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The fictional novel "GREIF" relates the exploits of many known and unknown heroes and villains who conceived and executed many incredible military intelligence operations on behalf of the major warring powers during the Second World War. What motivated these men and women to risk their lives has been lost on two or more generations of Americans. Since 1978, a great deal of information has been passed onto the public record which calls into question many of the established myths commonly held to be the decisive reasons for the war's outcome.

Herman Wouk's "Winds of War" and James Dickey's "To the White Sea" shattered the assumption that novels set in World War Two have become Passe`. Military history remains the best selling component of book distribution in the non-fiction category, and cable networks place their World War Two movies and documentaries in prime time. Public Television's 'Nova' has devoted much of its new programming to new revelations concerning the war's technology and intelligence operations. International interest in the war continues to dominate book, television and motion picture sales, not to mention the fifty-year anniversaries marking VE and VJ days. "Saving Private Ryan" and "The Thin Red Line" were the most popular movies in 1998. These facts, coupled with the popularity of the 'techno-thriller', confirm my conviction that there is a compelling and profitable marketplace for "GREIF".

"GREIF" is a chronology of events that led to the establishment of the Defense Intelligence Agency and the CIA. The novel features a fictional protagonist character that interacts with historically accurate leaders and events with a very high degree of accuracy.

The story is focused on the Heinkel strategic 177 'Greif' bomber, a United States Army Air Force intelligence officer, and the antagonist character: a German counterintelligence officer who happens to be a homicidal maniac and a serial killer. These two adversarial characters finally clash in deadly combat under desperate circumstances.

The novel exposes for the very first time the extent of Hitler's intelligence gathering, which reached into the White House, and how it led to his defeat. "GREIF" also dramatizes the panic in Washington in 1944 over German/Japanese cooperation on nuclear weapons development and the many advanced technology weapons transfers from Germany to Japan during the closing months of the war.

The master plot of the novel is one of adventure, surrounded by supporting minor plots of revenge, love and discovery. The story line is written on three main levels. First for the average reader it represents an exciting and shocking wartime adventure story. The second level is written for the very knowledgeable who will be challenged by the accuracy of the dates, people, events and the advanced technology being used by the participants during the later stages of the war.

"GREIF" relies on recently discovered historical fact, previously unknown or even denied by the Allies after the war. The third level is written for those readers who love technical details of machines of war in the context of an exciting story. The author has included many details of aircraft, missiles, guided munitions, submarines and electronic warfare devices being used in 1944. One of the objectives of the novel is to illustrate similarities with present day air combat operations, and to make the point that little has changed.

The author has striven to insure that the dialog in the story conforms to the slang of the 1940's in all of the countries involved. "GREIF" was heavily researched.

Copyright ROBERT A. CLARK

"Past espionage operations resemble a wilderness of mirrors, all reflecting on the future." Attributed to James Jesus Angleton, CIA counterintelligence chief, in a remark to his close friend President Kennedy in 1963. He had been asked about Kim Philby's defection to Moscow.

CHAPTER 1

GREIF IS BORN

Sunday, 7 August 1937, Banff, Scotland, Three miles South on the Deveron River Estuary, 1050 Hours.

Royal Air Force Flight Lieutenant Rules MacGregor cast his orange fly as far as he could into the Deveron River and slowly jiggled the lure as he reeled it in. The river water was cold on his hip boots but the air temperature was warm for an August in Scotland. He noticed a big fish splash downstream and tossed the fly in that direction. The current helped. He glanced over to his right and watched Buck reel in and throw out his lure again. Rules amused himself with the thought; Here we are, two spies--military intelligence officers--fishing for salmon and information. Rules liked his flamboyant American counterpart, but he occasionally harbored doubts about him.

"Buckley, what is it like, fishing for salmon on the American west coast?"

"Oh, it's about the same as here, Rules, except that we use spoons instead of flies," U.S. Army Air Corps Major Buck MacPherson joked.

Just then, Rules felt a strike and snapped his rod upward to set the hook. "Here's one!"

Buck reeled in quickly to assist his friend. He was excited to see the first catch of the day. "Looks like a big boy."

Rules managed his own brand of Scottish humor while struggling with the fish. "We can make the sexual identification in a moment, I hope."

Buck watched intently as Rules fought the fish. Excited, he yelled, "Wow! These Atlantic salmon fight like the kings back home."

"Are kings a species of salmon?" Rules asked, his own excitement contained.

"Yeah, Pacific salmon that are sometimes in the 50 to 60 pound category. I don't think this one is that big." Buck, fish net in hand, assisted the capture by stirring the water back and forth for a few moments until finally they had the salmon. Both men, momentarily exhausted, walked back up onto the riverbank.

Rules laughed as Buck nearly lost his balance. He would have liked seeing his American friend take a plunge into the water. When they reached the rocky river bank, Rules held up the morning's prize.

Buck tried to identify the fish in the net--he had never seen an Atlantic salmon before. His face reflected his puzzlement.

Rules noticed Buck's reaction and asked, "Familiar?"

"Yeah, it reminds me of a cross between a dolly varden and a cutthroat, sea run trout my dad and I used to catch on the Alsea River Estuary near Waldport, Oregon. Dad and I flew up there using a charter service and spend a few weeks fishing the Alsea. We were mostly after kings and silvers," he reflected.

"Silver salmon?" Rules had not heard of the species before.

"Sure, the very best eating in the world, next to the dungeness crab we caught in our crab pots while we were fishing. Say, this one looks to be a twenty pounder. Not bad, let's see if I can catch one." Buck was not to be bested by anyone when it came to fishing. Rules proudly held up his catch by its gills.

As Buck headed back into the water, curious about his friend's background, he said, "Tell me about your dad, Rules."

Climbing down the riverbank, Rules answered thoughtfully, "My goodness, where should I start? Honor purchased the MacGregor Inn some ten years ago after leaving his position in the Labour Party in London. My mother wanted to remain in the city, but Honor had the foresight to see the depression coming on, so his flight to the north of Scotland turned out to be an excellent idea. He has done extremely well, investing in the local economy here in Banff and the family inn has paid off. Rather surprising for a socialist and a former member of the Communist Party, I'd say," MacGregor mused.

