Churchill's Ace (Epic War Series Book 1) (4 page)

Professor Kruger said, “Here, here.”

Winston asked, “Are you not concerned about the Nazi Party and their true aims to rearm Germany?”

Professor Kruger put down his cognac. “The French have no one to blame for the current situation. The war reparations were harsh and counterproductive. Any fool could have seen that result. More than one thing can be true. The French brought some of this upon themselves, and Herr Hitler is a maniac. A terrible combination.”

“I most certainly agree. In the end, all the French and some in this government accomplished was to bring Hitler to power. A miscalculation by all involved.”

“Indeed,” said Professor Kruger.

Winston turned his attention to Wolf. “Wolf I hope we aren’t boring you with all of this. We are just gentlemen, commenting on international affairs over a fine glass of cognac. Better that than to be speaking of our mistresses. I have no desire for such a thing; I find that one person of the female persuasion is more than enough. Any man who asks or wants more is only fooling himself.”

Wolf sipped the cognac, and it burned his throat. He coughed. “Sir Churchill, what do you think of my desire to be a fighter pilot? You fought in many wars.”

“Not always by choice, rather by necessity. Perhaps that discussion is best left to your parents. But Professor Kruger if I may be so bold...”

Professor Kruger said, “Yes, go ahead.”

“The coming struggle for ultimate supremacy and domination of the world will not be decided on the land or at sea. It will be decided in the air. Whoever commands the sky will rule the world.

“Whether that rule is benevolently or with an iron first, it will come to pass with air power. The fighter pilots and airmen will be those instruments for good or evil. Wolf, I have no doubt you will be a superb pilot. It will be up to you, for which end your talents will serve. Choose well my lad.”

Wolf had a very confused look on his face. “I don’t understand.”

“Of course not. You aren’t an old man who talks endlessly, after drinking cognac. Enough of the world and it’s pleasure for self-destruction. Wolf Kruger, I have no doubt you will bring us victory tomorrow on the River Thames. To battle!”

“I will do my best.”

“That’s more than anyone can ask for...however; I expect us to win.”

The Black Lion Pub was on the North Bank of the River Thames, between Hammersmith and Chiswick. The Black Lion was on a large bend of the waterway, and many a pint was consumed on its stone patio. Tall tales were told there…sailing men always had a tale to tell. Whether the epic stories were true or not, was up to interpretation. One thing was for sure, any sailor who lived to tell a tale was worth listening to, even if he did smell like ripe ale.

Winston and Wolf examined their two person sailing dinghy by the edge of the river. A half dozen other sailing teams also made their last minute preparations. It was evident that Wolf was the youngest person in the race. No one gave him or Winston a second look, although every so often hushed sounds and laughter came from the other contestants.

Wolf thought,
They don’t hold Sir Winston in high regard. That is very strange
.

Winston said, “I designed this vessel myself. My lad, many useless sketches have been burned, in anticipation of finding the perfect balance between handling and speed. I suspect this boat, as small as it may be, has achieved a modicum of that plan.”

“Forgive me Sir Winston, but have you ever won a race?” Wolf was embarrassed he asked such a question. But...

“Sadly, that isn’t so. But with you at the helm, I have no doubt that is about to change.”

Wolf looked at the other sailors, who pushed their boats closer to the river. “Why are you so confident?”

“A warrior who lacks confidence is destined for defeat after the first blow has been struck. Confidence turns mere men into champions. Force of will and purpose of mind...those Wolf are the things of victory.”

Wolf smiled, “If you say so.” Wolf pulled the boat into the water. Winston stepped into the water and hauled himself into the dinghy. It rocked back and forth. Winston positioned himself in the front of the boat. “I do hope that is the trickiest maneuver of the day.”

The other teams pushed off into the River Thames as a breeze was gaining strength. The race director put a megaphone to his mouth. “Welcome to the annual two-man dinghy sailing race. Once around the marker up river and back. What could be simpler than that? Off with you blokes!”

The race started upwind, which was also against the flow of the current. Winston commanded, “Tack left, my lad.”

Wolf turned the tiller, and the dinghy beat a path at a 45-degree angle. “The others are going right.”

“Yes, well bad for them. Steady as she goes.”

“Are you sure Sir Winston?” Winston only grunted and chomped down on a cigar. Minutes later all the boats in the race changed the direction of their tacks. It was impossible to tell who was in the lead until they came to the turn buoy at outer limits of the course.

