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.
The moment was broken by the sound of gunfire and roar of a Merlin engine as the airfield defences opened up.
'Was im Teufel?'
Garsteck ran to the window looking out as behind him Grüber ran out to grab his flying kit, shouting for the rest of the staffel to follow him.
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'Shit!'
Ashton sideslipped violently to throw the gunners off their aim and swung around low, pulling his goggle down over his eyes before he reached up with one hand to unlatch the canopy and push it back fully. Immediately he felt the sting of the wind lashing his cheeks below his goggles. The combination of evasive action whilst opening the cockpit canopy almost did for him all on its own as the Hurricane lost height and speed nearly clipping a hangar with the tip of his wing.
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A hand grabbed his arm as he ran for the door and Grüber swung round to see Garsteck pointing up at the Hurricane as it roared low over their heads, almost crashing into a hangar. 'He is crazy this one! What the hell does he think he is doing?'
Grüber shrugged 'I have no idea, but if he keeps that up whatever it is, he won't be doing it for much longer!'
'No.. Erich.. wait a moment.. look!' Garsteck pointed up, and following his gaze Grüber saw what had drawn his attention; the attacking aircraft had its cockpit canopy open, and while he took this in Garsteck spoke again urgently. 'Has he even opened fire?'
Grüber opened his mouth to retort, and closed it again just as quickly. 'Nein.. was..?' The confusion evident on his face.
Whatever Garsteck had been about to say was drowned out by the throaty roar of a Merlin as the Hurricane returned for a second pass.
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Ashton straightened up for a second pass, mentally crossing his fingers. 'Please someone down there, put two and two together..' Reaching down between his thighs he gripped the parcel tight in his left hand, and pulling back a little on the joystick he gained enough height to roll onto his side and dropped the parcel out of the cockpit. 'Now the tricky part.. getting back home..'
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Garsteck and Grüber watched in confusion as something fell from the cockpit of the Hurricane to the ground. Shock froze Garsteck for a moment before he ran forward shouting. 'AufhörenSchießen! AufhörenSchießen!' Grüber ran after him, confused as to why he was ordering the defences to cease fire.
The gunners for their part could not hear him over the bang of their shells and incessant hammering the their machine guns. However luckily, a Feldwebel glanced around and noticed them running towards his battery and shouted to his men. 'AufhörenSchießen! Ach.. he is out of range by now anyway..'
Divining that his order had been understood, with the cessation of fire Garsteck changed direction, instead running toward the middle of the airfield where the mysterious object had landed on the grass.
'Herr Major! Be careful.. it could be anything!'
Ignoring Grüber's warning, Garsteck approached the package and picked it up, turning it over in his hands.
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As he slid the canopy closed and dogged the latch shut the roar of the slipstream died away and Ashton pushed the goggles up from his eyes. A glance at his fuel gauge told him all he needed to know. 'No wonder they never stay long our side!' Having spent time locating the airfield, and burning extra fuel with his low slow pass to drop the package he had enough to get back to Tangmere - if he didn't encounter any further delays along the way, which was by no means assured. With the Hurricane's 600 mile range he knew the roughly 300 mile round trip from Tangmere to Pihen-lès-Guînes and back was well within his capabilities but it didn't do to take chances. Well aware he was over enemy held territory he kept a sharp eye out for any Luftwaffe activity. A glint in the sky to his rear caught his eye and he swore, dipping down to treetop level, knowing he was sacrificing performance for the safety of obscurity.
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'Was ist das?'
Garsteck shrugged in reply. 'I do not know.. but I suspect.'
Although the day had dawned clear, the recent rains had left the centre of the airfield somewhat boggy and the parcel had survived its fall remarkably well. Garsteck wiped it with a gloved finger, and nearly dropped it in shock, reading aloud the written label he had uncovered.
'For the attention of: Major Anton Garsteck, Adjutant, VI. JG51 3.'
'Was??' The label did nothing to dispel Grüber's confusion, at either Garsteck's actions, the recent overflight of the Hurricane, and the parcel now held in Garsteck's hands.
The older man nodded slowly. 'Ja.. I think I see now.. kommen..' Turning his back he led the way back to his office where eh sat, placing the parcel on the desk in front of him. 'Close the door Erich..' He waited as the order was complied with. 'Sit..'
His confusion now deepening to irritation, Grüber sat as directed and waited.
Speaking slowly as he marshalled his thoughts, Garsteck began.
