Churchill's Ace (Epic War Series Book 1)

by Greg M. Sheehan

  “How’d you know which plane was which?” asked Winston.

  “It was easy. There’s only one pilot in the world with enough guts to fly under London Bridge.”

  “I dare say that is true.”

  Hans looked puzzled now. So much had happened and all of it so fast. “Am I still your friend?

  “Always.”

  “Well, I’m off to Canada soon, to sit out the war. Such is the fate of a pilot. The dirty little secret is that all pilots get shot down. Many lie to themselves about that, but it’s the truth.”

  For some reason that she couldn’t explain, Madeline leaned over and kissed Hans on the cheek. He blushed. “But no more planes for me. I’m better suited as a potato farmer.”

  Winston took out a cigar and chomped down on it. When he did that, Madeline and Wolf knew he had something up his sleeve. Winston said, “Lieutenant Meyer, I understand that your wife, Helga was drummed into the Wehrmacht as a courier.”

  “That’s right. How did you know that?” Hans looked at the others and felt foolish. “Stupid question.”

  “She has been traveling to neutral Sweden once a month from Dusseldorf. Everyone must serve the Third Reich in some way. But she has done her duty.”

  Hans scoffed, “Great.”

  “That is until she disappeared two weeks ago. Now don’t be alarmed, Lieutenant Meyer. She is fine.”

  “What’s going on?”

  Wolf and Madeline both had puzzled looks on their faces. Winston went on. “Hans, if I may call you that. Helga is on her way to England to join you.”

  “Where, in Canada?”

  Winston laughed, “Certainly not. How would you like to grow potatoes in northern England, with Helga at your side?”

  “Really?”

  “Most seriously,” Winston nodded.

  “Can I make vodka from them? That is allowed in your country?”

  “Only if it is of good quality,” commented Winston.

  “When will I see Helga?”

  “She will be in London tomorrow. The slow but safe boat as it were from Sweden.”

  Hans smiled from ear to ear. “Then I say we celebrate.”

  “A grand idea. Lieutenant Meyer, you will be my guest at Chartwell tonight for dinner. Captain Ashton will join all of us as well.”

  “Is he a pilot?”

  Wolf answered for Winston. “He’s Madeline’s brother... and he’s an ace.”

  “Too many aces,” said Hans. “I may develop a complex.”

  Chartwell

  It had been a very long time since Winston and Clementine Churchill had entertained a dinner party at Chartwell. It didn’t seem proper or even right since the start of the war and the elevation of Winston to the highest office in the land. But for this one beautiful September night, that was momentarily forgotten.

  To the upper crust socialites and so called power brokers of the kingdom, it was an odd assortment of people at the dining room table. To Winston it was perfect. Madeline sat between Wolf and Hans. Randolph was to one side of Lord Aston and Lady Margaret. James was there as well, having traded in the keys of Winston’s Rolls Royce for a place at the end of the table.

  After dinner, Winston raised his wine glass. “A toast to everyone here and those lost. May they never be forgotten and let it be said of us, that we did our duty.”

  James held up his glass, “Here, here. Sir Winston not to be a spoilsport, but did that include Lieutenant Meyer?”

  Everyone at the table looked at Hans. Hans shrugged and held up his glass. “I admit I didn’t do much except protect Wolf’s tail on many a dangerous missions. Of course, he did shoot me down.”

  “As he did me, too,” laughed Randolph.

  Hans reached his glass across the table toward Randolph. “Can I be your wingman?”

  “You’d have to fly for the RAF.”

  Winston nodded, “Hans I’m afraid that would be the gist of the situation.”

  “The flying business is exciting, but I’ve decided to grow potatoes. English potatoes. They are good for vodka... yes.”

  The table laughed, and Winston said, “Most certainly. Madeline my dear would you be so kind as to show Wolf the grounds of Chartwell.”

  “Really do I have to?”

  “He is our guest.”

  “Is there a bottle of Champagne in the pool?”

  Clementine threw a disapproving look at Winston. “Winston are you up to no good again. You will be the death of me.”

  Winston smiled, “But French champagne must be chilled to retain its aroma. It just so happens the swimming pool water is splendid in that regard.”

  Clementine shook her head. Madeline pushed away from the table and turned toward Wolf. “The honor is mine. Try not to trip into the herbaceous bushes on the path. I’d hate to see you get a case of vertigo. You’d never fly again…”

  The End

  Coming soon: Churchill’s Raid.

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