Once More the Hawks Read Free

fine art by the trench strafing of 1918. They had used SE5s then, because they were strong and could pull out of a dive without leaving their wings behind; but most of it had been done with Camels, because they went down like a stone and, if they didn’t fly out of their wings, went up again like a lift. The American Marines had improved on the method against Nicaraguan rebels with great success in the Twenties and had later demonstrated their skill at air displays across the States where Dicken and Udet had first seen it used. Since then it had been developed by a number of nations including the French and the Swedes, but the RAF had become obsessed with long range heavy bombers and, though there had been a lot of disagreement, they were still only toying with the idea.
    ‘The flying artillery we saw in the States?’ Dicken said.
    Udet gestured. ‘It will work, Dicko.’
    ‘Will it have to, Knägges?’
    Udet grinned at his old nickname because it was odd to call a German general Titch. Then his smile died. ‘Would the British fight, Dicko?’ he asked. ‘If it came to a fight?’
    ‘They don’t want war, Erni, but they’ve put up with a lot: Sudetenland. Czechoslovakia. Albania. Does your Führer intend to go into Poland?’
    Udet’s face was bleak. ‘He might.’
    ‘Then I think we would.’
     
    There was still no certainty that they hadn’t run into a specially prepared trap. Dicken was certain that Udet wasn’t part of any plot against him but he’d let it drop that the hangar into which the big all-metal Lockheed had been pushed belonged to the Gestapo and they knew it would be thoroughly searched. There was nothing to indicate they had carried cameras because they were safely in Babington’s luggage, but there was always the possibility of the moving panels being discovered and questioned.
    The dinner that had been arranged for the evening seemed to include half the top brass of the Luftwaffe. In addition to Udet there was Sperrle, one of its leaders; Milch, Goering’s deputy; Bruno Loerzer, one of Udet’s contemporaries in the Imperial German Air Service of 1918; Bodenschatz, the great Baron von Richthofen’s old adjutant who was now Goering’s chief of staff; and Wolfram von Richthofen, the baron’s younger cousin who now commanded one of the Luftwaffe Fliegerkorps. This time the uniforms all belonged to the Luftwaffe and the wearers had all spotted the Lockheed and were eager to talk about it.
    ‘I would like a flight in it,’ Udet remarked. ‘To see how it works. To see what the United States are producing.’
    Goering arrived late and once again there was the complicated choreography of Nazism, with everybody clicking heels and raising their arms. Though his large head was handsome, Goering’s appearance was spoiled by his stomach and double chins and the decorations that appeared to have been hung all over his person like wassail balls on a Christmas tree. ‘Chest trouble.’ Udet whispered. ‘Too many medals.’
    The Reichsmarschall greeted Dicken warmly as an old opponent but there was a calculating look in the pale blue eyes. ‘I have been looking at your aircraft,’ he said. ‘It compares well with our German Junkers. Have the British abandoned biplanes yet? There seems to have been a fixation about biplanes in England.’
    Dicken forced a smile. ‘Oh, we have the other kind now, Herr Reichsmarschall.’
    Goering smiled back but he hurriedly changed the subject as if he had no wish to hear of the potential of any power but Germany. ‘I’m having my home, Karinhalle, photographed,’ he said. ‘We’re using your film.’
    As he turned away, Udet’s voice came in a murmur. ‘He doesn’t want war,’ he said. ‘But he’s having a private air raid shelter built just in case. He thought England wouldn’t fight but now I’ve told him what you said he’s not so sure. He says Ribbentrop, our Foreign Minister, is in Moscow, trying to line up the Russians on our