Disclaimer: This is an original work of fiction. All original characters are my own invention and any similarity to actual persons living or dead is coincidental. Where actual historical figures are mentioned any dialogue or actions attributed to them is to be similarly viewed, unless the incident concerned is a matter of historical record.
A.N. This chapter is dedicated to my late father, Clarry Hall - 1936-2008, his elder brother my Uncle Eddie and my grandparents Robert Henry and Elizabeth Hall.
As he entered the administration block a door opened to Alfelt's left and an officer exited. Alfelt saluted, recognising the rank of a Colonel. 'Guten tag Herr Oberst!'
The officer turned and raised an eyebrow taking in the uniform 'Sie sind eine Kampfpilot?' and returned the salute - Alfelt was gratified to notice the Wehrmacht not Nazi salute; perhaps he wasn't the only one to object to the new order of things - and he nodded affirmation to the query and decided to come straight to the point.
'Herr Oberst, I'm Major Alfelt, I am stationed in Northern France but have been granted three days leave. My family is in Erfurt and I wondered if I might obtain transport to there from here?'
The colonel paused and held out his hand 'Good to meet you Herr Major.. my staffel owe their lives to you keeping those verdammt Spitfires and Hurricanes off our backs! See Oberleutnant Reissmann in the carpool, and tell him I said to give you the BMW 327..' Alfelt's eyes must have shown his surprise, and pleasure - the 327 was that year's model! - because the senior officer laughed 'It's only a loan Herr Major.. and don't scratch it!' as he waggled a finger reprovingly.
'Ja.. dankeschoen Herr Oberst!' Alfelt saluted and turned away as the other walked off.
Heading back outside he stopped a passing Feldwebel and got directions to the carpool where having made his identity known he was gratified to discover that Oberst Harstein - as he now knew his previous encounter to have been - had already called ahead and a smiling Oberleutnant was only too eager to show him the 327 and hand over the keys. After a brief familiarisation - it had been over a year since he had last driven, leaving his own four year old Mercedes-Benz 290 back home in Erfurt - he waved goodbye and set out on the relatively short journey to Erfurt.
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After landing Ashton jumped out and, leaving his Hurricane in the hands of the ground-crew - having traded insults and banter regarding the relative merits of the Hawker aircraft and the base's own Supermarine Spitfires - he walked over to the administration block to hopefully get a lift, or at the very least directions to the nearest bus stop. A smiling Flight Lieutenant directed him to the car pool, but here his luck ran out, with an apologetic Flight Sergeant informing him that - with fuel rationing he wasn't even allowed to let officers on the base take a vehicle for anything other than official business. Accepting the apologies Ashton turned away and walked to the gates, showing his pass and getting directions from the corporal on guard duty to the bus stop. Glancing up at a slightly leaden sky he winced hoping he wouldn't have too long to wait, and he was pleased when only fifteen minutes later a Bedford single decker approached and halted as the driver spotted him. He stepped onto the plate and asked 'Are you going to Abercwmboi?'; the query more in hope than expectation.
Predictably the conductor shook his head 'Sorry sir, but we can get you as far as St Nicholas, and if you change there for a number 17 that will get you to Ponty, and after that the local bus should get you to Abercwmboi.'
Ashton nodded his thanks and put his hand in his pocket 'How much do..' but the conductor interrupted him.
'You're a fighter pilot aren't you sir?'
YOU ARE READING
Just Ordinary Men
Historical FictionWorld War II. We think we know the men and women who fought and died for us, and what motivated them. Opposing sides, opposing views and motivations... Perhaps so.. perhaps not...
