Churchill's Ace (Epic War Series Book 1) (20 page)

The pilots howled and the piano was playing again. “Dead Luftwaffe pilot. His spirit lives on. His plane returns to base. Half his face is gone!”

Hans was pretty far in the tank when he proposed a toast to Zigfried. “Zigfried is all alone in the corner. What have you accomplished today?”

Zigfried angrily swatted the bottles of beer off his table. “Shut up.”

Hans was too drunk to stop or even to care. “You got Wilhelm killed by trying to be a hero, which in your case is that vaunted title of being an ace. Then you shot some poor bastard in a parachute. What do you think will happen to us if we get shot down? You coward.”

Zigfried broke a beer bottle and brandished it at Hans. “Then don’t get shot down. All enemies of the Nazi Party must be dealt with. On the battlefield or…” Zigfried looked at Wolf with contempt. “At home. They are all enemies. The cleansing has started; all of you are too stupid to know it.”

Wolf pushed Hans aside and came face to face with Zigfried, “What did you mean?” Zigfried smirked, and Wolf jumped at him. They sprawled across the table and onto the floor. Wolf screamed, “What did you mean!” He punched Zigfried across the face and choked him. Zigfried passed out, and Wolf let go.

Hans stumbled backward, “You should have killed him. He deserves it.” Hans picked up the broken beer bottle that was on the floor and moved toward Zigfried. The other pilots intervened and lifted up Zigfried and took him away to his quarters.

Wolf dusted himself off. “He had something to do with it.”

“Nazi bastard,” said Hans as he lost his balance and fell into a table.

Wolf got Hans to his feet. “I can’t prove it, but I know it’s true. Let’s get you out of here.”

“But I haven’t finished my beer…”

Randolph sat in the back of a German military truck; that seemed to find every rut and pothole in the road. A canvas tarp enclosed the rear of the truck. Two infantry soldiers sat on opposite sides of him. They didn’t say anything and weren’t interested in the RAF pilot. The day for Captain Ashton had started on a brighter note. He was in his Hurricane with his mates, trying to destroy the German assault bridge across the Sedan.

Now he was sandwiched between two soldiers of the vaunted Wehrmacht, who took turns dozing off. One of them, he wasn’t sure which one, had a hideous body odor. Randolph thought
You won’t get into the Squire Club in London, smelling like that. I can only imagine what your girlfriend looks like
. All those thoughts did was slap him in the face, with the cold hard truth he wouldn’t see London or the light of day... for who knew how long.

Madeline would take it hard. But she wouldn’t be surprised. His sister had the most fatalistic approach towards pilots and what would become of them.
I guess she can’t help it, with everything that has happened. Now she would be proven right. How many years would it be, until he saw her smiling face and was the butt of her keen wit? Several or maybe they would never see each other again
.

And what would happen to Harding Barrow, with him gone? He hoped Winston would see fit to be a steady hand in Madeline’s life. God knows his mother had turned out to be useless. That was cruel he decided, but often the truth was harsh in all its simplicity.

The truck came to a stop, and the soldier who was sleeping suddenly came to attention. The soldier thrust his rifle forward as if something was wrong. The other soldier laughed at him. The canopy at the rear of the truck was pulled back. Colonel Dunkel was there in his perfect fitting uniform. He smiled and said in perfect English, “I see you’re a captain from His Majesty’s Air Force. Welcome to the Luftwaffe.”

“Yeah.”

“I must apologize for your transportation arrangements. The army has little class or civility, unlike the Luftwaffe. Are you injured?”

“No, but thank you… ”

“Colonel Dunkel. Of course, I flew in the First World War. Those were simpler times I think. And I spent time in London and learned to speak perfect English. I also know Latin. Shall we converse in Latin about Caesar’s campaigns in Gaul?”

“No thank you.”

Colonel Dunkel barked at the infantry soldiers. “Don’t just stand there help the Captain out of this beet truck.”

The soldiers shrugged and tried to help Randolph, but he was already on his way out of the truck. Randolph saluted Colonel Dunkel. “Captain Randolph Ashton.”

