Churchill's Ace (Epic War Series Book 1)

by Greg M. Sheehan

  Madeline had taken a room in the upper level of 10 Downing Street. It was quaint but sparse. It did have a fireplace, and she wondered if it worked. The room was rather drafty, and Madeline slept with a pile of blankets over her. There hadn’t been any word on the fate of Randolph. With the emergency evacuation at Dunkirk, there was little time for Winston and the people in the War Department or the RAF to find a single pilot, even if he was the leader of a squadron.

  Before she was about to retire there was a knock at her door. “Yes.”

  “Madeline, it’s James. Sir Winston requests your presence in the study.”

  “At this hour?”

  “Yes, do hurry.”

  Madeline put on a robe and walked down the stairs. A uniformed guard and there were several stationed throughout the house, saluted her, even though he didn’t have to. Apparently it was just force of habit. She closed the front of her robe with one hand and saluted back with the other. I should have been a man; then this would have been quite normal. But then I would have been forced to fly like the rest of them. Maybe I would have realized what the frantic need to be in the air was all about.

  James opened the door to the study and Randolph was sitting in a chair. He stood up and smiled, “We almost had a toast without you. Of course, I insisted that we wait.”

  Madeline beamed and hugged her brother. Winston said, “James close the door and join us.”

  “Sir!”

  Madeline was happy now. Perhaps everything would get better... at least for the moment that surely was the case. “You came back.”

  “I promised, didn’t I?”

  “Yes! Yes, you did.”

  Winston now had a fat cigar in his hand. “James, would you break out the 1917 bottle of scotch. I was saving it for a special occasion. I believe this night, without question or trepidation, fits those parameters.”

  “With pleasure. But you do have a speech to give to the good ladies of the Military Club tomorrow.”

  The room broke up in laughter, and for a few minutes, the war was forgotten. “Are you intimating I can’t hold my liquor?”

  “No Sir Winston, I’m stating a fact.”

  Winston’s eyes widen. “And this comes from a man who sees bliss in a glass of warm beer. Really.”

  “I can’t help it; I’m part Cockney.”

  “I knew there was something that I liked about you.” Winston raised his class. “To the people here at 10 Downing Street. May we find the wisdom to do what must be done.”

  They held up their glasses to toast. Randolph said, “And to the person who rescued me from the clutches of the Luftwaffe after I was shot down. It was his bravery that brought me home...to fight again. And to all of you. If he had been caught, they would have killed him. The whole episode was more than remarkable.”

  Winston said matter of factly, “I send my deepest gratitude to whoever that was.”

  “As do I,” said Madeline.

  They toasted the good fortune of Randolph returning to England. Randolph put his glass on Winston’s desk. “We just toasted the man who shot me down and then flew me to safety the same day.”

  Madeline’s face turned white, and she gulped her glass of scotch. “What are you saying?”

  Randolph nodded slowly at Winston. Winston said, “Dear God... it was Wolf Kruger. The lad is alive?”

  “More than that, he’s an ace. Unfortunately, I was his fifth kill. Mind you I never saw him shoot me down. But he did have the decency to fly me over our lines at midnight.”

  Madeline said, “I don’t believe it.”

  Randolph smiled, “Which part? My plane going down or Wolf Kruger who fate would have it was the one who tried to kill me and then saved my life.”

  Madeline looked at Winston, for some answer. She said, “It’s madness.”

  Winston asked, “I assume they brought you to a Luftwaffe base? Enemy pilots who are shot down, fall under the jurisdiction of the Luftwaffe.”

  “That’s right.”

  Winston, in his heart, already knew the answer to the question he was about to ask. It was obvious as the fingers on his hands. “And tell me, why did Wolf help you escape?”

  Randolph looked at Madeline. “When he found out I was your brother.”

  Madeline’s eyes teared up. “Did he say anything?”

  “Only to promise that I wouldn’t tell you what he did.”

  James put his drink down. “The lad is more than a hero. He’s bloody well out of his mind.”

  Randolph went on, “He flew me over the British lines and then disappeared into the night.”