Buck sat down on a rock and rubbed his forehead. "Well, I could say the same for my dad. He had always been a pro-Communist politico, but then he quit the American Communist Party after he heard about Stalin's atrocities. Dad's a socialist from way back, still concerned about Hitler and all the bullshit coming out of Mussolini's Italy. So, I guess you and I have more in common than our Scottish ancestry."

While Rules searched his tackle box for his stringer, Buck decided to risk inquiring of his fishing partner's wife, whom he had what some might term an unhealthy interest for a married man. Trying to sound as casual as possible, Buck said, "So where did you meet Sarah?"

Readying himself for the Scot's polite ambiguity, Buck was shocked when Rules answered, "I met her when I attended Cambridge. She was visiting with a group from Buckingham Palace. I don't know how it happened, but she caught my eye and, of course, one thing led to another. In any event, we ended up spending a lot of time together, regardless of the wishes of both our families. I suppose it was a marriage made irrespective of class." While he fiddled with the salmon trying to find a stringer, he confided, "I was just a poor Scot and she continues to be wealthy beyond belief." The irony in Rule's voice did not escape his American friend. Buck stood up from his rock perch, re-entered the river and waded in deeply to cast out his salmon fly. Rules continued searching his tackle box for a stringer.

Buck's lighthearted, yet purposeful, query continued. "Your mom sure seems like a wonderful lady. I can tell she enjoys running the inn with your dad. When is Honor going to complete the brewery?"

"He's always wanted to make his own family brand of Scottish ale, and he's been working on the project for three years. Should be ready by next March. At least that's the time schedule," Rules responded skeptically.

"I don't care for Scotch ale, I'm a confirmed whiskey drinker. I like bourbon. My favorite brand is Old Crow. I could drink that stuff until I see spots in front of my eyes," Buck admitted.

Rules secured his salmon on his line stringer, tied it to a tree root and then tossed out his fly. "Old Crow is certainly an odd sounding name for a whiskey."

"I wasn't aware of it before I attended West Point. Sour mash is what they call it. I'd mostly been drinking beer and wine out in California." Buck jerked up his rod to blurt out, "Got one! Holy cow, this is a big one!

Rules reeled in and located the fish net. "Bring it in just a bit closer and...."

"Damn!" Buck's line went limp. "Got away!"

Rules noticed the floatplane they had flown in was starting to turn sideways in the river current. "The tide's coming in, Buck. We better secure the Norseman with another line."

Buck nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I don't want to bang the damn thing up. It's on loan from the Royal Canadian Air Force and Noorduyn Aviation Limited. They've been demonstrating it out of Portsmouth, hoping to attract European buyers and distributors."

They both slogged upstream. "You said that this is a Noorduyn Norseman Four?" MacGregor asked.

"A Bush machine is what they call it. Flies very well, considering the size of the floats. It's going to be a very popular aircraft for the northern US and Canadian back country." Buck smiled to himself and asked, "How in the world did you end up in RAF intelligence?"

"Oh, I signed up for flying school at University. I fell in love with flying, so I attended most of the air races all over England. I thought the RAF would be an opportunity to fly the best. However, I ended up in a number of boring staff positions. So, I signed on with intelligence for the freedom and excitement," Rules elaborated.

"Same here. I used my appointment to West Point to later get assigned to the US Army Air Corps. When I came into the service during the twenties, we had nothing to fly, so I volunteered for a technical intelligence position in the War Department. But times are a changin'," the Yank quipped.

"Ha, ha, ha! I suppose we have the Germans to thank for that." Rules pointed out.

Buck and Rules reached the Norseman, grabbed the lines and pulled the aircraft over to the riverbank. Buck attached a line to a wing strut and secured it to a limb of a tree.

"I wonder what the girls are up to?" Buck asked cynically.

"Don't wax sarcasm with me, Buck. You know damn well they're out spending money all over London...again. Daphne and Sarah share that one common interest known to the entire female species--browsing through retail shops with anything and everything to sell.

"Hell, Rules, at least we don't have to pay their bills." Buck exclaimed.

"Yes, I admit it is nice being married to women who have their own money to spend," Rules replied. Just then, he saw more salmon breaking the surface of the water. "By George, here they come again. We need one or two more and we can fly back to the inn."

As Buck moved further down river, Rules decided it was his turn to do some "information" fishing. "Tell me, Buckley, how productive was your trip to Berlin?"

"Well now, why is it that I expected you to ask me about that?" Buck let out a knowing chuckle. "You've been kinda hinting that you might like to be in on some of the deals I pull."

"Deals you pull?" Rules repeated.

"Okay, Rules, you know the most valuable intelligence information in European military aviation is the so-called Operational Readiness Report. The report that senior commands in the various air forces here in Europe read to find out exactly how many aircraft they have in each and every category...aircraft that aren't in for fix and repair, the number of warplanes that can fly combat missions, information about pilot training, fuel reserves, expected deliveries of new types and a lot of other highly secret data. Critical air intelligence is on those ORRs." Buck reminded.

"The other fellow's operational readiness report is a hotly sought after intelligence item, provided the ORR in question is a factual report and not some bogus information intended to deceive," Rules cautioned.

"Exactly! On my latest trip to Berlin, I pulled off one of the biggest hauls of the year. Captain Leopold Karaszewicz of the Polish Air Force mission in their Berlin Embassy had a copy of the Luftwaffe operational readiness report. Unfortunately, he wanted a copy of the French Aremee de l'Air report in exchange," Buck revealed.

"Well, Buckley, that sounds familiar. It seems as though Leo hasn't changed his modus operandi since my last conversation with him," Rules stated sarcastically.

"Hear me out, Rules. I decided to look up the Italian Air Attache', Major Giovanni Liuzzi, because a rumor was going around to the effect that he had the French report. So I offered to broker Leopold's copy of the German report for Giovanni's copy of the French ORR."

