Wolf moved away from his desk and headed for Zigfried.
“Enough,” said the instructor. “I want both of you to remember, you will soon be comrades in arms. I suggest you put these petty differences aside unless you want to fly transports full of chickens. Do I make myself clear?”
Wolf said, “Yes sir.”
Zigfried didn’t say anything and sat down. The instructor said, “I will pass along the information, and we will see if it is true.”
Hans watched Wolf and Zigfried stare each other down from the back of the room. He decided right then and there that Wolf and Zigfried would never be friends. Better to give them pistols and get it over with. How are they going to engage the enemy while fighting themselves, until but one is left standing? When will this end and how?
Harding Barrow
As the days turned into weeks, Madeline and Owen spent more time together. It had been almost two years since she had said goodbye to Wolf. After all, it was just a weekend that they had spent together at Chartwell. She wasn’t sure if Winston Churchill was playing matchmaker or, more than likely, had something else up his sleeve.
There was never any contact after that. And how could anything else be expected? Wolf was German and more than likely now close to being a full-fledged pilot in the Luftwaffe. It wasn’t like Madeline could take up with someone thousands of miles away and who was part of the growing Nazi military buildup. It didn’t matter if that was through no fault of Wolf. It was better that it was over before it even started.
It was much better to be practical and sensible, and that was Owen Cline offered her. She wondered about how life would be with Owen. She didn’t find those thoughts odd. Didn’t most women play things back in their relationships with the opposite sex? Those that denied that fact weren’t true to themselves or their hearts.
And thus, Madeline warmed up to the fact that one day, she would marry Owen Cline. One thing that didn’t square was the fact that Madeline would indeed be marrying a pilot, a fighter pilot, whose baggage was to be carried around like a millstone around her neck.
However, that was only one way to look at it. Perhaps there was no denying one’s fate in life. Besides, what if Owen Cline was something more pedestrian like a tailor or a shopkeeper or even a barrister adorned with one of those awful wigs? Would she have been attracted to him all the same?
Had her father’s self-imposed demise clouded her mind, so she rejected any and all pilots out of hand, when down deep she found them profoundly dangerous and attractive. And if she was honest with herself, maybe she wanted the very thing that her father was not...a heroic fighter pilot with all the mettle that he had left tarnished on the battlefield.
And what of her brother Randolph? Was he not a respected Captain in the RAF, who had moved out of his father’s dark shadow? Her brother had taken it upon himself to restore the family name and by doing that would eventually restore the estate as well. Wasn’t that to be applauded?
It was almost midnight at the end of a long and pleasant weekend when Owen Cline was saying his goodbyes to Madeline in the foyer of the Harding Barrow. He had surprised her with a horse ride at a friend’s estate earlier in the day. It was spectacular and charming. They rode to a secluded lake, where the fish jumped without provocation, and the willow trees swayed back and forth. It was an easy day, and she was happy and for once, content.
Owen was about to take his leave when they both heard a tremendous thud come from Lord Ashton’s den. They hadn’t bumped into Lord Ashton all night, but then again, they weren’t exactly looking for him. Randolph had gone to Sussex on a romantic interlude of his own, so Madeline was left alone to cope with Lord Ashton.
They hurried down the hallway toward the den which was in the rear of the house. Madeline called out for her father, but there wasn’t any answer. Madeline knocked on the door. “Father, are you there?” Owen wiped one of glass panes to the tall eight panel light door and saw Lord Ashton lying on the floor. Madeline got up on her toes, and she saw her father was next to the leather couch. She pounded on the door. “Father!”
Owen pulled and twisted on the doorknob, but it was locked on the inside. He pushed Madeline aside and rammed open the door with his shoulder. Owen stumbled into the den, and Madeline went over to her father. He didn’t respond, and when Owen rolled him over, Lord Ashton’s mouth was full of vomit. He was passed out and choking to death. Madeline shouted, “I’ll call the ambulance!”