Colonel Dunkel nodded and turned his attention to the German soldiers. “You will salute the Captain and then be on your way. Now!” The soldiers exited the truck, performed a rather vague salute and got into the front of the truck. The truck left. Colonel Dunkel shook his head, “Unprofessionalism will be the undoing of this war. What can be expected from raw recruits who don’t have the sense to come out of the rain? They aren’t seasoned pilots like ourselves.” Randolph looked across the road and saw a Luftwaffe staff car. “You will ride with me in the back.”

“Do you wish to search me?”

“No, that won’t be necessary. I assume your father was a pilot and a gentleman.”

“Yes, he was.”

“But of course.” Colonel Dunkel’s driver opened the door to the staff car. “Captain.”

They got in the back seat, and the car slowly pulled away. The ride was smooth and quiet as the Mercedes-Benz staff car headed north toward the Trier Air Base. Colonel Dunkel said, “For your information we just left Luxembourg City.”

Randolph looked at the window and saw that the road was full of German tanks and troops heading toward Sedan. It was an endless stream of vehicles and men. Every so often the Luftwaffe lieutenant who was driving the car would beep his horn to get the troops off the middle of the road. Randolph said, “They’re in a hurry.”

“It will be over soon. France is finished. But the British, that is a different matter. You were shot down over the river.”

“Yes. All I can tell you. Name serial number…”

Colonel Dunkel summoned with his hand to his driver. “The canteen.” The driver reached for a canteen that was on the seat. His eyes left the road, and the Mercedes-Benz drove near the shoulder scattering a column of German troops. The driver handed the canteen to Colonel Dunkel, and rolled down his window. Colonel Dunkel mocked the troops. “See how fast you can move. Stump schweinen!”

The lieutenant guided the Mercedes-Benz to the center of the road, and he chuckled. “That waked them up.” He tossed the canteen to Colonel Dunkel.

Colonel Dunkel caught it. “The army is a bitter pill to be avoided. Marching and more marching, a waste of time. The lieutenant is lucky I favor him. Because he is a bad pilot and a worse driver. Isn’t that right Pius.”

The driver shrugged. “I get dizzy easily in the air. The flight doctor said I have an equilibrium problem caused by water in my ears. So I drive the car.”

“And clean the latrines,” laughed Colonel Dunkel. “With a toothbrush if necessary.”

Randolph said, “I would rather be shot down then clean latrines.”

Colonel Dunkel shrugged and offered the canteen to Randolph. “Now you are here. A victim of a set of unfortunate circumstances over the battlefield. In 1917, I was shot down twice on the same day by a Sopwith Camel. That is when I started drinking.”

Colonel Dunkel offered the canteen to Captain Ashton again. Randolph said, “No thank you.”

“Drink you must be thirsty. Besides, this isn’t full of just water.”

“I see.” Captain Ashton unscrewed the cap to the canteen and took a sip. He smelled the familiar scent of vodka. “Colonel I’m not obligated to tell you anything else about the RAF.”

“Ah the RAF. What else is there to be learned? Everyone knows the RAF is short of planes and the pilots to fly them. You should have listened to Churchill. But most politicians are stupid.”

Randolph put the cap back on the bottle. “Does that include Herr Hitler and his friends?”

“Especially them.”

“Isn’t it dangerous to talk that way?”

“My dear Captain Ashton, politicians come and go. Things change but yet one thing does not. The Luftwaffe! I don’t care about politics. Captain you and I are the same. All pilots are comrades in arms.”

“If that is so, why did one of your pilot's murder a downed pilot in a parachute today at the bridgehead.”

“I assure you, I was notified about the incident.”

“And do you condone it?”

“I’m surprised you would ask me that. Of course, I don’t.”

Randolph turned serious. “And the pilot in question, has he been brought up on charges?”

Colonel Dunkel saw that the driver was sneaking a peek at him through the rearview mirror. “Lieutenant, keep your eyes on the road unless you want to march with the infantry.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Captain, things are rather complicated these days. I must be honest; the pilot in question is a member of the Nazi Party. That puts me in a very delicate situation.”

“I understand. It seems I’m not the only one who has been captured...”

* * *

It was late in the evening when Wolf was summoned by himself to come to Colonel Dunkel’s office. He entered the office and saw the RAF prisoner, sitting comfortably in a chair in front of the Colonel’s desk. Wolf was taken back. “Excuse me; I have been given the wrong message.”

“Nonsense. Sit down. I’d like to introduce you to Captain Randolph Ashton of the RAF.” Wolf was more than shocked at the news. He didn’t know what to say.