Wolf and Winston were in third place as the young German cut the buoy tighter than his competitors. Everyone was now heading downwind and riding the flow of the River Thames on its relentless journey to the sea. Winston motioned to Wolf, “Take her if she is able, ten degrees to port. Fast water awaits you.”

Winston was right as the dinghy gained momentum and moved clearly into second place. The wind was at Wolf’s back, and he felt the dinghy cleanly cut through the water. The sails tightened in the wind and Wolf fingered the rudder with a gentle ease, pushing the dinghy for everything that it had.

The only sound was the wind bouncing off the sail and the bow cutting through the water. Winston remained silent as all attention was focused on the finishing line.

Wolf willed the boat forward. Ever so slowly, the leader was losing ground with each passing second. With barely five yards to go, Wolf and Winston’s sail dinghy edged forward and crossed the finish line.

A shout went up from the small group of spectators on the patio of the Black Lion. Winston stood in the dinghy, and it nearly capsized. He held up Wolf’s hand. “Well done; I hope never to come up against you in the skies.”

“Thank you, Sir Winston.”

Winston reached over the side of the dinghy and pulled up a bottle of champagne that was attached to a rope. “Champagne.”

“I dragged that the whole way. I thought it was pulling to port.”

“That was our handicap and alas it made no difference.” Winston popped open the champagne, and it bubbled forth. “No difference indeed.”

The sailors gathered on the stone patio, and as was the custom, the winning team bought drinks for the whole lot. It got rather cantankerous as the sailors lamented their rotten luck and defeat by Winston Churchill of all people. The more the sailor’s drank the closer they eyed Wolf.

Winston watched the sailors party on with increasing noise. He said to Wolf, “Never agree to pick up a tab for a bunch of sailors unless you must. They will drink you out of house and home. And if those sailors happen to be Irish, well then you are in for real trouble. But this is splendid. The taste of victory never gets old or bitter. Enjoy your moment in the sun...but you will have others. Of that, I have no doubt.”

“Thank you.”

Finally, the other sailors pressed up against Winston and Wolf. A weather-beaten sailor said, “And who do we have here, Winston? Your secret weapon and all. He’s not like the other blokes. He’s not missing any teeth, and isn’t a stuttering fool.”

The man’s sailing mate chimed in, “Who are you calling a stuttering fool? I told you to stay on this bloke’s stern.” The mate took off his sailing cap. “All my apologies Winston, but that doesn’t change the facts.”

The other man said, “Winston.”

“Yes, well Wolf here is a friend of the family.”

The sailor said, “Wolf?”

Wolf said, “I’m from Germany.”

“Doesn’t that beat all to hell. We’ve been had by the Kaiser himself.”

His mate jabbed him in the ribs. “You bloody fool; that little paper hanger Hitler runs Germany. Wolf, you don’t be sinking us in one of those damn U-boats.”

“I’m not a sailor.”

The mate said, “You could have fooled us.”

The other sailor saluted Wolf with a drink. “Winston what are you doing sailing with a bloody German?”

Winston gave the sailing trophy to Wolf. “Keeping good relations and retiring to Chartwell with the Regatta trophy.”

Winston Churchill’s 1925 Rolls Royce rolled along, due south toward Chartwell and an evening dinner party. The Churchill’s would be hosting a small gathering of intellectuals in honor of Professor Kruger and his wife.

The countryside passed with a comfortable rhythm and Wolf found himself nodding off. He was pleased that Sir Winston seemed to enjoy the spoils of winning. Perhaps they were both alike... driven by the passion for winning at all costs.

The thought soon faded as the Rolls Royce turned off the main two-lane highway and stopped at the guard gate of the Biggin Hill RAF Airfield. A uniformed soldier saluted, and the Rolls Royce was on its way to the hangar of the airfield. Wolf sat up and strained his eyes to take it all in. There were RAF planes parked on the apron of the runway. Mostly, they were fighters, but a bomber was parked at the end of the runway. Wolf turned toward Winston. “This is an RAF airfield. What are we doing here?”

“Certainly nothing as childish as sailing about on the River Thames, besting nice fellows who have perhaps had one too many pints at this hour of the day.” The Rolls Royce pulled over at the door of the hangar. Winston said somewhat officially, “Follow me.”

