Churchill's Ace (Epic War Series Book 1) (22 page)

He was instructed by his handler to smile, and Wolf obliged. Wolf saw stars and after it was over wondered if his sight would ever get back to normal. He figured he might have a hard time dogfighting in his Me 109 if all he saw was white spots out the canopy window.

Wolf was then whisked into a mini auditorium that was filled with Luftwaffe officials and staff members of the Luftwaffe Air Ministry. Before Wolf knew it, the rotund Hermann Goering shook his hand. More pictures were taken. Goering was dressed in his powder blue uniform, which belonged in a previous century. It would have been the talk of the royal court in Versaille. The pompous predilections of Goering would have fit right in with the French nobility.

Fatso Goering as he was called behind his back, by many in Hitler’s inner circle was addicted to morphine. The drug was introduced to him to quell the pain of his battlefield wounds from the Great War. Soon it became more than a crutch, but an absolute necessity. Between the wars, as Goering rose in power, he commissioned a self-portrait no doubt for posterity. The artist, a Hungarian of noted distinction, painted with exactness and truth.

Goering’s face and especially his drooping eyes foretold the gaze of a morphine addict. Hermann demanded that the portrait be redone. The painter simply said, “I paint what I see.” He then left Germany for fear of his life.

Hermann Goering gave a short speech, as Wolf stood uncomfortably at his side. Goering recounted his days over the battlefield. Some in the audience wondered if Goering was about to award himself, with a medal. He concluded his remarks by saying. “Wolf Kruger is the first of many brave pilots, who will drive the RAF from the sky. The Third Reich is the new order of the world. Heil Hitler!” The audience rose to their feet at dutifully performed the infamous Nazi salute. Wolf didn’t salute.

Once the award ceremonies ended, Wolf was summoned to Hermann Goering’s office. The large plate glass windows of the office afforded a magnificent view of the pristine Berlin skyline. Goering was seated in a finely crafted leather back chair. His baton was gently placed on a dark walnut desk that had a gold leaf top. “Now Captain Kruger tell me about our Messerschmidt. Is it superior to the planes of the RAF?”

“Air Marshall the planes are very similar. It comes down to the pilot as to who will live and who will die.”

“I see. And the training program for our pilots? It is satisfactory?”

“Very much so. But after all, most of us were glider pilots.”

“Soon the air battle will move to England itself unless the British come to their senses and end this conflict.”

“You mean surrender.”

“Call it what you want. They need to accept our vision of the world.”

Wolf leaned forward in his chair. “Air Marshall and what is that?”

“Aryan superiority. It was inevitable that the cream would rise to the top.”

Wolf looked Goering straight in the eyes. “The British will never surrender.”

“Captain I wouldn’t be so sure. There is another matter before you return your squadron. As the first ace of our victorious battle in the West, certain protocols now come into play. It would be advantageous to yourself and the Luftwaffe that you join the Nazi Party. In fact, that needs to take place today. Congratulations.”

All that Wolf could think about was Zigfried, and his turned up nose. If this was the Nazi Party, Hermann Goering could stuff it up his fat ass. And there was the real issue or just what happened to his parents. That was baffling and confusing. But in any case, he didn’t want anything to do with the Nazi Party. Wolf was a fighter pilot. “Air Marshall, I do not wish to draw attention to myself. You can understand.”

Hermann Goering’s face turned inquisitive.
What was wrong with this young man? A golden invitation to join the Nazi Party had been plopped in his lap. It was a calling card that would open doors to Wolf Kruger
. “I’m afraid I don’t. You will join the Nazi Party.”

Wolf stood up and saluted Goering. “I will not. I know nothing of politics. May I return to my squadron?”

Goering motioned for Wolf to leave his office. Wolf quickly left. Hermann Goering faintly smiled and shook his head. “Fighter pilots.”

* * *

Wolf was offered another ride in the black Mercedes limo to the airport. Instead, he politely declined and asked for a car from the motor pool. The duty officer thought for a second, but when he saw that Wolf was wearing the Knight's Cross with Swords on his uniform, he simply saluted. “As you wish, sir. Good hunting and shoot down many planes so this war can end, before my son has to fight.”

