Helena P. Schrader's Blog, page 11

BRIDGE TO TOMORROW: COLD PEACE -- MEET EMILY PRIESTMAN

 Emily, like most women of her generation, does not demand the limelight. She does not scream and shout and insist that she's better than everyone at everything! She prefers to be polite and discreet and cooperative, while hoping that competence and dedication will bring her recognition and rewards. That approach doesn't always work. By the time "Cold Peace" opens in 1947,  Emily has had her share of disappointments. Yet when an unexpected opportunity presents itself, she seizes it -- and her role in Bridge to Tomorrow is as crucial as it is to the sick and injured in blockaded Berlin.

 

Excerpt 1: (Reflecting on her husband and marriage)

Fromthe moment Robin had walked through the door with a bottle of champagne tocelebrate his posting, she’d known that she had no choice but to pretend shewas delighted, too. Robin had been miserable in staff work, and he saw this newposting as his escape to a better, more interesting future. He’d explained toher it was a stepping-stone to other overseas assignments. He’d sketched out afuture in Singapore and Hong Kong, Rangoon and Bombay, Cape Town and Nairobi.He’d talked of servants and sailing and the wonders of the wide world.

Thatwas so like him! From their first date, Robin had opened doors for her. He hadnot only rescued her from a dead-end job, he had also rescued her from herloveless and dreary parental home. He had replaced drudgery and duty withexcitement and glamour. She laughed inwardly at the memory of a squadron partythat Vivien Leigh, Lawrence Olivier and Rex Harrison had crashed. She’d foundherself at the bar chatting with Rex Harrison as if they were old friends. Fora girl from the slums of Portsmouth that was heady indeed! Robin had literallyshown her the sky, and their shared love of flying had always been a bondbetween them. 

Sheglanced up from her magazine to steal a sidelong glance at her husband. Sheloved the way he looked in his best blues with the three full stripes restoredto his sleeve. He had always stolen the show when they were together, shethought with an indulgent smile. Never having been particularly vain, it did notbother her that most people had eyes only for Robin. 

She’dbeen delighted to see his enthusiasm for this new posting. Shows of exuberancehad been sorely missing since the end of the war. In place of keenness, apathyand mute resentment had festered. She had sensed his simmering bitterness in ajob that brought him neither satisfaction nor apparent rewards. And while sheknew his discontent was not directed at her, it had left her in the cold, all the same. She had felt as if theywere standing on different ice floes, drifting farther and farther apart ondivergent, underwater currents. Her disappointments and frustrations about notfinding meaningful work and not getting pregnant had only compounded things.Rather than riding out the tide of their dejection and despondency together,they had fallen into the habit of hiding their feelings from one anotherthrough fear of making things worse. This new posting had blown away theirmutual and separate dissatisfaction like a fresh gale. It was a reprieve notjust for Robin’s career but fortheir marriage, as well. Emily was determined to make the most of it. 

Yetthis new assignment was fundamentally political and diplomatic, and that waswhat frightened Emily. Robin had talked blithely about the representationalduties they would have, stressing that the burden would be upon her to hostdinners and entertain their counterparts. He’d made it sound like it wasimportant and fun and she should look forward to it all. All she saw werechances to make a fool of herself and wreck his career. 

Emily Priestman is the daughter of Communist activists. She has been raised in the slums of Portsmouth, where her parents were intent on "revolutionizing the proletariat." Yet she is sent to fee-paying schools and wins a scholarship to Cambridge. There she finds an emotional home with a crowd of intellectual pacifists desperate to prevent a new world war. She also develops sympathy for German demands that the "Diktat" of Versailles be revised. She marches in the demonstrations where her friends shout "hell no, we won't go" to express their refusal to be "cannon fodder" in a new war. And then Hitler starts to show his fangs...

By the start of WWII, Emily has learned that a failure to stand up to aggressors invites more aggressio, and also discovered that even a First Class degree in medieval history doesn't generate many employment opportunities. Meanwhile, her parent's sudden support of Hitler (because he is an ally of Stalin) increases her alienation from her parental home. With most of her pacifist friends volunteering for the armed forces, she is left without an ideological home as well. She tries to do her bit by helping out in a Salvation Army seaman's mission.

That's where Robin Priestman limps in on a crutch one day and her life takes wing. Robin brings Emily more than romance and marriage. He gives her new self-confidence and a new career: flying for the Air Transport Auxiliary. Here she proves herself and during 18 months of separation after Robin is shot down and taken prisoner in Germany, she learns emotional and financial independence. She is a stronger and more mature woman at the end of WWII.

Yet the very  magnitude of her success during the war makes the lack of work, purpose and appreciation after the war particularly painful. She embraces the chance for a new start that the Robin's posting to Berlin brings, but she dreads being nothing but a "hostess." It is her longing for a more meaningful role that causes her to subtly guide her houseguest David Goldman to consider establishing his new business in Berlin. She volunteers to undertake the market studies necessary to test the viability of the concept. In doing so, she explores a Berlin her husband -- and most of the occupation forces -- know nothing about: the desperate situation of Berlin's health care institutions. 

Thus Emily plays a critical role in the launch of the air ambulance in Berlin -- and is soon taking on more and more responsibility. Yet her personal involvement doesn't make her blind to what his going on around her. Emily's sharp brain and powers of observation are an asset that benefits her, the company she works for , and her husband in his capacity as RAF Station Commander at Gatow.

Excerpt 2:

Theyoung Dr Sauerbruch maintained a pseudo smile and a forced friendliness as heescorted them. He made small talk with Emily without listening to her answers.When they reached the reception, they signed out while he waited for them. ToEmily’s surprise, he did not simply see them through the door, he came out tothe car with them. 

AsEmily dropped into the back seat, he leaned down and spoke through the opendoor. “If you want my advice, Mrs Priestman, you will not try to start thisbusiness.”

Shewas provoked enough to ask, “Why ever not?”

“Because,Mrs Priestman, it is only viable as long as the Western Allies have a militarypresence and control airfields in Berlin. Yet the imperialist powers have nobusiness here whatsoever, and we Germans are fed up with them — most especiallyyour air forces, which we came to know all too well when you rained terror onus day and night. We do not want your air ambulance or any other patronizingcharities. Just leave and let us build back our country the way we wantit.” Then he slammed the door shut before she could answer.

“I’msorry,” Charlotte whispered as they drove away.

“I’mnot,” Emily retorted. “That was a highly interesting and most educationalmeeting. Besides, you were right about the elder Dr Sauerbruch. I no longerbelieve he knowingly advocated cruel and painful experiments on living humans.We will, however, have to tell David what the younger Sauerbruch said.”

Charlottelifted her head in alarm and asked, “Must we? I mean, as you said yourself, theneed for the ambulance from the West is great enough to justify the ambulanceservice. Dr Sauerbruch senior confirmed that. His son is just trying tofrighten us. He is a Soviet stooge! Did you see his party pin? He does notrepresent the real Berlin.” Charlotte was emphatic both from convictionand fear that David might change his mind.

Emilynodded, “I suppose you’re right, but we will still have to tell David.”

Charlottenodded unhappily, and they fell silent, lost in their separate thoughts.

Afterdropping Charlotte at her apartment house, Emily rode alone in the backseat ofher car as her driver took her home. As the broken masonry of the battered cityrolled by, her inner apprehension grew. She couldn’t escape the feeling thatBerlin was seething beneath the crust of its wounds. On the surface lay a dry,broken wasteland, inhabited by ordinary people struggling to survive, butunderneath, like a festering wound, poisonous forces were at work — the blackmarket, the prostitution of young mothers, kidnapping, institutionalised thefton the part of the Soviet state, sanctioned theft by the ordinary Sovietsoldier and a clandestine campaign by Stalin to change the post-war balance ofpower by seizing control of Germany — if not the entire continent. The more shethought about it, the more absurd it seemed to try to start a business in thisenvironment. Indeed, for the first time since their arrival, she wondered if ithad been the right decision to come to Berlin at all. More than David’sbusiness was a risk. The Western Allies were under threat and RAF Gatow wouldbe a prime target.

Cold Peace is Book I of the Bridge to Tomorrow Series. 

Three years after WWII, Europe struggles with rationing, widespread unemployment and a growing Soviet threat. Hitler's former capital lies ruined under the joint control of wartime allies bitterly at odds. With the currency worthless, the population lives on hand-outs or turns to crime and prostitution. Deep inside the Soviet Zone of occupation, Berlin appears to be an ideal target for a communist take-over, putting the defenders of democracy on a collision course with Stalin's merciless aggression. 

A Battle of Britain ace, a female air traffic controller, a concentration camp survivor and an ex-ATA woman pilot are just some of those trying to find their place in the post-war world. An air ambulance service offers a shimmer of hope, but when a Soviet fighter brings down a British passenger liner, Berlin becomes a flashpoint. The world stands poised on the brink of World War Three.

Find out more at: https://www.helenapschrader.com/bridg...

Previous releases include:

" MORAL FIBRE," which WON THE HEMINGWAY AWARD 2022 FOR 20TH CENTURY WARTIME FICTION and a MAINCREST MEDIA AWARD FOR MILITARY FICTION as well as being A FINALIST FOR THE BOOK EXCELLENCE AWARD 2023 IN THE CATEGORY HISTORICAL FICTION.

 

 Riding the icy, moonlit sky,

they took the war to Hitler. 

Their chances of survival were less than fifty percent. 

Their average age was 21.

This is the story of just one bomber pilot, his crew and the woman he loved. 

It is intended as a tribute to them all.  

Buy now on amazon

or Barnes and Noble. 

 

 "This is the best book on the life of us fighter pilots in the Battle of Britain that I have ever seen.... I couldn't put it down."-- RAF Battle of Britain ace, Wing Commander Bob Doe.

Winner of a Hemingway Award for 20th Century Wartime Fiction, a Maincrest Media Award for Military Fiction and Silver in the Global Book Awards.

Find out more at: https://crossseaspress.com/where-eagles-never-flew

 

 For more information about all my books visit: https://www.helenapschrader.com

 

Disfiguring injuries, class prejudice and PTSD are the focus of three tales set in WWII by award-winning novelist Helena P. Schrader. Find out more at: https://crossseaspress.com/grounded-eagles

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

BRIDGE TO TOMORROW: COLD PEACE -- MEET CHRISTIAN BARON VON FELDBURG

 Christian is a secondary character in "Cold Peace" but he provides continuity from the earlier novels "Traitors for the Sake of Humanity" and "Where Eagles Never Flew." He personifies those conservative elements in German society that were no less vehemently anti-Nazi than the Social Democrats and just as proud of their traditions. These men were extremely important in shaping the character of the Federal Republic of Germany in the early post-war years. Christian is an amalgamation or synthesis of the survivors of the German Resistance who I had the honour to meet and come to know when researching my dissertation in the 1970s.

Excerpt 1:

“Herr Baron? Is it really you?” Theo Pfalz stood in the doorway ofthe apartment house on the Maybach Ufer 27 and stared incredulously. The youngman opposite exuded health and fitness to an intimidating degree. Pfalz hadn’tseen a German looking this good — or this self-assured — since the end of thewar. Christian Freiherr von Feldburg was in his mid-thirties, with rough blondhair and a well-proportioned face. He wore a tailored suit and a cashmere coatthat was neither patched, ragged nor worn-thin, although by its cut it datedfrom the thirties.

“Yes, Pfalz, it’s me. May I come in?”

“Of course, Herr Baron!” Pfalz backed up into the entrance hallstill gazing in wonder at the apparition opposite him. Christian stepped insidecarrying two large, bulging, leather suitcases. “Do you plan to stay here, HerrBaron?” the concierge asked stunned.

“Where else should I stay in Berlin?” Christian countered with araised eyebrow. “I own this apartment house.”

“Ah, yes, of course, Herr Baron, but there are refugees in yourapartment. Nineteen of them.” 

“So I heard. I’ll stay with my cousin, Graefin Walmsdorf. She’s on the top floor?”

