steady economic decline that Lord Ashton Sr. never would have allowed. But the elder Lord Ashton was gone, and there was no one left to fix the mess. So his son, the former fighter ace and jettisoned captain from the RAF, found solace in the bottle.

Others might have thrown themselves into their work to free themselves from the shackles of the past. Instead, Lord Ashton eased his pain with too many drinks after dinner, which eventually morphed into more of the same during lunch. Before long, Lord Ashton was in full-fledged retreat from sobriety.

Soon, he grew apart from his wife. Her support of her husband’s wartime situation eventually turned from pity to resentment. As things slowly crumbled around him, Lord Ashton lacked the strength and the will to right the ship.