"And they went along with that idea?" Rules asked reprovingly.

"Sure, I worked the trade and since I was acting as intermediary, I used my little Brownie spy camera to take pictures of both reports," Buck disclosed with smug satisfaction.

"You can't be serious, Buckley. You made the trade and ended up with both reports?" Rules had grave doubts about Buck's story.

"Well, that's only about half of it. I made a Photostat of the German report and traded it to the French Air Attache', Lieutenant Philippe Leygues, for the Italian report. Then I traded a copy of the Italian operational readiness report to Oberleutnant Erwin von Grese in the Luftwaffe Information Office for the Polish ORR. So I now have microfilmed and Photostatted copies of the German, French, Italian and Polish Air Force operational readiness reports, covering this last 90-day period. That's the reason I asked you to take me fishing," Buck explained. "So let's get down to business, Rules. I'll trade all of these choice little intelligence reports to you for a copy of the latest Royal Air Force operational readiness report. What do you say?"

"Buckley, there is no way I could ever agree to that," Rules responded unequivocally.

"Now, Rules, don't make any hasty decisions. If you give me those reports, I will promise you on my word of honor that they will only go to General Henry H. Arnold, our Deputy Chief of Staff in Washington. I'll send them sealed in a diplomatic pouch. I promise I will send Arnold the only copy and swear that I will not give it to anyone else," Buck pledged.

Rules reeled in his line and slowly slogged back to the riverbank. Buck was right behind him.

"You said yesterday you wanted to work out a continuing arrangement. What did you have in mind?"

"You and I make this deal, then we both go to our respective bosses and tell them that we are getting this intelligence information from each other. We also tell them that the two of us can secure a lot more hard intelligence, as long as we work together. For example, the Aviation Exhibition in Milan next month would be a good place to start. We take our wives with us and have a great time brokering deals between the various Air Attaches'. We'll walk away with all the intelligence we can carry," Buck reasoned.

"What makes you think I might agree to such an arrangement?" Rules asked.

"Because you've got a job to do. Rules, you're gonna have to produce hard intelligence, or they're going to assign you back to a god awful staff position again, that's why. Air intelligence officers either produce or they're out." Buck was beginning to feel lighthearted. He thought he was winning Rules over.

"I think I might agree to your proposal on two conditions," Rules replied.

Buck had judged his counterpart correctly. Though seemingly unbendable, Rules was susceptible to a bit of larceny. For Buck, the only question now was of degree. So he asked, "What did you have in mind?"

"We give each other our word of honor that we will only do specific deals, as you call them, upon mutual agreement," Rules proposed somewhat nervously. He paused for a moment, swallowing, before hitting Buck with a bombshell. "In addition, I will need to deliver to Whitehall the complete technical specifications of the new Curtis XP-40 fighter aircraft design you yanks are building."

Without hesitation, Buck grinned as he slapped Rules on the back. "You've got yourself a contract, buddy. I can have the top secret XP-40 stuff on your desk in a week."

"Buckley, you know they could hang us if we're caught."

"Yeah, I know that Rules. But neither one of us is going to put our heads

in a noose. Besides, what's a little larceny between friends?" Buck smiled. "Our first trip will be next month on the 13th. In conjunction with our trip to Milan, I've got an invitation to attend a German test flight demonstration of the new Junkers 88 model V3 bomber. I think it'll be somewhere near Erprobungsstelle at Rechlin. It's a top secret test."

"How in the hell did you work that?" Rules asked incredulously.

"I got the Italian Liuzzi drunk one night on my Berlin junket and he put in a good word for me with the Germans. Oh, by the way you'll have to wear one of my U.S. Army uniforms. No Brits allowed. I'll tell 'em you're with me. If you keep your mouth shut, they'll never figure out you're RAF."

"Buckley, you are full of shit."

"Oh no, I'm not. While we're there, I want to check in with one of my new contacts who should be on hand to observe the test. I heard a rumor that Heinkel may be developing a new long-range heavy bomber. We can find out for sure about that from my agent." Buck got serious and said, "Look, Rules, it looks like Neville Chamberlain may be taking over as Prime Minister from Stanley Baldwin. If Chamberlain can't cut an agreement with Hitler, war is a distinct possibility. Washington wants me to obtain as much air intelligence I can lay my hands on, as a contingency. I know our countries will be on the same side if war breaks out, but I'm not so sure about the others." Buck stopped to make a point. "I've got my orders, Rules."

"So do I, Buckley. Now, we need to catch at least two more fish. May we continue?" Rules asked as he returned to fishing.

"Rules, I think you and I can work together real well," Buckley responded, throwing out his lure. "Eh, one thing I'd like to know. Are you going to be passing some of this stuff to Winston Churchill's boys? He's on the outs right now."

"You damn right I am," Rules answered.

"Watch yourself buddy, that's politics."

"There's not much difference between politics and war, Buck," Rules pronounced.

Friday, 26 November 1937, Rostock-Marienehe Airfield, Germany, 0930 hours

Generalleutnant Albert Kesselring sat up in his VIP passenger seat as the four-engine Folke-Wulf 200 A-01's landing gear crunched on the snow pack upon landing at a private corporate airfield. The General was startled out of a nap. He and his entourage were secretly arriving at the new location of the Heinkel Flugzeugwerke Gesellschaft mit beschrankter Haftung's (limited liability corporation's) aircraft development complex at Rostock, Germany. Before 1935, Heinkel's aircraft development and production organization had been located at Warnemunde. However, the Reich's Kriegsmarine (the German Navy) needed the Warnemunde facility and Ernst Heinkel was ordered by the new Nazi power elite to move to Rostock. Heinkel built one of the most modern aircraft development facilities in Europe at Rostock-Marienehe.

