Hans hadn’t really known what fear was. How could he? He was the son of a potato farmer. What danger was there in that? Not much had gone wrong in his years at the farm. It was silly, but the nearest he had come to a disaster was a batch of fermenting vodka that had gone bad. The alcohol content of the vodka that Hans had proudly whipped up was off the charts. Luckily, his father took a whiff of it and poured it out where he stood. As long as Hans could remember, nothing grew on that ground again.
While the other pilots in JAG 23 slept off the French champagne, Hans was alone in the darkness. How could Wolf have been suddenly shot down? One second he was sleeping in the very cot that now was cold and barren. The next, he was gone and that was it. The finality of it didn’t make any sense.
Hans had assumed that it would be him who would go down in flames. But flying next to Wolf, he felt safe. He knew that nothing would happen to him with Wolf at his side. Hans would have followed his friend straight into hell, because he knew they would come out the other side.
But now, Hans was to be Zigfried Bockler’s wingman. Hans didn’t trust Zigfried. He didn’t trust his judgment or motives. How was he to protect a man that he hated? Everything had gone wrong. Hans didn’t care what it meant or how it made him feel. He was scarred. More than that, he feared for his life.
In the darkness of the barracks, he grasped a picture of his fiancé, Helga. He held the picture in his hands as he tried to sleep, and he wished he was somewhere else... any place except here and flying with Zigfried.
At the same time, Colonel Dunkel was burning the midnight oil at his office. He had gone down the pilot’s roster, and it was only now that he took Wolf Kruger off the active list. He had to do it. The report would be sent up the line, and then the questions would start. What do you mean the Luftwaffe’s first ace in the Western Theatre of operations was shot down? And who’s fault was that? The information would be kept from the public. The Luftwaffe’s golden boy was no more. Better to move on to the next hero.
It pained Colonel Dunkel to see Captain Bockler take over command of JAG 23. But there wasn’t anything that he could do about it. The unspoken truth was that the wishes of the Nazi Party were to be acquiesced to. It was cut and dry; Zigfried was the senior pilot in the squadron, and if Colonel Dunkel passed over him, he needed a reason... a good reason. Now the fate of JAG 23 was in the hands of someone other than Wolf Kruger.
10 Downing Street
Wolf’s shoulder was properly stitched by Winston’s physician. The parting words from the doctor were, “Take it easy for a few days. No undue physical activity.”
Madeline laughed, “Good luck with that.”
The doctor shook his head and left. Wolf and Madeline went upstairs. They stopped at the doors to their separate bedrooms. Wolf looked at Madeline. “I have to tell you something. In case, it happens again.”
“You mean if you get shot down again, and don't come back."
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m all ears.”
“Why do you make everything so difficult?”
“It’s a horrible habit, but there it is.”
Wolf turned serious. “I loved you the first time I saw you. It’s the truth. I’m not sure why, but I’m helpless to say anything else. Goodnight.” Wolf opened the door to his room.
“Where are you going?”
“What.”
Madeline opened the door to her room. “Don’t you see? I choose you. It was always you.” Madeline gave Wolf her hand, and he closed the door behind them.
James saw all of this from the foyer. He wasn’t in the habit of listening through keyholes, but he couldn’t help himself. He joined Winston in his office. Winston said, “James may I offer you a final brandy before we turn in. It was a day filled with many twists and turns. Unexpected and I must admit even dramatic. I’m afraid, the first of many.”
James took a seat and the glass of brandy. “And the surprises aren’t done with. It seems that Madeline and Wolf retired to the same bedroom.”
Winston leaned back in his chair. “It was inevitable and for the best. They’re young and impetuous. It isn’t their fault that the world is at war. Love doesn’t wait for anything.”
“Winston.”
“Yes, James.”
“Can we beat the Luftwaffe?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you going to play solitaire tonight?”
“The hour is late. I often find the answer to complex situations in the stack of 52 cards...”
Biggin Hill
Wolf kissed Madeline goodbye while it was pitch black outside. He dressed in an RAF uniform that was waiting for him outside the room. It fit perfectly; maybe that was a good sign. He smiled when he thought that Winston had made sure of that. Winston Churchill thinks of everything and was always one step ahead of the game.
