Churchill's Ace (Epic War Series Book 1)

by Greg M. Sheehan

  “Contingency plans that are now in play. I can’t very well let the bombing of London go unanswered. The public will expect our government to act in kind. This is a nasty business, but hard decisions can’t be avoided.”

  Wolf wasn’t sure he liked where this was going. “You don’t plan to bomb civilians...right? It was one plane that flew over London.”

  “Two things, Wolf. And they aren’t easy. First our airfields must be given time to recover. Unless the RAF is defeated, Hitler will not be able to invade.”

  Randolph said, “So you’d rather the Luftwaffe hit other targets besides Biggin Hill and such.”

  “And the propaganda war must be considered. The invincibility of the Third Reich must be broken. The public, theirs and ours, must realize that Herr Hitler isn’t a god... just a man.”

  Wolf stood up and studied the relief map. “What’s the target?”

  Winston pointed to 12 Wilhelmstrasse. “The Nazi art exhibit, which is opening two days from now.”

  Randolph nodded, “Really, a Nazi art exhibit. They have lost their senses.”

  Winston went on. “Works by Adolf Hitler will be on display. That should be interesting.”

  “And you expect to hit that building straight on?” asked Randolph.

  “No, I was thinking that both of you flying a Mosquito would do that. The opening will be attended by Nazi supporters and Goebbels propaganda staff. Can you hit it?”

  Wolf looked at the relief map. He turned to Randolph. “The boulevard is wide. If we came in at 1200 feet and dropped down just above the buildings as we approached the target, we could drop a bomb on it. But Sir Winston, I’d think rockets are better.”

  “Rockets,” exclaimed Randolph. “That’s a rather difficult shot, maybe even impossible.”

  Wolf smiled, “Not with my co-pilot guiding me to the target.”

  Randolph shook his head. “Now I’m your co-pilot.”

  Winston took out a cigar and lit it. “Our new Mosquito has plenty of range and the Luftwaffe has nothing that can keep up with it. An early evening raid is what I had in mind. One plane should have no problem getting through. But it’s dangerous as all missions are.”

  “Fine,” said Randolph.

  “Another thing. I didn’t want to cloud the situation. But our intelligence has gathered another piece of information, which I have no choice but to pass on to you, Wolf. Doctor Bockler will be attending the opening of the Nazi art exhibit. No doubt between his horrific medical experiments on live subjects. His dossier is long and dreadful.

  Wolf’s body tightened. “Zigfried’s father.”

  “The very person who arranged for the murder of your parents.”

  Randolph shuttered, “My God.”

  Wolf said, “The sooner, the better.”

  Madeline entered the room and saw the map. “Mother is out of surgery. She’s going to make it.”

  Randolph asked, “And what about? I forgot his name.”

  “Harry Ickes, the owner of what was the Royal Hancock. I’m afraid he’s dead.” Madeline saw the relief map. “What’s this, Sir Winston?”

  Winston hesitated and Randolph seemed to be tongue-tied also. Wolf said, “Something that has to be done.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that...”

  Calais-Marck Airfield

  JAG 23 was back in the air the next morning. There was no rest afforded the Luftwaffe or the RAF. One of the air forces would surely break. But which one? That was still up for debate. Zigfried Bockler led his squadron of Me 109s as part of a major raid on the RAF air base at Hornchurch.

  Several squadrons of fighters from the Luftwaffe were assembled for the bombing run. The attack forces grouped together over the Channel and hit the Hornchurch installation in two waves.

  The sky above the target area quickly became a series of individual battles. Zigfried had a new wingman, his third after losing Wilhelm and Hans. The rookie pilot stuck to him like glue. Early in the encounter, Zigfried dove on a Hurricane that was busy shooting at a Junkers 88 bomber. The JU 88 was shot up and rolled over.

  However, the victorious Hurricane soon felt the impact of Zigfried’s Me 109 20 mm cannon fire. The Hurricane was badly damaged, and the pilot tried to bail out. His canopy was stuck in a twisted ball of metal. The Hurricane pitched downward to meet its fate.