Seated next to Kesselring, who had just taken over as the new Luftwaffe Chief of Staff, was the General Luftzeugmeister of the Luftwaffe, Generalmajor Ernst Udet. General Udet's duties included warplane acquisition for the new Luftwaffe. The rotund Udet had a reputation for being an arrogant officer, who on many occasions liked to fly and test prototype aircraft himself. Udet was a post World War I stunt pilot who had spent most of his time playing the clown in aviation movies. His technical knowledge was so poor that many complaints about his "slips of the tongue" had come to Kesselring's desk. In addition, Kesselring personally considered Udet a crude and irritating man, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Although he outranked Udet, Kesselring rarely crossed him because Udet had the ear of the all-powerful Fuhrer, Adolf Hitler.

The Fw-200 they were flying in bore the work number designation 2893. The super modern airliner was named the "Saarland" and had the identification letters "D-ADHR" painted on its fuselage. This new aircraft type had become the pride of the Third Reich and was one of the fastest and most advanced passenger airliners in the world. The two generals had left Berlin in a light snowstorm and had flown the 120 miles to Rostock in only 36 minutes. A record for 1937.

Adolf Hitler had his own personal Fw-200. Kesselring enjoyed his new status as Chief of Staff, which carried with it his own elite transportation machine. The Luftwaffe wanted to be Europe's most feared combat force and General Kesselring was committed to that end.

The very first chief of staff of the Luftwaffe, Generalleutenant Walther Wever, had died more than twelve months ago and Albert Kesselring was appointed to take over Wever's post with all the niceties attached. He and Udet were at Rostock-Marienehe this day to see a mock-up of the Third Reich's most secret aviation project--Heinkel's new "Project 1041" or "Bomber A".

"Herr General, we will taxi over to the flight tower," a voice interrupted Kesselring's thoughts. "The radio says that Professor Heinkel himself wishes to drive you and General Udet to the secret hanger." announced Adolf Lippisch, one of Udet's aides.

"Very well, thank you," Kesselring grunted.

When the passenger door opened and the ground crews brought up the ladder for the VIPs to exit, Kesselring led the parade followed by his two aides, General Udet and his aide, Lippisch, and three representatives of the Technisches Amt of the RLM (Technical Office of the Reichsluftfahrt-ministerium or the State Ministry of Aviation). Kesselring immediately noticed the chubby Ernst Heinkel, wearing a fur coat and his notorious spectacles, standing next to the passenger ladder. It was rumored that Hitler had seen Heinkel's eye doctor and had himself purchased spectacles, but that was only a rumor. No one around Berlin had ever seen Hitler wearing glasses.

"Guten Morgen, Herr Professor Heinkel. Thank you for coming out to provide us with transportation," Kesselring said in a load voice as he stepped from the airliner.

Udet stuck his head out the passenger's exit door and joined in, "Hello, Ernst, how is your day going?"

Heinkel stepped forward, gave the Nazi salute with a frown on his face and said, "Heil Hitler, and please, you two, come with me. I want to have a private conversation with you both. Your aides and these staff people will be driven to the company facility by these other automobiles."

Kesselring glanced at Udet who put his hand over his face and looked up in a mockingly desperate gesture, nearly causing Kesselring to break out in laughter. Both Luftwaffe generals were familiar with Heinkel's flare for the dramatic and his tendency to become upset over the most trivial matters, a personality trait that made him unpopular in Berlin.

"Yes, certainly." was Kesselring's delayed response, as he and Udet climbed into Heinkel's Porsche touring car. Udet sat in front next to Heinkel, while Kesselring seated himself in the back seat. Heinkel, without warning, shifted the car into first gear then gunned the engine, causing the tires to spin on the snow and ice. At high speed, Heinkel raced off the runway and onto the side road as he transported the two generals to his secret development hanger. Heinkel liked to drive recklessly.

"My God, Ernst, please drive carefully. God in heaven what is it this time?" General Udet was irritated.

"Albert, just what exactly is going on in Berlin anyway?" Heinkel asked Kesselring directly, looking in the rear view mirror, ignoring Udet's question.

"What do you mean, Herr Heinkel?" Kesselring decided to play along.

"Who do you two take me for anyway, some fool to be played with by the General Staff of the Luftwaffe? Today I have received an order from Berlin to deliver one of my late production model He-111 bombers and a late model He-112 fighter to the Soviet Union. These are top secret aircraft. My He-111 is the most secret bomber flying in Europe and you want me to turn it over to the communists and that dog Stalin. Are we not fighting these Russians in Spain? Good God in heaven, has Berlin gone completely insane?" Heinkel sputtered anxiously.

"May I, Herr General Kesselring?" Udet asked, confident of his ability to handle Heinkel.

"Yes, of course," Albert replied from the backseat of the Porsche, very interested in hearing how General Udet was going to react to the situation.

"Herr Heinkel, please understand that a political decision has been reached by our Fuhrer, Adolf Hitler. He has concluded an agreement with Stalin in Moscow. We are sending examples of both the Messerschmitt 109 and 110, along with Junkers models 87, 88 and 89 and a Dornier 17 to Moscow. So you are not the only one supplying aircraft to the Soviets. What does it matter to you anyway, you have been selling the Russians aircraft since the late 1920's? All of your new warplanes were tested in those days in the Soviet Union, so we could get around the Air Clauses of the Treaty of Versailles. In fact, the Luftwaffe's entire parachute divisions were trained outside of Moscow. How can you be upset?" the Generalmajor concluded.

"How can I be upset? We will be sending top secret aircraft to the very enemy of National Socialism and you ask me how? What are we getting in return from Moscow? Gold?" Heinkel asked. "No one has mentioned payment to me or my accounting office. 'Just send the aircraft' was the order."

"Wait one moment," General Kesselring thought carefully before continuing. "Ernst, you must understand that what I am about to tell you is a very closely guarded secret. It is for your ears only and is not to be repeated."

"Yes, yes, very well. What is it?" Heinkel asked.

