Churchill's Ace (Epic War Series Book 1)

by Greg M. Sheehan

  “What will you tell him?”

  “You were given the choice between war and dishonor. You chose dishonor, and now you will have war.”

  James shook his head and grimaced from the leg wound he received during the World War I. “Then our sufferings from the Great War didn’t mean anything. I plead with you Sir Winston to tell me that isn’t so. I’m still haunted by so many faces of friends and comrades who would never live to see another peaceful night, such as this one.” Tears came to James’ eyes. “But I will fight when the time comes.”

  Winston gently reminded James, “I don’t think dodging a German machine gun, with that leg of yours is in the cards. We will do our part in our own ways. I would be most grateful if you Colonel James Mallory of the Coldstream Guards, serves at my side. I’m not sure where that will be or even if we will live to tell the tale to those not yet born. But as I see it there, we have no choice in the matter. The die is cast.”

  James smiled, “Julius Caesar. Appropriate for the situation we find ourselves in.”

  “We don’t need fancy quotes or fine bottles of scotch. We desire planes, ships and men waiting to fight for what they believe in.” Winston looked down at the table and turned sullen. “But for tonight, we will have to settle for this bottle of scotch.”

  Luftwaffe Flight School

  The cadets fell into line as another morning of physical training was on the agenda. Hans stood next to Wolf and complained. “All we do is run. How’s that going to save me when the British get on my tail.”

  Wolf shrugged, “Be quiet.”

  Hans tried to loosen up his arms and legs. “Oh, I forgot; you’ll save me. You will won’t you? I’m your friend... right? I feel old.”

  “You look bad, too.”

  “Oh…”

  The main gate to the flight school swung open, and a fancy Luftwaffe staff car rolled past the cadets. It kicked up dust, and the cadets choked on it. The shiny Luftwaffe car was in pristine condition. The sight of the staff car was normal as they came and went all day long. What was more than odd was the unmarked black sedan following behind it.

  The cadets watched both cars stop next to the Kommandant’s Office. Two stiff looking men, wearing dark trench coats and matching hats got out of the black sedan. One of them took a second to stare down the cadets. The cadets became more than unsettled. Zigfried, however, smirked, “Well, well, well.”

  Wilhelm, Zigfried’s big lackey said, “Things are going to change.”

  Zigfried looked at Hans and Wolf. “Sooner than they think.”

  A single Luftwaffe officer joined them at the top of the stairs. He adjusted the tie to his uniform and then he opened the door to the Kommandant's Office. The two men brushed by the Luftwaffe officer and went inside. The second man, however, stepped on the side of the Luftwaffe officer’s right shoe, as he walked by.

  The Luftwaffe officer sighed and reached down to rub out the smudge on his shoe. He shook is head slightly and went into the office.

  Down below on the field, Hans turned to Wolf. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know; you can bet it’s not good.”

  Hans whispered to Wolf, “Who are the thugs is the black suits.”

  Wolf and Hans looked at Zigfried who was just down the row. Zigfried had a smirk on his face as if to say. Watch and learn.

  Wolf said to Hans, “You better be quiet.”

  Han’s face turned sour. “I’ve had it with him. Why don’t you put your fist all the way thru his face this time?”

  “You’re brave today.”

  “Why not? You’re the one doing the punching. You know what a wingman does, don’t you.”

  “No, what?”

  “When the pilot he’s suppose to be covering buys the farm, the wingman goes to the pilot’s fiance and comforts her. One thing leads to another and before long, the wingman ends up with the girl. See how that works?”

  “What if the pilot puts water in his wingman’s gas tank before they take off? Right into the Channel.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Bring you lifejacket.”

  Lieutenant Dieter was at the front of the formation. He had quite enough of the disruptions. “Settle down unless you want to run until lunchtime. Gentlemen, that’s enough excitement for one day. Get moving!” The cadets fell into line and jogged out of the compound.