  As the Luftwaffe fighter escort tangled with the Spitfires and Hurricanes, a high percentage of German bombers bore down on Hornchurch. Sticks of bombs were released and within minutes, Hornchurch suffered substantial damage.

  To add to the carnage, a second flight of bombers followed the first. Most if not all of them made it to the target. JAG 23 headed for home. The RAF base at Hornchurch had been put out of action, and Zigfried had scored his fifth kill. He was now an ace... a Nazi ace.

  de Havilland Mosquito

  The de Havilland Mosquito was known as “The Wooden Wonder.” It was well named, because it was made almost entirely of wood. It was a novel concept, to turn your back on the modern metal frame structure and go with something that termites could sink their teeth into. But that wasn’t exactly true. The Mosquito used laminated plywood for various sections of the plane, including the wings and interior structural ribbing.

  The whole thing was held together with state of the art glue and wood fasteners. As time went on, the Mosquito would go under numerous changes to solve various problems unique to the plane. Those would be the deterioration of the Mosquitoes surfaces in humid weather, to the unfounded fear of termites eating through the plane’s fuselage.

  It was exactly 90 minutes before dusk, when Wolf and Randolph finished their pre-flight checks on the twin supercharged engine Mosquito that they were to fly to Berlin, with the hope of destroying what the young pilots called, “Hitler’s Gallery.” The sleek Mosquito was built for speed and there was nothing in the Luftwaffe arsenal that could keep up with it.

  For this mission, the Mosquito, which wasn’t fully operational yet with the rest of the RAF, was armed with eight 60 lb rocket projectiles, four machine guns in its nose, with four lethal 20 mm cannons, eight under the cockpit floor. The firepower was awesome and unique for a two crew plane. The Mosquito was equipped with extra fuel tanks and would have no problem reaching Berlin.

  Wolf and Randolph walked to the front of the plane, just as Winston’s Rolls Royce was pulling up. Winston and Madeline got out. Randolph said, “There’s room for one more in there Sir Winston.”

  Winston reached up and touched the belly of the fuselage of the Wooden Wonder. “I’d hate to alter the delicate balance of the plane. Who knows what effect an additional passenger would have. Although I’d be happy to pass the time with the recounting of my time with Lord Kitchener in the Sudan.”

  Madeline laughed, “You better wear a parachute. Surely that boring adventure would get you tossed.”

  Winston took out an envelope and handed it to Wolf. “In case you have time on the way back.”

  “There’s more?” asked Randolph.

  “Aren’t you pushing it,” smirked Madeline. “Why don’t you have them kill Hitler while they’re at it.”

  “It may come to that and no one would shed a tear. Now have a safe flight. The Mosquito has a service ceiling higher than anything the Luftwaffe can muster, so use that to your advantage.”

  Wolf kissed Madeline. She said, “Try not to trip.”

  “I won’t.”

  Madeline turned to Randolph. “Bring him back and yourself as well.”

  “Goodbye.”

  Wolf and Randolph climbed into the cockpit, through the Mosquito’s doors which were in the underbelly of the fuselage. Minutes later they roared into the dimming light, on their way to Berlin. Winston and Madeline watched the plane disappear as it headed for the Channel. Madeline said, “I hope this is the last of your special missions, for the two most important men in my life.”

  “I hope so, but war has a way of mucking things up.”

  Calais-Marck Airfield

/>   JAG 23 landed at their Calais airfield with minor losses. The raid on Hornchurch had been a smashing success. Only two Me 109s had been lost. If this was the way of things of to come, England would soon be defeated. The pilots were debriefed and Zigfried’s fifth kill was confirmed. The younger pilots celebrated JAG 23’s new ace.

  After the stand down was official for the day, Zigfried walked along the tarmac as his fifth kill was painted on the tail of his Me 109. Soon Colonel Dunkel stood by his side. “Congratulations Captain Bockler. By all accounts, the raid was a success. It seems that I was wrong about you.”

  “What does that mean? You thought Wolf Kruger was fit for the job. Or was he your favorite?”

  “Watch your words, Captain. You go too far.”

  Zigfried moved closer to Colonel Dunkel. “Colonel, I’m the first Nazi ace in the Luftwaffe. What do you think that means?”