James and Winston were waiting for him downstairs. Wolf passed Mr. Stuart, who saluted him, “Sir.”
Soon they were driving in the Rolls Royce and on their way to Biggin Hill. Winston said, “You wear that uniform well.”
“You will burn the other one.”
“If you wish. Wolf, don’t be consumed with your hate for what has happened to your parents. When you fly... fly smart. I hope you don’t mind me saying that.”
“You’re right.” The Rolls-Royce picked up speed as it left downtown London. “They will continue to hit the airfields until they are put out of action. They will not stop. Germans are stubborn.”
Winston already had a cigar in his hand. “That is one of their best qualities. The immovable rock. Inflexible in many ways. Of course, that could be their undoing... unless our airfields are destroyed in the meantime. What else can you tell me?”
“They will ramp up the attacks. Yesterday was only the start of it. The raids will get bigger. If they sense the RAF is losing, they will go in for the kill. Then they will invade and, of course, come looking for you.”
“Surely.”
Lieutenant Marsh was outside the hangar at Biggin Hill when the Rolls Royce arrived. Wolf and Winston exited the car and they walked over to a Supermarine Spitfire. Wolf asked Winston, “And what is the true speed of the Spitfire?”
Lieutenant Marsh shook Wolf’s hand. “363 miles per hour.”
“Then almost 20 miles per hour faster than my old Me 109.”
Winston walked around the fighter with Wolf and Lieutenant Marsh. “Lieutenant, it seems your protégé has come home.”
“Lad, we can use you. As you can see, Biggin Hill took quite a pounding yesterday.”
“I know; I was here.”
Lieutenant Marsh said, “It is certainly the strangest turn of events that I can remember since Rorke's Drift.”
“Is this my plane?”
“Yes, Captain Kruger.”
The sun was rising over the horizon. The Luftwaffe would soon be on its way. “Is it armed and ready to go?”
“Absolutely.”
Wolf shook Winston’s hand. “I better meet the men.”
“Do you think that’s a wise idea at the moment? After all, you strafed their airfield yesterday.”
“That was yesterday.”
Two lorries were parked near the end of the hangar. The pilots who had been transported to Harding Barrow were milling about. Wolf walked over and saw Randolph. He said, “Captain Kruger reporting for duty.”
Randolph smirked, “I see you changed uniforms. You will promise not to change back.”
The pilots from 72 Squadron gathered around and Randolph went right to it. “This is Captain Wolf Kruger; he has volunteered to join our squadron.”
“Bloody good show,” said one of the pilots.
Another asked, “Who did you fly for before... the Poles?”
Captain Ashton said, “Tell them.”
“I was flying for the Luftwaffe.”
“Dear God,” said one of them.
“And when was this?” asked another.
“Yesterday. I was shot down
in the morning and resigned just before sunset. I also spent the night at 10 Downing Street. Oh, and I was shot down by a man in my squadron. But he was Nazi, so he isn’t a man but a beast.”
The pilots laughed. Randolph said. “Captain Kruger was an ace in the Luftwaffe. Now he flies for us. He’s to be treated the same as everyone else. But you don’t have to share his sauerkraut. Captain Kruger will fly in my section. Is there anything you can tell us, Captain, as in what tactics to use?”
“First let me say my circumstances are somewhat unique. That’s the way it is. It was the hand that I was dealt. The Me 109 has a limited combat range. It can dogfight for 25 minutes over England... I mean here. Now the Spitfire can turn inside it. That’s the real advantage you all have. If you get in trouble, climb. The Me 109 will not be able to catch you. You will get shot down if you fly straight in the combat area for any length of time. And the Me 109 has horrible pilot visibility at the three and nine o’clock canopy window positions.”
Captain Ashton raised his voice. “Do you all understand that? Your life may depend on it. Captain, go on.”
“I would suggest when we reach the combat area that the squadron splits up on contact with the enemy. Half go for the bombers, the other half for the fighter escort. If it’s okay with Captain Ashton, I’ve got some scores to settle.”