“Yes, Herr Baron. On the right.”

“Good.” Christian took his heavy suitcases and started up thestairs. Halfway to the landing, however, he stopped abruptly and looked back.“Pflaz?”

“Yes, Herr Baron?”

“Were you here the night my brother…?”

“Yes, Herr Baron. When I heard the pistol shot, I knew what it was. I rushed upstairs, and sinceno one answered my knocking and shouting, I got the extra key and let myselfin.”

“Then you were the one to find him?”

“Yes, Herr Baron.”

They gazed at one another, but neither seemed to want to go intogreater detail. Then Theo added, “I removed his Ritterkreuz and his weddingring because I thought the Frau Baronin might want them, but she never cameback.”

“No, she couldn’t face this house.” Christian let his eyes sweeparound the shabby entry hall with its tattered reminders of a betterpast. 

“But she survived the war?” Theo asked hopefully.

“She did, yes. Frl. Moldenauer was able to bring her to a safehouse — one of the places where people hid Jews, Communists and others in needof shelter from Nazi persecution.”

“Frl. Moldenauer? How did such an innocent young girl know aboutplaces like that?” Theo asked in astonishment.

Christian smiled cynically. “You forget, Pfalz. The young are morelikely to have ideals — and be willing to die for them. It’s as we get olderthat we become jaded. Frl. Moldenauer, I was told, belonged to a clandestinenetwork that provided Jews with forged documents.”

Although his puzzled frown did not fade, Theo nodded and asked,“Would you like your brother’s things? The ones I managed to save? I didn’tdare take many things. I knew the police were on the way and that the Gestapowould want to turn the apartment upside down in a search for evidence and tofind the names of accomplices. Many things went missing in the process. Itwas theft, but there was nothing I could do to stop it.” Theo’s tone mixedindignation with a plea for understanding.

“Thank you for saving whatever you could, Pfalz — and for lying tothe Gestapo about my sister-in-law’s whereabouts.”

“How did you know about that, Herr Baron?”

“My brother’s widow is now a prosecutor for the Americans atNuremberg. She was able to obtain access to my brother’s Gestapo file and itwas noted there that you, a staunch and loyal Nazi Party Member and SA mansince before the Seizure of Power, had cooperated fully and willingly with theinvestigation. You were explicitly commended,” Christian emphasised, makingTheo squirm, before adding, “except, as Alix noted, you lied about where shewas and managed to forget many of my brother’s visitors. You had, she claims, aremarkable memory for the names of those already implicated, arrested or dead.She asked me to thank you for that, and, yes, I would like my brother’s weddingring and Ritterkreuz —and whatever else you managed to rescuefrom the claws of the Gestapo. But not now. I’mtired and want to settle in. I’ll stop bysometime tomorrow or the next day.”

“Very good, Herr Baron.” Theo was visiblyrelieved, and he smiled tentatively. “It’s good to have you here, Herr Baron.It feels right.”

Christian thanked him but could not bring himself to pretend hewas glad to be here. He wasn’t. To him, everything felt wrong. This was not theelegant, fashionable house he remembered. It was not warm and bustling withlife. He could not imagine running into members of the Reichstag, professors,artists and opera singers on these steps. He could not picture the ladies inevening gowns and tiaras on the arms of men wearing white ties and top hatswhom he had watched with childish wonder. Instead, the house felt like arotting corpse, blood-stained, and soulless. 

Readers who read and remember  "Where Eagles Never Flew" or "Traitors for the Sake of Humanity" will recognize Christian. He is second son and middle child of Ferdinand and Sophia Maria von Feldburg. Always a little rebellious and unreliable, he was apt to get into scrapes and never quite lived up to expectations. His older brother Philip was the acolyte, the one with good grades in school, the one to enter a prestigious regiment, the one to get recommended for the General Staff. Christian on the other hand tried to sneak out mass, just scraped by in school, and refused to join the army altogether, preferring the newly formed Luftwaffe. 

Yet Christian shares his brother's values. He is appalled by the Nazi's bigotry, corruption, cruelty, and lies. He recognizes no less than Philip that the Nazis are evil and that their policies are dangerous. He simply chooses escapism and mockery over outright resistance. His course was sometimes called "inner immigration" because it entailed not leaving the country physically, but emotionally separating himself from it. Believing there was nothing he could do to curb, much less bring down, the Nazis, he sought to enjoy life as much as possible by simply not thinking about them. He flew fast aeroplanes, he dated fast girls, he partied and drank a lot. 

That didn't really change at the start of the war because the victories were intoxicating. But then came the Battle of Victory, the confrontation with what it meant to (as Philip reminds him) have "an idiot running the war." His ability to joke about the Nazis and to run away from reality seeps away. By mid-1943 he has had enough. He takes himself out of the war by landing at an improvised American airfield in the North African desert. His Me109 badly damaged and with a bleeding head wound, it is assumed -- and Christian allows everyone to assume -- that he was confused and made a mistake. In fact, he has made a conscious decision to survive the war.

After sitting out the rest of the war in an American POW camp -- drinking orange juice and eating eggs and bacon for breakfast every morning, he returns to a Germany more devastated than he could have imagined. The first couple of years after his repatriation are spent simply picking up the pieces: tracking down his nephew, who had been given a different name and give out to adoption by an SS couple after his brother's treason, giving refuges to his best-friend's French wife after she has been shaved and humiliated as a collaborator, nursing his mother back to health after her year-long sojourn in a concentration camp, kicking the Americans out of his house and getting the farm working again. Only now, in early 1948, has he turned his attentions to trying to make a living with a wine business.

Excerpt 2 In this excerpt, Christian has taken a sample of his wine to a potential customer, who lives in a large villa on the Wannsee:

Friedebach crossed to a sideboard to get some glasses, whileChristian extracted the cork from the bottle. As he finished, he glanced overhis shoulder to see where Friedebach was. 

His breath caught in his throat. 

Over the sideboard from which Friedebach was removing some crystalwine glasses hung a large, post-impressionist oil painting showing a Havellandscape with soft, blue water in the foreground. At the centre of thepainting, two fine-boned, willowy, riding horses stretched out their necks todrink while their riders stood dismounted beside them. The riders were both young men in open-necked, white shirts, beige riding breeches and black boots.One of the riders, a handsome blond youth, looked straight at the observer witha faint yet self-confident smile on his lips; the other was dark, and his hairfell over his brow as he looked thoughtfully down at his horse.

Christian could neither move nor breathe.

Friedebach straightened and turned back towards him. He noticedthe direction of Christian’s gaze, and remarked, “Nice painting, isn’t it?”

Christian knew he must control himself. He looked away and forcedhimself to focus on the lovely crystal glasses Friedebach set down on thetable. Then letting out his breath slowly so Friedebach would not notice he hadbeen holding it, he remarked as casually as he could, “Very nice indeed. Wheredid you get it?” 

“Oh,” Friedebach waved his hand vaguely. “You know how it was in’45. The Russians stole everything and anything. When I was given this house,it was completely plundered. I didn’t even have a bed to sleep in or a toiletto sit on. I complained to the SMAD. They had allotted it to me, after all; Ifelt they had a duty to make it liveable. A few days later they brought overseveral truckloads of furnishings dumped on top of each other like rubbish.Everything must have been stolen from somewhere else. Much was too badlydamaged to be used, but some things were quite astonishing — like thatpainting. Why?”

“Do you know what the painting is?” Christian asked cautiously.

“Not really. Should I?”

Christian shrugged. “I suppose not, but I’m surprised you like it. It’sby a Jewish artist. Max Liebermann.”

“Really?” Friedebach’s eyebrows went up andhe seemed to take a new interest in the painting. Then he asked sceptically,“You’re sure? It’s not what I would have expected of Jewish art.” A frownhovered around his eyebrows, and he looked more critically at his visitor.

“I’m absolutely sure what it is,” Christian answered with a touchtoo much steel in his voice.

Friedebach’s expression went from sceptical to suspicious. “How doyou know?”

“Oh,” Christian gestured vaguely, “Once upon a time before the warand before I served the Fatherland, I moved in certain circles where art wasappreciated. You may have forgotten, but Liebermann was once the President ofthe Preussiche Akademie der Kuenste; his paintings were popularamong the upper classes.”

“Before the Fuehrer came to power and threw him out of theAkademie,” Friedebach concluded. 

“Exactly. That painting was one of his last works. Painted when hewas technically forbidden from working. It was a private commission and that’swhy it’s not well known.”

“So how do you know so much about it?” Friedebach pressed him.

“I knew the man who commissioned it. If you don’t believe me, lookat the back sometime. The title of the piece is “Watering the Horses,” and itwas painted by Liebermann in 1934.” Conscious that if they discussed the paintingmuch longer he might explode, Christian changed the subject. “Time to taste thewine.” 

Friedebach sat down and waited while Christian poured his wineinto one of the small glasses and handed it over.

Friedebach sipped it and held it in his mouthto taste it thoroughly before swallowing.“Not as bad as I expected,” he remarked condescendingly. Christian didn’tbother responding. He knew the quality of his wine. He smiled cynically andwaited. Friedebach took a second sip and then shook his head. “It is too dryfor my taste, I’m afraid.” He set the glass down again.

Christian shrugged. “Well, tastes differ.” He took the cork,re-inserted it in the bottle and prepared to pack the bottle away in hisbriefcase again. 

Friedebach leaned back in his chair and shook his head bemused. “Ihope you were a better fighter pilot than salesman, Feldburg. Aren’t you goingto try to change my mind?”

“No. Why should I? I don’t need your business. I can find othercustomers, who do recognize quality wine when they taste it.” The bottle was back in his case. Christian stood andreached for his coat.

Friedebach watched, assessing him with sharp suspicious eyes, butChristian managed to maintain a façade of perfect indifference. He held out hishand. “No need to see me out. I can find my way. Have a good day, Herr DrFriedebach.”

Cold Peace is Book I of the Bridge to Tomorrow Series. 

Three years after WWII, Europe struggles with rationing, widespread unemployment and a growing Soviet threat. Hitler's former capital lies ruined under the joint control of wartime allies bitterly at odds. With the currency worthless, the population lives on hand-outs or turns to crime and prostitution. Deep inside the Soviet Zone of occupation, Berlin appears to be an ideal target for a communist take-over, putting the defenders of democracy on a collision course with Stalin's merciless aggression. 

A Battle of Britain ace, a female air traffic controller, a concentration camp survivor and an ex-ATA woman pilot are just some of those trying to find their place in the post-war world. An air ambulance service offers a shimmer of hope, but when a Soviet fighter brings down a British passenger liner, Berlin becomes a flashpoint. The world stands poised on the brink of World War Three.

Find out more at: https://www.helenapschrader.com/bridg...

Previous releases include:

" MORAL FIBRE," which WON THE HEMINGWAY AWARD 2022 FOR 20TH CENTURY WARTIME FICTION and a MAINCREST MEDIA AWARD FOR MILITARY FICTION as well as being A FINALIST FOR THE BOOK EXCELLENCE AWARD 2023 IN THE CATEGORY HISTORICAL FICTION.

 

 Riding the icy, moonlit sky,

they took the war to Hitler. 

Their chances of survival were less than fifty percent. 

Their average age was 21.

This is the story of just one bomber pilot, his crew and the woman he loved. 

It is intended as a tribute to them all.  

Buy now on amazon

or Barnes and Noble. 

 

 "This is the best book on the life of us fighter pilots in the Battle of Britain that I have ever seen.... I couldn't put it down."-- RAF Battle of Britain ace, Wing Commander Bob Doe.

Winner of a Hemingway Award for 20th Century Wartime Fiction, a Maincrest Media Award for Military Fiction and Silver in the Global Book Awards.