"As you may or may not know, the Fuhrer and our Oberbefehlshaber (Commander-in-Chief) Hermann Goring have for sometime been concerned about the one hundred or so German Communist leaders who escaped the Fatherland when our National Socialist Party took back our country from the traitor Jews and back stabbing communists. This group of traitors includes the former editors of all the communist newspapers in Germany, many red labor leaders, various high level officials of the German Communist Party and many undercover socialists. This group also represents a nest of spies who have on many past occasions tried to destroy not only Germany but perhaps more importantly, the German Army," General Kesselring stated in a calm detached manner. "These traitors escaped via Spain to Moscow and have been hiding there, out of reach of the Gestapo. That is until now."

"Yes, yes, but what does that have to do with the warplanes we are sending to our enemies?" Heinkel implored.

Udet took notice of a now silent Kesselring and decided to answer the question himself. "Herr Heinkel, you know that Herr Goring is still running the Gestapo. With Stalin's permission, he has sent a Gestapo team to Moscow. These German communist traitors have all been tried and sentenced to death in absentia. In return for the right to buy some of the best of our new aircraft, the Soviet dogs are going to hand over all of the German communists to our own people. The Gestapo will identify them and take their pictures individually before and after they shoot them in the head. Then, as I understand it, their bodies will be burned in the coal furnaces of the Kashierski Electric Power Station just outside of Moscow."

"We are not concerned that the stupid Bolshevik dogs could ever be able to manufacture or even copy any of these warplanes. Besides, the individual aircraft will be stripped of all top secret equipment, so the Soviets will only receive airframes." Udet continued, "What does it matter anyway? Stalin is so busy murdering his own Army officers; he has no time for anything else. Now, don't you think it worthwhile, for once and for all, to eliminate the traitors who sought to destroy the Reich and the German Army? This is a patriotic matter, Herr Heinkel. A matter of the gravest importance." Udet concluded.

"Yes that may be, Herr General." Ernst Heinkel replied frustrated that General Udet had again missed the point. Attempting further explanation, he said, "But let me say this. I insist that my corporation be compensated with the Russian gold Berlin will be receiving in payment. I always refuse payment in Reichsmarks for foreign transactions. I have made that known on a number of occasions. My company has made a great deal of money by investing in the Swiss Gold Exchange, but at this time I need gold reserves."

"Please set your mind to rest, Herr Heinkel," General Kesselring reassured. "I will state here and now that you will be paid the same amount the Luftwaffe pays you for these aircraft, except you will be paid in Russian gold. In addition, I will send one of my own junior staff officers, Hauptmann Wolfgang Steiger, to fly the He-111 to Moscow. He can assist the Gestapo in their work and report to you directly about the gold payments. Will that set your mind to rest?"

"Yes," Heinkel replied, "I think that will suffice."

Down shifting the Porsche as he approached the plant security station, Heinkel rolled through the gate slowly as the senior guard carefully identified his passengers. Heinkel drove on to the front of a huge hangar where two men were waiting in the snow. Heinkel stopped the car and opened the door for the two Luftwaffe generals. The three of them approached the waiting two men.

Heinkel began the formalities, "General Udet I think you know both gentlemen, but General Kesselring, may I introduce the good Doctor (Dipl.-Ing.) Heinrich Hertel, my design director, and Doctor Siegfried Gunter who is in charge of Project 1041."

Generalleutnant Kesselring shook hands with both men. "It is indeed an honor to meet you both. I have read many of the technical reports you have authored on our 'Bomber A' program and I want to congratulate the two of you on the progress you have made here. I know that if he were alive today, General Walther Wever would be just as proud as I am on this historic occasion." Kesselring waxed gratitude, playing up to the giant egos of both men.

Doctor Hertel spoke first. "Thank you, Herr General, it is a privilege to work on this project in the name of our Fuhrer Adolf Hitler and the Third Reich."

Both generals replied with "Heil Hitler's".

The two autos carrying the others on the flight from Berlin drove up next to the hangar. The passengers got out and gathered around the three Heinkel representatives. After another round of introductions and small talk, Heinkel proceeded.

"Follow me...we have much to show you on this historic day," Heinkel dramatically exclaimed.

General Kesselring strained to see the prototype mock-up but there was not enough light.

"Please, everyone, gather here. I will turn on the lights," Heinrich Hertel said as he walked over to a large electric box on the wall. Upon throwing the switch, floodlights temporarily blinded the men. When their eyes had adjusted, they found themselves beholding a magnificent plane.

The Chief of Staff of the Luftwaffe was stunned as he stepped toward the full-scale mock-up of the new Heinkel bomber. He was shocked by its size--it was enormous. Then as he noted the iron cross on the side of the black warplane, he was taken aback by the bomber's engines. "God in heaven, Herr Heinkel. I thought this was a four-engined bomber, but I only see two engines?"

Before Heinkel could respond, Professor Hertel spoke up, "Herr General, it is a four-engined bomber--two engines are coupled together in each nacelle. Each of the four engines is a Daimler-Benz 601, which are manufactured in the usual way. We simply install the engines coupled side by side and inclined so that the inner piston banks are almost vertical. It thus provides us with what the engineers at Daimler-Benz call the 'DB 606'. This dual engine has the highest rated horsepower of any aviation engine on earth. Two times 2,700 horses to power this beauty."

Udet, who had seen drawings of the prototype, commented, "This arrangement provides for greatly improved aerodynamics."

General Kesselring examined the nose of the big bomber, greatly impressed with the long cigar-shaped form of the fuselage accented by the glassed-in nose. The massive aircraft was beautiful in every respect. Aerodynamically, it was stunning. The assembled group, following the two generals, inspected the mock-up closely. Everyone was visibly impressed.

"Is this the first time we have used four-bladed propellers on a production aircraft?" Kesselring asked as he surveyed the bomber.

"Yes, Herr General," Siegfried Gunter answered. "We had to do it because of the coupled engine arrangement. Three blades were not enough to take advantage of the power available. Also, since the original specifications called for a top speed of 335 miles per hour, it became necessary."

"Albert, this bomber's projected cruising speed is faster than the top speed of any production fighter in the world," Heinkel promised.

"I see no defensive guns on the plane. Have we forgotten something?" Kesselring asked.

