Churchill's Ace (Epic War Series Book 1) (7 page)

As for his parents, they were more than disappointed that he had gone behind their backs and joined the Luftwaffe Flight School. They tried to talk him out of it. But when Wolf showed them his acceptance papers and orders to report, all his mother did was go into her bedroom. Wolf felt bad, but not bad enough not to go. The sky was calling and there wasn’t much he could do about it.

Wolf was far from settled in when a fellow recruit named Hans Meyer jumped onto the adjoining cot. Hans landed on his back, and he folded his arms behind his head as if he was more than comfortable.

Hans was shorter than Wolf but he had wide shoulders. Wolf thought how this recruit reminded him of a bull. Hans closed his eyes and said, “When you get done, come over here and put my stuff away. Feel free to refold my underwear.”

Wolf reached into Hans’ open suitcase and picked up a pair of underwear and tossed them at Hans. It landed square in the new cadet’s face. “There you go. You’re ready to take flight.”

“That’s not very friendly.” Hans opened his eyes. “Hans Meyer from Dusseldorf. Actually, my family are potato farmers. If you want some advice on how to make vodka from potatoes I’m your man. We still use an outhouse at the farm and burn wood to keep warm. My mom cooks up a storm and that’s about it. I got tired of bailing hay and decided to apply for flight school. My father was more than happy to see me go. As for me, I won’t miss his thoughtful conversations.”

“Really.”

“Yes as in, ‘Hans you dunce get to work.’ Or, ‘Hans, why can’t you milk the cow any faster? What’s the matter; haven’t you seen a tit before?’ That’s my old man. He’d do anything for me.”

“How did you end up here?”

“Of course, I’m a glider pilot. Aren’t we all? I’ve been flying for over five years. They say I have a knack for it. I guess I have them fooled. Gliders?”

“Yes, but I’ve been up in a real plane. A fighter plane.” Wolf smiled and continued his unpacking.

Hans sat up in bed. “Don’t lie; I just met you. That comes later when I ask to borrow money from you. But why wait, how about lending your friend five marks.”

Wolf tossed another pair of underwear at Hans, who this time caught it. He looked at the underwear and dropped them off the side of his cot. “I’m serious, I did fly a fighter plane. And don’t worry; I don’t have any money that you can borrow. I’m as broke as you are. All I have in the world is inside my suitcase.”

A hand reached up from the cot. Hans said, “Looks like we’ll be friends. But you aren’t going to tell me about the fighter plane are you?”

“Not just yet. But if we ever make it, I’ll tell you everything.”

Hans sat up in his cot, and Wolf picked up his new friend’s underwear off the floor. “When do you think we’ll go up in the air?”

“You are from the backwoods,” laughed Wolf. “We won’t fly anything for quite a while. They’re going to work us to death to see who wants to stay. If we’re still standing, then maybe we’ll take to the air.”

Hans looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping “By the way, that cadet you were standing next to on the field – the guy with the big mouth.”

“What about him?”

“See, he’s in the front of the barracks. He has the number one position. I wonder how he got that.”

“What about him?”

Hans came closer to Wolf. “A word to the wise. I heard his father is a bigwig with the Nazi Party. Be careful what you say around him. Geez, you’re not a Nazi are you? That would be the end of me before I get started.”

“Don’t worry; you can always grow potatoes.”

“Thanks.”

“I wouldn’t worry about the Nazis.”

Hans sighed, “Are you kidding. They’re everywhere. You can’t be too careful. One second you’re making fun of their uniform, which looks like barf, and the next, you’re in front of firing squad.”

“Don’t overreact.”

“Yeah, he’s a Nazi all right.”

“That doesn’t mean he’ll be a good pilot.”

“No, but it does mean if you piss him off only bad things can happen.”

* * *

Early the next morning the cadets from barrack #6 lined up outside in the frigid air. Lieutenant Dieter, the barracks commander and physical training officer, sized up the 26 raw recruits. “Hurry up; get in formation. Come on; I don’t have all day.”

The recruits grumbled to cope with the frigid air. Hans rubbed his hands to keep warm. He told Wolf, “What's the problem? It’s way colder on the farm.”

“Then, why are you shivering?”

“My teeth always chatter when I’m having a good time.”

Once the recruits were lined up, Lieutenant Dieter, who had a mustache that belonged on a World War I recruiting poster said, “Boys, that’s right; you’re boys until I say you’re men. We’re going on a little run to warm up. Stay in formation. If you fall out, come back to the barracks, pack your bags and be on your way home.

