Churchill's Ace (Epic War Series Book 1) (23 page)

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.”

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.”

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.”

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.”

“Sir Winston what are you saying?”

“Lord Ashton you are forthwith reinstated in good standing with the RAF. Your pension has been restored, and you will be on the “tree of aces,” with the RAF. Congratulations, even if that gesture if twenty years late. I only hope that you can see fit to forgive the actions of those involved. As you know, war brings out the best and worst in people and governments.”

Lord Ashton was stunned. He dropped the cane that was supporting him. Madeline saw a look on her father’s face she didn’t recognize. It was one of purpose and even pride. It seemed to Madeline her father was now made whole. Madeline went over to her father and kissed him. “You never deserved what happened.”

Lord Ashton stroked her blonde hair. “And neither did you. I’m so sorry for what I have become and what I never was.” Madeline looked up at her father, thru her tears and smiled.

Winston took out a Cuban cigar and was about to light it. Instead, he said, “There is a favor, which I need to ask you. The pilot’s quarters at Biggin Hill are cramped and substandard. We are out of room for the coming air battle. Your estate is just past the runway.”

Lord Ashton proudly said, “Sir Winston, my estate would be most happy to house any of your pilots. But I don’t think you want to scramble a Spitfire from the south lawn.”

“That’s most kind. A quiet place to sleep, that’s what is required. I will make sure the RAF finds volunteers for the cooking and household duties. After all, you will be busy talking to these young pilots at nighttime, about tactics and most of all confidence in themselves and their flying ability. There are but few aces still living from the Great War.”