Churchill's Ace (Epic War Series Book 1)

by Greg M. Sheehan

  “Don’t tell that to the new recruits.”

  Wolf went on, “Please don’t tell her I did this.”

  “Wasn’t that the point?”

  “I lost my mind for a brief moment.”

  “But you’re an ace. That’s something, huh.”

  “No, not enough. You’re over your lines now.”

  “Right.”

  “Four thousand feet.”

  “Thanks.”

  Randolph opened the passenger’s door. Captain Ashton shimmied out on the diagonal wing strut. Seconds later he was gone. Wolf turned the plane around and flew on to Frankfurt. The foolish thoughts of Madeline faded away.

  Paris

  Two days later Winston Churchill was in Paris for the most important meeting of his life. It was no understatement to say that the fate of a free Western Europe hung in the balance. History often turns and forever changes on the smallest of things. It also reverberates like a tidal wave and washes away what was and presents the world what will be. It doesn’t matter if the world is prepared for the new order. Fate doesn’t show a calling card...it steamrolls those who have their heads in the sand.

  His Majesty’s new Prime Minister, Winston Churchill was at the office of the French Prime Minister, which was located in the Hotel Matignon. It was one of his first and most important endeavors since being appointed Prime Minister.

  The Germans had broken through the front at Sedan, and now the Allies were in crisis. The German Panzers were racing due west toward the coast, to cut off the British Expeditionary Force that was well north of the French frontier. The majority of the massive French Army was in the same predicament. Both armies were about to be taken from the rear. That was more than a dubious result; it was an unmitigated disaster.

  Outside the hotel, James and Madeline waited for the news from the meeting. In any other year, it would have been another serene and quaint spring day in The City of Lights. The shops and streets would have been full. The poets and painters would be scattered among the populace, creating and dreaming of what was to be. But none of that was true...not now.

  Paris was a city on edge. Rumors were everywhere. The Germans would be in Paris by nightfall. The French government had already fallen. The government had shipped its gold reserves to America for safe keeping. The Fifth Column had stabbed France in the back.

  It was Madeline’s first venture to Paris, but she also sensed that there was tension in the air. Anyone could see it...and feel it. The sidewalk cafes were somewhat empty, and it seemed that the Parisians were preoccupied with the coming maelstrom. That would be the nightmare of the vaunted Wehrmacht goose stepping up the Champs-Elysees and then under the Arc de Triomphe.

  Unless the French military pulled a rabbit out of their hat, that nightmare would he upon them. And much sooner than anyone thought possible. The humiliation, in the end, would be all encompassing, and The City of Lights would go dark under Hitler’s boot.

  Inside the French Prime Minister’s Office, Winston was with a small delegation of British military officials. It was evident from the start that the French high command and their Prime Minister were ready to throw in the towel. The battle had barely begun, and they thought it already lost.

  The French Prime Minister, Paul Reynaud had alluded to that fact the day before when he had placed an emergency call to Winston Churchill, who was only made Prime Minister on May 10. Now a few scant days later Churchill was faced with a historic and cataclysmic collapse of Britain's most powerful ally.

  The initial call the day before by Paul Reynaud had started and ended with the French Prime Minister saying, “We are beaten...all is lost.” Winston Churchill tried to calm down Reynaud and agreed to come swiftly to France the next day. And so now, here was Winston standing before what was once a great country, but at this moment in time was shaking in its boots.

  The French Prime Minister asked General Maurice Gamelin to lay out the situation to Winston Churchill. “The Germans have broken through on a 50-kilometer front and have advanced more than 60 kilometers inward from Sedan.”

  Winston Churchill immediately asked, “And what of the French strategic reserve?”

  “We have none,” replied General Gamelin in a manner that was nonchalant and resigned to the impending defeat.

  Winston was shocked. How could a country with over one million troops and 110 combat divisions be left with no contingent force to plug a hole in the line. That was more than foolhardy; it was inexcusable. Winston hesitated for a moment and said, “When will you attack the flanks of the German advance?”