Heinrich Hertel, who had been waiting for this question, replied, "Herr General, we will be installing remote-controlled guns on the bomber. They have less drag than the manned turrets now featured on inferior bombers."

"Will the aircraft meet the specification requirements?" Ernst Udet already knew the answer to the question, but wanted it reiterated nonetheless for the benefit of the group.

"This bomber will carry more than a 2,000 pound bomb load, fly more than 3,400 miles and will maintain a flight speed above 300 miles per hour. That is, of course, when we receive the go-ahead to proceed to prototype flight stage. All we need is the contract and the money," Heinkel maintained.

Generalmajor Udet, in his most official-sounding voice, suddenly announced, "Gentlemen, please gather around me." Standing next to Kesselring, he stated, "I want to officially designate this new warplane, the 'Heinkel 177'. I also want to ask if anyone has an idea for naming our new weapon?"

Heinrich Hertel's suggestion had been pre-rehearsed. He stated, "We have thought long and hard about that, Herr General Udet, and we have come to the following conclusion. We should name it the 'Greif' (Griffon) in the memory of the late General Wever. Greif is the very symbol of vigilance and strength and appears on most of the more famous German heraldry as a creature with the body of a lion, the tail of a serpent and the head and wings of an eagle. We think it fitting to call this new protector of the Third Reich, the Greif!"

"Very, very good, my friends." Kesselring exclaimed. "I officially christen this aircraft, Greif. Our new Heinkel model 177." As cheers from the aides and others around him broke out, the General concluded, "I know that this will be the most successful aircraft development contract in all history. I feel it inside; this is an historic moment. Sieg Heil! Seig Heil! Seig Heil!" The group drowned him out as they joined in.

Not one for forgetting business, Heinkel waited for the ceremony to quiet down before approaching Kesselring, "Herr General, if you and General Udet will come with me, we will go to my private dining room for refreshments. We shall then have an opportunity to discuss the development contract."

"Yes, of course, Herr Heinkel. My impression is final. We will build this bomber." Kesselring was a very happy man. He had his new strategic bomber. Greif was born.

Friday, 30 September 1938, Munich, Germany, The Octoberfest Hotel, Downtown Munich, 1930 Hours.

Daphne MacPherson stepped out of the bathtub, pulling off her shower cap as she reached for a towel. She and her friend, Lady Sarah Wingate-MacGregor, had spent the day shopping in Munich and had found a wonderful collection of new clothing. Both women loved the coats and skiwear that made this Bavarian community famous. Daphne had fallen into boredom after a lunch of frankfurters and other German specialties. After several hours of browsing, she and Sarah returned to the hotel to freshen up.

Daphne was deep in contented thoughts as she toweled herself dry. She was so happy to be married to an Air Corps officer. What fun it was to have a husband who was stationed in Europe. Having an opportunity to go almost anywhere on the European continent was a far cry from her experiences in St. Louis, Missouri. Daphne had grown up in St. Louis and Washington, DC. Her father was an attorney and a close supporter of President Roosevelt, so he spent his time in the nation's capitol. Daphne attended university at Stephens College in Columbia, Missouri, just next door to the University of Missouri where she met Major Buckley MacPherson. Buck was with a group of cadets from West Point visiting the Reserve Officers Training Corps at the University when they ran into each other at a beer party. Their romance and courtship began during the roaring twenties and continued to this very day.

Examining her nude reflection in a full-length mirror, Daphne thought her 28-year-old body was holding up just fine. She grabbed a brush from the dresser and began brushing her hair. Daphne thought about her mother as she put on bra and panties, then slipped on a housecoat. She stepped into a pair of delicate pink slippers. Her mother was always bombarding her with questions about starting a family. Babies were first on her mother's mind. Nevertheless, Daphne and Buck had made up their minds that there would be no children for the time being. The two of them were having too much fun to concern themselves with children. Daphne's old-fashioned mother could never understand their decision.

Suddenly struck by a mischievous thought, she went to the interconnecting doorway between her room and Sarah's. Without knocking, she walked in, removing her housecoat as she did so, she called out to her shy friend. "Sarah, what in God's name are you up too? You've been in the bathroom for over an hour." Daphne knocked on the locked bathroom door. "Let me in."

There was a click as the lock was released. The door opened suddenly. "My goodness, Daphne, I was taking a bubble bath and relaxing. For me it has been a long day, all this shopping." Sarah was startled when Daphne entered and stood there in silence. Sarah modestly held a bath towel over her wet nude body.

"What a beautiful towel." Daphne grabbed the impromptu garment and pulled it away from the very embarrassed British lady. Daphne laughed at her friend's modesty. "Come on, Sarah, we're both women...you should be proud of your body.

Sarah replied, "I know, darling, but it's just not British to galavant around in one's skin." She adored Daphne's lighthearted outlook on life. "You are certifiable, but I do adore you."

"I want you to know, Sarah, that I've never had a friend like you before. We have had so much fun together; I don't know what to say. All of these beautiful European cities--Paris, Rome--it's like a dream come true," she twirled around and around as she proclaimed this to her British friend.

Sarah asked, in mock seriousness, "Is everyone from Missouri as nutty as you?" She giggled at her friend's antics.

"Well, just about everyone I know, including Buck. Daphne paused for a moment as a thought suddenly occurred. "Speaking of men, where in the hell are those two anyway? We haven't seen them all day and we have a plane to catch for Paris tomorrow. I'll be glad to leave here. I did not want to come here to Nazi-land. All of these Hitlerites gives me the creeps. I know Buck and Rules have work to do, but why here? We could be shopping in Paris or Brussels."

"Oh, I don't know, Daphne. I think we follow them around because we both love the big nincompoops," Sarah retorted as she broke out in laughter, joined by Daphne.

Outside the hotel a taxi rolled up and stopped at the front entrance. It had been a long drive from the Hotel Petersberg in Konigswinter an Rhein. Rules MacGregor fumbled with his wallet before finally removing several German marks and handing them to the driver. "Danke, Guten abend."

