They were met by Professor Kruger at the top of the stairs. Professor Kruger tried to speak, but couldn’t. The Gestapo agents roughly grabbed him, just as Mrs. Kruger yelled, “Stop!” Mrs. Kruger lunged for her husband and the younger Gestapo agent instinctively backhanded her to keep her out of the way. His powerful swat caught Mrs. Kruger at the base of her neck. Professor Kruger could only watch in horror as his wife spun over the railing and fell onto the marble foyer. Her head slammed into white marble with a sickening thud.
Mrs. Kruger went silent as blood dripped from her nose. Her head was grotesquely cocked to one side. Her neck was broken, and her brain stem had been shattered. Blood now flowed from her mouth and ears and ran across the white marble floor. It dripped into the recesses of the grout lines and moved further away from her lifeless body. The younger Gestapo agent looked at his cohort as is if to say, What happened?
Professor Kruger screamed at the top of his lungs and wrestled with the older Gestapo agent’s gun. It was no match as the agent pushed Professor Kruger away. Professor Kruger ended up on against the rail, and he saw his dead wife on the foyer floor.
He turned to face the Gestapo agents. The senior Gestapo agent leveled his Luger and shot Professor Kruger twice in the chest and once in the head. Professor Kruger fell backwards over the stair rail and landed with a crunching thud by his dead wife. The last thing Professor Kruger saw while still alive was his wife’s wide open eyes.
The Gestapo agent holstered his Luger. “Fools... both of them.”
“What about the bodies?”
The agent started down the stairs. “Put them in the back of the car.”
“Hurry up.”
“I don’t know why she tried to stop me. The old lady—”
“It doesn’t matter. They would have been questioned and sent away, never to be seen again. Once subversives like them have been eliminated, Germany will be strong again... for my children and yours.”
The young Gestapo agent dragged Mrs. Kruger toward the front door. “You care if I get something from the ice box?”
“Hurry up.”
House of Commons
Winston Churchill walked down the steps to the House of Commons and was met by a throng of reporters. Barely three months ago, Winston Churchill was dutifully ignored by the media. He had been seen as a cantankerous warmongering old man who cried wolf at every turn about Adolf Hitler and Germany’s steps toward rearming.
Winston was indeed, the lone voice in the wild. Some even thought he was mad. The reporters pressed up against Winston, and he wasn’t going to escape until they got what they came for. A writer said, “Sir Winston, do you feel vindicated since Adolf Hitler has continued his march for more territorial demands in Europe?”
Another reporter said, “Things are playing out quite nicely for you, in that regard.”
Winston munched on a cigar and his face turned indignant. “Is that what you call seeing a madman for what he is? I receive no pleasure from any of this. My stomach turns from the thought of what may come.”
The reporter seemed puzzled. “Sir Winston?”
“You would also get a bit queasy if you had hunkered down in a trench in Flanders while the Germans dropped shells aimed at your cerebellum. I would have preferred that the Germans made washing machines rather than artillery shells. The first provides a utility to women in society, the second only heartbreak and permanent darkness to those we hold dear.”
The reporter said, “Then was Neville Chamberlain wrong in dealing with Hitler? Surely the trust he placed in the German leader has been broken.”
More reporters gathered around Winston. “He did what he thought best. I would have taken a different path. Now, we all will be forced to take a path that is not of our choosing. Surely that day is coming.”
“What must be done?”
“Preparations must be made. Though the hour is late, there is no choice. The sooner the better, I assure your Herr Hitler will not give quarter to the unprepared. Good day gentlemen.”
The sea of reporters parted, and Winston carefully negotiated the step to the curb. James opened the door to Winston’s sedan. James said, “Where were all of them previously?”
Winston looked back at the reporters. “Don’t be too harsh on them. I was once young and impressionable and perhaps idealistic. That ended in Flanders…”
Luftwaffe Flight School
It was late in the evening when Wolf was summoned to the Kommandant's Office. Zigfried watched Wolf leave the barracks, and a faint smile came across his face. Hans turned over in his bed and locked eyes with Zigfried. Hans then rolled over again. You give me the creeps, he thought.
Wolf saluted General Harig, the new kommandant. General Harig flatly said, “Cadet Kruger, please be seated.”
Wolf sat down and wondered why he was in the Kommandant’s Office at such a late hour. “Sir.”
In a monotone voice and without emotion General Harig said, “I’m sorry to inform you that your parents are dead.” General Harig paused and waited.
“There must be some mistake.”
“They were killed in a fiery car crash on the autobahn.” Wolf felt his stomach tighten. “Cadet Kruger I know this is a shock, but nothing can change it. Your work here is imperative.”
“I want to see them.”
Even in this moment of total devastation, with his thoughts and emotions going in a thousand directions, Wolf was surprised at General Harig’s reaction. It seemed he was now more annoyed than anything else. Wolf clenched his fist and held himself back.
General Harig saw Wolf’s demeanor change. “Cadet Kruger, that will not be possible; I was told by the authorities that your parents were burned beyond recognition.” General Harig stood up. “If you would like, I can give leave for tonight, to go to your parent’s house to gather some personal effects. But you need to be in formation in the morning, so you don’t have much time.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Take another cadet with you, if you find it necessary.”