'You know that Johann, Karl, Rudi – Oberst Keppel who you have not met - and I served together in the last war.' Grüber nodded. 'In many respects it was a totally different conflict to this that we are currently fighting. For one thing the air war at least was a much cleaner affair.. there was.. ach it sounds strange to say it now.. there was a kind of code of conduct between the opposing sides.' He grunted. '"The Knights of the Sky" some called us, but in those early days we all knew, German, British, French, American.. if our aircraft was shot up we were dead. There were no parachutes to save us. So it was enough to knock an aircraft out of the sky, we did not need to see it burst into flames, and if the pilot was lucky enough to be able to glide to a safe landing, then he would be allowed to.'
He paused and looked at Grüber. 'Did you notice anything about the Hurricane that dropped this? Its markings perhaps?'
Grüber's face screwed up as he thought hard, replying slowly. 'Yes.. now you mention it.. I think it was from the same squadron we fought earlier.. their leader was responsible for shooting down Major Alfelt..'
Garsteck nodded. 'You said also Johann ordered you all to leave the fight to him.. correct?' Grüber nodded. 'As I thought.. I suspect the leader of that flight was also a Great War veteran, and if I am right..' He reached over and picked up a letter opener, snapping the string holding the parcel together. Carefully unwrapping the brown paper he laid the contents on the desk and smiled.
There before them lay a wallet, a silver cigarette lighter, and a handwritten note. Garsteck picked up the latter and read aloud;
Dear Anton,
Well you were right old friend, it seems I am too old for flying and this is a young man's war now. I am well but as you are reading this clearly I am not going to be coming home any time soon. Please tell Marta I am healthy and well.. and that her wish that I stop flying appears to have been granted, although perhaps not in the manner she may have wished.
Tell Erich to look after the staffel. I think perhaps the responsibility will curb some of his youthful exuberance and put paid to some of his wilder exploits.
I must go now, it seems the transport to my new accommodation will be here shortly.
I remain your good friend,
Johann.
As he finished reading he placed the note back on the desk and looked up at Grüber. 'It seems Johann anticipated your promotion and agrees Erich. It also seems that not all respect has gone from the world! This is a good thing I believe. It seems Johann's captor has seen fit to not only assure us, and his family, that he is well, but also to return his belongings to us knowing that such things tend to disappear when in captivity.'
Grüber nodded slowly. 'I often wondered why you three spoke sometimes in wistful terms of those days. I think I begin to understand.'
Smiling, Garsteck got to his feet. 'Yes.. now I just have to work out how to get this back to Marta without raising any undue suspicions.'
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Ramming the throttle full open Ashton kept a sharp eye where he had seen the glint, suspecting it to be either off a cockpit canopy or polished metal surface of an aircraft. As the coast flashed by under him he cursed as three black dots on the horizon resolved themselves slowly into Messerschmitt 109s. He crouched low in the cockpit, intellectually knowing it didn't make a blind bit of difference, but the primordial survival instinct of all humans bred over millions of years made him try anyway.
'Don't look this way.. don't look this way.. nothing here..' Muttered over and over to himself. Tense minutes passed as the flights drew closer, although in fact would not approach closer than two miles apart - if the others remained oblivious to his presence. Slowly they drew level, Ashton unconsciously holding his breath as the seconds - which felt like hours - ticked slowly by. Eventually the flight passed by on his port side gradually reverting from aircraft into black dots in his rear mirror, before finally fading from sight. He exhaled the breath he hadn't even realised he was holding and began to breath easier as he crossed the English coast between Hastings and Eastbourne, setting a direct course for home.
Approaching Tangmere, he let down his undercarriage and called up on the R/T. 'Impi Leader to Tangmere Control, clear to land?'
'How good of you to join us Squadron Leader. Please do land.'
Ashton winced. The all too familiar clipped tones reminded him - as if the New Zealand accent hadn't - that he was in a lot of trouble. 'Impi Leader, acknowledged.' With a sigh he eased back on the throttle letting the revs drop until the aircraft sank to the ground, the familiar rumbling of the main wheels across the turf soon followed by the tail wheel; he pressed the rudder pedals guiding the kite over to Dispersal where he shut down the engine and slid the canopy back on its rails. Looking around the cockpit, for what he felt was probably - no definitely - the last time he sighed. 'Oh well.. better go face the music John.' Unbuckling his Sutton harness, he gripped the canopy surround of the windscreen and hauled himself up, climbing over the side onto the wing, and jumped to the ground.
Powell ran up to him. 'I'm sorry sir.. I tried to warn..'
'It's alright Flight.. I knew what I was doing.' Ashton smiled ruefully. 'Well if I don't see you again, it's been a pleasure to serve with you Powell, and I hope your next skipper gives you less repairs to do!' He held out his hand.
With a laugh Powell took his hand and shook it. 'Well there is that sir.. but what am I going to give Latimer and Crossley to do?'
Ashton chuckled and patted him on the shoulder. 'You'll think of something.. take care of yourself Flight..' With that he turned around and walked towards the admin block to face the music.