“There isn’t time, help me!”
Owen lifted Lord Ashton and bent him over the couch. He hit Lord Ashton’s back. Lord Ashton came to and vomited again. He was groggy and didn’t know where he was. He stammered. “I tell you; I did all I could…”
Owen brought Lord Ashton to a sitting position on the couch and tried to calm him down. “There you go Lord Ashton. You had a bad time of it; that’s all.”
“Yes, well.”
Owen turned to Madeline. “Let’s clean him up and get him to bed. No sense in publicizing this... to anyone. It is after all, a family matter.”
“You’re right.”
It took a better part of an hour to get Lord Ashton washed up and put into bed. Before long, he was fast asleep, and Madeline fell into Owen’s arms. She said softly, “I’m not sure what to do with him. This can’t go on.”
“I know.”
He kissed her and at that moment, Madeline knew that she was going to marry Owen Cline.
Chartwell
Winston Churchill was puttering around in the garden when Madeline walked down the lane. Some may have thought that gardening for a man of Churchill’s stature was silly or even foolish. But that would have missed the point by a wide mark. Famous or well-known people had different ways about them to pass the time or just let things simmer in the back of their minds. Some drove fast cars or had to conquer the next woman.
Winston Churchill was a man of varied interests which didn’t seem the least bit incongruous at least not to him. Obviously, he was a skilled orator and writer. But he also spent quiet time painting, and there was gardening. He had once taken up golf for a short period. Winston soon gave it up saying, “Never have implements been invented that were so ill-suited for their purpose.” There was more than a bit of truth to that line of reasoning.
Winston was quite skilled as a gardener and more than able to trim his beloved roses. However, his mind was somewhere else even though he seemed to be fully engaged in selecting the correct place to cut a rose stem.
No doubt he was thinking about Herr Hitler and how he was playing most if not all of Europe for a bunch of fools. Serious threats were coming to the forefront. The most important one being Czechoslovakia. Adolf Hitler and his Third Reich were rattling their sabers about the rights of the ethnic Germans in the Sudetenland region of the country.
Winston Churchill saw this for what it was, a blatant attempt for Hitler to get his hands on the rest of Czechoslovakia. The country had valuable resources and important armament factories that the Wehrmacht would need in its drive to dominate Europe. The “Hitler” situation was growing like cancer. The bolder Herr Hitler became and the more countries that fell under his boot, two things happened.
The other European countries became even more submissive to Hitler’s demands, as they were afraid that they would be the next target. Countries like Holland and Belgium stuck their heads in the sand and claimed neutrality. Surely Germany would respect their wishes.
In the end, of course, that was a tragic joke. Once those countries were conquered, the Nazis eventually rounded up the Jews and anyone else they didn’t like and took them away. Most were never seen again. Or to call it what it was. The innocent were rounded up, and either shot or sent to the gas chambers. The women were first separated from their children and then any female the Nazis found attractive was raped and more than likely killed soon after.
Winston looked up when he heard the gravel crackling under Madeline’s steps. “My dear, so sweet for you to come by. There’s an extra
pair of clippers in the wheelbarrow. Perhaps you would like to try your hand at trimming the roses.”
Madeline brushed the hair back from her eyes and inspected Winston’s handiwork. “But you’re doing such an excellent job.”
Winston sighed and put down his clippers. “Have you ever given thought to being a politician? You are quick on your feet and excuse me but somewhat hard headed. That would serve you well when the London Times sees fit to stick a fork into your… pardon me Madeline, your derriere.”
Madeline laughed, and her smile lit up Winston’s face. “I take that as a compliment on both fronts.”
Winston went back to trimming the roses. “As it was intended. And how is Lord Ashton?”
“Not well. It's hard to be taken seriously when your first and last thought is where you left your bottle of scotch. He almost came to ruin recently. It was rather scary and dreadful.”