“I will do my best.”

Instead of driving to the airfield, Wolf for some reason, not even clear to himself drove to the family house. The Prenzlauer Berg District in the afternoon sunlight was just as beautiful, as he remembered it. It hardly seemed that Germany was at war. Ladies pushed baby carriages down the tree lined streets, and older children filled the playgrounds. The mail was still delivered by postmen, wearing uniforms that belonged to the Age of Bismarck. Everything was idyllic and normal.

He parked the car in the driveway. The house needed care. The lawn was now overgrown, and the bushes needed trimming. But there was no one home to perform the task, and his duties laid elsewhere. The war won’t last forever.
I promise I will bring everything back as it was
.

He put his key into the lock and went inside. Nothing had changed since the last time he and Hans had been at the house. Wolf walked through the utility room and went out the side door of the house. As was typical for that era the house had a detached garage in the back of the lot. He found a lock on the heavy wooden garage doors.

Wolf knew that lock wasn’t from his parents. That was strange. There wasn’t a window in the garage, and so Wolf couldn’t see inside. He went to the car and took a tire iron out of the trunk. Wolf returned to the garage and wedged the tire iron against the lock.

It took a couple of tries, but the lock pulled away from the wood doors. Wolf slid the door open and got the surprise of his life. His parent’s car was inside. He walked around the car and ran his hands over it. It hadn’t been destroyed in a crash that supposedly killed his parents. There wasn’t even a single a scratch on it.

Wolf threw the tire iron across the garage, and it bounced off the wall. What had happened to his parents, and who was lying about it? And most of all, did it involve Zigfried Bockler and who else. Wolf undid the Knight's Cross with Swords medal from his uniform and put it in his pocket.

On June 4, it was over. The British Expeditionary Force had been evacuated from Dunkirk. Over 300,000 soldiers had been ferried across the Channel in anything that could float. The British Navy put out the word for pleasure craft to take part in the evacuation. The shallow water around Dunkirk meant that the large ships of the Royal Navy couldn’t get close to shore. The private pleasure crafts were needed to ferry the waiting troops on the beach out to the larger transport ships.

A combination of French and British soldiers held an ever shrinking perimeter on the outskirts of Dunkirk. The German Army had paused days earlier in front of Dunkirk. Hermann Goering had boasted that the Luftwaffe could finish the job. He was wrong as the RAF put up a heroic struggle for control of the skies over Dunkirk.

After the last ship had left and crossed the Channel, the British were alone in their uneven fight with Herr Hitler. Winston Churchill spoke to the frightened nation on the BBC. He said there was no doubt in his mind that the last few weeks had been a colossal military disaster and that the BEF had to leave behind all its heavy armor and equipment.

He went on to tell the nation that it should prepare itself for another blow. Herr Hitler would surely now attempt to invade England. His last lines would live forever in annals of English history. “We shall defend our island whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills. We shall never surrender.”

As darkness descended on London, Winston retired to his private study inside 10 Downing Street. He would have preferred his study in Chartwell, and peaceful times, but that wasn’t going to be. Perhaps he would never be able to return to Chartwell. What would happen if Hitler was successful in his domination of the British Isles? Every decent and good thing would be no more.

He poured himself a scotch and pondered what was to be done. The task was more than daunting; it seemed impossible.

* * *

Madeline had taken a room in the upper level of 10 Downing Street. It was quaint but sparse. It did have a fireplace, and she wondered if it worked. The room was rather drafty, and Madeline slept with a pile of blankets over her. There hadn’t been any word on the fate of Randolph. With the emergency evacuation at Dunkirk, there was little time for Winston and the people in the War Department or the RAF to find a single pilot, even if he was the leader of a squadron.

Before she was about to retire there was a knock at her door. “Yes.”

“Madeline, it’s James. Sir Winston requests your presence in the study.”

“At this hour?”

“Yes, do hurry.”