  Gamelin replied with a hopeless shrug and the famous words: “Inferiority of numbers, inferiority of equipment, inferiority of method.”

  If General Gamelin at that moment had been under the command of Winston Churchill, he would have been summarily sacked and sent packing. Or better yet, tied to the front of a Napoleonic cannon, and then the gun would have been fired. It was obvious that the French no longer had the will to fight.

  The First World War had inexorability sapped, without mercy or remorse, the beating hearts of a French generation. Many had died; more had been maimed and wounded. And now but twenty years later, France was summoned to fight again. It was too much to ask and perhaps would have been too much for anyone, no matter where they called home. There would be heroic attempts by more than a few to stem the German tide, but it wouldn’t be enough.

  Prime Minister Reynaud pleaded with Churchill for more squadrons from the RAF. This crossed the final line. The British would need every plane to defend itself from the coming air war with the Luftwaffe. Winston was evasive, and the British delegation took its leave. Another meeting was scheduled, but the curtain was coming down on the great Franco-British alliance.

  * * *

  Winston Churchill met Madeline and James outside the Hotel Matignon. They could tell that he was in a downbeat mood. James asked, “Shall I get the car and proceed to the airfield?”

  Winston said, “They’re done. I couldn’t stir their sense of patriotism or honor. We will have to go it alone for now.”

  James sat down on an outdoor cafe chair. “Against the German Army?”

  “There is little choice. It is either that or acquiesce to Hitler and his minions.”

  “Never.”

  Madeline said sadly, “France is defeated. And what about our boys?”

  “Soon to be trapped. The whole lot of them.”

  “Dear God,” exclaimed Madeline.

  Winston said, “That is why I have already put contingency evacuations in motion. James if you will...time to go.” Winston sighed, “In happier times, I would have suggested a leisurely lunch and reminisced about my days as a young man in Paris. I would have suggested an omelet.”

  “At this hour?”

  “Not any omelet James, but a French omelet.”

  “Well heeded Sir Winston.”

  Soon James appeared with a sedan that had been provided by the British Consulate. They headed for the Paris Le Bourget Airport. A military escort cleared the way as they sped on. An RAF twin engine plane was waiting for them on the runway. As they made their way up the stairs to the plane, Winston was handed a piece of paper. He nodded and entered the plane.

  Madeline and James took their seats on the converted plane. Winston was the last one to sit down. He folded the paper and put it in his coat pocket. “What’s wrong?” asked James.

  Winston wistfully watched Paris fade away as the plane took off. “I have the losses from the RAF attack on Sedan. They were dreadful. They never really had a chance. Attacking a bridgehead by funneling our aircraft up a valley... just terrible. And that’s not all of it. Madeline, Captain Ashton is missing in action. They tell me the air battle was a melee of planes. He could be still alive. At least, that is the hope.”

  Madeline sat back. “Or he could be dead…”

  Winston didn’t say anything else. Instead, he pondered the world as it now was. It has all started. Where and how it ends, no one t
ruly knows.

  Reich Air Ministry

  Wolf traded in his Storch observation plane for a full-scale ride on a Junkers 88. The twin-engine bomber picked up Wolf in Frankfurt and landed in Berlin three hours later. The first ace of the war in the West rested briefly and then was driven to the Reich Air Ministry in Berlin. The Reich Air Ministry was the largest commercial building in all of the Europe. The seven-story 112,000 square meter building had over 2800 rooms. In retrospect, it was a massive monument to the grandiose ego of Hermann Goering.

  The Air Marshall thought he was special, and why not have a magnificent building to house his plaything known as the Luftwaffe. Hitler had a soft spot for the First World War ace who had climbed on the Nazi bandwagon when the movement was thought of as a backward joke, consisting of a gaggle of functional illiterates.

  So Hitler let Goering indulge himself, whether it was with his fancy uniforms, self-dealing with German industry, the ripping off of art from conquered countries or the mammoth construction project that became the Reich Air Ministry.