Find out more at: https://crossseaspress.com/where-eagles-never-flew

 

 For more information about all my books visit: https://www.helenapschrader.com

 

Disfiguring injuries, class prejudice and PTSD are the focus of three tales set in WWII by award-winning novelist Helena P. Schrader. Find out more at: https://crossseaspress.com/grounded-eagles

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

BRIDGE TO TOMORROW: COLD PEACE -- MEET KATHLEEN HART

 Kathleen fills so many roles in "Cold Peace" that it is hard to categorize her. On the one hand she represents the legion of war widows left with children to bring up on her own. On the other hand she's a career woman, determined to succeed. Because she works as an air traffic controller, her plot-line also illuminates the challenges of air traffic control in the difficult environment of occupied Berlin. At the same time, through her innocent friendship with the wrong man, Kathleen's story also gives the reader a peek at the dubious and unsavory underworld festering below the surface of post-war Berlin. 

 Excerpt 1:

 “How canyou possibly take an innocent six-year-old child to Berlin of all places?” MrsHarriman asked her daughter indignantly.

“Mother!” Kathleen pleaded, “Gatow is just anotherRAF station!”

“In the middle of Germany! You’ll be surrounded byNazis!”

“The war has been over almost three years, Mother.Besides, I have housing on the station and Hope will go to school and havedaycare there. We won’t need to go into Berlin for anything.”

“Then why go there in the first place? Why don’tyou just quit the WAAF and take a nice, sensible job? You trained and worked asa sales clerk before you married, and I see signs in windows saying, ‘helpwanted’ all over the place. There’s even a vacancy at Marks and Spencers onHigh Street! That would be perfect for you, and you would meet lots of nice,respectable people. You and Hope could move back in with us.”

The last thing Kathleen wanted was to live with herparents. It was nine years since she’d married and almost five since herhusband Ken had been killed. She treasured her independence.

As if reading her thoughts, her mother hastened toadd, “Think of how much better it would be for little Hope if you didn’t haveshift work, Kathleen. As a shopgirl, you’d have regular working hours and couldlive a normal life again. It was one thing during the war when it was anational emergency and Hope was so little. I understand that working at anairfield helped you get over your grief, but it’s time to move on. You’re stillan attractive young woman. No one would think you were 28 just by looking atyou. Your hair is still so dark and thick. It is time to find a new daddy forpoor little Hope.... What on earth do you hope to gain by going to Berlin?”

Kathleen drew a deep breath. There was so much shehoped to gain but her mother would understand none of it — not the chance to doradar controlling, or to be the senior WAAF on the station, or to be near Ken,who was buried in the Commonwealth War Cemetery there. Kathleen secretly hopedthat going there and seeing the grave would at last free her to love again, butthe last person she would ever confess that to was her mother. So, all she saidwas, “Mother, it’s my life.”

Kathleen is the product of Britain's raising middle-class. Her father worked in an office not a factory and earned enough money so her mother could stay at home and keep the house. She was raised in a nice, semi-detached house in the suburbs and she trained as a sales clerk after leaving school at 16. She soon had a good, respectable job with Mark & Spencers, and was the very epitome of a "nice" girl in the late 1930s . She is not wild, rebellious, or fast. 

None of that changed when Ken Hart walked into her life. Yes, he was a sailor, but an officer, and he dutifully got her father's permission before taking her out on an evening date. Yes, they married after only knowing one another six months and, yes, Kathleen's parents never approved of Ken, but she was a virgin bride and a faithful wife. 

Kathleen's life didn't really change until Ken's ship was sunk under him by a German U-boat in late 1940. He was in a lifeboat for nearly a week before being picked up by a Westbound ship. By the time Kathleen learned that Ken was still alive, it had been three weeks and some of his shipmate's wives had already held memorial services. Kathleen, four months pregnant at the time, had gone through hell and begged Ken to give up the sea.

Ken agreed. Yet as a man eligible for conscription, Ken didn't have the option of just staying ashore and finding a pleasant job. He was bound to be impressed into the Navy unless he volunteered for another service. So he traded the merchant navy uniform for an RAF one. With his navigational skills, it was only natural for him to volunteer and train as a navigator, eventually joining a Lancaster crew. The dangers were greater than ever, but at least Kathleen could live near his station and not only could they see each other almost daily, he could spend time with his little girl.

In May 1941, Kathleen had given birth to a baby girl, whom Ken insisted on calling "Hope." There was so much darkness and danger around her, he said, that hope was the most precious of all qualities. Furthermore, he told Kathleen, his daughter was the greatest reason for wanting to carry on with the fight for a better future. In March 1943, before Hope's second birthday, Ken was shot down over Berlin. There were no survivors from his Lancaster.

Unable to cope with the vacuum left by Ken's death, Kathleen became obsessed with carrying on the fight for Ken. She left Hope with her parents and joined the WAAF. Soon she found herself working in the control tower of a bombing station, guiding the bombers home after their nightly forays into hell. It was stressful but vitally important work, and when the war ends, she can't face just going back to the suburbs and being a salesclerk again. She stays in the WAAF and she takes a keen interest in her profession, including extra qualifying courses on radar controlling. When she sees a notice requesting a radar-qualified, air traffic control for an urgent assignment in Berlin, Kathleen doesn't hesitate for an instant. She hasn't really a clue what she's got herself into.

Excerpt 2:

Within minutes, the bleak rural landscape began to give way toa grey-black vista of broken masonry, piles of scrap metal, and burnt-outvehicles. The deeper the train rolled into the urban area, the closer and moreominous the destruction became. The buildings reached higher, but they lackedroofs and windows, and their sides were blackened by smoke. As the train slowedto a crawl, Kathleen realized that messages had been scrawled in white chalk onsome of the charred walls. People had done that after being bombed out inSouthampton, too, she remembered with a shudder.

The train brakes screeched shrilly, and Kathleen’s view wassuddenly cut off by twisted rolling stock with shattered windows lined upbehind a locomotive lying on its side with its guts spilling out. Kathleenshivered and closed her eyes, but the image could not be erased. The brakeswere applied again and at last, they came to a stop beside a concrete platform.She opened her eyes to find out where she was, but she couldn’t read the signat an oblique angle through the dirty glass. She stood and shoved the windowdown, letting in a blast of cold air smelling of coal smoke. An eruption ofangry complaints from her fellow passengers convinced her to close the windowrapidly, but not before she had deciphered the name of the stop. They hadarrived in a place called Krefeld. It sounded vaguely familiar although shecouldn’t imagine why. And then it hit her: more than once it had been “thetarget for tonight.” 

A handful of passengers boarded the train, the doors clanged shut,and the train lurched forward again. As they continued out of the city, she sawnothing except heaps of grey debris covered with dirty snow. She asked herself,Did we really do all this? 

The question repeated itself as the journey continued. The imageswere unremittingly chilling and with each mile deeper into Germany, Kathleenfelt more uncomfortable. What the hell had she gotten herself into? There wasso little left standing that it seemed pointless to try to rebuild anything,and there was little sign of life anyway. The few people she glimpsed lurkingin the semi-deserted streets hunched against the wind and blowing dust, theirheads down, their eyes averted. They undoubtedly looked defeated, but were theyresentful too? Angry, maybe? Or bitter? Were they awaiting the chance to strikeback? Kathleen turned away from the window. Everything beyond her overheatedtrain compartment full of British travellers had become vaguelythreatening. 

And each stop was yet another “target for tonight” — Essen,Bochum, Dortmund, Hamm, Gutersloh, Minden. With dismay at her naiveté, sherealized she was crossing the Ruhr, the hated “Happy Valley” of the bomberboys.

Cold Peace is Book I of the Bridge to Tomorrow Series. 

Three years after WWII, Europe struggles with rationing, widespread unemployment and a growing Soviet threat. Hitler's former capital lies ruined under the joint control of wartime allies bitterly at odds. With the currency worthless, the population lives on hand-outs or turns to crime and prostitution. Deep inside the Soviet Zone of occupation, Berlin appears to be an ideal target for a communist take-over, putting the defenders of democracy on a collision course with Stalin's merciless aggression. 

A Battle of Britain ace, a female air traffic controller, a concentration camp survivor and an ex-ATA woman pilot are just some of those trying to find their place in the post-war world. An air ambulance service offers a shimmer of hope, but when a Soviet fighter brings down a British passenger liner, Berlin becomes a flashpoint. The world stands poised on the brink of World War Three.

Find out more at: https://www.helenapschrader.com/bridg...

Previous releases include:

" MORAL FIBRE," which WON THE HEMINGWAY AWARD 2022 FOR 20TH CENTURY WARTIME FICTION and a MAINCREST MEDIA AWARD FOR MILITARY FICTION as well as being A FINALIST FOR THE BOOK EXCELLENCE AWARD 2023 IN THE CATEGORY HISTORICAL FICTION.

 

 Riding the icy, moonlit sky,

they took the war to Hitler. 

Their chances of survival were less than fifty percent. 

Their average age was 21.

This is the story of just one bomber pilot, his crew and the woman he loved. 

It is intended as a tribute to them all.  

Buy now on amazon

or Barnes and Noble. 

 

 "This is the best book on the life of us fighter pilots in the Battle of Britain that I have ever seen.... I couldn't put it down."-- RAF Battle of Britain ace, Wing Commander Bob Doe.

Winner of a Hemingway Award for 20th Century Wartime Fiction, a Maincrest Media Award for Military Fiction and Silver in the Global Book Awards.

Find out more at: https://crossseaspress.com/where-eagles-never-flew

 

 For more information about all my books visit: https://www.helenapschrader.com

 

Disfiguring injuries, class prejudice and PTSD are the focus of three tales set in WWII by award-winning novelist Helena P. Schrader. Find out more at: https://crossseaspress.com/grounded-eagles

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

BRIDGE TO TOMORROW: COLD PEACE -- MEET JAKOB LIEBHERR

 Jakob Liebherr isn't young any more. In fact, he's losing his hair and two years in a concentration camp have left his internal organs damaged in a variety of ways. But his determination to make Germany a better place is unbroken. He can see the dangers bright as day -- just as he saw the danger Hitler posed 1930 - 1933. He knows the enemy is in the East, disguised as "Socialist solidarity" and "brotherhood of the working classes." But as the Russian bear licks his chops and prepares to devour Berlin, Jakob begins to despair about the willingness of the West to stand up to him.

Excerpt 1:

Herhusband sighed and then admitted in a small voice, “I’m frightened, Trude.”

 

Trudesank into the chair her son had vacated. She reached across the table and tookher husband’s hands in hers. Through two world wars, a revolution, andincarceration in a concentration camp, she had never heard her husband admit hewas afraid. Gently she probed, “What frightens you, Jakob?”

 

“Thewhole situation. I always thought that if we could just get rid of the Nazis,we could rebuild, start anew. I thought we could draft a new social democraticconstitution and write new laws…. But look at us! Two and a half years afterthe end of the war, the country is not only still occupied, it is sinkingdeeper and deeper into poverty. The currency is worthless. The black-marketflourishes, enriching only the dishonest. Honest people have nothing left tosell — except their bodies. And while the Soviets rob us of everything — ourfood, our industrial capacity, our children, our hope — the Western allies senddiplomatic notes of protest! They still view us — rather than the Soviets — astheir enemies. I had such hopes when they first arrived. I thought they wouldprotect us from the Red Army and the NKVD. I thought they would support our aspirationsfor democracy. Instead, they let the Russians lead them around by thenose.” 

 

Trudenodded sadly. She had no words of comfort. She felt as discouraged as herhusband.

 

“ErnstReuter was elected mayor last June.” Her husband reminded her, “The SovietMilitary Administration vetoed his right to take office in July and it is nowDecember, yet nothing — absolutely nothing — has been undertaken to enable himto govern. Instead, the Soviet-appointed police commissioners grow bolder andSoviet-appointed officials usurp the power of the elected government withimpunity.”

 

“TheAllied Foreign Ministers are meeting in London,” Trude reminded him, graspingat straws. “The American Secretary of State, General George Marshall, is not asnaïve as his predecessors. Maybe things will start to change.”

 

Jakobdidn’t believe that but he knew Trude was trying to cheer him up. Besides,there wasn’t any other straw to cling to, so he forced a smile and muttered,“Let’s hope so.”