  * * *

  Inside the Kommandant’s Office, Major Otto Van Bruen was surprised by the early visitors. He took one look at the men in the black suits and knew they were part of the Gestapo. That didn’t sit well with him...not by any means. The Luftwaffe General he knew. It was Josef Korton a fast rising general in the Luftwaffe, who preferred tailored uniforms and sweet smelling perfume. General Korton fancied himself a lady’s man. Major Van Bruen was disgusted by men like General Korton.

  No doubt General Korton had curried favor with Hermann Goering. Major Van Bruen wondered if General Korton got down on his knees and dusted Hermann Goering famous miniature train set collection that was in the attic of Goering’s house at Carinhall. He could only imagine what other favors General Korton afforded the rotund General.

  Major Van Bruen saluted General Korton and ignored the Gestapo officials. Major Van Bruen said, “General Korton, who are your friends? I take it they aren’t here to give me a medal. But we could use another hand with the lavatory detail. Not that they are qualified.”

  The Gestapo officers squirmed in their chairs. The older of the two reached into his coat pocket and put his hand on a Luger pistol. Easy old man.

  General Korton said with phony earnest. “Major Van Bruen don’t make this any more unpleasant than it already is.”

  The head Gestapo agent said, “You have been relieved of your duties at the flight academy, on orders of Hermann Goering. I suggest you gather your things; you’re coming with us.”

  Major Van Bruen was more than indignant. “I won’t go.”

  General Korton softly said, “Major the Luftwaffe applauds your service here, but this is now a matter for internal affairs.”

  “What have I done?”

  The Gestapo agent said, “There is some question of your loyalty to the Fuhrer.”

  “Who has made this preposterous claim? Present him to me at once.”

  The Gestapo agent gently tugged on the Luger. “Major, I must insist that you come with us.”

  Major Van Bruen became more indignant. “And if I refuse?”

  Now the Gestapo agent pulled the Luger out of his coat pocket so Major Van Bruen could look down its barrel. “Major... then I have orders to have you shot.”

  General Korton tried to make light of the situation. “Come, come now Major, let’s leave the dramatics for the theatre.”

  Major Van Bruen looked at General Kortin. “Have you ever flown a plane over enemy territory?”

  “Of course not. I had other duties during the First World War.”

  “And what was that, porking French women in the safety of the rear lines?”

  “Enough Major you forget your place.”

  “Do I? It’s the other way around you fool. I have led men into battle. Boys who fought and died for Germany. For Germany! I was shot down twice over France, but I flew until the end.” Major Van Bruen stood up. “I was credited with eight kills; what have any of you done? Nothing. The door…”

  Two hours later the cadets from the flight school were assembled on the parade grounds. General Korton strutted to the middle of the field. He matter of factly said in a loud voice, “Major Van Bruen has been relieved of his duties. A new kommandant will be with you by tonight. Major Van Bruen forgot that the Luftwaffe is part of a new Germany. Let all of us keep that in mind.” General Korton saluted the cadets, “Heil Hitler! Dismissed.”

  Savoy Club

  Madeline entered the popular Savoy Club just in time for afternoon tea. Her mother was waiting for Madeline at the trendy spot that was just off Piccadilly Square. The Savoy Club was in the West End or what was al
so known as the theatre district of London.

  Lady Margaret left Madeline’s father, Lord Ashton, barely a year ago. She moved out of the estate, lock stock, and barrel. Lady Margaret’s new life seemed to agree with her. She was dressed in the latest fashion, and the necklace Lady Margaret wore sparkled in the afternoon sun. She blended in quite well with the starched white tablecloths and delicate cup and saucer set that was in front of her.

  It seemed to Madeline that her mother looked better than she had in years. The stress Lord Ashton had placed on Madeline’s mother must have receded, like the tide going out. You’ve seemed to have gotten out in one piece. Splendid for you... and not so for Randolph and myself. Till death do us part or perhaps short thereof. That was clever thinking on your part. I wonder how long you were hatching your escape plans.