Wolf saluted General Harig. “Sir.”
“Cadet Kruger, nothing can change the misfortune that has befallen your parents. It is best you now throw yourself into your flight career.”
Back at the barracks, it was more than a shock to Hans, when Wolf told him what had happened. Wolf spoke in hushed tones as not to make a scene in the barracks. Hans got dressed, and they left the barracks. Zigfried was by the door, and he said, “Is everything okay?”
Wolf opened the door and Hans went outside into the cold night air. Wolf told Zigfried, “Nothing that concerns you.”
“You look upset.” Wolf went thru the door and closed it in Zigfried’s face.
Wolf and Hans were issued a car from the motor pool, and Wolf drove toward Berlin. They rode along in silence, not sure what to say. Finally, Hans said, “Just terrible.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me about your parents. Do you mind?”
“No. They were simple people. Of course, they were professors at the university. But they loved their books and debates. I still don’t believe that they are gone, not like this.”
The sedan pulled in front of Wolf’s house, and they went up the front steps. The house was dark, with the night breeze rustling the trees in the front yard. Wolf unlocked the front door and turned on the lights in the foyer.
A chandelier illuminated the area. Wolf went upstairs and into his parent’s bedroom. Right away things didn’t look quite right. The bed was made, but not in the way his mother had always done it. There were no books on either nightstand, and that was more than odd. That just wasn’t possible. Wolf sat on the bed; They weren’t the last ones here. If not them, then who? Wolf joined Hans in the hallway. “Something is wrong?”
Hans said, “What are you talking about?”
“My parents would never leave their house like this. Things are out of place.”
Hans softly said, “A lot has happened today, and you’ve been gone for a lon
g time.”
“You’re right. Thanks for coming with me.”
“Aren’t you taking anything with you?”
“No, I’ve seen it now. I know they’re not coming back. That’s enough. Come on.” They went down the stairs and walked across the marble foyer. Wolf looked down and saw the grout line that had been discolored. He stopped and looked at it.
“What are you doing?” asked Hans.
“Look at this.”
“What?” Wolf pointed to the red grout line. Wolf got down on his knees and saw faint traces of blood on the tile floor, next to the stained grout line. “Wolf, what is it?”
“Blood.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah…”
London
In the coming weeks, Madeline and Owen Cline decided on a wedding date. That was to be on September 2, 1939. The Churchill’s were more than gracious and offered Chartwell as the place for the nuptials and reception.
But that was still three months away. Owen decided that for the time being, they would live with his parents. Madeline had met them and they were nice, but Owen thought she was becoming more distant. Certainly not how a bride to be would be expected to act. He finally broached the subject while they were in a pub, just off Trafalgar Square. “Madeline, what is wrong my dear? Is all of this too fast?”
“I’m fine. Just anxious, I guess.”
Owen took a long sip of his drink. “Well if you’re having second thoughts, I think you should tell me.”
“I’m fine, really I am.”
His face grimaced when he said, “And this German pilot, what about him?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know very well.”
Madeline laughed, “Look who’s the jealous one.”
Owen said thoughtfully, “Maybe I’ll shoot him down. How do you like that?”
Madeline reached across the table and took Owen’s hand. “Is that before or after you make mad passionate love to me.”
Owen smiled, “Certainly after.”
Chartwell
Winston Churchill was in his study when James knocked on the door. James opened it without waiting and came in. A full moon shone thru the upper pane in the study’s oversized wooden windows. Though the hour was late Winston was busy, writing notes and answering correspondence. He looked up, “James, it’s rather late for you.”
James had a thick envelope in his hands. “This was just dropped off, by well... nobody. I have no idea where it came from."
“Ah yes, well better that you are kept in the dark, about that.”
James handed Winston a manila folder. “Do you want me to go?”
Winston put on his glasses and opened the folder. He looked at several pictures that were inside the folder. Winston dropped them on top of his desk. His face turned ashen as if he had seen a ghost or perhaps something awful. “James, would you be so kind as to pour me a glass of scotch. And one for yourself.”
James went to the side table and poured Winston a glass of scotch. “What’s happened?”
“You do remember Professor Kruger and his lovely wife.”
“Of course, but so much has happened since then. It seems like so long ago.”
“They’re both dead.”
“Dear God!”
“An unspeakable situation. I don’t know how I will break it to Clementine. She was very fond of Mrs. Kruger. And Professor Kruger was a cherished colleague with a good mind and a better heart.”
James now had a glass of his own scotch. “How did they die?”
“The official line from the government is that the Kruger’s died in a head-on car crash on the autobahn. According to the news report in the local paper, it was unavoidable.”
“And the pictures tell a different story.”
“Yes, they’re from the Berlin Morgue. Don’t ask me how intelligence got them. I don’t even know. Professor Kruger was shot twice in the chest.”
“The bastards.”
“They knew the risks. But even I’m surprised at the brazen treachery of the Nazis. I’ve misread the depths of their evilness.”
“And what of Wolf?”
