Churchill's Ace (Epic War Series Book 1)

by Greg M. Sheehan

  “Aren’t you worried about buying the farm? You know, getting shot down.”

  Wolf smiled and picked up the pace. “I’m not going to get shot down.”

  “Oh, I see. You fancy yourself an ace. That thinking will just get you killed. Herr Meister Ace of the Luftwaffe, who dug his own grave.”

  “If you’re scared, why do you want to fly? Perhaps you should go back to the farm and jump from one hay bale to another.”

  “The farm. I’m tired of potatoes, but not the vodka.” The unit trotted over a wooden bridge that creaked as they ran deeper into the countryside. “Vodka makes you brave, but perhaps one shouldn’t drink it before flying. You could get in real trouble. The sky would be spinning as fast as your propeller. That would be weird. Don’t you think?”

  Wolf smirked, “You’re weird.”

  “In any case, I’m looking for a wingman, not a show-off.”

  Wolf laughed, “I’m looking for a wingman too. Perhaps I will consider you for that. But first you better shut up and make it through basic.”

  Zigfried Bockler was running behind them and said over their shoulders, “Neither one of you will ever fly. I don’t know why you even bothered to join. It is a new time for Germany and the Third Reich.”

  Wolf shot back, “No one’s talking to you.”

  “What’s your name peasant?”

  Hans hoped Wolf would let it go. But he soon learned that wouldn’t be the case. His new friend was playing with fire. Didn’t he know that? Wolf directly answered Zigfried. “Wolf Kruger, and that’s with one g.”

  “Well cadet Kruger, do you know who my father is?”

  “Full of crap, like you.”

  “Zigfried smiled, “I wouldn’t be so smug if I were you.”

  “You’re not me.”

  Zigfried ran to the front of the formation as if he was in charge of the cadets. When he was out of earshot Hans said, “Why did you do that?”

  “What?”

  “Piss him off. That’s not very smart.”

  “Just keep running,” said Wolf. “He’s a bully. I don’t like bullies.”

  “Wolf Kruger.”

  “Yeah.”

  Hans edged closer to Wolf so that the other cadets wouldn’t hear him. “I decided two things. First — don’t get mad, but I think you’re crazy. Second, I’ll be your wingman.”

  Twenty minutes later the pilots in waiting turned around and headed back toward the flight school. Zigfried Bockler picked up the pace and the other cadets dropped behind. Wolf ran faster and said to Hans, “Come on keep going.”

  “I can’t keep up.”

  “You want to fly or not.”

  Hans gritted his teeth and stayed with Wolf. Lieutenant Dieter also fell off the pace. The cadet formation was falling apart. Lieutenant Dieter yelled at Zigfried to slow down, but Zigfried ignored him and ran even faster, leaving the cadets in his wake. The camp came in sight, and Hans was losing steam. He told Wolf as he slowed down, “Catch the little Nazi bastard.”

  Wolf pumped his arms and surged forward. The other cadets yelled their approval as Wolf closed the gap on Zigfried. The camp entrance was just ahead as Wolf was now running stride for stride with Zigfried. Zigfried was surprised and called on his legs to move faster. However, he was spent and could only watch Wolf cross under the gate and into the Luftwaffe Flight Training Grounds.

  Wolf eased up, and Zigfried ran up from behind him. Zigfried tripped Wolf, who fell to the rocky ground with a thud. He lost his breath and slowly got to his feet. Zigfried snarled, “Don’t ever try to embarrass me again. You got it, peasant.”

  Wolf wiped blood from the cut on his leg. “You embarrass yourself.”

  Zigfried came toward Wolf ready to throw a punch. Lieutenant Dieter stepped between the pair. Finally, he said, “Enough from the both of you. Do you want to settle this like men? Follow me...”

  * * *

  The cadets from barrack #6 formed a tight circle on the parade grounds. Zigfried and Wolf were bare chested and in the middle of a human circle. Lieutenant Dieter tossed a pair of boxing gloves to each of them.

  Zigfried’s second a big oaf named Wilhelm, laced up his gloves. Wilhelm grunted as he pulled the laces tighter and tighter. Zigfried boasted, “I’ll knock him out. But first I will make him suffer.”

  Wilhelm made a fist and tapped the edge of Zigfried’s gloves. “I’ve seen his kind before. A know it all. When he goes down, stomp on his head.”

  On the other side of the circle, Hans pulled on Wolf’s gloves. Hans looked across the tight space and saw Wilhelm. “That guy is gigantic.”

  “If I lose you have to fight him.”

  Hans seemed alarmed, “I doubt if the lug could fit in a bomber. You better win. Have you ever fought?”

  “You mean with gloves?”

  Hans pulled the laces and tried them off. “No, with pistols. Of course, boxing gloves.”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  Hans finished up with the lacing and inspected his work. “What have you been doing all this time in Berlin, drinking coffee and chasing frauleins? The frauleins I can see.”

  Wolf laughed ever so slightly, “Studying mathematics.”

  “Are you crazy? What’s your plan?”

  “Try not to get hit.”

  Lieutenant Dieter walked into the middle of the circle. “Gentlemen these two will settle their differences in the ring. Two rounds, that is the custom. After, I expect both of you to tap gloves and put this behind you. One day, we may do battle in the sky, but not with each other. Then, your life may depend on one of your fellow pilots. Do not forget that. But today, you box. It will build character and a stiff chin. Commence.”

  Zigfried raised his gloves and moved into the center of the circle. Wolf ventured in and saw that his opponent was full of confidence. He also had a swift jab, which connected to Wolf’s chin. Wolf was peppered with another jab and an overhand right which sent him sprawling to the ground. “Get up,” hissed Zigfried.

  Wolf came to his feet. It was now evident to Wolf, that Zigfried had some training as a boxer. Perhaps he had been a card-carrying member of the Hitler Youth movement, who indoctrinated impressionable young boys on how to be good Nazis. Bullying and shaming the weak was more than accepted. It was encouraged.

  Boxing was part of that. There was nothing better to show your raw superiority than by punching a weak and helpless foe in the nose, and then to stand over him while he cowered in shame.

  That seemed to be working quite well for Zigfried as he continued to pummel Wolf with disdain. Wolf covered up as the blows appeared to come from every direction. Lieutenant Dieter looked at his watch and stopped the first round.

  Wolf stumbled to the far end of the circle and Hans helped him stay on his feet. Hans said, “You still with us?”

  “I think so.” Wolf spit out some blood.

  “Just an idea, but you may want to start punching.”

  Wolf said flatly, “He’s all over me. I need to get inside.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not a good idea to use your head as a punching bag.”

  On the other side of the circle, Wilhelm and Zigfried were grinning from ear to ear. Zigfried blew his nose in Wolf’s direction. Wolf said, “I wonder if he can take a punch.”

  “Land one.”

  “Right.”

  Lieutenant Dieter signaled for the start of the second and final round. Zigfried came straight at Wolf. He feigned a jab and threw another right. Wolf dipped his head to one side and threw an uppercut. The punch landed squarely on Zigfried’s chin. It seemed to lift the young Nazi off the turf, and he lost his balance.

  That was all Wolf needed as he moved in and punched wildly. There was no particular sequence to what he threw at Zigfried. When the Nazi bully dropped his hands, Wolf finished him off with a right-left combination. Zigfried fell to the ground and Lieutenant Dieter moved in to stop the fight.

  Wilhelm helped Zigfried to his feet. Hans smiled and took off Wolf’s gloves.
“Don’t gloat; let’s get out of here.”

  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.”

  House of Commons

  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. Anot
her 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.”