“Captain.”

Randolph nodded as if he was tiring of being paraded around like a prized cow by the Luftwaffe. Colonel Dunkel went on. “Captain Ashton is the pilot you shot down this morning.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’ve verified the details. Captain Ashton, I will have you know that you were the fifth plane to be shot down by Captain Wolf Kruger.”

Randolph sat up in his chair. Now he was startled and tongue-tied. “Captain Kruger.”

Colonel Dunkel said, “Later tonight, Captain Kruger is flying to Frankfurt and then on to Berlin to receive the Knight's Cross with Swords by Air Marshal Goering, that pompous hog.”

Wolf was surprised again, “I didn’t know that sir.”

“I was just informed.”

Randolph said, “You’ll excuse me if I don’t congratulate you or see fit to attend the ceremonies. It seems I have an engagement waiting for me at a POW prison camp.”

“I understand.”

Colonel Dunkel’s face turned a bit sad. “Come, come now Captain, you will be well taken care of. After all, you are in the hands of the Luftwaffe. That will bring you special privileges.”

“But it won’t get me home will it.”

“Sadly, that will have to wait.” The Colonel pulled out a bottle of schnapps from his desk drawer. “Now, we will drink of happier times when the only thing I had to worry about was the wind in my face as I flew my Albatross fighter.”

Wolf looked at Randolph and perked up. “I would like to hear all about it.”

Colonel Dunkel pontificated for twenty minutes, and by the end of it, he had downed half the bottle of schnapps all by himself. His word to the wise at the end of it was, “If the other man gets on your tail, feign left and break right. Or head to the clouds, then loop over him, and now he will be in your gun sights.”

Randolph said, “My quarters sir... or rather cell.”

“You will stay in the extra room tonight, in the rear of my quarters. Don’t worry; a guard will be posted at the entrance. So we all can sleep and dream about flying and fraulines! There is nothing better, agreed?”

“Yes, sir.”

Minutes later they were joined by a guard, and the trio were escorted to Colonel Dunkel’s quarters, which was behind a stand of trees. It was pitch dark and quiet with the stillness of the night all around them. A partial moon was rising over the horizon. The guard posted himself at the front door. Colonel Dunkel walked inside. Randolph turned to Wolf. Wolf said, “I hope Madeline is well.”

“She’s had a rough go of it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Is she… She…”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Randolph took a step into the doorway. “There’s a gentle breeze tonight. The weather has been unusually warm for this time of year. You may want to crack your window to let the breeze in.”

“Really?”

“Yes... really.”

Wolf saluted Randolph. He then saluted the guard who was sitting on the steps of the quarters and who already was showing signs of closing his eyes. The soldier looked up and made a motion to get to his feet. “Sorry Captain. Everyone has had too much to drink.”

“Enjoy what’s left of the night. There will be time enough for more fighting. Colonel Dunkel says there always is more fighting. As you were.”

“Sir.”

The gravel softly crunched under Wolf’s feet as he walked toward the runway. For some reason, that sound reminded him of the first night he had met Madeline. That was a long time ago, but he remembered it as if it was yesterday. He wasn’t exactly sure when he was star struck by her. Perhaps it was the moment he laid eyes on her. Her beautiful blue eyes and flowing hair were like a magnet.

Wolf couldn’t be sure if she if liked him. The more Madeline had pushed Wolf away, the more he fell under her spell. That spell was more powerful and encompassing than anything he had experienced in his life. The only thing that challenged it was flying.

A small wooden shack housed the duty officer for the airfield. The runway was dark, and fighter planes of JAG 23 were harmlessly parked on the dirt apron. Wolf tapped his fingers on the open door to the shack. The duty officer was fast asleep. That wasn’t unusual. He had to be posted there throughout the night. But night operations for JAG 23 and the Luftwaffe at this point during the war were unheard of. Wolf said, “Sergeant…”

The duty officer opened his eyes and saluted while sitting back in a rickety chair. “Excuse me, sir. But everything is shut down. We’re moving into France, soon. Perhaps in two days. So much for Trier. I won’t miss this chair. My back has had it.”

“From what Colonel Dunkel has told me, the squadron is going to Reims.” Wolf laughed. “I believe the accommodations are much better in France. Perhaps there is a sofa next to the runway that you can perform your duty from.”