“What’s that mean?” asked a pilot.
“I’m going to shoot down some Me 109s …”
Lieutenant Marsh waved his hands from the other hangar door. He then yelled, “Get them up.”
The pilots ran to their Spitfires. Engines were turned over and blocks pulled away from the wheels. In two minutes the 12 planes of 72 Squadron were in the air.
* * *
Ten minutes earlier JAG 23 was already in the air and heading toward England. Hans was in the usual diagonal formation, but this time, he was behind Zigfried. The fighter formation climbed to 11,000 feet and made contact with a flight of Heinkels that they were to escort on a raid to the RAF airfield at Croydon.
Zigfried barked on the radio to the other pilots. “Everyone shut up and follow me.”
Hans was to the back and right of Zigfried. He rued the day he ever signed up for the Luftwaffe.
72 Squadron gained altitude and was given directions by the ground flight controllers. The orders arrived swiftly in the cockpit of Captain Ashton. “Tophat, Tophat, 35 mediums and 15 escorts heading 138, repeat heading 138. 10,000 feet. Say hello to them.”
Randolph got on the radio to his pilots. “Bearing left, climb to twelve thousand. Button up, 35 bombers and half as many fighters.”
72 Squadron climbed and changed headings. It was now on a collision course with the Heinkels and JAG 23. Wolf was in a four-plane diamond formation. Randolph was in the lead. It wasn’t long before the flight of Spitfires saw telltale tiny black spots on the horizon. The spots grew larger as the pilots had become accustomed to. That meant a battle for domination of the sky was about to begin, and that planes would fall from the heavens. Some with pilots, some without.
Zigfried and his flight of Me 109s were supposed to be limited as to their ease of maneuver, as they had strict orders to protect the Heinkels and not be suckered into chasing the enemy fighters. Zigfried couldn’t help himself as he saw the Spitfires turn and dive from above him. He rolled left hoping to catch a Spitfire as it passed the bomber formation.
The RAF Spitfire in the second diamond formation crossed Zigfried’s guns. The Spitfire was in Zigfried’s cross hairs for just seconds. That was long enough for the Me 109’s 20 mm cannon to pump out three shots which tore off the Spitfire’s right wing. The stricken plane cart wheeled and the pilot never had a chance to get out. He was now in a coffin that was dropping like a rock.
Hans stayed on Zigfried’s tail and he got a short burst off, at the last plane in the second diamond formation. He missed badly and turned the plane over as Zigfried was going around for another run at the Spitfires.
Zigfried had his third kill and was well on his way to the magic number of five... a number that would make him the first Nazi ace in the Luftwaffe. That would be something his father Doctor Bockler would be proud of. As JAG 23 jousted with half the Spitfires of 72 Squadron, the remaining RAF fighter planes passed through the middle of the Heinkel formation.
Two bombers were hit straight off, in the cockpit. Their glass canopies were shattered and blood splattered throughout the nose of the plane. Some of the bomber pilots were shot in the chest. Still others took machine gun fire in the head and died with their hands on the controls.
Those Heinkels rolled over and they weren’t performing a fancy maneuver. They were falling out of the sky. A plane is a wonderful sight when it is flying majestically through the air. A plane twisting and turning toward the rising ground is like a patient gasping for one last breath. Everyone knows it is over, but yet they still watch... in macabre amazement.
Randolph broke one way and Wolf banked and climbed another. Wolf’s wingman, a new chap from Dorchester, stayed on his tail. The Spitfire is a nimble machine and in the hands of an expert pilot, it is more than deadly. Wolf dove and shoved the stick over and turned inside a Me 190. He was on its tail now. He fired the eight .303 machine guns and the Me 109’s engine smoked, leaving a black ribbon trail as it turned in and down.
As Wolf zoomed by it, he saw the red devil riding a pitchfork insignia on the doomed plane. Wolf swallowed and knew he was dogfighting against JAG 23. Fond memories of times past turned to the bitter reality of the present as a stream of bullets, nicked the edge of his wing.