“I’m sure the lad was fed the party line about what happened to his parents. This I do know, Wolf Kruger will get his wish to take to the skies to do battle. And soon.”
“Damn it all to hell.”
“Yes, I was thinking the same thing. And now with the dire situation and Hitler looking toward Poland, it will not be long. The world has gone mad. And Mr. and Mrs. Kruger have met a cruel and barbaric fate. Wolf is now alone, with the Nazis.”
“Damn it to hell,” exclaimed James. “Forgive me Winston.”
Winston sighed, “May God rest their souls.
Luftwaffe Flight School
At the same time, Wolf was knee deep in aerial combat training. The Luftwaffe was patient and well organized in 1939. Their pilots were the best in Europe, with only the RAF standing toe to toe with them. It was evident to the instructors at the flight school and certainly to the other cadets that Zigfried and Wolf were the best pilots in the entire school.
They battled each other in the classroom and finally on a cold winter day in the air. Wolf and Zigfried were both in Me 109s, Germany’s top line fighter. They went at it in simulated combat above the Luftwaffe Flight School. There were very specific rules to be followed.
They were instructed to perform certain aerial maneuvers against each other. The real action commenced when one plane was put on the tail of the other plane. The chase plane was to attempt to close with the other plane and move in for a simulated kill.
Zigfried got on Wolf’s tail and should have made short work of him. No one told Wolf. He went into a steep dive and flew his Me 109 like a madman. Zigfried stayed right with him and edged ever closer.
Wolf banked twice more and then pulled his Me 109 into a tight loop and just like that he was on Zigfried’s tail. Hans and the observers on the ground saw the whole thing. Zigfried now tried to shake Wolf. No matter what he did, Wolf stayed on him. If it was real aerial combat, Zigfried Bockler would have been unceremoniously shot down.
When they landed, Zigfried quickly got out of his plane, dropped his flying gear in the runway and headed for the barracks. Hans helped Wolf out of his gear. “He didn’t like you looping onto his tail. But I rather enjoyed it. Too bad you didn’t have real bullets in your machine guns. It would save us all a lot of trouble. No one would have to fly with Zigfried or see him walk around like the good Nazi he is.”
“I wonder about him.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know.”
Hans brightened up. “What are your plans for the long holiday?”
“I haven’t thought about it.”
“It might be our last chance to be together before we get our wings. You’ll be a fighter pilot of course. As for me, it’ll probably be bombers or boring transports.”
“I doubt that; I need a wingman, and the job is still open.”
“Pack your bags; you’re coming with me.”
Wolf looked surprised, but he had a broad smile on his face. “Where?”
“To the farm of course.”
“The farm?”
“Granted, it’s not much, but I could use a hand peeling potatoes for the vodka.”
Wolf laughed, “All right. And your girl, will she be there?”
“Oh, Helga. I’m sure she’s waiting there with open arms. Hey, she has a sister.”
“That’s okay.”
Hans was taken back. “You’re not saying Helga and her sister are ugly. You better not be.”
“How would I know, I haven’t met them.”
“Helga isn’t a bathing beauty, but she’s mine. And she has a huge set of knockers.”
“Hans, do me a favor?”
“What.”
“Forget it.”
Biggin Hill
It was on a Sunday morning when the RAF went ahead with its largest com
bined air operations exercises since the end of the First World War. Flights from several airfields were to meet over southwest England and go through a series of training missions, to test the readiness of the RAF squadrons.
Owen led a flight of Hurricanes on a sweep, off the coast of England. He was getting married three days hence, and Owen thought about that more than once, as he buzzed the white cliffs of Dover. He wondered if Madeline his wife to be, was certain about marrying him. Perhaps it was a slight case of Owen feeling a little bit jealous of this German pilot. Wasn’t marriage an all in endeavor? Yes, it bothered him, it bothered him a lot.
A storm blew in from the Channel as air exercises were coming to an end. Before long, a thick fog blanketed the area and visibility rapidly diminished. The squadrons broke for home to beat the worsening weather. Owen was on the far end of one last fighter sweep over the channel when the operation was called off.
He led his flight of six Hurricanes due east, toward Biggin Airfield. The boys had performed well. Granted it was only a training run, and there weren’t any German Me 109s doing battle with the Brits in the air. But Owen knew that every hour of training that the pilots under his command received in the air increased their combat effectiveness. No doubt the training would pay off later, in the heat of battle. Owen was certain that day was coming, be it over the continent or the skies of England.
When the flight was over land, Owen saw his rpm indicator on the instrument panel start to drop. He eased off on the stick and got on the radio to his other pilots. “I’ll pull up the rear. Follow Red 1 and get cracking to the airfield. I’ll belong along shortly.”
Red 1 said over the radio, “Sir, Jameson can lead these buggers back to Biggin Hill. Perhaps I should fly with you.”
“No need; I want the lads on the ground in one piece. Get going.”
“Sir.”
The minutes passed and the fog thickened. Owen struggled for any visual acuity of the horizon. His propeller cut thru the fog, and it whipped it away from his Hurricane, only then to surround the plane again. Was there no end to the fog bank?
Churchill's Ace (Epic War Series Book 1) Page 11