Jakob Liebherr represents the stalwarts of the Social Democratic Party of Germany, the SPD, who opposed Hitler before he came to power and continued to oppose him after he seized power. The SPD that was the sole party to vote against Hitler's enabling law, and many leaders and members of the SPD were arrested, sent to concentration camps or executed for treason. Their ranks includes such giants as Julius Leber and William Leuschner (who is pictured above as my prototype for Jakob Liebherr) and secondary figures who escaped death by going into exile -- and lived to rise to positions of prominence in the Federal Republic of Germany. Men such as Willy Brandt and Ernst Reuter. 

Although Jakob Liebherr is a fictional character, he is modeled after Leber and Leuschner and his wife Trude, herself an active member of the SPD, is a reminder that women played an important role in German Social Democracy in this period.  Jakob comes from a working-class background. He has worked his way up through the ranks of the party, serving in local  and municipal governments, until in 1928 he stands for a parliamentary seat and wins. He is still a member of the Reichstag in 1933, when Hitler introduces his "Enabling Law" that effectively dismantled the democratic constitution and replaced it with an racist, authoritarian dictatorship. Liebherr proudly votes with his colleagues against the law. Within months, the Nazis have arrested him without due cause and send him to a concentration camp without due process. He is there for two years. On his release, although he keeps a low profile, he continues to maintain contact with like-minded men and is actively involved in helping opponents of the regime obtain false documents, food, clothes and hiding places.  Too old to be conscripted into the armed forces, he survives the war in Berlin, where he witnesses at first hand both the fanaticism of Hitler's supporters in the closing days of the war and the brutality and greed of the Soviets in the first days of the peace. 

By early 1948, Jakob has seen the worst of human nature and he is getting weary and discouraged, but he is not defeated. He's still fighting to save Germany, this time from the Russian threat. He does so in his capacity as an elected member of the Berlin City Government, but also at home where he is fighting the disinformation spread by the Soviets which his son Karl has swallowed blindly.

Excerpt 2:

“Youthink only capitalists commit mass murder?” Jakob Liebherr asked his son Karlincredulously. 

 

Asusual, Karl was home for Saturday dinner, but because Trude had been delayed atthe hospital where she worked, the two men were cooking for themselves. Thisamounted to Jakob frying eggs and onions, while Karl sat at the kitchen tablenursing a bottle of local beer in a brown bottle. “Whokilled the Kulaks?” Jakob asked his son.

 

“Don’ttry to change the subject!” His son protested frowning.

 

“I’mnot changing the subject. You said only capitalism produces tyranny and massmurder. I’m simply pointing out you are wrong. Your 'Great SocialistMotherland' has also carried out the slaughter of millions of people.”

 

“Nothingcomparable to the death camps, Vati! How can you, a victim of the Nazis, talksuch nonsense?”

 

“Becauseit is true. Millions of kulaks were killed and many more millions died ofstarvation because of the forced collectivization of agriculture.”

 

“Thatwas nothing like what the Nazis did!” Karl insisted. “It was only because theKulaks offered resistance that they had to be eliminated. That is the keydifference that you either fail to understand or refuse to recognize,” Karlinsisted. “Fascists kill for their own benefit, for individual profit, not for the good of the working masses." 

 

J akobswitched off the gas on the stove and with the handle of the skillet wrapped ina hot pad, carried it to the table. With a spatula, he dished half the eggsonto Karl’s waiting plate and the other half on his own. Then he returned theskillet to the stove and put salt and pepper on the table before sitting down.His son had already started scooping the eggs and onions into his mouth with anevident appetite. 

 

Takingadvantage of his son’s mouth being full, Jakob asked, “Aside from the fact thatHitler justified the slaughter of the Jews with the exact same argument, tellme who profited from the collectivization, Karl? Livestock was slaughtered on amassive scale and the meat rotted. Agricultural productivity declined. Faminefollowed. Millions starved to death. Who profited? The masses? The peasants?”

 

“You’returning things on their head! The Kulaks killed the livestock and causedagricultural production to fall because they didn’t cooperate! The famine wasnot the fault of collectivization but of the profit-seeking Kulaks!” 

 

Jakobhad not taken a bite to eat yet, but he leaned forward to speak more softly anddirectly to his son. “No one in Moscow starved, Karl. Or St. Petersburg. OrKyiv. In Moscow, they gave banquets with caviar and white bread heaped inmounds.”

 

“That’spropaganda!” Karl protested angrily. 

 

“Iread it in Pravda, Karl, and so can you if you go to an archive. Pravda bragged and printed pictures of the receptions inMoscow, of Stalin at state dinners, of Molotov entertaining foreign dignitaries.At every opportunity, it claimed that the famine was Western propaganda, afabrication, a lie. Agricultural production Pravda said,had never been higher.”

 

Karlfrowned, recognizing too late that his father had laid a trap for him, but he doggedlyfought back. “The Kulaks were capitalists, laying claim to land — which canonly be held collectively for the common good of all people — and seeking tomake profit from the sale of agricultural produce that belongs by rights to theentire people. They had to be eliminated.”

 

“Why? It couldn’t have been for the benefit of the people, Karl,because the rest of the population had more food when theKulaks had farms than they have had at any time since the collectivization. Inshort, collectivization failed and failed miserably.”

 

“Thatis not true!”

 

“Itis true! It is a fact — an objective, verifiable fact and onlywilful blindless prevents you from seeing and admitting it. Until you startfacing facts, you will be living in a fantasy, following a mirage that willlead you to ever greater darkness and misery. Wake up!”

 

 

Cold Peace is Book I of the Bridge to Tomorrow Series. 

Three years after WWII, Europe struggles with rationing, widespread unemployment and a growing Soviet threat. Hitler's former capital lies ruined under the joint control of wartime allies bitterly at odds. With the currency worthless, the population lives on hand-outs or turns to crime and prostitution. Deep inside the Soviet Zone of occupation, Berlin appears to be an ideal target for a communist take-over, putting the defenders of democracy on a collision course with Stalin's merciless aggression. 

A Battle of Britain ace, a female air traffic controller, a concentration camp survivor and an ex-ATA woman pilot are just some of those trying to find their place in the post-war world. An air ambulance service offers a shimmer of hope, but when a Soviet fighter brings down a British passenger liner, Berlin becomes a flashpoint. The world stands poised on the brink of World War Three.

Find out more at: https://www.helenapschrader.com/bridg...

Previous releases include:

" MORAL FIBRE," which WON THE HEMINGWAY AWARD 2022 FOR 20TH CENTURY WARTIME FICTION and a MAINCREST MEDIA AWARD FOR MILITARY FICTION as well as being A FINALIST FOR THE BOOK EXCELLENCE AWARD 2023 IN THE CATEGORY HISTORICAL FICTION.

 

 Riding the icy, moonlit sky,

they took the war to Hitler. 

Their chances of survival were less than fifty percent. 

Their average age was 21.

This is the story of just one bomber pilot, his crew and the woman he loved. 

It is intended as a tribute to them all.  

Buy now on amazon

or Barnes and Noble. 

 

 "This is the best book on the life of us fighter pilots in the Battle of Britain that I have ever seen.... I couldn't put it down."-- RAF Battle of Britain ace, Wing Commander Bob Doe.

Winner of a Hemingway Award for 20th Century Wartime Fiction, a Maincrest Media Award for Military Fiction and Silver in the Global Book Awards.

Find out more at: https://crossseaspress.com/where-eagles-never-flew

 

 For more information about all my books visit: https://www.helenapschrader.com

 

Disfiguring injuries, class prejudice and PTSD are the focus of three tales set in WWII by award-winning novelist Helena P. Schrader. Find out more at: https://crossseaspress.com/grounded-eagles

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

BRIDGE TO TOMORROW: COLD PEACE -- MEET DAVID GOLDMAN

 David Goldman is an outsider everywhere. A German Jew whose family emigrated to Canada in 1934, he is a Jew in Germany and a German in Canada. In 1940, he volunteers to fly for the RAF -- only to get shot down and so badly burned that it takes 18 months and several rounds of plastic surgery to reconstruct a face. David fights his way back to flying status and spends the rest of the war as an instructor to instructors. He has almost found a home in the RAF, when the war ends. Suddenly his surviving friends are "de-mobbed" and going their separate ways, while the sense of purpose and comradery evaporates. And then his father dies.

 

Excerpt 1:

“First,allow me to offer my condolences on the death of your father,” the solicitorintoned solemnly. “I’m sure it was a terrible shock.” David and Sarah’s fatherhad been only 57 at the time of his sudden death from heart failure three weeksearlier.

 

Thesolicitor next explained that his instructions were to read the testament tothem from start to finish, and he asked them not to interrupt him. He assuredhim there would be plenty of time for questions after he finished. The Goldmansiblings willingly murmured their assent, and the solicitor opened the leatherfolder on his desk.  

 

Davidfelt no particular emotion. His relationship with his father had always beentense, and after his father called him a “failure” for being shot down in theBattle of Britain, David had disowned his father. They’d had no directcommunication since, and David had been perfectly happy that way. 

 

Thesolicitor came to the part of the testament that stated that all Mr Goldman’svoting shares in the Canadian bank he had established with two partners went tohis eldest son. One thousand preferred shares with a nominal value of oneCanadian Dollar apiece were settled on each of his daughters. Sarah nodded heragreement unconsciously. No shares were designated for David. The sum of onehundred thousand Canadian dollars was left to Sarah in addition to hershares. 

 

TheSolicitor cleared his throat and continued reading. “To my son David, I bequeath allclaims to property in Germany formerly in the possession of myself or my latesister Anna and her husband Otto, both of whom, along with their children, weremurdered in Dachau Concentration Camp and the lump sum of five hundred thousandCanadian dollars which —”

 

Despitethe solicitor’s warning not to interrupt, David could not keep still. “Excuseme. Did you say five hundred or five thousand dollars 

 ?”

 

“I said five hundred thousand dollars, sir.”

 

“That’snot possible,” David protested.

 

“Themoney has already been deposited in an escrow account controlled by this firm,sir. I assure you the amount is correct. It converts to close to 350,000 poundssterling at today’s exchange rate.”

 

Davidcould not grasp it. It didn’t make sense. His father had called him a disgracesince childhood. He had steadfastly disapproved of his compulsion to learn tofly. He viewed his wartime service as a failure and had not attempted tocontact him after David severed all ties. Why would his father leave him suchan enormous sum?

 

Thesolicitor finished reading, cleared his throat and asked if they had anyquestions. Sarah asked about some paintings and furnishings in the family home,and when Sarah was satisfied, the solicitor requested that they provide himwith the details of bank accounts into which he could transfer the sums held inescrow for them. Both Sarah and David provided the necessary information. Theythanked the solicitor, went out into the street, and flagged down a taxi. 

 

“Itold you Father wasn’t as bad as you made him out to be,” Sarah declared as thecab set off for the Savoy.

 

“Youdon’t understand, Sarah. I would have preferred him to value me for what I am then to give me five hundred thousand — or even one million — dollars after hewas dead. I don’t want his five hundred thousand dollars— much less any claims to property taken from Uncle Otto and Aunt Annaby the Nazis. I don’t even want to thinkabout it — Uncle Otto’sbeautiful home on Schwanenwerder, his optician’soffice on the Kurfuerstendam. I can’t dealwith it — or what they did to him and AuntAnna and our cousins. I don’t want to.”

David's unexpected and unwanted inheritance forces him to abandon his comfortable cocoon. Whether he wants to or not, he cannot ignore what happened to the relatives who remained behind in "the Third Reich." He feels compelled to return to Germany and at least find out what has become of their things -- not because he wants them but because he doesn't want any Nazi to profit from them by default. 

 

And so a chain reaction is set in motion that takes David -- and his partners -- to unexpected places and pushes them to go in new directions. David's surprise journey forms a major plot line in the novel as his endeavours pull in more and more of the characters. It all starts one night at the Savoy when meeting with an old squadron mate Charles "Kiwi" Murray.....