“Mind you, I show no ill toward anyone partaking in the joys of libations, but everything has its limitations. Lord Ashton was a good man. Perhaps he still is. But until he comes to terms to what happened to him, I’m afraid this will only go on until it’s bitter and sad end.”
Madeline hesitated and then said, “Is he guilty? Was my father guilty of cowardice in the face of the enemy?”
Winston put down his trimming tool and stood up. He moved to one side to stretch his back. “And to think I once rode in a cavalry charge. It’s too late for that now.”
“Never say never. How’s that for a clever line.”
“Frankly, I don’t know the circumstances surrounding Lord Ashton’s case. Forgive me, but at the time, there were more important matters. Such as stopping the Germans from capturing Paris.”
“He does feel wronged.”
Winston sighed. “If that were the standard for proving one’s innocence, the jails would be empty. Don’t you agree?”
“Yes, but is there anything that you can do? I wouldn’t ask of course, but he is destroying everything. Soon there will be nothing left.”
“Let me raise the case with the RAF, but don’t expect anything. The RAF has standards that must be adhered to. But I promise to have his file looked at. Perhaps if another pilot had survived, it would be easier.”
Madeline touched Winston’s hand. “Thank you. There is something else. Sir Winston, there will be war...and soon?”
Winston’s face turned solemn, “Czechoslovakia is the watershed moment. The battle has already started. Not the shooting and bombing and untold human misery, but we will wake up one day, and it will be upon us like rain from a thunderstorm while hiking in the forest. Many will scatter in fear...others will fight. I choose to fight.”
“Many people will die on the ground and in the air.”
“Yes, I’m afraid that will be the case. And there’s nothing I can do about it.” Winston cut his finger on a thorn. “Damn.” Madeline handed him a handkerchief. “Thank you, my dear. Now, enough of that. A pleasant mid-morning shouldn’t be ruined with depressing thoughts of what eventually will come to pass. I understand congratulations are in order, on you engagement to Captain Owen Cline.”
Madeline smiled, but yet she certainly wasn’t beaming from ear to ear. Winston found that a bit odd. Captain Cline was now her fiancé. Surely, she was capable of more emotion than this. Winston Churchill’s mind took a full turn. Maybe he had misread his niece all along. For one of the few moments in his life, Winston was confused. Madeline said, “I admit it was rather sudden. But with the war coming, I see no reason for waiting. I may as well get on with my life. It’s the sensible thing to do.”
Winston turned cheerful again. “Then he swept you off your feet like Charlemagne did with Princess Hildegard.”
“Sir Winston, I prefer that you don’t refer to me as a Hildegard. That is better suited for the name of a Jersey cow, grazing on the lower acres.”
Winston had a good laugh. “Forgive me. Tell me about Captain Owen Cline.”
“He’s thoughtful and possesses a keen sense of humor.”
“That most assuredly is the basis for a successful union of two people.”
“Please stop it.”
“What my dear?”
“You know very well.”
Winston took off his gloves and dropped them in the wheelbarrow. “Then if you love him, all will be well.”
Madeline turned her gaze over to the willow trees outside the garden which were rustling in the wind. “It never would have worked. Besides, with the war would I even see him again? I’d be labeled a traitor. Don’t they shave your head in that case?”
“You mean if you locked arms with Wolf?”
A smile slowly came to Madeline’s face. “Forgive me, but you aren’t usually so slow on the uptake.”
“It must be this wound.”
“Yes, that young man who you were so smitten with. Do admit it.”
“He did win the Regatta trophy. It was one of my few triumphs in years past.”
“I’m sure there will be others.”
“Perhaps, a back-bencher has few options and even less willing converts.”
“Wolf was so sure he would fly for the Luftwaffe. He’s almost a pilot by now, unless he’s crashed on takeoff or tripped on the plants by his barracks. Wolf’s balance is questionable. ”
“I doubt very much the Luftwaffe dabbles in horticulture. Maybe that is why we don’t see eye to eye with them.”
“No wonder Clementine thinks you’re impossible.”