  Winston asked, “Going where, back to the base?”

  “On his way to Berlin, to receive his medal for becoming the first Luftwaffe ace in the Western Theatre.”

  Winston’s eyes bugged out. “The lad... what can I say? Wolf knows no boundaries.”

  Madeline laughed, “And to think it was only two years ago that he was tripping into your hibiscus garden. He has come a long way.”

  Randolph poured himself another drink. “The goodwill aside he still flies for the Luftwaffe. Soon his squadron will lead the attacks over our country. I will have no choice but to shoot him down.”

  Madeline rolled her eyes. “It seems maybe someone should tell him that.”

  “In any case, Wolf Kruger’s fate will be the same as the Luftwaffe. He should have left me in the hands of the Luftwaffe. I learn from my mistakes. I will see him again in the sky.”

  Winston shook his head. “We can only hope it doesn’t come to that. But sadly I’m afraid it will.”

  Randolph said, “My squadron has been assigned to Biggin Hill. So I’ll be close to home.”

  Madeline pined, “One big happy family again.”

  James put his hands on his head. “I think that was more than enough for one night. Who else needs another drink?”

  Winston took a cigar from the top drawer of his desk. “That would be desirable, but I must admit I’d settle for more planes and pilots. We’re going to need them.”

  Calais-Marck Airfield

  After the fall of France, JAG 23 was redeployed to the new Luftwaffe air base at Calais-Marck. The Calais area was the nearest point on the continent to Great Britain. It was only natural that the Luftwaffe would post its fighters there and at other captured airfields that were a short hop to England. Every minute of flying time that was saved to reach the battlefield was another one that could be used to dogfight the RAF in the sky.

  Colonel Dunkel held a flight meeting for the entire squadron soon after the things settled down. JAG 23 was back to full strength and its famous ace, youthful Wolf Kruger, had returned from Berlin three weeks earlier. Wolf had taken a good-natured ribbing from his fellow pilots as he was now a celebrity of sorts. Wolf had told them, “Famous for what? Next week I could end up in the Channel. But for Hans, that is all but certain.”

  Hans shrugged, “I will protect you. But who’s going to look after me?”

  A pilot padded Hans on the back. “You could always fly with Zigfried. Then you’ll end up dead for sure. Colonel Dunkel had me pack up Willy’s crap for his mama. I kept his extra pair of boots and Peter ended up with Wilhelm’s gloves. Willy had big hands, but that didn’t help him. I wonder if he burned going down...”

  The pilots were imaginative, and at the new base, they quickly found a location for their “pilot’s lair.” They converted an old storage building into a Luftwaffe man cave if there could be such a thing. As it was, the lair had a bunch of chairs and an ample supply of animal spirits.

  The squadron’s off key piano had been hauled all the way from Trier and sat in one corner. And most importantly, the lair was now stocked with confiscated liquor, courtesy of the French. The amount of champagne was breathtaking.

  JAG 23 would have to get used to drinking champagne for the slightest excuse. They didn’t care, for there were worse things in life than drinking sparkling champagne from Burgundy. Much worse, as in getting blown out of the sky by
the new RAF Supermarine Spitfire.

  The other pilots in the squadron thought Wolf and Zigfried had an uneasy truce. That wasn’t the case. Zigfried was up to three kills and desperate to catch and pass Wolf. More than anything else he wanted to become an ace himself... a Nazi ace.

  The other pilots finally figured out the rivalry was as hot as ever when Zigfried turned away when the pilots of JAG 23 insisted on taking pictures with Wolf and his fancy ace medal. Wolf pocketed the medal soon after and thought the celebration was over, but the pilots lived that night in France as if it would be their last. For some, that would come true, in one short week, when the Battle of Britain started.

  Two days later, Colonel Dunkel brought them to their senses and laid out the upcoming operations over England. “Gentlemen, welcome to France and all that it has to offer. Calais proper is off limits.” The pilots groaned their disapproval. “You will be busy flying. Gentlemen, this battle will be different than Poland and the cakewalk in France.

