Hitler assumed power in 1933, and Elsa allowed Max to go to America for six months in 1934 to stay with his grandfather and brother, who was a day student at prep school. Abe was overjoyed to see him. As for the brothers, it was as if theyd never been apart, and on their birthday Abe gave them a special present. He took them out to the airfield their father used to fly from, and there was Rocky Farson, older, a little heavier, but still the old fighter ace from the Western Front.
Rockys going to give you a few lessons, Abe said. I know youre only sixteen, but what the hell. Just dont tell your mother.
Rocky Farson taught them in an old Gresham biplane. Someone had enlarged the rear cockpit to take mail sacks, which meant there was room to squeeze them both in. Of course, he also flew with them individually, and discovered that they were natural-born pilots, just like their father. And, just like their father, whoever was flying always had Tarquin in the cockpit.
Rocky took them way beyond normal private pilot skills. He gave them classroom lessons on dogfighting. Always look for the Hun in the sun, was a favourite. Never fly below 10,000 feet on your own. Never fly straight and level for more than thirty seconds.
Abe, watching one day, said to Rocky after theyd landed, Hell, Rocky, its as if youre preparing them for war.
Who knows, Senator? Rocky said, for indeed that was what Abe Kelso was now. Who knows?
So brilliant were they that Rocky used the Senators money to purchase two Curtis training biplanes, and flew with each of them in turn to take them to new heights of experience.
During the First World War, the great German ace Max Immelmann had come up with a brilliant ploy that had given him two shots at an enemy in a dogfight for the price of one. It was the famous Immelmann turn, once practically biblical knowledge on the Western Front, now already virtually forgotten by both the US Air Corps and the RAF.
You dived in on the opponent, pulled up in a half-loop, rolled out on top and came back over his head at fifty feet. By the time hed finished with them, the boys were experts at it.
Theyre amazing truly amazing, Abe said to Rocky in the canteen at the airfield.
In the old days, they would have been aces. A young mans game, Senator. I knew guys in the Flying Corps whod been decorated four times and were majors at twenty-one. Its like being a great sportsman. You either have it or you dont, that touch of genius, and the twins have it, believe me.
The boys stood at the bar talking quietly, drinking orange juice. Abe, watching them, said, I think youre right, but to what purpose? I know there are rumbles, but there wont be another war. Well see to that.
I hope so, Senator, Rocky said, but in the end, it wasnt to matter to him. He had the old Bristol refurbished, took it up for a proving flight one day, and lost the engine at 500 feet.
At the funeral, Abe, standing to one side, looked at the boys and was reminded, with a chill, that they looked as they had at their fathers funeral: enigmatic, remote, their thoughts tightly contained. It filled him with a strange foreboding. But there was nothing to be done about it and the following week, he and Harry took Max down to New York and saw him off on the Queen Mary, bound for Southampton in England, the first stage of his return to the Third Reich.
EUROPE
19341941
4
Max sat on the terrace of their country house with his mother, and told her all about it the flying, everything and produced photos of himself and Harry in flying clothes, the aircraft standing behind.
Im going to fly, Mutti, its what I do well.
Looking into his face, she saw her husband, yet, sick at heart, did the only thing she could. Sixteen, Max, thats young.
I could join the Berlin Aero Club. You know Goering. He could swing it.
Which was true. Max appeared by appointment with Goering and the Baroness in attendance, and in spite of the commandants doubts, a Heinkel biplane was provided. A twenty-three-year-old Luftwaffe lieutenant who would one day become a Luftwaffe general was there, named Adolf Galland.
Can you handle this, boy? he asked.
Well, my father knocked down at least forty-eight of ours with the Flying Corps. I think I can manage.
Galland laughed out loud and stuck a small cigar between his teeth. Ill follow you up. Lets see.
The display that followed had even Goering breathless. Galland could not shake Max for a moment, and it was the Immelmann turn which finished him off. He turned in to land, and Max followed.
Standing beside the Mercedes, Goering nodded to a valet, who provided caviar and champagne. Took me back to my youth, Baroness, the boy is a genius.
This wasnt false modesty, for Goering was a great pilot in his own right, and had no need to make excuses to anybody.
Galland and Max approached, Galland obviously tremendously excited. Fantastic. Where did you learn all that, boy?