  “I suppose you’ll be famous. But that doesn’t…”

  “Forgive me, Colonel. We can both make JAG 23 the most honored squadron in the Luftwaffe. It doesn’t matter if that is true. And what will that hurt? We have done our part.” Zigfried raised his voice. “I have done my part. And what of Wolf Kruger.”

  “Captain Kruger.”

  “All he did was get shot down. What use is a dead ace to the Luftwaffe?”

  “Don’t be confident. When you’re up there, anything can happen at any time. We could have two dead aces.”

  “I don’t think so. You will inform high command of my achievement and the Propaganda Ministry as well. I will be taken out of frontline duty for a period of time.”

  “You mean to be a tool of Propaganda Ministry.”

  “The Third Reich needs heroes. The Third Reich needs me.”

  Colonel Dunkel tried to hold his ground. “And if I refuse?”

  Zigfried’s face morphed into a sinister look. “The untimely deaths of Wolf Kruger’s parents were no accident.”

  “What!”

  “I expect to leave at first light for Berlin. Thank you for the little chat... Colonel.”

  Zigfried saluted and walked away. Colonel Dunkel looked around to make sure no one was within earshot. “Nazi bastard.”

  * * *

  Wolf cleared the Channel and took the Mosquito up to 28600 feet. The sleek twin-engine plane was the best high altitude fighter-bomber plane in the world. The Luftwaffe lacked any ground weapon that could reach that high. The only true danger Wolf and Randolph faced was a mechanical breakdown and the attack run on “Hitler’s Gallery,” at 12 Wilhelmstrasse.

  Randolph acted as navigator for the mission, and he simply put the Mosquito on a straight run toward Berlin. He opened the envelope that Winston gave him. “Let’s see what else Winston has in store for us.” He looked at the contents. “Low-level reconnaissance at the Luftwaffe test airfield at Rechlin. Have you ever been there?”

  “No, but it’s the Luftwaffe’s main testing grounds for new aircraft designs.” Wolf laughed, “You know how to work the cameras on this thing?”

  “Just click. What about the attack run in Berlin?”

  Wolf eased up on the controls as the Mosquito cut through the sky, leaving contrails in its wake. “We will come in from the east. Wilhelmstrasse is extremely wide, maybe eight lanes. More than enough to dip down and attack the building head on. 12 Wilhelmstrasse is at the end of the boulevard, where it T’s. That why we’re going to use rockets.”

  “What about wires going across the street?”

  “Everything is underground.”

  “How do you all of this?”

  “The university that my parents taught at is close by. I know the area very well.”

  Randolph smirked. “And now you fly for the RAF.”

  “You can’t have everything in life. And don’t worry I’m keen as Winston might say, in saying hello to the Nazis inside the art gallery.”

  St Bartholomew's Hospital

  Madeline found Lady Margaret conscious for the first time since she was pulled out of the rubble at the Royal Hancock Theatre. Lady Margaret was in a ward with other female patients. One arm was broken and in a cast. Her right leg was heavily bandaged but had survived the bomb blast and the collapse of the ceiling with minor damage. That was more than a godsend because a huge wood beam had fallen inches away from her legs.

  She was one of the lucky ones. Lady Margaret’s head was propped up on a pillow and an IV was hooked up to her unbroken arm. Her face was bruised and she had a black eye. When she saw Madeline, she smiled and then cried. Madeline went over to her and carefully gave her a kiss and held her hand. “Oh, mother.”

  “I don’t remember much. I was watching the rehearsal to the new musical with Harry. It was going to be a lovely play. The critics would have thought it funny and the audience, no doubt charming.”

  Madeline said softly, “I’m sure.”

  “Harold is dead, isn’t he.”

  “I’m afraid so. Not many made it out. It was horrific.”

  “My dear, how do you know?”

  “You don’t remember do you?”

  “No.”

  Madeline’s face now took on a look of determination. “I was the one who found you.”

  “You did?”

  “When the bombs hit the theatre, I came over from 10 Downing. James drove like a madman to get me to the Royal Hancock.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  Madeline squeezed her mother’s hand a bit tighter. “You don’t have to say anything. Now, get some rest, and I’ll come back tomorrow.”