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In the end Garsteck decided he needn't have worried. Alfelt shouldn't have had personal effects in the aircraft with him anyway, so it was a simple task to slip the letter and cigarette case into the box with the rest of his belongings being packed up for return to his family. 'A good man, that squadron leader.' He mused while carrying the box over to a transport aircraft that had arrived. Handing it over to the pilot he ordered. 'Take good care of that!' The pilot saluted. 'Jawohl Herr Major!' He climbed aboard the aircraft and Garsteck turned away to resume the normal business of running a Luftwaffe Jagdstaffel.
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Pausing at the door to his own office - an unfamiliar, not to mention uncomfortable experience - Ashton straightened his uniform jacket as much as he could, inwardly grateful to Tommy Winslow who had slipped him his uniform cap on his way past with the murmured comment. 'Better look your best old boy.. or the best you can anyway.. good luck!' He rapped on the door and waited.
'Come!'
Ashton opened the door and stepped inside, turning to close it before accepting his fate. Out of the corner of his eye he spied a white flying helmet and goggles hanging from his coat stand and his heart sank. Swallowing, he turned and saluted smartly.
'Squadron Leader Ashon reporting as ordered, sir!'
He remained still at attention his eyes purposefully focussed two inches above the uniform cap. The silence lengthened, and he licked his lips nervously until eventually he broke and lowered his gaze.
The gimlet eyes of Air Vice Marshall Keith Park, Air Officer Commanding, No 11 Group, Fighter Command bore straight into him. 'At ease Squadron Leader..' As Ashton put a hand on a chair back. '.. No.. I didn't say sit.' He lowered his gaze to a buff coloured folder on his desk, which Ashton belatedly recognised as his own personnel file. 'Oh hell..'
The head snapped up with a raised eyebrow. 'Did you say something Squadron Leader?'
Ashton winced, had he spoken aloud? 'Uh no sir.. nothing sir!'
'Oh.. I could have sworn you had.' Park placed the folder on the desk in front of him, lacing his fingers together and resting his elbows on the edge. 'Tell me Ashton, when is your birthdate?'
Slightly flustered Ashton replied. '15th May sir..' He could have sworn the ghost of a smile crossed Park's face at his response.
'Yes.. a good try.. now let's try again.. what is your birthdate.. not day?'
'15th May.. 1899 sir..'
'Hmmm.. now let me see.. that would make you.. 41 wouldn't it?' Again the gimlet eyes bore into Ashton's head. He nodded.
'Sir..'
'Too old for flying then..'
'Sir.. I.'
Park leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair. 'Spare me the justifications Ashton.. I've heard them all before. Now.. whether you like it or not.. and frankly I don't much care either way.. your flying days are over. As of now you are grounded.'
Ashton felt obliged to make one last appeal. 'Sir the men..'
'Will fly and fight just as well without you Ashton.. I've seen them..' His gaze softened slightly. 'You've led them well.. so well in fact I am positive they will perform admirably without you. I've been looking through their personnel jackets while you've been.. absent..' The last word drawn out. 'I had plenty of time during your little jaunt..' He glanced up.
Born in 1892, in Thames, New Zealand, Keith Park was 7 years Ashton's senior, himself a Great War veteran, of Gallipoli, before transferring to the RFC in the latter half of the war where he learned to fly. During this period he had been subject to the same environment as Ashton, thus was aware of how the younger man felt. Ashton knew all this and the thought that Park may have seen Alfelt and put two and two together gnawed at him. With a jolt he realised this was the moment, thinking to himself. 'Here it comes.'
But the moment passed as Park continued. 'I think that Flight Lieutenant Winslow is overdue for promotion, don't you?'
Confusion momentarily in Ashton's eyes, then he nodded resignedly. 'Yes sir.'
Park laughed at Ashon's downcast expression. 'Cheer up Wing Commander, it could be worse!'
'How..' Ashton's brain caught up with his ears. 'Uhh.. Wing Commander?'
'Winslow's not the only one overdue for promotion.' Park smiled for the first time. 'Congratulations Wing Commander!' He stood and held out his hand which Ashton shook.
'Uh.. thank you sir..'
Park nodded. 'I'll see you at Group HQ tomorrow to discuss your reassignment.. you have until then to tidy things up here and hand over to Winslow.' With that he saluted Ashton and swept out of the room.
Ashton stood dumbfounded. Had that just happened? Had he not only got away with an unauthorised flight over enemy territory, been grounded, but in the same breath been promoted? He scratched his head.
'Oh well.. at least Rhian will be happy.'
A.N. This is the first chapter where I have actively included a historic figure in the narrative. I chose to portray Park in the same mould as Trevor Howard did in The Battle of Britain, and I hope I have succeeded.