Max told him and Galland could only shake his head.
That night, he joined Goering, von Ribbentrop, Elsa and Max at dinner at the Adlon Hotel. The champagne flowed. Goering said to Galland, So what do we do with this one?
He isnt seventeen until next year, Galland said. May I make a suggestion?
Of course.
Put him in an infantry cadet school here in Berlin, just to make it official. Arrange for him to fly at the Aero Club. Next year, at seventeen, grant him a lieutenants commission in the Luftwaffe.
I like that. Goering nodded and turned to Max. And do you, Baron?
My pleasure, Max Kelso said, in English, his American half rising to the surface easily.
There is no problem with the fact that my son had an American father? Elsa asked.
None at all. Havent you seen the Führers new ruling? Goering said. The Baron cant be anything else but a citizen of the Third Reich.
Theres only one problem, Galland put in.
And whats that? Goering asked.
I insist that he be kind enough to teach me a few tricks, especially that Immelmann turn.
Well, I could teach you that, Goering told him. But Im sure the Baron wouldnt mind. He turned. Max? addressing him that way for the first time.
Max Kelso said, A pity my twin brother, Harry, isnt here, Lieutenant Galland. Wed give you hell.
No, Galland said. Information is experience. You are special, Baron, believe me. And please call me Dolfo.
It was to be the beginning of a unique friendship.
In America, Harry went to Groton for a while, and had problems with the discipline, for flying was his obsession and he refused to sacrifice his weekends in the air. Abe Kelsos influence helped, of course, so Harry survived school and went to Harvard at the same time his brother was commissioned as a lieutenant in the Luftwaffe.
The Third Reich continued its remorseless rise and the entire balance of power in Europe changed. No one in Britain wanted conflict, the incredible casualties of the Great War were too close to home. Harry ground through university, Europe ground onwards into Fascism, the world stood by.
And then came the Spanish Civil War and they all went, Galland and Max, taking HE51 biplanes over the front, Max flying 280 combat missions. He returned home in 1938 with the Iron Cross Second Class and was promoted to Oberleutnant.
For some time he worked on the staff in Berlin, and was much sought after on the social circuit in Berlin, where he was frequently seen as his mothers escort, and was a favourite of Goering, now become all-powerful. And then came Poland.
During the twenty-seven-day Blitzkrieg that destroyed that country, Max Kelso consolidated his legend, shot down twenty planes, received the Iron Cross First Class and was promoted to captain. During the phoney war with Britain and France that followed, he found himself once again on the staff in Berlin.
In those euphoric days, with Europe in its grasp, everything seemed possible to Germany. Maxs mother was at the very peak of society and Max had his own image. No white dress jackets, nothing fancy. He would always appear in combat dress: baggy pants, flying blouse, a side cap, called a Schiff, and all those medals. Goebbels, the tiny, crippled Nazi propaganda minister, loved it. Max appeared at top functions with Goering, even with Hitler and his glamorous mother. They christened him the Black Baron. There was the occasional woman in his life, no more than that. He seemed to stand apart, with that saturnine face and the pale straw hair, and he didnt take sides, was no Nazi. He was a fighter pilot, that was it.
As for Harry, just finishing at Harvard, life was a bore. Abe had tried to steer him towards interesting relationships with the daughters of the right families, but, like his brother, he seemed to stand apart. The war in Europe had started in September. It was November 1939 when Harry went into the drawing room and found Abe sitting by the fire with a couple of magazines.
Get yourself a drink, Abe said. Youre going to need it.
Harry, at that time twenty-one, poured a Scotch and water and joined his grandfather. Whats the fuss?
Abe passed him the first magazine, a close-up of a dark taciturn face under a Luftwaffe Schiff, then the other, a copy of Signal, the German forces magazine. The Black Baron, Abe said.
Max stood beside an ME 109 in flying gear, a cigarette in one hand, talking to a Luftwaffe mechanic in black overalls.
Medals already, Harry said. Isnt that great? Just like Dad.
Thats Spain and Poland, Abe said. Jesus, Harry, thank God they call him Baron von Halder instead of Max Kelso. Can you imagine how this would look on the front page of Life magazine? My grandson the Nazi?