Excerpt 2:

Yetthe next thought hit him so unexpectedly that he gasped. He grabbed Kiwi’s arm.“Kiwi! Listen! I’ve got an idea! It’s not going to take me a lifetime to findout what happened to half a dozen pieces of property. You might even be rightabout there being nothing left. In two to three months’, I’ll have that behindme, and I can take the money, buy an aircraft and set up some kind of flyingbusiness. Between the two of us, we can fly anything.”

 

Kiwilaughed.

 

“I’mserious, Kiwi.”

 

“It’sthat much money?” Kiwi focused on him, his open face reflecting his disbelief.

 

“Well,”David was embarrassed. He tried to think of some way to say it discreetly, butthen simply admitted “Yes.” Then a rare smile spread across his reconstructedface. “Remember what I said about ‘he who laughs last?’ I think — just maybe —the last laugh’s mine, after all. My father knew I wouldn’t be able to leavethis much money just lying around. He thought by giving me a small fortune, hewould turn me into a ‘proper businessman.’ What he failed to foresee was that Icould use it to build a flying business.” 

 

“I’ll drink to that, mate!” They clicked and drained theirglasses. 

 

Davidordered a second round, and then grew serious again as he decided, “But not anairline. That’s way too complicated and risky. It would be madness to gohead-to-head with BOAC and BEA. Maybe a small charter company of some kind? Youdid some odd flying jobs before the war. What exactly did you do?”

 

“Everything,”Kiwi answered flippantly, but then his expression changed. Suddenly deadlyserious, he looked at his friend and asked. “Are you serious about including mein this?” 

 

“Ican’t manage on my own,” David answered as if he hadn’t noticed how much hisoffer meant to Kiwi. “But we need to find a niche, something that not everyex-bomber pilot with a little extra cash is trying to do. Something unique.What could we do other than passengers or freight?”

 

“Dida lot of firefighting and crop-dusting in Australia, but there’s not much needfor that on this rain-drenched island….” Kiwi reflected with a bitter shrug. 

 

Ithurt David to see him so beaten down. It was as if he was afraid to dream anymore. David’s imagination on the other hand was on fire. He was sure he was onto something, something exciting and potentially transformational. He sharedhis thoughts out loud, “Preferably we’d find something we could do with aconverted bomber. They’ll be cheaper to acquire.”

 

“Airambulance,” Kiwi suggested at once. “Did that in Australia, too. Bombers can beconverted easily for loading and off-loading stretchers. The problem with theair ambulance business is you also need some medical equipment on board — youknow, stuff to monitor pulse, heartbeat and the like — and oxygen and heating,of course. I think it may be mandatory for a nurse to fly with the patient too.At least the outfits I flew for all had them.”

 

Davidstared at Kiwi while he digested the suggestion, and then having decided thiswas the perfect fit he declared enthusiastically, “That’s it! It’s brilliant!”His thoughts tumbled out in a rush of words. “The very fact that it’scomplicated will keep down the competition, but it’s the kind of business wecould operate out of an obscure airfield in the middle of nowhere where thefees aren’t so high. Wait. Stop.” David held up his hand as if to someone else,but only to stop his flood of thoughts.

 

Kiwiwaited mesmerised yet uncertain. 

 

“Weneed to set up a company as soon as possible, so I can put you on the payroll,”David announced. “That way you can do a lot of the leg work, while I’m inGermany making sure no Nazi is getting rich with my uncle’s assets. When couldyou leave your job?”

 

Kiwilooked down at his watch. “Hm. It’s 7:35. It will take me about two minutes toput a phone call through. Is that soon enough?”

 

Theygrinned at each other, and then David answered, “Monday’s soon enough. Now, istwenty pounds a month enough for a base salary? Just for the start-up phase.”David hastened to assure his friend. “Once you start flying, you’ll get flightpay, of course, and once we make profits, we’ll split them 25% each and ploughthe rest back into the company. Sound fair?”

 

“Youbet,” Kiwi agreed readily, but then he reached out and put a restraining handon David’s arm, interrupting his monologue about the best legal structure forthe company. “Banks!” When he had his friend’s undivided attention, he told himearnestly. “I’m not some wizard businessman. Surely you know that by now, don’tyou?”

 

Davidmet his eyes. “You don’t have to be, Kiwi. That’s what my father is forcing meto become."

Note: David is the main character in "A Stranger in the Mirror" in the Grounded Eagles Trilogy and he and Kiwi were both secondary characters in "Where Eagles Never Flew."

Cold Peace is Book I of the Bridge to Tomorrow Series. 

Three years after WWII, Europe struggles with rationing, widespread unemployment and a growing Soviet threat. Hitler's former capital lies ruined under the joint control of wartime allies bitterly at odds. With the currency worthless, the population lives on hand-outs or turns to crime and prostitution. Deep inside the Soviet Zone of occupation, Berlin appears to be an ideal target for a communist take-over, putting the defenders of democracy on a collision course with Stalin's merciless aggression. 

A Battle of Britain ace, a female air traffic controller, a concentration camp survivor and an ex-ATA woman pilot are just some of those trying to find their place in the post-war world. An air ambulance service offers a shimmer of hope, but when a Soviet fighter brings down a British passenger liner, Berlin becomes a flashpoint. The world stands poised on the brink of World War Three.

Find out more at: https://www.helenapschrader.com/bridg...

Previous releases include:

" MORAL FIBRE," which WON THE HEMINGWAY AWARD 2022 FOR 20TH CENTURY WARTIME FICTION and a MAINCREST MEDIA AWARD FOR MILITARY FICTION as well as being A FINALIST FOR THE BOOK EXCELLENCE AWARD 2023 IN THE CATEGORY HISTORICAL FICTION.

 

 Riding the icy, moonlit sky,

they took the war to Hitler. 

Their chances of survival were less than fifty percent. 

Their average age was 21.

This is the story of just one bomber pilot, his crew and the woman he loved. 

It is intended as a tribute to them all.  

Buy now on amazon

or Barnes and Noble. 

 

 "This is the best book on the life of us fighter pilots in the Battle of Britain that I have ever seen.... I couldn't put it down."-- RAF Battle of Britain ace, Wing Commander Bob Doe.

Winner of a Hemingway Award for 20th Century Wartime Fiction, a Maincrest Media Award for Military Fiction and Silver in the Global Book Awards.

Find out more at: https://crossseaspress.com/where-eagles-never-flew

 

 For more information about all my books visit: https://www.helenapschrader.com

 

Disfiguring injuries, class prejudice and PTSD are the focus of three tales set in WWII by award-winning novelist Helena P. Schrader. Find out more at: https://crossseaspress.com/grounded-eagles

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

BRIDGE TO TOMORROW: COLD PEACE -- Meet Charlotte Countess Walmsdorf

 Just because Charlotte's name includes the hereditary title "countess," , doesn't mean she's rich, spoilt, privileged, arrogant, or bigoted. Raised on a farm in East, she's spent more time harvesting hay and mucking out stalls than going to balls. She provides one of the two most important German points-of-view in the novel as a woman who has lost everything. Charlotte represents the German victims of the war.

Excerpt 1:

Charlottestarted up the shallow stairs. By the dim light of the single light bulbhanging over each landing, it was hard to imagine how elegant this stairwellhad once been. The paint was peeling and covered with smoke. Only brokenremnants of the plaster mouldings on the underside of the stairs remained. Thebeautifully carved banister was badly scratched and broken in places. 

 

Onthe first floor, Charlotte passed the grand, double-doored entrance to her lateuncle’s apartment. His grand flat stretched around the courtyard, occupying theentire floor. Four families of refugees from East Prussia, Pomerania andSilesia, a total of 19 people, lived there now. On the second floor, two doorsopened off the landing, each leading to an apartment housing families bombedout of their homes. Three elderly couples lived in one and three women and fivechildren in the other. The two third-floor apartments were occupiedrespectively by Herr Dr Hofmeier and a trio of young men of dubious character.The latter went by names like “Braun,” “Schulz” and “Meyer.” Charlotte wascertain these were false identities and that the young men engaged inquestionable activities having to do with the black market. She supposed sheought to befriend them and learn more about their activities for a newspaperarticle, but her natural aversion to parasites made her shy away from theminstead.

 

Finally,she reached the fourth floor. To the left was the apartment of the Liebherrsand to the right her own. She let herself into her flat, closed, locked andbolted the door. Only then did she feel safe. She turned immediately into thelittle kitchen, switched on the light and with a match lit the gas stove. Shefilled a pot with water from the sink and put it on the flame to boil. She didnot remove her coat, as it was nearly as cold inside as outside, but she set towork getting the oven lighted so the room would start to warm up a little. Whenshe finished, she returned to close the kitchen door to keep the heat inside.She could not afford to heat any other room, so she lived here except forcreeping under her thick, goose-feather comforters to sleep at night. 

 

Asshe sank down into a chair beside the little wooden table, she heaved a sigh ofrelief to have made it back without incident, and exhaustion overwhelmed her.It had nothing to do with the long interview, nor the long walk home. Theexhaustion was deeper than that. She was tired of living.

 

Witha start, she realised it was 19 November — the day she’d learned that herfiancé Fritz had gone missing on the Eastern Front. It was four years sincethat day and not another word about his fate had ever reached her.Nothing. After the war was over, she’d made enquiries. She was able todetermine that he hadn’t been a member of the Soviet-controlled prisonerorganization called the NationalKommittee Freies Deutschland, but he wasnot among the known dead or prisoners either. He was just missing —still. 

 

Yetthe more she learned about the Gulags and the Soviet equivalent of the Gestapo,the NKVD, the more she believed that Fritz might still be alive somewhere —enslaved, imprisoned, exiled to the wastes of Siberia. Alone, hopeless, cold,maybe even disabled. When feeling cynical, she supposed he was probablyembittered, hardened, even brutalised. So many men came back that way, almostvicious in their cynicism. 

 

Butshe couldn’t think of Fritz like that. He had been too gentle, a man who lovednature and life too much, a man naturally at ease with dogs and horses andevery living thing. She had lived for her time with Fritz, and he for his fewprecious days with her in Walmsdorf, but he was gone along with her brothers,her parents and Walmsdorf itself. All consumed by the war. She alone hadsurvived to see ‘peace.’ And what had it brought her? Terror, humiliation, andself-hatred. What was the point of living like this? Perpetually on the brinkof starvation with nothing to look forward to. Why struggle day after day inthis wasteland of ruin and hatred?

When we first meet Charlotte in November 1947, she is living alone in Berlin. Both her brothers and her fiance served in the Wehrmacht and are dead or missing. While fleeing before the advancing Red Army, her parents were killed by a strafing Soviet fighter. She lives from the rations handed out by the Americans (because she lives in the American Sector). Her only professional training was as a secretary before the war, but she never actually worked in an office because her father needed her to come home and do the work of the men being drafted into the army. But at least she's learned to type, so she's trying to make a little extra money as a free-lance journalist. Only her heart isn't in it because she's terrified to go out onto the streets and meet with people across the city.  She really doesn't have the heart to keep going.

But then something unexpected happens. Her cousin Christian, the son of her father's younger sister, has survived the war in an American POW camp -- and he turns up in Berlin. Christian isn't intimidated by defeat. He is still proud and determined to remind Germans and Allies alike that not all Germans were Nazis. There were some, like his brother Philip, who fought them before -- and after -- they came to power. Christian wants both to remind the world of the good Germans and see justice served on the bad. But first, he discovers, he has to help Charlotte.

Excerpt 2

Christianlooked around in the dark corridor and noted that he could see his breath.Without thinking he exclaimed, “It’s colder in here than outside!”

 

“Ican’t afford to heat anything except the kitchen,” Charlotte apologisedembarrassed. “Come!” She opened the closed kitchen door and shooed him inside.The kitchen was lit by a naked light bulb hanging over a battered, woodentable. 

 

“I’llbuy wood or coal for the other ovens tomorrow,” Christian answered setting hissuitcases down, while Charlotte closed the door behind him. “What else do youneed?” He added surveying the nearly empty kitchen.