  Tea and crumpets were served as they sat in a private booth, which overlooked Piccadilly Circus. They had a dead on view of the statue of Eros, which was on the island in the middle of Piccadilly Circus. Lady Margaret sipped her tea, as if she was an aristocrat and not the former wife of misguided drunk, who had been berated and ignored. “It is wonderful to see you, my dear.”

  Madeline flatly said, “Mother after all this time, why do you choose to contact me now? I understand that your social schedule is rather... booked.”

  “Drop the condescending attitude. It doesn't suit you. I’m concerned about my daughter; is that something to be ashamed of?”

  “No, but having an affair while still married certainly is. And doing it in the open. What were you thinking? You’re the talk of Chelsea and Kensington. And that’s nothing to be proud of.”

  Lady Margaret set her cup of tea down with a thud, which rattled the fine china saucer. “You of all people knew my situation. Your father was never going to get better. Heaven knows I tried. What do you expect me to do, knock him on the head with a shovel from the stables? In that case, he would be dead, and the Scotland Yard wouldn't require Sherlock Holmes to solve the case. They’d put two and two together, since my finger, no my hands would still be clutching the shovel with a cute smile on my face!”

  “My you have been spending too much time at the theatre. Take a bow; that was more than brilliant. That was crass and unbecoming a lady of your stature.”

  Lady Margaret smirked. Madeline was toughing up. That was required in a man’s world. “You have grown up. You sound more like me every day. I just hope you aren’t disappointed twenty years from now.”

  Madeline's face turned inquisitive, “And just what does that mean?”

  Lady Margaret took a sip of tea. My you are innocent and naive. Those are dangerous combinations in a man’s world. “Men will always disappoint you. And that will occur at the most awful time. At first, they promise you the world with all of its glorious comforts. You are to be their queen, and they will be your knight, protecting you from the evils of the world, which first and foremost are from other men who might steal you away. They’d be happy to keep you tucked away in their castle, behind the battlements, which are there to keep you in and from seeing the light of day.”

  “That’s rather cynical, especially coming from you.”

  “Beware of the king, his castle, and the dungeon, where you will spend the majority of you time while the king drinks his life away.”

  “Mother, you’ve taken up amateur psychology as well.”

  “Wake up Madeline. Besides, who are you to judge me?”

  Madeline pushed her cup of tea into the middle of the table.“I’m just an innocent bystander, who’s left with the king, who now drinks more than ever.”

  “That’s not my fault.”

  “Maybe not. But you made matters worse by tiptoeing around with who is it, Harold Ickes, the theatre... what do they call him? Magnate. Did you stumble into his arms during the first act, or did he sweep you off your during the intermission?”

  “Change your tone at once young lady!”

  Madeline sat up straighter in the booth. “Or what? You’ll banish me from Harding Barrow? What you say in that regard doesn’t carry any weight. Not anymore. Oh, and father is getting along worse now. He nearly died last week after a terrible run of scotch. I couldn’t have stopped him from choking without Owen. Thank God for him and his quick thinking.

  “And yes dear, Owen is my king, but he doesn’t come with a castle or dungeon. Owen isn’t that well off, so I’m not marrying him for money or his front row seats at the theatre. But in your case, there will not be marriage with Harold; I assume you’d rather live as a disgraced woman, able to pick up your tent at a moment’s notice and then move along.”

  “What has gotten into you? I was planning to enjoy tea and crackers with my lovely daughter, and you go and muck it up.”

  Madeline reached into the middle of the table and took a bite from an English shortbread cookie. “Our family has a habit of mucking things up. We’re the only ones I know who can turn good fortune to a tragedy in a fortnight.”

  Lady Margaret took a breath and calmed down. “Madeline.”

  “Yes?”

  “Do steady yourself.” Madeline mockingly grabbed the edge of the table with both hands. “I learned of your engagement from the ladies at the tennis club. Can you imagine how shattered I was? Certainly you could have told me first.”

  “Well, I didn’t think you would approve, and I don’t have seats at the theatre.”