  When the fancy Mercedes staff car, adorned with shiny hubcaps and glossy black paint finally arrived at the Reich Air Ministry, Wolf Kruger was treated like a conquering hero. As soon as he stepped out of the vehicle, Wolf was met with the blinding light of Nazi propagandist cameras popping off.

  He was instructed by his handler to smile, and Wolf obliged. Wolf saw stars and after it was over wondered if his sight would ever get back to normal. He figured he might have a hard time dogfighting in his Me 109 if all he saw was white spots out the canopy window.

  Wolf was then whisked into a mini auditorium that was filled with Luftwaffe officials and staff members of the Luftwaffe Air Ministry. Before Wolf knew it, the rotund Hermann Goering shook his hand. More pictures were taken. Goering was dressed in his powder blue uniform, which belonged in a previous century. It would have been the talk of the royal court in Versaille. The pompous predilections of Goering would have fit right in with the French nobility.

  Fatso Goering as he was called behind his back, by many in Hitler’s inner circle was addicted to morphine. The drug was introduced to him to quell the pain of his battlefield wounds from the Great War. Soon it became more than a crutch, but an absolute necessity. Between the wars, as Goering rose in power, he commissioned a self-portrait no doubt for posterity. The artist, a Hungarian of noted distinction, painted with exactness and truth.

  Goering’s face and especially his drooping eyes foretold the gaze of a morphine addict. Hermann demanded that the portrait be redone. The painter simply said, “I paint what I see.” He then left Germany for fear of his life.

  Hermann Goering gave a short speech, as Wolf stood uncomfortably at his side. Goering recounted his days over the battlefield. Some in the audience wondered if Goering was about to award himself, with a medal. He concluded his remarks by saying. “Wolf Kruger is the first of many brave pilots, who will drive the RAF from the sky. The Third Reich is the new order of the world. Heil Hitler!” The audience rose to their feet at dutifully performed the infamous Nazi salute. Wolf didn’t salute.

  Once the award ceremonies ended, Wolf was summoned to Hermann Goering’s office. The large plate glass windows of the office afforded a magnificent view of the pristine Berlin skyline. Goering was seated in a finely crafted leather back chair. His baton was gently placed on a dark walnut desk that had a gold leaf top. “Now Captain Kruger tell me about our Messerschmidt. Is it superior to the planes of the RAF?”

  “Air Marshall the planes are very similar. It comes down to the pilot as to who will live and who will die.”

  “I see. And the training program for our pilots? It is satisfactory?”

  “Very much so. But after all, most of us were glider pilots.”

  “Soon the air battle will move to England itself unless the British come to their senses and end this conflict.”

  “You mean surrender.”

  “Call it what you want. They need to accept our vision of the world.”

  Wolf leaned forward in his chair. “Air Marshall and what is that?”

  “Aryan superiority. It was inevitable that the cream would rise to the top.”

  Wolf looked Goering straight in the eyes. “The British will never surrender.”

  “Captain I wouldn’t be so sure. There is another matter before you return your squadron. As the first ace of our victorious battle in the West, certain protocols now come into play. It would be advantageous to yourself and the Luftwaffe that you join the Nazi Party. In fact, that needs to take place today. Congratulations.”

  All that Wolf could think about was Zigfried, and his turned up nose. If this was the Nazi Party, Hermann Goering could stuff it up his fat ass. And there was the real issue or just what happened to his parents. That was baffling and confusing. But in any case, he didn’t want anything to do with the Nazi Party. Wolf was a fighter pilot. “Air Marshall, I do not wish to draw attention to myself. You can understand.”

  Hermann Goering’s face turned inquisitive. What was wrong with this young man? A golden invitation to join the Nazi Party had been plopped in his lap. It was a calling card that would open doors to Wolf Kruger. “I’m afraid I don’t. You will join the Nazi Party.”

