Churchill's Ace (Epic War Series Book 1) (13 page)

Two hours later the cadets from the flight school were assembled on the parade grounds. General Korton strutted to the middle of the field. He matter of factly said in a loud voice, “Major Van Bruen has been relieved of his duties. A new kommandant will be with you by tonight. Major Van Bruen forgot that the Luftwaffe is part of a new Germany. Let all of us keep that in mind.” General Korton saluted the cadets, “Heil Hitler! Dismissed.”

Madeline entered the popular Savoy Club just in time for afternoon tea. Her mother was waiting for Madeline at the trendy spot that was just off Piccadilly Square. The Savoy Club was in the West End or what was also known as the theatre district of London.

Lady Margaret left Madeline’s father, Lord Ashton, barely a year ago. She moved out of the estate, lock stock, and barrel. Lady Margaret’s new life seemed to agree with her. She was dressed in the latest fashion, and the necklace Lady Margaret wore sparkled in the afternoon sun. She blended in quite well with the starched white tablecloths and delicate cup and saucer set that was in front of her.

It seemed to Madeline that her mother looked better than she had in years. The stress Lord Ashton had placed on Madeline’s mother must have receded, like the tide going out.
You’ve seemed to have gotten out in one piece. Splendid for you... and not so for Randolph and myself. Till death do us part or perhaps short thereof. That was clever thinking on your part. I wonder how long you were hatching your escape plans
.

Tea and crumpets were served as they sat in a private booth, which overlooked Piccadilly Circus. They had a dead on view of the statue of Eros, which was on the island in the middle of Piccadilly Circus. Lady Margaret sipped her tea, as if she was an aristocrat and not the former wife of misguided drunk, who had been berated and ignored. “It is wonderful to see you, my dear.”

Madeline flatly said, “Mother after all this time, why do you choose to contact me now? I understand that your social schedule is rather... booked.”

“Drop the condescending attitude. It doesn't suit you. I’m concerned about my daughter; is that something to be ashamed of?”

“No, but having an affair while still married certainly is. And doing it in the open. What were you thinking? You’re the talk of Chelsea and Kensington. And that’s nothing to be proud of.”

Lady Margaret set her cup of tea down with a thud, which rattled the fine china saucer. “You of all people knew my situation. Your father was never going to get better. Heaven knows I tried. What do you expect me to do, knock him on the head with a shovel from the stables? In that case, he would be dead, and the Scotland Yard wouldn't require Sherlock Holmes to solve the case. They’d put two and two together, since my finger, no my hands would still be clutching the shovel with a cute smile on my face!”

“My you have been spending too much time at the theatre. Take a bow; that was more than brilliant. That was crass and unbecoming a lady of your stature.”

Lady Margaret smirked.
Madeline was toughing up. That was required in a man’s world
. “You have grown up. You sound more like me every day. I just hope you aren’t disappointed twenty years from now.”

Madeline's face turned inquisitive, “And just what does that mean?”

Lady Margaret took a sip of tea. My you are innocent and naive. Those are dangerous combinations in a man’s world. “Men will always disappoint you. And that will occur at the most awful time. At first, they promise you the world with all of its glorious comforts. You are to be their queen, and they will be your knight, protecting you from the evils of the world, which first and foremost are from other men who might steal you away. They’d be happy to keep you tucked away in their castle, behind the battlements, which are there to keep you in and from seeing the light of day.”

“That’s rather cynical, especially coming from you.”

“Beware of the king, his castle, and the dungeon, where you will spend the majority of you time while the king drinks his life away.”

“Mother, you’ve taken up amateur psychology as well.”

“Wake up Madeline. Besides, who are you to judge me?”

Madeline pushed her cup of tea into the middle of the table.“I’m just an innocent bystander, who’s left with the king, who now drinks more than ever.”

“That’s not my fault.”

“Maybe not. But you made matters worse by tiptoeing around with who is it, Harold Ickes, the theatre... what do they call him? Magnate. Did you stumble into his arms during the first act, or did he sweep you off your during the intermission?”

“Change your tone at once young lady!”

Madeline sat up straighter in the booth. “Or what? You’ll banish me from Harding Barrow? What you say in that regard doesn’t carry any weight. Not anymore. Oh, and father is getting along worse now. He nearly died last week after a terrible run of scotch. I couldn’t have stopped him from choking without Owen. Thank God for him and his quick thinking.

“And yes dear, Owen is my king, but he doesn’t come with a castle or dungeon. Owen isn’t that well off, so I’m not marrying him for money or his front row seats at the theatre. But in your case, there will not be marriage with Harold; I assume you’d rather live as a disgraced woman, able to pick up your tent at a moment’s notice and then move along.”