  “Leave Mr. Ickes out of this.”

  “You mean Harold.”

  “Oh Madeline, you’re quite trying.”

  Madeline broke into a smile. “It is in my genes.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “In any case, I shouldn’t think you would approve of Captain Owen Cline.”

  “Captain?”

  “Dear God, tell me it isn’t so.”

  “Of course, he’s a fighter pilot with the RAF.”

  “Oh…”

  “Don’t worry at least he doesn’t fly for the Luftwaffe.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I.” Madeline bit down on the shortbread cookie. “That’s half the fun.”

  Lady Margaret stated the obvious. “So he’s a fighter pilot like your father. I pray he is different.”

  “Yes, better to get shot down with your unit, than waste the rest of your life with a firm grip on a bottle. It would have been easier for you if Lord Ashton spun into the ground on that fateful day.”

  “That isn’t true.”

  “If father had died in battle, we would remember him as a hero instead as of a man who clutches a bottle with trembling hands.”

  Lady Margaret shook her head. She reached out and touched her daughter’s hand. “My dear, then I wouldn’t have you and someone to keep me on my toes.”

  “Yes, lucky you.”

  “Now tell me all about him.”

  Madeline smirked, “Who?”

  “Owen Cline. Can he fly... fly well?”

  “The RAF wouldn’t have given him wings and a commission if that wasn’t the case.”

  “Well, that’s a start.”

  Berlin

  Professor Kruger and his wife lived a rather simple life, even though they traveled in the upper circles of German academia. Their work at the university was the most important thing in their lives. Especially now since their son Wolf, and much to their dismay, had decided to accept his placement in Luftwaffe Flight School.

  There wasn’t much that could be done to stop Wolf from joining the Luftwaffe. Professor Kruger and his wife knew that Wolf was an excellent candidate. His academic scores were without exception, and he met all the physical requirements to gain entry into flight school. So they resigned themselves to the fact that Wolf would eventually be flying for the Luftwaffe and the Third Reich.

  The Kruger’s had a beautiful home in the exclusive Prenzlauer District of Berlin. The neighborhood was known for its quiet tree-lined streets and coffee shops, where the educated conversed about the subjects of the day. Before the
Nazis came to power, those conversations included politics. But those discussions had long since been shelved. Better to keep any unclean thoughts about the Hitler and the Third Reich to yourself. You never knew who was looking over your shoulder and if you would be turned in for subversive talk.

  As was their typical pattern, the Kruger’s were in bed by the early evening. But that meant they were propped on their pillows reading various books and articles. Every so often Professor Kruger would turn to his wife of over thirty years and comment about happenings at the university. More and more it seemed that conversation included the intrusion of the Nazis on the toes of higher education.

  On this night, Professor Kruger turned off the light on his nightstand and hoped for a peaceful sleep. It had been a busy day, lecturing three classes in the main auditorium at the university.

  Outside on the sleepy streets of the Prenzlauer Berg, the all too familiar black sedan of the Gestapo glided to a stop in front of the Kruger residence. The same two Gestapo agents from the Luftwaffe Flight School got out of the sedan. The senior Gestapo agent said, “You sure this is it?”

  “529. This is the place. Must be nice to have money.”

  “Let’s get this over with.”

  They purposely entered the Kruger grounds. The younger Gestapo agent admired the fine trim lawn and walked up to the front door. He took his hand and pounded on the front door.

  Upstairs in the master bedroom, Professor Kruger didn’t stir until the Gestapo agent beat on the door for the second time. The door seemed to shake off its hinges. His wife turned on the lamp on the side of the bed. It was only now that she had a look of concern on her face. “Who is it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Professor Kruger stood up and put on his slippers. Downstairs the Gestapo agents didn’t bother to pound on the door for the third time. Instead, the younger Gestapo agent rammed his shoulder into the front door. He winced, but the door flew open, and the Gestapo agents rushed into the foyer and then up the staircase.