Wolf pulled back on the stick and went into nearly a vertical climb. The trailing Me 109 gave up the chase and leveled out and turned away. That was more than foolish or, at least, showed a lack of battlefield awareness. Wolf was essentially performing a wingover maneuver. In layman's terms, that meant he jockeyed the controls of his Spitfire, to drop the nose of his fighter in a steep downward arc. He gained on the Me 109 and closed to 100 yards. He may as well have been shooting fish a barrel. Two shorts bursts sent the Me 109 into a death stall and Wolf had his second kill of the day.
Above and to the side of him, the Heinkels were getting decimated. Four more planes involuntarily left the formation. Two crashed straight; one limped home and the last one tried to coax its way across the Channel. It soon ditched in the cold waters and quickly sank, leaving the crew bobbing up and down in the choppy waves.
Wolf was about to enter the middle of the intense fighter melee when more bullets pinged off the back of his armored chair. He banked right and glanced at the Me 109. The Me 109 had the German eagle plastered on the side of its fuselage. Wolf knew that plane belonged to Zigfried. He slammed the stick and initiated a tight turn, as tight as the Spitfire would go.
Zigfried tried every move in the book to shake Wolf, but the Spitfire was closing fast. Three hundred yards, then two hundred yards, Wolf had the Nazi pilot in his sights. Another Me 109 cut across the front of Wolf’s cockpit, just as Wolf fired a short burst. The tail of the Me 109 was shot off. The plane which now looked like something that the third grader might draw, flew on for a moment then started to oscillate.
That Me 109 was piloted by Hans, and if he didn’t get out, he would soon be the passenger in a deathtrap. In one final maneuver, Hans inverted the plane. Thankfully, the canopy tore away from the Me 109 and Hans dropped cleanly out of the plane. Zigfried used the momentary confusion to bugger out and head for the coast. The other Me 109s did the same and the battle was over as soon as it started.
Wolf came back around and saw the parachute of the Me 109 open. He wondered for a second who he shot down from JAG 23. Little did he know it was his best friend.
The mauled Heinkel formation had caused some damage at Croydon and tried to make their escape. However, the coordination of the Luftwaffe’s attack was terrible. The Me 109 escorts were low on fuel and had to leave. The remaining Heinkels would have to make it back to France on their own. 72 Squadron continued the pursuit of the
unprotected bombers. The fight turned into a massacre.
Wolf rapidly closed in from behind on a wayward bomber and ignored the futile machine gun fire from the nose gunner of the Heinkel. His Spitfire had to be almost out of ammunition, and he held his fire until he was on top of the Heinkel. He concentrated his fire on the right engine.
The colorful tracer rounds showed he was on target. The burst tore into the engine. Sparks flew and the engine erupted in flames. The fuel line in the right wing was compromised and it caught fire. As the flames engulfed the fuselage, the plane’s crew didn’t hesitate. They bailed out. The last crew member to jump out of the plane was on fire. His chute never opened, and he dropped to his death like a flaming meteor.
Biggin Hill
72 Squadron made its way back to Biggin Hill and the runway was a mess. Giant bomb craters filled the runway and the hangar had been destroyed. The squadron was waved off to its secondary field which in this case was the wide open 17th fairway of the nearby West Kent Golf Course. The golf course was practically parallel to the Biggin Hill airfield.
It wasn’t like the Luftwaffe could pulverize every inch of the surrounding area, so 72 Squadron landed on the 17th fairway, and the planes were moved onto the adjacent fairways. The Spitfires would be serviced there, at least for the moment, without the benefit of a permanent hangar.
72 Squadron had lost three planes in the morning engagement. Another was severely damaged, and that left eight serviceable Spitfires for the rest of the day. The pilots including Wolf and Randolph barely had time stretch out when Lieutenant Marsh, stepped lively out of a fuel truck that rolled to a stop along the row of planes.
He motioned for the Spitfires to be re-fueled by the ground crews. He said directly to Randolph, “Captain Randolph, you’ll have to get the boys back in the air as soon as the planes have been turned around. Low-level Dornier bombers have been picked up on the radar. I believe they are heading for Biggin Hill. The Jerries are determined to put us out of business.”
Churchill's Ace (Epic War Series Book 1) Page 22