Madeline put on a robe and walked down the stairs. A uniformed guard and there were several stationed throughout the house, saluted her, even though he didn’t have to. Apparently it was just force of habit. She closed the front of her robe with one hand and saluted back with the other.
I should have been a man; then this would have been quite normal. But then I would have been forced to fly like the rest of them. Maybe I would have realized what the frantic need to be in the air was all about
.

James opened the door to the study and Randolph was sitting in a chair. He stood up and smiled, “We almost had a toast without you. Of course, I insisted that we wait.”

Madeline beamed and hugged her brother. Winston said, “James close the door and join us.”

“Sir!”

Madeline was happy now. Perhaps everything would get better... at least for the moment that surely was the case. “You came back.”

“I promised, didn’t I?”

“Yes! Yes, you did.”

Winston now had a fat cigar in his hand. “James, would you break out the 1917 bottle of scotch. I was saving it for a special occasion. I believe this night, without question or trepidation, fits those parameters.”

“With pleasure. But you do have a speech to give to the good ladies of the Military Club tomorrow.”

The room broke up in laughter, and for a few minutes, the war was forgotten. “Are you intimating I can’t hold my liquor?”

“No Sir Winston, I’m stating a fact.”

Winston’s eyes widen. “And this comes from a man who sees bliss in a glass of warm beer. Really.”

“I can’t help it; I’m part Cockney.”

“I knew there was something that I liked about you.” Winston raised his class. “To the people here at 10 Downing Street. May we find the wisdom to do what must be done.”

They held up their glasses to toast. Randolph said, “And to the person who rescued me from the clutches of the Luftwaffe after I was shot down. It was his bravery that brought me home...to fight again. And to all of you. If he had been caught, they would have killed him. The whole episode was more than remarkable.”

Winston said matter of factly, “I send my deepest gratitude to whoever that was.”

“As do I,” said Madeline.

They toasted the good fortune of Randolph returning to England. Randolph put his glass on Winston’s desk. “We just toasted the man who shot me down and then flew me to safety the same day.”

Madeline’s face turned white, and she gulped her glass of scotch. “What are you saying?”

Randolph nodded slowly at Winston. Winston said, “Dear God... it was Wolf Kruger. The lad is alive?”

“More than that, he’s an ace. Unfortunately, I was his fifth kill. Mind you I never saw him shoot me down. But he did have the decency to fly me over our lines at midnight.”

Madeline said, “I don’t believe it.”

Randolph smiled, “Which part? My plane going down or Wolf Kruger who fate would have it was the one who tried to kill me and then saved my life.”

Madeline looked at Winston, for some answer. She said, “It’s madness.”

Winston asked, “I assume they brought you to a Luftwaffe base? Enemy pilots who are shot down, fall under the jurisdiction of the Luftwaffe.”

“That’s right.”

Winston, in his heart, already knew the answer to the question he was about to ask. It was obvious as the fingers on his hands. “And tell me, why did Wolf help you escape?”

Randolph looked at Madeline. “When he found out I was your brother.”

Madeline’s eyes teared up. “Did he say anything?”

“Only to promise that I wouldn’t tell you what he did.”

James put his drink down. “The lad is more than a hero. He’s bloody well out of his mind.”

Randolph went on, “He flew me over the British lines and then disappeared into the night.”

Winston asked, “Going where, back to the base?”

“On his way to Berlin, to receive his medal for becoming the first Luftwaffe ace in the Western Theatre.”

Winston’s eyes bugged out. “The lad... what can I say? Wolf knows no boundaries.”

Madeline laughed, “And to think it was only two years ago that he was tripping into your hibiscus garden. He has come a long way.”

Randolph poured himself another drink. “The goodwill aside he still flies for the Luftwaffe. Soon his squadron will lead the attacks over our country. I will have no choice but to shoot him down.”

Madeline rolled her eyes. “It seems maybe someone should tell him that.”

“In any case, Wolf Kruger’s fate will be the same as the Luftwaffe. He should have left me in the hands of the Luftwaffe. I learn from my mistakes. I will see him again in the sky.”

Winston shook his head. “We can only hope it doesn’t come to that. But sadly I’m afraid it will.”