“Someone will be going home to mama today. It happens every time. You can count on it. Better to scrub out now, than waste my time later on. Fall in.” With that, the cadets followed Lieutenant Dieter through the camp gate and out into the countryside.

Within minutes, they were out of sight of the camp. All that could be heard was the thudding of boots on the ground and the breathing of the cadets that grew louder with each passing mile.

Soon they were running along a country road, boarded by split wood fences and cows. Hans was running in a easy cadence next to Wolf. He said between breaths, “It didn’t mention any of this in the brochure. It’s just like back home: flat farm country, with cows and haystacks. The only thing we’re missing are the ugly farm girls.”

Wolf laughed, “Is that why you left?”

“Did I knock up a frauline? Certainly not. But I’ve had enough of this running.”

“It will make you tougher.”

Hans spit in front of him. “That won’t do me much good when my fighter plane gets shot up, and I have to bail. I just hope the damn parachutes they have around here work. By the way, if they make me fly bombers, I’m quitting.”

“You can’t quit.”

Hans adjusted his running trunks and spit again. “That wasn’t in the brochure either. And the brochure only showed airplanes that weren’t shot up. Not very truthful if you ask me.”

Wolf easily kept pace with the unit as the sweat started to pour off him. “Any more complaints?”

“Aren’t you worried about buying the farm? You know, getting shot down.”

Wolf smiled and picked up the pace. “I’m not going to get shot down.”

“Oh, I see. You fancy yourself an ace. That thinking will just get you killed. Herr Meister Ace of the Luftwaffe, who dug his own grave.”

“If you’re scared, why do you want to fly? Perhaps you should go back to the farm and jump from one hay bale to another.”

“The farm. I’m tired of potatoes, but not the vodka.” The unit trotted over a wooden bridge that creaked as they ran deeper into the countryside. “Vodka makes you brave, but perhaps one shouldn’t drink it before flying. You could get in real trouble. The sky would be spinning as fast as your propeller. That would be weird. Don’t you think?”

Wolf smirked, “You’re weird.”

“In any case, I’m looking for a wingman, not a show-off.”

Wolf laughed, “I’m looking for a wingman too. Perhaps I will consider you for that. But first you better shut up and make it through basic.”

Zigfried Bockler was running behind them and said over their shoulders, “Neither one of you will ever fly. I don’t know why you even bothered to join. It is a new time for Germany and the Third Reich.”

Wolf shot back, “No one’s talking to you.”

“What’s your name peasant?”

Hans hoped Wolf would let it go. But he soon learned that wouldn’t be the case. His new friend was playing with fire. Didn’t he know that? Wolf directly answered Zigfried. “Wolf Kruger, and that’s with one g.”

“Well cadet Kruger, do you know who my father is?”

“Full of crap, like you.”

“Zigfried smiled, “I wouldn’t be so smug if I were you.”

“You’re not me.”

Zigfried ran to the front of the formation as if he was in charge of the cadets. When he was out of earshot Hans said, “Why did you do that?”

“What?”

“Piss him off. That’s not very smart.”

“Just keep running,” said Wolf. “He’s a bully. I don’t like bullies.”

“Wolf Kruger.”

“Yeah.”

Hans edged closer to Wolf so that the other cadets wouldn’t hear him. “I decided two things. First — don’t get mad, but I think you’re crazy. Second, I’ll be your wingman.”

Twenty minutes later the pilots in waiting turned around and headed back toward the flight school. Zigfried Bockler picked up the pace and the other cadets dropped behind. Wolf ran faster and said to Hans, “Come on keep going.”

“I can’t keep up.”

“You want to fly or not.”

Hans gritted his teeth and stayed with Wolf. Lieutenant Dieter also fell off the pace. The cadet formation was falling apart. Lieutenant Dieter yelled at Zigfried to slow down, but Zigfried ignored him and ran even faster, leaving the cadets in his wake. The camp came in sight, and Hans was losing steam. He told Wolf as he slowed down, “Catch the little Nazi bastard.”

Wolf pumped his arms and surged forward. The other cadets yelled their approval as Wolf closed the gap on Zigfried. The camp entrance was just ahead as Wolf was now running stride for stride with Zigfried. Zigfried was surprised and called on his legs to move faster. However, he was spent and could only watch Wolf cross under the gate and into the Luftwaffe Flight Training Grounds.