“I have no reservation what so ever that Wolf Kruger is getting along splendidly.”
Madeline smirked, “I’m sure he’ll show his stuff over London when the time comes. I hope it doesn’t come to that. If I were attached to Wolf, the Home Guard would lock me up in the Tower of London. Not very appetizing.”
“Yes, I see what you mean. That would be a problem, especially when the tourists see you chained to the wall. I guess if you smiled, they would nod and be on their way.”
Madeline now turned downcast, and her bright smile faded away. Fun and games were over. “Quite right, as you always seem to be. But I hope, or I guess pray that nothing happens to him. It isn’t his fault that he lives in Germany. I do know one thing; he will never be Nazi.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because he’s a good person, it’s as simple as that. Perhaps he’ll find someone who’ll make him happy. He deserves to be happy. Blasted men in their flying machines. Why does life have to be so complicated? I curse the coming war, and all that it brings. Heartache, destruction, so sad.”
Winston saw the pain in Madeline’s eyes. Old men who plot to make war, for their gratification and justification of their existence, would think twice after looking at Madeline, and the innocent and young at heart. Alas, that probably isn’t true; who can you trust less than men who are set in their ways, and who desire power for its own sake. Pity the world.
“Madeline the war, when it comes, will not last forever. These things pass as most things do in time. But love, ah that does not pass. Love burns forever; I guess it is one of the many mysteries of life.” Winston made a big gesture with his hands, “I’m sorry; don’t mind me. Underneath this cantankerous old man is a romantic at heart. Perhaps I spent too much time in Paris as a young man. I was young once you know… But cheers to you and Captain Owen Cline, a luckier man there is not in merry old England.”
“Thank you, Sir Winston.”
Doctor Bockler
Zigfried Bockler passed two checkpoints to gain access to the Frankfurt Institute for Hereditary Biology and Race Hygiene. He was known to the guards and was treated like royalty. He was the son of Doctor Bockler, and that was more than a calling card. That was something that any good Nazi would be jealous of. Not only was Doctor Bockler one of the leading Nazi medical researchers, but he was well connected to those close to Hitler. That was a select group of self-declared geniuses.
Zigfried struck an impressive figure in his cadet uniform. He added a Nazi armband to th
e traditional uniform. He left the barracks with it on, and no one said a thing about it. It technically wasn’t part of the cadet uniform, but who in the world was going to say anything about that, much less write him up.
Even Major Van Bruen, the old school minded Prussian commandant of the Luftwaffe Flight School, wasn’t stupid or stubborn enough to make Zigfried remove the Nazi armband. That would be tantamount to placing a Luger to one’s head and pulling the trigger.
A tree lined plot of land hid the so-called Institute from public view. There were no signs or markings on the stone building. That was the modus operandi. The structure could have housed many things, perhaps an insurance company or a fashion design studio, that the populace of Berlin would marvel at its latest fall or spring line of clothes. Maybe hemlines were up; maybe they were down. Maybe nobody with a conscience or a brain would be willing to step inside the stone building.
Oh, there were subjects in the stone building. Most had forced heavenly thoughts, as they were temporarily pushed down the halls on hospital gurneys, whose wheels squeaked. It was when the gurney came to a stop, and the wheels fell silent that the Frankensteinian work began.
The work, if you could call it that, carried out inside its evil walls, were hard to fathom for their total lack of humanity and absolute depravity of the spirit of mankind. It was something out of a horror show. But this wasn’t a cheap Friday night movie that could be laughed away, as everyone left and went to their cozy and heated homes.
The Frankfurt Institute for Hereditary Biology and Race Hygiene instead housed the evilest of intentions and actions in the entire world. It was all true and unbelievable.
It was terrible enough that those deemed social misfits by the Nazi’s were handled in a very particular way. They were either marked for compulsory sterilization, euthanasia or sent to concentration camps to be worked to death.
Churchill's Ace (Epic War Series Book 1) Page 8