Outside the car, they were greeted by Flight Lieutenant Marsh. Lieutenant Marsh saluted Winston. Winston said, “Lieutenant Marsh, thanks so much for arranging this on short notice. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”

Lieutenant Marsh looked at Wolf with a discerning eye. “Is this the lad you spoke about?”

Winston said, “Wolf Kruger, Flight Lieutenant Marsh of the Royal Air Force. Lieutenant Marsh is one of our top flight instructors. I understand there is no one better in teaching aerial combat maneuvers.”

Wolf shook Lieutenant Marsh’s hand. “Sir.”

“A pleasure.”

“Wolf had quite a morning captaining my sail dinghy to undeniable honor at the Regatta.”

“Good show.” Wolf smiled. Flight Lieutenant Marsh glanced over at a fighter plane that was inside the hangar. “It’s about to get a bit more exciting.”

They walked into the hangar, which housed several planes. Wolf tried not to gawk, but he was like a child in a candy store. The planes were like he imagined, sleek and inviting.

Winston reached up and touched the wing of a Hawker Hurricane two-seat training plane. “Wolf, I had the honor of riding in the last British cavalry charge at the Battle of Omdurman, in the Sudan under Lord Kitchener. The plane now will be your horse. Treat it well; listen to it, for it will tell you what must be done.”

Wolf saw a packed parachute on a nearby table, and his eyes grew wide. “Can I fly it?”

Lieutenant Marsh said, “Lad, not by yourself. I’ll be in the back to make sure you don’t get into too much trouble. How many hours do you have in a powered aircraft?”

“None sir. But I’m a glider pilot.”

“Fine, let’s take her up and we will see... what we see.”

Wolf saluted, “Sir.”

Lieutenant Marsh smiled. “That isn’t necessary.”

“But I have been told that you must show superiors proper respect if you want to fly for the Luftwaffe.”

Lieutenant Marsh raised his eyebrows. “Lad this isn’t the Luftwaffe... at least, it wasn’t the last time I looked around. These are the King’s planes!”

Winston said, “Very true. I shouldn’t think His Majesty would be delighted if there was a Luftwaffe base so close to Buckingham Palace. It might call into the question the millions of pounds spent on the RAF. The Royal Navy would then have a point in requesting another battleship... or two.”

Lieutenant Marsh walked along the edge of the Hawker Hurricane. “This will be the front line fighter for the RAF. It is very fast and highly maneuverable. Lad, you aren’t to write any of this down.”

Winston commented, “Flight Lieutenant Marsh, you can be assured that young Wolf will not reveal the specifications of RAF’s new stead. Three hours hence Wolf will be introduced to scotch.”

Lieutenant Marsh laughed, “Scotch you say.”

“I surmise that the flight speed of the Hawker Hurricane will be the furthest thing from his mind. Shall we commence this goodwill flight?”

“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking. The lad’s parents.”

“Yes.”

“Do they know he’s going up?”

“Lieutenant, I find it advantageous in a situation like this, not to cause Wolf’s legal guardians undue stress. You will watch out for the lad.”

“Of course.” Lieutenant Marsh picked up Wolf’s flight gear. “There you go lad... buckle up.”

Minutes later the twin seat Hawker Hurricane trainer’s wheel blocks were pulled away. The Lieutenant fired up the fighter plane’s inline engine, and it taxied to the runway. He gave the plane full throttle, and seconds later Wolf Kruger was airborne. Winston watched the plane grow smaller on the horizon. “Bravo to you.”

Lieutenant Marsh brought the Hawker Hurricane up to 11,000 feet. The twin-seater trainer was trimmed out, and Lieutenant Marsh said on the intercom to Wolf. “Nice and easy lad. Get a feel for the plane.”

“Sir,” said Wolf. Being an experienced glider pilot, Wolf had more than a sense of the controls of the Hurricane. The mechanics were essentially the same, except in a glider there was no engine to get you out of trouble. There was an old saying that glider pilots made excellent fighter pilots. That was rock solid. A glider pilot was in the air with only his wits. A miscalculation couldn’t be corrected by pushing on the throttle and hearing that beautiful sound of a powerful engine, saving you to fly another day.

Wolf checked his controls. First, he moved the control stick in various combinations to get a feel for the Hurricane’s sensitivity. Up, down, right and left, he did them all. He then stepped on the pedals to the rudder and went through the process again as he turned the plane in both directions.