Rules and Buck exited the taxi, feeling somewhat conspicuous in their uniforms. The only uniforms the people in Munich respected were German Army and Schutzstaffeln (SS) uniforms. There was a major celebration going on all over the Third Reich. At 0100 Hours the British Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, had tried to stop a war by giving in to Hitler. Both intelligence officers had spent a long and tedious day at the Munich conference. They were assigned to assist the U.S. Embassy Air Attache' and Air Vice Marshal Dowding, who supposedly was advising the British Prime Minister. It was common knowledge amongst the RAF team at the conference that none of Dowding's advice was taken seriously.

They wore long faces as they strolled into the hotel. Buck and Rules had just concluded a four hour meeting between both U.S. and British Senior Military Attaches to assess the situation and send "after action" reports to London's Whitehall and Washington's War Department. Privately, almost everyone at the meeting knew that giving in to Hitler could be a major blunder that might lead to war. The policy behind today's actions was universally known as the "policy of appeasement".

"I wonder what the hell the women have been doing to keep themselves occupied?" Buck wondered aloud.

"I surely don't have a clue, but I'd wager they're up to no good. The last time we left them alone together, they spent more money shopping than I make yearly in my meager RAF pay envelopes", Rules said. He stopped at the entrance to the hotel, taking note of the ever-present black sedan parked down the street. Without even seeing it clearly, Rules knew that it contained two passengers dressed in civilian clothing. "Well, I see that the Gestapo is still following us, Buckley."

Buck laughed as he responded, "Yeah, and I think that taxi driver was one of them. Five will get you ten they have our hotel rooms bugged."

"So, did you get it?" Rules asked.

"Yeah, Philippe Leygues palmed the microfilm to me when we shook hands to leave. It's in a hollowed out silver dollar," Buck related.

Rules exhaled, then looked down to conceal their conversation. "We'll have to cancel our trip to Paris. I want this new info on the Luftwaffe order of battle plans in London tomorrow."

"Well, we can't tell the girls why, but we'll just have to fake some reason to fly back to England. Remember discuss nothing in the hotel. These counterintelligence Nazi's have microphones everywhere," Buck warned unnecessarily.

"Fine, then. We'll make up some reason to return. Come on, let's go in and change clothes and find a bite to eat," Rules said as he headed inside.

They approached the hotel's lift. As they entered, they greeted the elderly operator. "Zwei, bitte."

Recalling a poster he had seen earlier, Rules commented, "I think we might want to watch tonight's torch light parade. Hitler will be there."

"You're right about that, buddy. I would like to see the great Hitler in a parade," Buck agreed, scrutinizing the lift operator. Did he speak English? Unsure, Buck tested him by saying, "I wonder about these guys. Here we have a country the size of the State of Pennsylvania, and they want to take over the world."

Suddenly the lift operator, an aging man in his sixties, retorted in near perfect English, "I can speak your language, Englander. Let me tell you that all of Germany wants nothing more than peace. Our Fuhrer, Adolf Hitler, is making up for all the wrongs done to our Reich after the great war."

As soon as the elevator arrived at the second floor, Rules and Buck stepped out. Rules stopped to answer the old man, "I hope and pray you're correct about what you just said. If not, then I'm afraid that a lot of people's lives may be at risk."

"You Englanders and Americans are all alike. You hate Germany. We will have our day, never forget this." He stuck out his arm in the new salute and shouted, "Heil Hitler!". The old man's anger showed as he slammed the safety screen closed and jammed the lift's control knob down, to return to the small hotel's lobby.

Buck and Rules slowly made their way to their hotel rooms, both considering the day's events and their own futures.

2130 Hours, Street side on Heinrici Strasse

Rules and Sarah waited curbside, accompanied by Buck and Daphne. It was a beautiful evening, clear and warm. The Heinrici Strasse was surrounded by thousands of Munich residents. In the distance the couples could hear the sound of a band and its drums announcing the beginning of the parade. The German Army band leading the spectacle grew louder and closer by the minute.

As the two couples watched, dressed in civilian clothes, a German SS Detachment and the band approached. The musical troupe was playing the Horst Wessel song and the sound of the thousands of people singing the stirring tune echoed around the city as the heart of the parade arrived. Far down the Strasse, they could see a big black Mercedes touring car with a man standing in it turning here and there with his arm outstretched. It was Hitler.

Daphne poked Buck in the arm. "The music is running chills up my back."

Sarah closely observed the Germans on both sides of the street. "Look, they are completely obsessed. Why do they have such wild-eyed expressions on their faces?"

Rules replied to his astonished wife, "Wait until Hitler arrives." In the distance, more and more "Seig Heils" cracked open the night air. Their frenzied shouts, near hysteria, were loud and piercing.

Hitler finally appeared wearing a perfectly tailored uniform. He had a suntan. He turned here and there with an outstretched Roman salute. His vehicle stopped briefly near the couple's observation spot. The crowd was so noisy; their roar vibrated the onlookers. Rules, Sarah, Daphne and Buck were dumbfounded as the parade passed on down the avenue and the crowds began to quiet down.

Buck said, "Hitler is entirely different from what we see in the newsreels. He's taller, has a healthy color to his face and up close he doesn't look like a screaming idiot to me. Christ, Rules, I think we're in for it."

"Undoubtedly." Rules maintained. He was convinced that war was close at hand.

"You mean undoubted Caesar." Buck said sarcastically.

Daphne tried to change the forbidding tone their evening was taking. "Come on, you two, it can't be all that bad. Hitler doesn't really want a war. It's all a big bluff."

Buck gave Daphne a kiss on the cheek and said, "Well, the intelligence we picked up this morning was to the effect that handing Hitler a big piece of Czechoslovakia may not be enough. War could break out if he invades. As far as Rules and I are concerned, the situation is very dangerous."

Buck and Rules led their wives down the street to a quiet, prearranged dinner at the Forsthaus Rafael. To London tomorrow, the trip to Paris was canceled.

Friday, 24 May 1940, Stanmore, England, Headquarters RAF Fighter Command, Air Chief Marshal Hugh Dowding's office, 1122 Hours.