  “We will be fighting over English soil. The British will not quit...unless we make them. They are skilled pilots, but I have every confidence in all of you. Operations will commence tomorrow at dawn. We will be flying cover for two squadrons of JU 88 Bombers. You will escort them to their target and engage the RAF fighters when they make their glorious appearance.

  “The invasion of England will not happen unless we destroy the RAF. The directive from headquarters is rather simple. We will knock out the RAF airfields and radar installations. Your target tomorrow will be the RAF airbase at Biggin Hill. I understand that it is a charming place, on the outskirts of London. You are to clear the RAF from the sky so the bombers can do their work.

  “A word of caution. I realize that some of you think of bomber pilots as dummkopfs. That is the word that I would also use. These poor boys couldn’t make it as fighter pilots and now fly in a straight line to a target and drop their payloads like a horse taking a dump in a field.” The fighter pilots howled with laughter. “But I expect JAG 23 to show the pilots of the Junkers 88 every common courtesy. But feel free to steal their girlfriends when you land.” The pilots laughed, and Hans gave Wolf a look. “Is this almost over.”

  “Pay attention.”

  “All I’m going to do is follow you around anyway. How much trouble can I get into.”

  “What if something happens to me? Then what are you going to do?”

  “Pray, what else?”

  Colonel Dunkel wrapped up his speech, “Good hunting. Get some sleep.”

  Wolf and Hans headed back to the barracks. Wolf was quiet. Hans sensed something was on his friend’s mind. “What’s wrong?”

  “Biggin Hill is where I flew the Hurricane. Now we have to help bomb it.”

  Hans sighed, “You sure have a lot of problems. But you do have five kills.”

  “That was weird, the RAF prisoner escaping while half the squadron was drunk.”

  “Half?”

  “Maybe more than half. Colonel Dunkel got hell for that. They transferred Rudy, you know the guard in front of his quarters, to the infantry. No more flying for him.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “He didn’t care. He was going to be Zigfried’s new wingman. Another coffin, you know what I mean.”

  “You think too much.”

  “I know.”

  Biggin Hill

  That same afternoon Captain Randolph Ashton was back in the saddle with 72 Squadron at the Biggin Hill airfield. The squadron’s Supermarine Spitfires were parked off to both sides of the concrete runway. The Spitfire was the newest fighter in the RAF arsenal and the War Office was frantically ramping up production.

  Captain Ashton was in the middle of a briefing when none other than Winston Churchill entered the hangar. Madeline and James were at his side. Lieutenant Marsh was still posted at Biggin Hill, and he saluted Winston. “Sir, very fine to see you.”

  “And how are you getting along?”

  “Splendid for now. We’ll see what Jerry has to say about that.”

  Randolph said, “Sir Winston, you are most welcome. Would you like to address the squadron?”

  “Yes, I have a few words.”

  “The floor is yours.”

  The squadron politely clapped. Winston Churchill stood in front of the pilots. Most if not all were young...very young. “I shall make this brief; I know the important and dare I say vital work that you must do in the coming weeks. I have passed Biggin Hill most every day on my way to London from my lovely house in Chartwell. Little did I realize then or even contemplate that one day Biggin Hill, and pilots like you would determine the fate of our beloved country. That is not being dramatic. It is what has been presented to us...and to you.

  “I have no doubt of the outcome of the coming battle. It may be long, arduous and come at a great cost. But we are asked to fight and fight we must. The Luftwaffe has twice as many planes as us. But we have you...that will most assuredly be enough.”

  After the speech, Winston shook hands with the pilots and then made his way to his Rolls Royce. Lieutenant Marsh saluted. “Sir Winston. And the young lad Wolf, any word on what has happened to him?”

  Winston looked at Madeline and Randolph. “Lieutenant I must inform you that Wolf Kruger is already an ace in the Luftwaffe.”

  Randolph smirked, “Lieutenant I should know, I was his fifth kill. I bloody well pinned that medal on him myself.”

  “Pity.”

  “It’s not all bad. He had the decency to drop me over our front lines that night.”

  “Extraordinary.”

  Madeline said, “Well, he’s still up there someplace.”