Hes no Nazi, Harry said. Hes a pilot. Hes there and were here. He put the magazine down. Abe wondered what he was thinking, but as usual, Harry kept his thoughts to himself though there was something going on behind those eyes, Abe could tell that. We havent heard from Mutti lately, Harry said.
And we wont. I speak to people in the State Department all the time. The Third Reich is closed up tight.
I expect it would be. You want another drink?
Sure, why not? Abe reached for a cigar. What a goddamn mess, Harry. Theyll run all over France and Britain. Whats the solution?
Oh, there always is one, Harry Kelso said and poured the whisky.
Abe said, Harry, its time we talked seriously. You graduated magna cum laude last spring, and since then all you do is fly and race cars, just like your father. What are you going to do? What about law school?
Harry smiled and shook his head. Law school? Did you hear Russia invaded Finland this morning? He took a long drink. The Finns need pilots badly, and theyre asking for foreign volunteers. Ive already booked a flight to Sweden.
Abe was horrified. But you cant. Dammit, Harry, its not your war.
It is now, Harry Kelso told him and finished his whisky.
The war between the Finns and the Russians was hopeless from the start. The weather was atrocious and the entire country snowbound. The Army, particularly the ski troops, fought valiantly against overwhelming enemy forces but were pushed back relentlessly.
On both sides, the fighters were outdated. The most modern planes the Russians could come up with were a few FW190s Hitler had presented to Stalin as a gesture of friendship between Germany and Russia.
Harry Kelso soon made a name for himself flying the British Gloucester Gladiator, a biplane with open cockpit just like in the First World War. A poor match for what he was up against, but his superior flying skills always brought him through and as always, just like his father in the First World War, Tarquin sat in the bottom of the cockpit in a waterproof zip bag Harry had purchased in Stockholm.
His luck changed dramatically when the Finnish Air Force managed to get hold of half a dozen Hurricane fighters from Britain, a considerable coup in view of the demand for the aircraft by the Royal Air Force. Already an ace, Harry was assigned to one of the two Hurricanes his squadron was given. A week later, they received a couple of ME109s from a Swedish source.
He alternated between the two types of aircraft, flying in atrocious conditions of snowstorms and high winds, was promoted to captain and decorated, his score mounting rapidly.
A photo journalist for Life magazine turned up to cover the air war, and was astonished to discover Senator Abe Kelsos grandson and hear of his exploits. This was news indeed, for Abe was now very much a coming man, a member of Franklin D. Roosevelts kitchen cabinet.
So, Abe once again found a grandson on the cover of a magazine, Harry in a padded flying suit standing beside one of the ME109s in the snow, looking ten years older than when Abe had last seen him and holding Tarquin.
Abe read the account of Harrys exploits with pride, but also sadness. I told you, Harry, not your war, he said softly. I mean, where is it all going to end? And yet, in his heart of hearts, he knew. America was going to go to war. Not today, not tomorrow, but that day would come.
Elsa von Halder was having coffee in the small drawing room at her country mansion, when Max arrived. He strode in, wearing his flying uniform as usual, in one hand a holdall, which he dropped on the floor.
Mutti, you look wonderful.
She stood up and embraced him. What a lovely surprise. How long?
Three days.
And then?
Well see.
She went to a drinks table and poured dry sherry. Do you think the British and French will really fight if we invade?
You mean when we invade? He toasted her. Of course, I have infinite faith in the inspired leadership of our glorious Führer.
For Gods sake, Max, watch your tongue. It could be the death of you. You arent even a member of the Nazi party.
Why, Mutti, I always thought you were a true believer.
Of course Im not. Theyre all bastards. The Führer, that horrible little creep Himmler. Oh, Goerings all right and most of the generals, but Anyway, what about you?
Politics bore me, Mutti. Im a fighter pilot, just like this fellow. He unzipped his holdall, produced a copy of Life magazine and passed it to her. I saw Goering in Berlin yesterday. He gave that to me.
Elsa sat down and examined the cover. He looks old. What have they done to him?
Read the article, Mutti. It was a hell of a war, however short. A miracle he came through. Mind you, Tarquin looks good on it. Goering heard from our Intelligence people that Harry got out to Sweden in a Hurricane. The word is he turned up in London and joined the RAF.