The intercom phone rang on Dowding's desk, but the head of RAF Fighter Command ignored it and continued reading his Bible. The Air Chief Marshal believed that the divine hand of God Almighty was guiding him and he was not going to be distracted. A few moments later, Dowding's secretary, Flight Sergeant Cromwell opened the door.

"Excuse me, sir, but Vice-Admiral Bertram Ramsay is on the tele from his Flag Office in Dover. Should I tell him you're perhaps in conference, sir?" Flight Sergeant Hugo Cromwell waited for a response, knowing that the old man hated the British Navy.

"No, I'll take the call. Is he on the scrambler?"

"Yes, sir. Oh, sir, Group Captain Winterbotham is outside. Shall I send him in now or should I ask him to wait?"

"No, send him in." The Air Marshal adjusted his reading glasses and immediately picked up the secure command scrambler telephone. "Dowding, here."

"Air Marshal, this is Admiral Ramsay. I wonder if you could perhaps tell me where the hell the RAF is? I just lost another destroyer off Dunkirk, the HMS Wakeful, and I'll be damned if they're not telling me on the coast that they haven't seen an RAF airplane in two days. All they seem to see are German Stuka's raising all sorts of hell with my ships."

Dowding rolled his eyes in disgust, as Group Captain Fred Winterbotham, a senior RAF Intelligence officer, entered and sat down in front of the Air Marshal's desk.

Dowding responded pleasantly, "I think I would remind the Vice-Admiral and the Royal Navy that Operation Dynamo is being conducted in a battle field environment consisting of three dimensions. The third dimension extends, Admiral, up to about 25,000 feet or five miles high." Rebuking Ramsay, he continued, "So, if it is indeed in the best interests of the Royal Navy's officers to see that I have every damn squadron in Fighter Command engaged in this effort at Dunkirk, then the Admiral might consider issuing your officers telescopes so they can watch the battle, cloud conditions permitting. I would also remind the Admiral that in order for us to shoot down the Stuka's, we have to first take on their formidable fighter protection. I have lost an almost irreplaceable 65 fighters and most of their pilots in this battle, so I can understand your frustration concerning losses. If we lose more than 200 fighters in this effort to assist in the evacuation of the British Army from Dunkirk, my dear Admiral, we will most certainly have lost this war. Am I understood on that end?" Dowding glanced at Winterbotham who was very much amused.

There was a long silence on the scrambler, then an angry response. "Well, I never!" Vice-Admiral Ramsay shouted as he hung up the phone in Dowding's ear.

Dowding stared at the receiver and then hung up himself. He grunted at the Group Captain, "What is it this time, Freddie?"

"Well, sir, I just got a call from Colonel Stewart Menzies over at SIS and he is in a panic. He tells me that the French technicians who were working on the German Schlusselmaschine 'E' in Paris have fled to the hills, and that the last of the 15 examples of the German Enigma coding machines is now on its way to the French First Army at Dunkirk. He is requesting that we help the SIS recover this last of the Jerry cipher machines," Winterbotham explained.

"What does Stewart expect me to do? Send in more aircraft to be chewed up by the German war machine. Is it really that important?" Dowding asked.

"Yes, sir, it is. If the Germans happen to find out that the frogs have been playing around with one of their top secret coding machines, it is entirely within the realm of possibility that they might also conclude that we have an Enigma in our possession and are listening in on all of their top secret communications."

"What's Colonel Menzies's plan?"

"He has an agent--a double frog by the name of Jacques Deveraux--who is tracking down the cipher machine on our behalf. This Deveraux expects to have it in a few days, providing he can make his way to Dunkirk. The situation in frog land has degenerated into sheer panic and nothing is working properly. It's simply a matter of days before the French collapse," Winterbotham complained.

Dowding let his mind run with the problem and asked, "Where's that intelligence staff officer of yours...Rules MacGregor?"

Fred searched his memory, "I believe he's at Uxbridge, Eleven Group, giving an orientation to that American Air Attache' MacPherson."

Dowding picked up his scrambler. "Get me Keith Park, at once." There was a delay followed by the voice of Air Vice Marshal Keith Park.

"Yes, sir!"

"Keith, where are we with the evacuation of fighter aircraft from the continent?" Dowding asked bluntly.

"Sir, I have about 40 fighters scattered all over the north coast of France, but I'll be damned if I'm going to send any experienced pilots back to retrieve them. I'm short 38 pilots now."

"Any in the Dunkirk area?"

"Yes, sir I have three Hurricanes at the RAF emergency field at Berques but one of them needs a new cooling system, plus the associated parts and of course three pilots, which I don't have," Park spoke brashly with his New Zealand accent.

"Is Flight Lieutenant Rules MacGregor around and handy?"

"Yes, sir, and I believe he's Hurricane qualified."

"Then Park, have Rules dig up another staff officer and send him over to Berques to pick up the fighters. I'll have Freddie Winterbotham send some instructions by teletype. We may have an opportunity here to kill two birds with one stone. Do you have some maintenance people at Berques?"

Park hesitated and then responded, "Yes, sir, I do. What should I do with this blasted American? MacPherson is back here nosing around again."

"Put the yank to work. If he's game, send him with MacGregor. Roll out a Westland Lysander and fly the two of them along with the Hurricane parts to Dunkirk. I happen to know that MacPherson is Hurricane qualified. He spends so much time spying around RAF headquarters, I sometimes suspect he'd love to join the service."

"Yes, sir, I'll do what I can. I sure would like to have those three fighters back in action. If I lose anymore than 50 or 60 these next few days, they can change the name of our pilots from Dowding's chicks to Dowding's dead ducks." Fred joked.

Dowding laughed raucously, "Thank you, Keith, keep your head up."

"I bloody will try, sir." Park hung up.

"Freddie, I wonder if this frog Deveraux can fly a Hurricane?"

"I don't know, sir, I'll have to make inquiries. Menzies will know."

"In any event, we may have a solution to our dual problems in sight," said Dowding as he closed his bible.

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