“What has gotten into you? I was planning to enjoy tea and crackers with my lovely daughter, and you go and muck it up.”

Madeline reached into the middle of the table and took a bite from an English shortbread cookie. “Our family has a habit of mucking things up. We’re the only ones I know who can turn good fortune to a tragedy in a fortnight.”

Lady Margaret took a breath and calmed down. “Madeline.”

“Yes?”

“Do steady yourself.” Madeline mockingly grabbed the edge of the table with both hands. “I learned of your engagement from the ladies at the tennis club. Can you imagine how shattered I was? Certainly you could have told me first.”

“Well, I didn’t think you would approve, and I don’t have seats at the theatre.”

“Leave Mr. Ickes out of this.”

“You mean Harold.”

“Oh Madeline, you’re quite trying.”

Madeline broke into a smile. “It is in my genes.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“In any case, I shouldn’t think you would approve of Captain Owen Cline.”

“Captain?”

“Dear God, tell me it isn’t so.”

“Of course, he’s a fighter pilot with the RAF.”

“Oh…”

“Don’t worry at least he doesn’t fly for the Luftwaffe.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I.” Madeline bit down on the shortbread cookie. “That’s half the fun.”

Lady Margaret stated the obvious. “So he’s a fighter pilot like your father. I pray he is different.”

“Yes, better to get shot down with your unit, than waste the rest of your life with a firm grip on a bottle. It would have been easier for you if Lord Ashton spun into the ground on that fateful day.”

“That isn’t true.”

“If father had died in battle, we would remember him as a hero instead as of a man who clutches a bottle with trembling hands.”

Lady Margaret shook her head. She reached out and touched her daughter’s hand. “My dear, then I wouldn’t have you and someone to keep me on my toes.”

“Yes, lucky you.”

“Now tell me all about him.”

Madeline smirked, “Who?”

“Owen Cline. Can he fly... fly well?”

“The RAF wouldn’t have given him wings and a commission if that wasn’t the case.”

“Well, that’s a start.”

Professor Kruger and his wife lived a rather simple life, even though they traveled in the upper circles of German academia. Their work at the university was the most important thing in their lives. Especially now since their son Wolf, and much to their dismay, had decided to accept his placement in Luftwaffe Flight School.

There wasn’t much that could be done to stop Wolf from joining the Luftwaffe. Professor Kruger and his wife knew that Wolf was an excellent candidate. His academic scores were without exception, and he met all the physical requirements to gain entry into flight school. So they resigned themselves to the fact that Wolf would eventually be flying for the Luftwaffe and the Third Reich.

The Kruger’s had a beautiful home in the exclusive Prenzlauer District of Berlin. The neighborhood was known for its quiet tree-lined streets and coffee shops, where the educated conversed about the subjects of the day. Before the Nazis came to power, those conversations included politics. But those discussions had long since been shelved. Better to keep any unclean thoughts about the Hitler and the Third Reich to yourself. You never knew who was looking over your shoulder and if you would be turned in for subversive talk.

As was their typical pattern, the Kruger’s were in bed by the early evening. But that meant they were propped on their pillows reading various books and articles. Every so often Professor Kruger would turn to his wife of over thirty years and comment about happenings at the university. More and more it seemed that conversation included the intrusion of the Nazis on the toes of higher education.

On this night, Professor Kruger turned off the light on his nightstand and hoped for a peaceful sleep. It had been a busy day, lecturing three classes in the main auditorium at the university.

Outside on the sleepy streets of the Prenzlauer Berg, the all too familiar black sedan of the Gestapo glided to a stop in front of the Kruger residence. The same two Gestapo agents from the Luftwaffe Flight School got out of the sedan. The senior Gestapo agent said, “You sure this is it?”

“529. This is the place. Must be nice to have money.”

“Let’s get this over with.”

They purposely entered the Kruger grounds. The younger Gestapo agent admired the fine trim lawn and walked up to the front door. He took his hand and pounded on the front door.

Upstairs in the master bedroom, Professor Kruger didn’t stir until the Gestapo agent beat on the door for the second time. The door seemed to shake off its hinges. His wife turned on the lamp on the side of the bed. It was only now that she had a look of concern on her face. “Who is it?”

“I don’t know.”

Professor Kruger stood up and put on his slippers. Downstairs the Gestapo agents didn’t bother to pound on the door for the third time. Instead, the younger Gestapo agent rammed his shoulder into the front door. He winced, but the door flew open, and the Gestapo agents rushed into the foyer and then up the staircase.

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.”

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.”