  Madeline kissed her mother and left the ward. Lady Margaret looked at her hand and saw the seven-carat ring that Harold Ickes had given her. She whimpered and closed her eyes.

  Berlin

  When the Mosquito passed over Hanover, Berlin was less than 100 miles away. Wolf kept the Mosquito at altitude. He wanted to descend the plane for the attack on the 12 Wilhelmstrasse at the last possible moment. Randolph studied a map that was on his lap. “Seventeen minutes and then you’re turning south and then down the boulevard. If you can find it.”

  “It’ll be lit up like it’s Christmas. The war hasn’t come to Germany yet.”

  “I guess that will soon change. It’s only one plane, though.”

  Wolf smirked, “With eight rockets.”

  Seventeen minutes later Wolf changed headings and started a steep descent toward the government district of Berlin. He was right; the district and the entire city were ringed with bright lights. The Reichstag, which was the former seat of the German government, was bathed in lights.

  Wolf flew straight over it and down Wilhelmstrasse Boulevard. He fingered the control of the rockets. His plan was to release four rockets on the first pass while Randolph fired the four machine guns in the nose of the Mosquito and the four 20 mm cannons under the pilot’s cockpit.

  The Mosquito roared down the boulevard and was just above the rooflines of the three-story government buildings which lined the street. The art gallery was at the dead end of the boulevard, where Wilhelmstrasse ended. At three hundred yards Wolf nosed the Mosquito slightly down and fired four rockets in rapid succession.

  That was the cue for Randolph to fire the machine guns and cannons.

  Inside the art gallery, numerous Nazi donors and party officials had gathered. Champagne was flowing and the dignitaries engaged in small talk as if there wasn’t a problem in the world. Doctor Bockler was among them. He wore a tailored dark suit that he was told by his Nazi friends looked very professional and fitting for a man of his stature. A Nazi pin was on his lapel.

  The roaring of the twin engines of the Mosquito would have been the first thing heard by those assembled inside the art gallery, if not for the launching of the rockets. The rockets were on their way toward the massive plate glass windows of the art gallery.

  Of the four rockets that were launched, two missed wide and impacted on a row of parked cars. Another rocket entered the art gallery at the very top of the plate glass window. When it e
xploded glass and shards of concrete and metal ripped through the floor space.

  The final rocket impacted on the sidewalk in front of the building and created a racket but not much damage. The machine gun and cannon fire had walked its way up Wilhelmstrasse and finally into the art gallery as the Mosquito angled in for the attack.

  The blistering shells ripped into the standing art exhibits by the entrance to the gallery. A dozen Nazi supporters were struck. Some received superficial wounds and fell onto the marble floor or into the art exhibits behind them.

  Two or three men by the front door took direct hits in the upper body. Blood splattered and the head that belonged to an industrialist who specialized in making canteens and shovels for the Third Reich exploded from a direct hit by a 20 mm shell.

  Doctor Bockler was in the middle of the gallery, admiring a serene outdoor painting by the Fuhrer when the commotion started. He was also contemplating his next round of experiments to be performed on a set of young female twins.

  The experiment which he was quite excited about would include the amputation of one twin’s ear and the grafting of it to the other twin’s arm. This would perhaps give vital information if the identical genetic disposition of both subjects would indeed make the graft successful.

  The surgery would have to be done without anesthesia to eliminate a variable. That didn’t bother Doctor Bockler in the least. The same could be said for the twin girls whose bone-chilling screams would harmlessly bounce off the walls of his macabre medical facility.

  Doctor Bockler now had his own problems, as machine gun fire from the Mosquito ripped into both of his legs. He fell head first into one of Hitler’s paintings, which was of a French Chateau. Smoke poured from the gallery and people trampled over each other in their panic to get away. Doctor Bockler withered in pain and screamed for help. He was on his own.

  Wolf pulled up, easily cleared the two story building and turned to the right. He circled over the Reichstag and lined up for another run. Wolf was in a trance as he flew the Mosquito down the Wilhelmstrasse. Randolph watched in amazement as Wolf’s second run was dead on. As soon as Wolf released the final four rockets, Randolph fired a long burst from the Mosquito’s cannons and machine guns.