  Wolf stood up and saluted Goering. “I will not. I know nothing of politics. May I return to my squadron?”

  Goering motioned for Wolf to leave his office. Wolf quickly left. Hermann Goering faintly smiled and shook his head. “Fighter pilots.”

  * * *

  Wolf was offered another ride in the black Mercedes limo to the airport. Instead, he politely declined and asked for a car from the motor pool. The duty officer thought for a second, but when he saw that Wolf was wearing the Knight's Cross with Swords on his uniform, he simply saluted. “As you wish, sir. Good hunting and shoot down many planes so this war can end, before my son has to fight.”

  “I will do my best.”

  Instead of driving to the airfield, Wolf for some reason, not even clear to himself drove to the family house. The Prenzlauer Berg District in the afternoon sunlight was just as beautiful, as he remembered it. It hardly seemed that Germany was at war. Ladies pushed baby carriages down the tree lined streets, and older children filled the playgrounds. The mail was still delivered by postmen, wearing uniforms that belonged to the Age of Bismarck. Everything was idyllic and normal.

  He parked the car in the driveway. The house needed care. The lawn was now overgrown, and the bushes needed trimming. But there was no one home to perform the task, and his duties laid elsewhere. The war won’t last forever. I promise I will bring everything back as it was.

  He put his key into the lock and went inside. Nothing had changed since the last time he and Hans had been at the house. Wolf walked through the utility room and went out the side door of the house. As was typical for that era the house had a detached garage in the back of the lot. He found a lock on the heavy wooden garage doors.

  Wolf knew that lock wasn’t from his parents. That was strange. There wasn’t a window in the garage, and so Wolf couldn’t see inside. He went to the car and took a tire iron out of the trunk. Wolf returned to the garage and wedged the tire iron against the lock.

  It took a couple of tries, but the lock pulled away from the wood doors. Wolf slid the door open and got the surprise of his life. His parent’s car was inside. He walked around the car and ran his hands over it. It hadn’t been destroyed in a crash that supposedly killed his parents. There wasn’t even a single a scratch on it.

  Wolf threw the tire iron across the garage, and it bounced off the wall. What had happened to his parents, and who was lying about it? And most of all, did it involve Zigfried Bockler and who else. Wolf undid the Knight's Cross with Swords medal from his uniform and put it in his pocket.

  10 Downing Street

  On June 4, it was over. The British Expeditionary Force had been evacuated from Dunkirk. Over 300,000 soldiers had been ferried across the Channel in anything that could float. The Brit
ish Navy put out the word for pleasure craft to take part in the evacuation. The shallow water around Dunkirk meant that the large ships of the Royal Navy couldn’t get close to shore. The private pleasure crafts were needed to ferry the waiting troops on the beach out to the larger transport ships.

  A combination of French and British soldiers held an ever shrinking perimeter on the outskirts of Dunkirk. The German Army had paused days earlier in front of Dunkirk. Hermann Goering had boasted that the Luftwaffe could finish the job. He was wrong as the RAF put up a heroic struggle for control of the skies over Dunkirk.

  After the last ship had left and crossed the Channel, the British were alone in their uneven fight with Herr Hitler. Winston Churchill spoke to the frightened nation on the BBC. He said there was no doubt in his mind that the last few weeks had been a colossal military disaster and that the BEF had to leave behind all its heavy armor and equipment.

  He went on to tell the nation that it should prepare itself for another blow. Herr Hitler would surely now attempt to invade England. His last lines would live forever in annals of English history. “We shall defend our island whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills. We shall never surrender.”

  As darkness descended on London, Winston retired to his private study inside 10 Downing Street. He would have preferred his study in Chartwell, and peaceful times, but that wasn’t going to be. Perhaps he would never be able to return to Chartwell. What would happen if Hitler was successful in his domination of the British Isles? Every decent and good thing would be no more.

  He poured himself a scotch and pondered what was to be done. The task was more than daunting; it seemed impossible.

  * * *