Wolf eased up, and Zigfried ran up from behind him. Zigfried tripped Wolf, who fell to the rocky ground with a thud. He lost his breath and slowly got to his feet. Zigfried snarled, “Don’t ever try to embarrass me again. You got it, peasant.”

Wolf wiped blood from the cut on his leg. “You embarrass yourself.”

Zigfried came toward Wolf ready to throw a punch. Lieutenant Dieter stepped between the pair. Finally, he said, “Enough from the both of you. Do you want to settle this like men? Follow me...”

* * *

The cadets from barrack #6 formed a tight circle on the parade grounds. Zigfried and Wolf were bare chested and in the middle of a human circle. Lieutenant Dieter tossed a pair of boxing gloves to each of them.

Zigfried’s second a big oaf named Wilhelm, laced up his gloves. Wilhelm grunted as he pulled the laces tighter and tighter. Zigfried boasted, “I’ll knock him out. But first I will make him suffer.”

Wilhelm made a fist and tapped the edge of Zigfried’s gloves. “I’ve seen his kind before. A know it all. When he goes down, stomp on his head.”

On the other side of the circle, Hans pulled on Wolf’s gloves. Hans looked across the tight space and saw Wilhelm. “That guy is gigantic.”

“If I lose you have to fight him.”

Hans seemed alarmed, “I doubt if the lug could fit in a bomber. You better win. Have you ever fought?”

“You mean with gloves?”

Hans pulled the laces and tried them off. “No, with pistols. Of course, boxing gloves.”

“No, I haven’t.”

Hans finished up with the lacing and inspected his work. “What have you been doing all this time in Berlin, drinking coffee and chasing frauleins? The frauleins I can see.”

Wolf laughed ever so slightly, “Studying mathematics.”

“Are you crazy? What’s your plan?”

“Try not to get hit.”

Lieutenant Dieter walked into the middle of the circle. “Gentlemen these two will settle their differences in the ring. Two rounds, that is the custom. After, I expect both of you to tap gloves and put this behind you. One day, we may do battle in the sky, but not with each other. Then, your life may depend on one of your fellow pilots. Do not forget that. But today, you box. It will build character and a stiff chin. Commence.”

Zigfried raised his gloves and moved into the center of the circle. Wolf ventured in and saw that his opponent was full of confidence. He also had a swift jab, which connected to Wolf’s chin. Wolf was peppered with another jab and an overhand right which sent him sprawling to the ground. “Get up,” hissed Zigfried.

Wolf came to his feet. It was now evident to Wolf, that Zigfried had some training as a boxer. Perhaps he had been a card-carrying member of the Hitler Youth movement, who indoctrinated impressionable young boys on how to be good Nazis. Bullying and shaming the weak was more than accepted. It was encouraged.

Boxing was part of that. There was nothing better to show your raw superiority than by punching a weak and helpless foe in the nose, and then to stand over him while he cowered in shame.

That seemed to be working quite well for Zigfried as he continued to pummel Wolf with disdain. Wolf covered up as the blows appeared to come from every direction. Lieutenant Dieter looked at his watch and stopped the first round.

Wolf stumbled to the far end of the circle and Hans helped him stay on his feet. Hans said, “You still with us?”

“I think so.” Wolf spit out some blood.

“Just an idea, but you may want to start punching.”

Wolf said flatly, “He’s all over me. I need to get inside.”

“Yeah, but it’s not a good idea to use your head as a punching bag.”

On the other side of the circle, Wilhelm and Zigfried were grinning from ear to ear. Zigfried blew his nose in Wolf’s direction. Wolf said, “I wonder if he can take a punch.”

“Land one.”

“Right.”

Lieutenant Dieter signaled for the start of the second and final round. Zigfried came straight at Wolf. He feigned a jab and threw another right. Wolf dipped his head to one side and threw an uppercut. The punch landed squarely on Zigfried’s chin. It seemed to lift the young Nazi off the turf, and he lost his balance.

That was all Wolf needed as he moved in and punched wildly. There was no particular sequence to what he threw at Zigfried. When the Nazi bully dropped his hands, Wolf finished him off with a right-left combination. Zigfried fell to the ground and Lieutenant Dieter moved in to stop the fight.

Wilhelm helped Zigfried to his feet. Hans smiled and took off Wolf’s gloves. “Don’t gloat; let’s get out of here.”