 

“Idon’t need much, Christian, but what about you? I had no idea you were comingand I have nothing--”

 

“Don’tworry about me. I can organize anything we need tomorrow. Tonight, let’scelebrate our long-overdue reunion. Where are the wine glasses?”

 

Sheshook her head. “I don’t have any, but it doesn’t matter because I can’t affordwine. I can make some tea. Grandma Walmsdorf sends me packets from England.”She started towards the stove.

 

Christianstopped her. “Don’t bother. I brought samples of our Schloss Feldburg premiumwine — so all we need are some glasses, any kind of glasses.” 

 

Charlottewent to the cupboard, while Christian laid one of his suitcases on its side andremoved one of several bottles with screw-on tops labelled “Listerine.”

 

Charlottegaped as he placed it on the table with a grin. “It’s impossible to bring wineacross the Zone without the Ivans seizing it for themselves, so I disguised itas mouthwash. Allegedly, some Soviet soldier tried drinking this Americanmouthwash and nearly died. The word spread among the Ivans that it was poison,and they won’t touch the stuff. Come. Sit down and try it!” he urgedconfidently.

 

Stilllooking sceptical, Charlotte sat down and held out her glass for Christian topour while he explained cheerfully, “We’ve always produced some wine for ourown consumption, but we never tried to make a business of it before. Last year,Mother decided that since it is a high-margin business, we ought to see if winecould put us back on our feet faster.”

 

“AuntSophia is amazing,” Charlotte acknowledged, referring to Christian’s mother,her father’s sister. She lifted her glass to sniff at the pale-yellow liquidtentatively. 

 

“Mymother is focusing on the future because, she says, if she thinks about thepast, she’d kill herself.” 

 

“Thereare a lot of us like that,” Charlotte noted, adding in a barely audible whisper“— or there would be if we could see any future.”  

 … “I’msorry,” she whispered, her eyes closed and her cheeks wet. “Please stay withme, Christian. At least a little while. Please.”

 

“I’mnot going anywhere,” he assured her, holding her firmly. Never in his wildestdreams had he thought things would be this bad.

 

Cold Peace is Book I of the Bridge to Tomorrow Series. 

Three years after WWII, Europe struggles with rationing, widespread unemployment and a growing Soviet threat. Hitler's former capital lies ruined under the joint control of wartime allies bitterly at odds. With the currency worthless, the population lives on hand-outs or turns to crime and prostitution. Deep inside the Soviet Zone of occupation, Berlin appears to be an ideal target for a communist take-over, putting the defenders of democracy on a collision course with Stalin's merciless aggression. 

A Battle of Britain ace, a female air traffic controller, a concentration camp survivor and an ex-ATA woman pilot are just some of those trying to find their place in the post-war world. An air ambulance service offers a shimmer of hope, but when a Soviet fighter brings down a British passenger liner, Berlin becomes a flashpoint. The world stands poised on the brink of World War Three.

Find out more at: https://www.helenapschrader.com/bridg...

Previous releases include:

" MORAL FIBRE," which WON THE HEMINGWAY AWARD 2022 FOR 20TH CENTURY WARTIME FICTION and a MAINCREST MEDIA AWARD FOR MILITARY FICTION as well as being A FINALIST FOR THE BOOK EXCELLENCE AWARD 2023 IN THE CATEGORY HISTORICAL FICTION.

 

 Riding the icy, moonlit sky,

they took the war to Hitler. 

Their chances of survival were less than fifty percent. 

Their average age was 21.

This is the story of just one bomber pilot, his crew and the woman he loved. 

It is intended as a tribute to them all.  

Buy now on amazon

or Barnes and Noble. 

 

 "This is the best book on the life of us fighter pilots in the Battle of Britain that I have ever seen.... I couldn't put it down."-- RAF Battle of Britain ace, Wing Commander Bob Doe.

Winner of a Hemingway Award for 20th Century Wartime Fiction, a Maincrest Media Award for Military Fiction and Silver in the Global Book Awards.

Find out more at: https://crossseaspress.com/where-eagles-never-flew

 

 For more information about all my books visit: https://www.helenapschrader.com

 

Disfiguring injuries, class prejudice and PTSD are the focus of three tales set in WWII by award-winning novelist Helena P. Schrader. Find out more at: https://crossseaspress.com/grounded-eagles

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

BRIDGE TO TOMORROW: COLD PEACE - Meet Wing Commander Robert "Robin" Priestman

 Cold Peace was designed to tell the story of the Berlin Airlift from a variety of perspectives. In consequence, no one character is dominant. Yet to the extent that there is a lead character, it is Wing Commander Robert "Robin" Priestman, the newly assigned RAF Station Commander at the only airfield in the British Sector of Berlin, Gatow. By the end of the Airlift, Gatow was the busiest airport in the world, with more average daily traffic than New York's La Guardia. But in November 1947 when Priestman receives his new assignment, it certainly didn't look that way and there was no reason to think the situation is about to change any time soon.

 

Excerpt 1:

Ofall the RAF airfields in the British Empire, why did he have to land in Berlin?The word conjured up Hitler’s voice and the unique way he harangued andthreatened. It brought back the sound of unsynchronised engines groaning acrossthe sky, the jangling of the telephone, the squawking of the tannoy, the sirensand the crump of bombs. He had only to look around to see the scars left bythose bombers. London had “taken it,” but at a high price. Gaps like brokenteeth marred every row of buildings as far as he could see. 

 

Moreinsidious, however, was the association of “Berlin” with the Gestapo — theominous threat over seventeen months in captivity during which the Luftwaffeguards hinted that they would have been more comradely, more compassionate,more generous, if only “Berlin” weren’t looking over their shoulders, if only“Berlin” didn’t threaten to kill all the prisoners, if only “Berlin” with itstorture chambers did not await the rebellious and the runaway….

 

Yetsuch feelings were irrational, Priestman reminded himself. That Berlin had been obliterated, crushed, eradicated.Hitler was dead, his minions were arrested, tried, and hanged. The Gestapo didnot exist anymore. The victorious Allies controlled Berlin, and their jointoccupation forces patrolled the streets and the skies, a constant reminder ofGermany’s utter defeat and unconditionalsurrender. Why on earth should he dread an assignment to Berlin so viscerally?

 

Wasit just the fact that he was being grounded again? He’d been counting on aposting where he could fly. He was a good pilot and he liked leading in theair. The best assignments of his career had been commanding a Hurricanesquadron during the Battle of Britain and then the Kenley Wing later in thewar. There were no positions like that in peacetime, of course, but there werestill flying jobs to be had. Maybe,if the RAF was unwilling to let him fly, he should throw in the towel and tryto get employment in civil aviation. Except that he was a fighter pilot, anerstwhile aerobatics pilot, and he didn’t have the qualifications on heavy,multi-engine aircraft that the airlines wanted. Not to mention that there weretens of thousands of ex-RAF pilots from Bomber, Transport and Coastal Commands,who did have those qualifications. There was no point inchasing fantasies. He was not going to get a flying job anywhere in the UK. 

 

Someof his former colleagues had found work with the air forces in the colonies —South Africa, Kenya, India, Burma, Malaya. Sometimes memories of Singaporehaunted him with alluring images of the tropics and sailing on the South ChinaSea. But he had no friends or relatives in influential positions in thosedistant places. What was he supposed to do? Spend his last shilling to go tothe ends of the earth and then — find nothing? Even if he hadn’t been married,he would not have risked it. 

 

To readers familiar with Where Eagles Never Flew, Robin Priestman is no stranger. In the earlier novel,  which describes the Battle of Britain, Robin is shot-down and wounded fighting in France and then serves as an instructor at an Operational Training Unit before being entrusted with command of a front-line squadron facing the Germans in the late summer of 1940. Cold Peace picks up his story two-and-a-half years after the end of the war, or seven years after the close of Where Eagles Never Flew. In the meantime, Robin has gone to staff college, served on Malta, commanded a fighter wing, and spent almost 18 months in a German POW camp. Since the end of the war, he has flown only a desk -- a "mahagony Spitfire" as they sometimes called it -- in a staff job in London.

All that has not left him unchanged. Particularly his time as a POW has left scars -- not the least of which is an intense dislike of Germans. The thought of being sent to Germany in a position where he will be expected to be nice to Germans does not exactly please him. But his options are very limited. Britain is in debt. The Labour government is cutting back on the military. Jobs are scarce and officers who say "no" to assignments unwanted. So Robin is off to the former Luftwaffe training airfield Gatow, which has the reputation of being a sleepy backwater of no particular importance to anyone. 

Robin's initial problem is that he doesn't really have a clue what the RAF is doing there. The Germans are docile, so there's no need for the occupation forces to use military means to keep them in line. The Russians on the other hand have a 100:1 superiority in fighter aircraft in theater -- which makes Robin's lone Spitfire squadron useless in a fight with the Russians. It is only as the Soviets gradually tighten the screws that Robin comes to understand his role -- and how vital it is for the future of Europe.

Excerpt 2:

With his courtesy calls on the British Commandant andAir Commodore Waite scheduled for the afternoon, Priestman had a few hours toprepare. Given that he’d seen nothing whatsoever of Berlin, he asked SquadronLeader “Danny”Daniels, commander of the lone Spitfire squadron stationed at Gatow, togive him an aerial tour of Berlin. 

 

Priestmanhad a secondary motive for this request: he wanted to fly a Spitfire again. Thelast time he’d been at the controls of a Spit, he’d been bested in a dogfightand ended up a prisoner of war for seventeen months. On his return frominternment, he’d requalified as a pilot at an RAF Operational Training Unit,but it had been outfitted with Typhoons and Mustangs. Since then, his onlyflying had been weekend flips on an Anson at Northolt to retain his flyingstatus. He knew he had to erase that last flight into humiliation and captivitywith a successful flight on a Spitfire. It wasn’t that he expected majorproblems, but he wanted to get this encounter over with as soon as possible sohe’d be free to move on. 

 

Priestmanpulled his Irving flying jacket over his uniform and swapped his shoes forflying boots in his office, then with his gloves stuffed in the pockets, hecrossed over to the squadron dispersal hut, where Danny awaited him. TheSquadron Leader indicated two Spitfires that had already been checked andfuelled by the ground crew. 

 

Asthey walked side-by-side toward the aircraft, Danny remarked. “I can’t tell youwhat a pleasure it is to have you here, sir. I know the chaps would like achance to talk to you in more depth, and I was wondering if you could find thetime to talk to the squadron one of these days.”

 

“Aboutwhat?” Priestman asked warily. He had spent years trying to shake off thereputation of an irresponsible aerobatics pilot and playboy. That image hadbeen replaced by “Battle of Britain ace.” Proud as he was to have taken anactive part in the defence of the realm in 1940, that had been almost eightyears ago. He was now thirty-two and he didn’t want his greatest glory to bewhat he’d done at twenty-four. He wanted to have a meaningful future, not justa glorious past.

 

“Oh,just your wartime experiences, sir,” Danny confirmed his fears and Priestmanwas on the brink of declining when he added, “You won’t remember me, but Ibriefly served in your wing before you were shot down over France.”

 

Irritationwas instantly replaced with mortification. Priestman had not recognized theSquadron Leader and apologised at once. “I’m sorry, Danny. I didn’t recogniseyou.”

 

“Noreason why you should, sir. I was straight out of flight school and a pilotofficer in 148 Squadron, sir. The sweep on which you were lost would have beenmy third operational sortie, but my oxygen went u/s and I had to abort.”

 

“Justas well. We ran into what felt like the whole bloody Luftwaffe — or anyway, allthe FW190s they had.” Priestman had seen at least two other Spitfires flame outin the dogfight that had taken him out of the war.

 

“Yes,I was a bit shaken when four of you didn’t return, and the others were badlyshocked that you were one of the missing. Although I missed the op, I took partin the efforts to find you.”

 

Priestmanlooked at him blankly.