  Lieutenant Marsh remarked, “I don’t think we’ll be running into him anytime soon. An ace in the Luftwaffe has the run of the mill. The lad is probably relaxing in Berlin.”

  Madeline shook her head. “I’m afraid you don’t know him very well.”

  “Apparently not. But his victory roll over the airfield was smashing for a wet nosed glider pilot. Sir Winston, I take my leave. There is always something to be done around the aerodrome. Captain.”

  Randolph said, “I’ll be right along Lieutenant.”

  “Very well. Sir Winston all the best. Do give Jerry what he deserves.”

  “We shall try. We shall try.”

  Lieutenant Marsh turned on his heels and walked into the hangar. He put his hands on his hips and barked out to the pilots, “Don’t bloody well stand there; the Germans aren’t going to give you a bloody invitation when they’re coming! Let’s get some things done around here.”

  James opened the door to the Rolls Royce. Before Winston got in, he turned to Randolph and Madeline. “And one more thing since you both are here. I received notification from the RAF about the discharge of Lord Ashton from the RAF. The whole affair was rather messy, and I’m afraid unnecessary.

  “I won’t go into all the details, but suffice the say Lord Ashton has been reinstated with full honors and is now in good standing with the Royal Air Force. A letter of apology has been drafted and will arrive shortly. I, of course, will pass it along to Madeline. I thought Captain Ashton you would like to know that.”

  Captain Ashton smiled broadly and gave his best salute to Winston. “Thank you, Sir Winston. Thank you very much indeed. You have no idea how much that means to my family.”

  “Very well.”

  Madeline hugged her brother and got into the Rolls Royce. James drove by the anti-aircraft batteries and left Biggin Hill. Madeline said to Winston. “It seems you righted the Ashton name in one swoop. Was it done by a stroke of a pen? Mind you, I’m not complaining.”

  “My dear, I do believe that is the maiden voyage in using my powers as Prime Minister in a self-serving way.”

  “By perhaps saving a lost man, who happens to be my father.”

  “I’m not so sure this will make all the difference. But we shall see shortly. I would like to visit with Lord Ashton, on our way to 10 Downing Street.”

  �
�Right now?”

  “If you don’t mind. I have a distinct feeling we will be busy sometime in the near future.”

  Madeline smiled. “I understand.”

  Harding Barrow

  Madeline let herself and Winston in the house, which now seemed to be but a shell of its former self. Harding Barrow was barely five minutes from Biggin Hill, and if you sat on the veranda, you could see the planes taking off and landing. Madeline seemed embarrassed that the house was cold and bare. None of this seemed to bother Winston who asked, “Is Lord Ashton in any condition to receive me?”

  “For this news, he would crawl on his knees to London.”

  “Carry on.”

  Winston followed Madeline down the hallway, and they found Lord Ashton inside his den. Lord Ashton was sitting behind his desk, and as was appropriate for the demons that lurked inside him, he had a bottle of rum on the floor by his feet. He had the presence of mind to slide it fully under his desk so the new Prime Minister of all people wouldn’t see it. Lord Ashton stood up with some difficulty. “Prime Minister. Please be seated. And my dear Madeline.”

  Madeline eyed the edge of the rum bottle. “Father.”

  Winston remained standing. “You will forgive me if I remain standing. We are making haste to London. As you are aware much is to be done.”

  “It seems the fight is now in our backyard.”

  “Without a doubt. But that isn’t why I'm here.”

  “Yes.”

  Winston went on, “I realize your situation has caused you great pain... and your family.”

  “That is how it goes. What is done is done.”

  Winston’s eyes bored in on Lord Ashton. “I ordered the case to be independently assessed.”

  “Sir?”

  “Understand the facts are the facts, and the RAF, of course, has strict protocols to adhere too. It took some doing, but your file was found, tucked away in forgotten place. An officer was assigned, and I must tell you a fellow pilot from your raid had his interview tucked away in the file. Why it wasn’t considered before, I can’t tell you. Perhaps the RAF was making an example of you. If that is the case, you have His Majesty’s deepest apologies.”