 

“Weflew three different sweeps to find your Spitfire and try to determine if therewas any chance you’d survived the crash. No one remembered seeing anyparachute, you see.”

 

“I’mhonoured. I didn’t know that. I hope no one was lost trying to find me.”

 

Therewas just a hint of hesitation before Danny answered, “Not that I can remember,sir.” Priestman concluded that either Danny really couldn’t remember, or elsesomeone had been killed and the Squadron Leader kindly chose not to tell him.

 

 

 

Cold Peace is Book I of the Bridge to Tomorrow Series. 

Three years after WWII, Europe struggles with rationing, widespread unemployment and a growing Soviet threat. Hitler's former capital lies ruined under the joint control of wartime allies bitterly at odds. With the currency worthless, the population lives on hand-outs or turns to crime and prostitution. Deep inside the Soviet Zone of occupation, Berlin appears to be an ideal target for a communist take-over, putting the defenders of democracy on a collision course with Stalin's merciless aggression. 

A Battle of Britain ace, a female air traffic controller, a concentration camp survivor and an ex-ATA woman pilot are just some of those trying to find their place in the post-war world. An air ambulance service offers a shimmer of hope, but when a Soviet fighter brings down a British passenger liner, Berlin becomes a flashpoint. The world stands poised on the brink of World War Three.

Find out more at: https://www.helenapschrader.com/bridg...

Previous releases include:

" MORAL FIBRE," which WON THE HEMINGWAY AWARD 2022 FOR 20TH CENTURY WARTIME FICTION and a MAINCREST MEDIA AWARD FOR MILITARY FICTION as well as being A FINALIST FOR THE BOOK EXCELLENCE AWARD 2023 IN THE CATEGORY HISTORICAL FICTION.

 

 Riding the icy, moonlit sky,

they took the war to Hitler. 

Their chances of survival were less than fifty percent. 

Their average age was 21.

This is the story of just one bomber pilot, his crew and the woman he loved. 

It is intended as a tribute to them all.  

Buy now on amazon

or Barnes and Noble. 

 

 "This is the best book on the life of us fighter pilots in the Battle of Britain that I have ever seen.... I couldn't put it down."-- RAF Battle of Britain ace, Wing Commander Bob Doe.

Winner of a Hemingway Award for 20th Century Wartime Fiction, a Maincrest Media Award for Military Fiction and Silver in the Global Book Awards.

Find out more at: https://crossseaspress.com/where-eagles-never-flew

 

 For more information about all my books visit: https://www.helenapschrader.com

 

Disfiguring injuries, class prejudice and PTSD are the focus of three tales set in WWII by award-winning novelist Helena P. Schrader. Find out more at: https://crossseaspress.com/grounded-eagles

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bridge to Tomorrow: A Novel of the Berlin Airlift in Three Parts

On 24 June 1948, the Soviet Union imposed a blockadeon the Western Sectors of Berlin. This cut off roughly 2.2 million civiliansfrom food, fuel, electricity, and all other necessities of life. The WesternPowers faced the choice between withdrawing from Berlin or using force to bringthe vitally needed goods across the Soviet Zone to the people of Berlin. The world stood poised on the brink of the Third WorldWar. 

Withdrawal would have rewarded Stalin’s callous use of two million civilians ashostages and enabled the Soviet Union to absorb all of Berlin into thecommunist East. Yet the use of force risked provoking an armed response in theheart of Europe. Rather than risk war or concede defeat, theleadership in London and Washington decided to attempt to supply the cityentirely by air.  
This was seen as a stop-gap measure. It wasintended to buy time for diplomacy. No one in Washington, London, or Berlinseriously believed it would be possible to supply more than two millioninhabitants by air alone. Yet against the odds, the Airlift proved successful,and the Soviet Union gave up the Blockade after eleven months. The BerlinAirlift represented the first Western victory in the Cold War and remains tothis day a dramatic example of a successful, non-violent response toaggression.  

Yet while people may have heard of the BerlinAirlift, few realize how close it came to failing or fully grasp itssignificance. The Berlin Airlift brought about a fundamental transformation inthe character and ideological orientation of post-war Germany. It transformedenemies into allies. It contributed materially to the establishment of theFederal Republic of Germany, NATO and ultimately the European Union. 

 

As a long-time resident of Berlin, the BerlinAirlift always inspired me, yet I did not study the topic in earnest until TheHistory Press in the UK commissioned me to write a book for the 60thAnniversary. At the time, many German, American and British participants werestill alive. So, in addition to the usual scholarly research, I contactedeyewitnesses, starting with those still living in Berlin. I had the greatprivilege of corresponding with Gail Halvorsen, the famous “Candy Bomber”himself, and I also travelled to the UK to interview many British participants.These encounters planted the seeds for a novel -- or two. 

 

Yet while the topic attracted me, it daunted me aswell. The situation in Berlin in 1948-1949 was extremely complicated. The castof characters was great and diverse. The relationship between the variousactors was fluid and nuanced. Focus on a single character or plot line promisedonly to distort and oversimplify the historical situation. I chose, therefore,to create an expansive, inclusive and intricate novel intended to do justice tothe complexity of the situation. 

 

The richness of the material demanded breaking thestory into phases. The Airlift cannot be appreciated without firstcomprehending the situation in Berlin before theSoviet blockade. Berlin in 1948 was unlike any other place on earth. The scaleof destruction and the depth of the psychological trauma exceeded that of Tokyo,Frankfurt, or Rome. In addition, the simultaneous presence of all four wartimeallies in the city created unique political pressures and fissures. The resultwas a poisonous cocktail composed of crime, terror, mutual suspicion and widespreadhopelessness.

 

Instead of a single volume, a trilogy subsumed underthe overarching title Bridgeto Tomorrow evolved. The title springs from the German term for theAirlift, “Luftbruecke,” which translates literally as “Air Bridge,” and thefact the Airlift was a pivotal turning point between the post-war era and the ColdWar. Cold Peace is the first volume in the trilogy and coversthe period from late 1947 to the end of June 1948. It introduces most — but notall — of the major characters in the complete work Bridge to Tomorrow. In the weeks ahead I will be introducing the individual characters on this blog.

 

Cold Peace is Book I of the Bridge to Tomorrow Series. 

Three years after WWII, Europe struggles with rationing, widespread unemployment and a growing Soviet threat. Hitler's former capital lies ruined under the joint control of wartime allies bitterly at odds. With the currency worthless, the population lives on hand-outs or turns to crime and prostitution. Deep inside the Soviet Zone of occupation, Berlin appears to be an ideal target for a communist take-over, putting the defenders of democracy on a collision course with Stalin's merciless aggression. 

A Battle of Britain ace, a female air traffic controller, a concentration camp survivor and an ex-ATA woman pilot are just some of those trying to find their place in the post-war world. An air ambulance service offers a shimmer of hope, but when a Soviet fighter brings down a British passenger liner, Berlin becomes a flashpoint. The world stands poised on the brink of World War Three.

Find out more at: https://www.helenapschrader.com/bridg...

Previous releases include:

" MORAL FIBRE," which WON THE HEMINGWAY AWARD 2022 FOR 20TH CENTURY WARTIME FICTION and a MAINCREST MEDIA AWARD FOR MILITARY FICTION as well as being A FINALIST FOR THE BOOK EXCELLENCE AWARD 2023 IN THE CATEGORY HISTORICAL FICTION.

 

 Riding the icy, moonlit sky,

they took the war to Hitler. 

Their chances of survival were less than fifty percent. 

Their average age was 21.

This is the story of just one bomber pilot, his crew and the woman he loved. 

It is intended as a tribute to them all.  

Buy now on amazon

or Barnes and Noble. 

 

 "This is the best book on the life of us fighter pilots in the Battle of Britain that I have ever seen.... I couldn't put it down."-- RAF Battle of Britain ace, Wing Commander Bob Doe.

Winner of a Hemingway Award for 20th Century Wartime Fiction, a Maincrest Media Award for Military Fiction and Silver in the Global Book Awards.

Find out more at: https://crossseaspress.com/where-eagles-never-flew

 

 For more information about all my books visit: https://www.helenapschrader.com

 

Disfiguring injuries, class prejudice and PTSD are the focus of three tales set in WWII by award-winning novelist Helena P. Schrader. Find out more at: https://crossseaspress.com/grounded-eagles

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Moral Fibre" - The Flight Engineer "Daddy" MacDonald

  Kit Moran, the hero of "Moral Fibre," did not start his flying career in the pilot's seat. He first volunteered, trained and qualified as a flight engineer. Kit flies 36 operations as a flight engineer and only later qualifies as a pilot. When the time comes to crew up, however, his own experience as an engineer gets in his way by making him very fussy. Yet, as if by providence, the right man finds Kit and they become a superb team.

Excerpt 1:

Finding a flight engineer proved more difficult. Toodifferent in background and personality to like the same kind of people, Stuand Terry recommended two different candidates. Kit agreed to fly with both,but he also had his own expectations for the role he’d once held himself. Hetook it as read that an engineer would make the same calculations in his headas he had done, such as knowing at all times how far they could fly at thecurrent rate of fuel consumption. He also expected his engineer to be able tolocate the control cables in the fuselage in the dark, to lower theundercarriage without hydraulics, and a variety of other skills he’d brought toDon’s crew. Neither of the men his sergeants recommended could do these things,and Kit turned them down. It proved to be a mistake.

Flight engineers started avoiding him and teaming up withother pilots. Kit had set his expectations too high and would now be left withthe dregs. After two days only three crews were incomplete, one of which wasKit’s. The following day, a burly Scotsman with flight sergeantstripes climbed out of a crew bus beside N-Nan and introduced himself to Kitwith a smart salute. “Gordon MacDonald, sir. I’ve been temporarily assigned asyour Flight Engineer, sir.”

 “How old are you,Flight?” Kit asked, noting the deep lines chiselled into his face. Stu hadmentioned this man as one of the remaining candidates but been dismissive basedon his age.

“Thirty-five, sir. That’s why most of the lads call me‘Daddy.’” He grinned as he admitted this.

“How long have you been in the RAF?”

“Twenty years. Joined as one of Trenchard’s brats in ’24.”

“Fitter?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That makes two of us, Daddy. The fitter part, that is. I wasnever a Halton Apprentice. Welcome aboard.” Except for Adrian, who alreadyknew, the rest of Kit’s crew gaped at their commissioned skipper inastonishment. They had not dreamed Kit had once been a lowly erk.

“Ah, sir?” Daddy MacDonald stopped Kit as he turned to mountthe ladder into the aircraft.

“Yes?” Kit waited expectantly.

“The other engineers are saying, like, you expect yourengineer to do a lot of maths in his head. Well, I thought I’d better tell youstraight up that I can’t do that, but I’ve got a very clever wee pencil here.”He pulled the stub of a pencil from behind his ear. “And a pad of paper here,”he tapped the left breast pocket of his battle dress, “and I’ll do thecalculations by hand. They’ll be right that way, skipper.”

“Fair enough,” Kit told him. “Let’s prepare to startengines.”

By the end of that first flight Kit knew Daddy was an asset.The older man was conscientious, meticulous and utterly unflappable. Kit rolledthe Lancaster to prove to himself that he could do it, but it was also aprivate victory roll for getting this far: a Lancaster skipper with a completecrew. He wished Georgina could have been below to see it.

As the dust fell back from the ceiling to the floor Daddyasked in a calm voice, his face utterly impassive, “Do you do that a lot, sir?”

“I don’t plan to do one ever again,” Kit answered honestly.

“In that case, sir, I won’t ask for a transfer after all.”

The rest of the crew burst out laughing, adding theiragreement with loud shouts of “hear! hear!”

"Daddy" MacDonald, the Flight Engineer, is the oldest member of the crew at 35. He's worked his way up through the ranks, and he's married with two kids. As Flight Engineer, Daddy, sits nearest to Kit during flight, and assists during take-off and landing. He's calm, trustworthy, and as a former aircraft mechanic, he knows his job inside. 

But Kit's reliance on Daddy goes beyond the professional. It is as much outside the cockpit as in it that Kit comes to rely on Daddy. He trust's Daddy's judgement in a way he doesn't that of his teenage gunners and wireless op. He soon learns that Daddy also has a sound intuitive sense of character. 

It doesn't take long before Daddy has become the rock on which Kit can rest some of his burden.However, the consequences for them both is not what they expected.

Excerpt 2:

Whenthe English coast came into sight, the tensionon board eased noticeably. Nigel suggested to Frank over the intercom that theycall over to Kirkby Grange to see if their girls could get away for a drink.Babcock said he had an extra thermos of coffee if anyone wanted it. Morandidn’t have the heart to tell them that they weren’t safe yet. He had to land aLancaster without rudder control; something that was nearly impossible to do.

Theyfound the Woodhall beacon shortly before seven pm. As Tibble flashed their IDto the control caravan, Moran swung onto the circuit like a man facing thegallows. The Lancaster’s wingspan was 102 feet. The runway was fifty feet wide,and the undercarriage took up more than half of that leaving only a few yardson either side. Too much yaw in either direction could put a wheel off thetarmac. At a landing speed of 90 to 95 mph, they would be lucky to go into aflat spin careening across the grass. Alternatively, they might lose anundercarriage leg and tear along the runway on their belly throwing up sparkslikely to ignite the remaining fuel. Or a wingtip could dig into the turf andfling them into a cartwheel.

 They received the green light as the flarepath lit up in perfect visibility, but Moran lost his nerve. He aborted,calling into Flying Control that he was going around again. He’d been so grippedwith visualizing his final moments, he’d forgotten to order the crew to crashpositions.

MacDonaldcursed colourfully and then announced bluntly, “I cannae hold her much longer,sir! Ye’ve got to put her down!”

“Understood,Engineer, but I want everyone in crash positions first. Did everyone hear that?Crash positions.” A scramble ensued as the others finally realised the dangerthey were in.

Liningup a second time, Moran called. “Pilot to engineer: we’re going in.”

“Just tell me what rudder ye want.” Thetension in MacDonald’s voice was almost painful. He was, Moran judged, nearingthe end of his strength.

Thewheels brushed the tarmac with a small squeal, and Moran cautiously applied thebrakes. They started to veer left. “Right rudder!” MacDonald over-corrected andthey started to veer right. “Left rudder!” Like a drunk, they wove from side toside down the length of the runway, Moran wincing at each swerve and expectingthe crash to follow. Miraculously it never came. They zig-zagged so much thatas their speed fell away, Moran began imagining the commentary he would get inthe mess. “Just what did you have in that thermos of yours, Moran?”

Hissecond thought was that he had made it. He had returned alive from a sortiethat he’d believed would kill him. His premonition, if it was one, had beenwrong.

Heslowed the aircraft to a stop before the end of the runway and used the outerengines to swing Zebra onto the taxiway. The ground crew signalled them towardsa dispersal point. The Lancaster thudded over the cracks in the concrete towardthe torches lighting a hardstanding. Bishop waved his arms in front of his faceto indicate Moran could switch off the engines, and one after another theMerlins wound down.

Silencereturned — except for the echo of the engines still ringing in his ears — untilall at once his crew seemed to come back to life. A garble of excited voicesfilled the fuselage as they left their crash positions to return to theirstations and collect their kit. Babcock’s laughter sounded slightly hysterical,while the expletives peppering Roper and Osgood’s dialogue revealed heightenedexcitement. Tibble surprisingly, joined in, laughing and chatteringunnaturally, a sure indicator of the magnitude of his relief.

Moranlooked down in disbelief at his hands still on the control column. He wasalive. He was going to see Georgina again. Furtively, he removed one hand togive Zach a pat.

MacDonaldstaggered to the cockpit, sweat streaking his face. “Well done, Skipper.” Hishands trembled with exhaustion, and he flexed his fingers as if to easestiffness or cramps.

Moranlooked up at him and announced bluntly, “I’m putting you in for the DFM.”

MacDonaldlooked astonished. “Ye’re the one who flew the flaming thing!”

“Wewouldn’t be here if you hadn’t jury-rigged that rudder and manhandled it foralmost three hours.” That said, Moran released the straps and tried to pushhimself up out of his seat. He couldn’t. His muscles were too stiff to unfold.

Soundsof some sort of commotion filtered up from the tail. The excited voices of thegunners, exclaiming in wonder and gabbling at a hundred miles an hour, mixedwith shouts of amazement from the ground crew. Peal and Tibble tumbled out oftheir stations to find out what the fuss was about. Torches flashed about inthe tail, and with an inarticulate grumble, MacDonald turned around to go andfind out what was happening. A moment later, Pete Bishop emerged out of thefuselage into the cockpit. “Do you realise you’ve brought our aircraft back witha man-sized hole and the entire second half perforated like a sieve? If youcan’t take better care of her than that, sir, we won’t lend her to you ever again!”

Kitlaughed appreciatively.

“Seriously,sir,” Bishop stopped jesting, “I don’t know how your rear gunner survived.”

“Neitherdo I. The rudder control cables snapped, by the way.”

“Onlythe rudder cables? You must have a flaming guardian angel!”

" MORAL FIBRE" WON THE HEMINGWAY AWARD 2022 FOR 20TH CENTURY WARTIME FICTION

IT ALSO RECEIVED A MAINCREST MEDIA AWARD FOR MILITARY FICTION AND WAS A FINALIST FOR THE BOOK EXCELLENCE AWARD 2023 IN THE CATEGORY HISTORICAL FICTION.

 

 Riding the icy, moonlit sky,

they took the war to Hitler. 

Their chances of survival were less than fifty percent. 

Their average age was 21.

This is the story of just one bomber pilot, his crew and the woman he loved. 

It is intended as a tribute to them all.  

Buy now on amazon

or Barnes and Noble. 

 

 "This is the best book on the life of us fighter pilots in the Battle of Britain that I have ever seen.... I couldn't put it down."-- RAF Battle of Britain ace, Wing Commander Bob Doe.

Winner of a Hemingway Award for 20th Century Wartime Fiction, a Maincrest Media Award for Military Fiction and Silver in the Global Book Awards.

Find out more at: https://crossseaspress.com/where-eagles-never-flew

 

 For more information about all my books visit: https://www.helenapschrader.com

 

Disfiguring injuries, class prejudice and PTSD are the focus of three tales set in WWII by award-winning novelist Helena P. Schrader. Find out more at: https://crossseaspress.com/grounded-eagles

 

 

 

 

 

The Characters of "Moral Fibre" - The Gunners Frank Roper and Nigel Osgood

  The Lancaster bomber had a crew of seven men: pilot, navigator, wireless operator, bomb aimer, flight engineer and two gunners. Training for the first five trades took literally years and a comparatively high level of literacy. Air gunner training, in contrast, could be completed in a few months and did not require the same ability to master complex equipment and theoretical subjects. Because each heavy bomber had two gunners, and only one of every other trade (note: including pilots in the RAF), the demand for gunners was higher too. The trade appealed to the naturally impatient the aggressive -- and those intent on hitting the enemy.

The two gunners on Kit Morans crew are both very young. Frank Roper (19), the mid-upper gunner, comes from a good, solid working-class home. His father is a merchant seaman, but the kind with steady work and pay, which he sends home to his wife. Frank is what people called "Bolshie" -- meaning he favors Socialism (or thinks he does) and plans to vote Labor -- as soon as he's old enough. He's a bit cheeky but not the kind to risk getting in trouble for his attitudes. He plays by the rules and only indulges in revolution over a beer or two. On the job, he's competent and confident and he respects Kit because he can tell  he got where he has on his merits.

Excerpt 1:

"They'll put on a fine [Christmas] dinner for us too, and the officers serve the airmen," Daddy tried to console the  younger men.

"And why shouldn't they? What makes them better than us, anyway? Aren't we all fighting the same war? Aren't we taking the same risks?" Frank shot back.

"Officers are gentlemen, which is more than I can say for your, laddie!" Daddy rebuked him hotly.

"When this war is over, things are going to change in this country. I'm not going to take orders from anyone just because they're richer than me -- and I'm not alone." Frank declared. "We're not going to recognise the authority of anyone who derives it from nothing more than being born to it!"

"That includes the king!" Stu gasped out, shocked.

"Does, doesn't it?" Frank thrust out his chin.

"Are you talking about me, Frank?" Kit fixed the gunner with his eyes. He was still leaning back in his chair, but he ahd crossed his arms in front of his chest tensely.

Frank pulled back startled. "Of course not, sir! You're not some toff! You earned your right to command."

Nigel Osgood (18), the rear gunner, is the more volatile of the gunners. He comes from a broken home that makes him quick-tempered and pugnacious. His father, a sailor, was alcoholic and more often unemployed than the reverse. His mother, living near the docks at Liverpool, had a series of "boyfriends" over the years. Nigel's closest ties were to his elder brother, who protected him from his father's fists and saw that he had enough to eat. But early in the war his brother's ship was sunk by a U-boat and his brother didn't make it home. Nigel hates the Nazis -- and particularly Uboats. He is also short tempered and lacking education quick to use his fists to settle disputes. 

Excerpt 2:

Kit turned to Nigel, who hadn't been given much chance to say anything yet. "Were you able to straighten out the problem with your younger brother and have a good leave?"

"Me brother?" Nigel asked puzzled.

"When you left, you mentioned something about him wanting to sign aboard a merchant ship--"

"Oh that. He'd already shipped out, so there was nothing I could do about it. Lied about his age, of course. Can't say I blame him. Me mam's got a new boyfriend and he's worse than me dad." Nigel's outrage was raw, and although his nose was almost back to its normal size, Kit thought he had some new bruises on his jaw. The teenager was complaining bitterly. "The bastard doesn't contribute a farthing to the household but expects my mam to wait on him hand and foot. Drinks too much too." 

"I'm sorry to hear that," Kit replied, thinking his young gunner had a lot on his plate. Hopefully, he'd be able to concentrate on his job once he was back on the station.

"Ah," Nigel took a deep breath and then added, "I suppose it's better you know about all of it, sir. I got into a fight with the bastard and threw him out of the house. He called the police and..." He took a deep breath, "I got arrested, sir. I expect they called the Station, and I'll be on charges -- again-- when I arrive."

It flashed through Kit's head that when he'd pictured being skipper, he hadn't thought about these kinds of problems. But he'd taken on the lad, and it was now his job to look after him as best he could. It was this responsibility that made the role of skipper more challenging than simply flying a kite. To Nigel he admitted, "I honestly don't know how things like this are handled, but if there's any way I can help, I will."

" MORAL FIBRE" WON THE HEMINGWAY AWARD 2022 FOR 20TH CENTURY WARTIME FICTION

IT ALSO RECEIVED A MAINCREST MEDIA AWARD FOR MILITARY FICTION AND WAS A FINALIST FOR THE BOOK EXCELLENCE AWARD 2023 IN THE CATEGORY HISTORICAL FICTION.

 

 Riding the icy, moonlit sky,

they took the war to Hitler. 

Their chances of survival were less than fifty percent. 

Their average age was 21.

This is the story of just one bomber pilot, his crew and the woman he loved. 

It is intended as a tribute to them all.  

Buy now on amazon

or Barnes and Noble. 

 

 "This is the best book on the life of us fighter pilots in the Battle of Britain that I have ever seen.... I couldn't put it down."-- RAF Battle of Britain ace, Wing Commander Bob Doe.

Winner of a Hemingway Award for 20th Century Wartime Fiction, a Maincrest Media Award for Military Fiction and Silver in the Global Book Awards.

Find out more at: https://crossseaspress.com/where-eagles-never-flew

 

 For more information about all my books visit: https://www.helenapschrader.com

 

Disfiguring injuries, class prejudice and PTSD are the focus of three tales set in WWII by award-winning novelist Helena P. Schrader. Find out more at: https://crossseaspress.com/grounded-eagles