“Enter”
The young pilot entered the room, stepped up to the desk and made a perfect nazi-salute
“Sieg Heil”
The base commander did not even look up from his documents.
“Son, here at the Yellow Noses, we leave politics outside at base gate, now give me a proper salute.”
The young pilot looked astonished, before snapping to attention and saluting the proper way.
“Oberleutnant Hans Grubel, reporting for duty, Sir”
Now the base commander looked up at Hans. Hans still wore his flight gear, just having arrived from Germany.
“Son, I don’t get it, what are you doing here?”
“Sir? What I am doing here?”
“You got a perfect training command at Berlin, far away from the fighting, yet you choose to join a frontline unit which will in all likelihood get yourself killed.”
That angered Hans, all his life he had to fight against people who dared not to harm his, protected him to the utmost because of his descent.
“Sir, I could not sit idle by, wasting my time in Berlin, while my comrades in arms are fighting the enemies who bomb our country… I … I hate to be a coward, Sir.”
The commander smiled, despite the fact that this boy had some influential family; he still had the fighting spirit each Luftwaffe pilot displayed. But the commander had to ask it anyway.
“Oberleutnant, does your connections know you are here?”
“No sir, He doesn’t. It was he who stuck me at that training squadron.”
“Ok, I’ll sign you up on the roster. Rest for today and from tomorrow on you can fight the allies.”
The commander had barely finished his words or a siren whaled over the airfield. The allies where attacking the base. Without hesitation Hans ran out of the office.
The mechanics were already on the wing of his Fw-190 as he leaped into the cockpit.
“What are they?”
The mechanic replied as he helped Hans strap in.
“British, Mosquitoes with escorts, they are directly heading this way”.
With roaring engines Hans taxied onto the runway. Not waiting for clearance, he immediately took off with several other fighters.
In their mosquito, lieutenants Blake and Edwards were racing towards the German airfield. Underneath the aircraft hung two bombs. Together with its 20-mm guns in the nose, they formed a formidable attack capability.
Edwards who had been navigating spotted the airfield the first, just as the wing commander ordered the mosquitoes to attack.
“Ok Edwards, here we go”.
Blake pushed the aircraft into a slow dive. The airfield consisted of a grass runway, which could not be destroyed with bombs. But the hangars at the far end of the airfield were a tantalizing target.
It appeared they caught the Germans off-guard, since there was almost no anti-aircraft fire. Some fighters tried to take off but Blake was confident that their escort of Spitfires would deal with them.
“Bombs away”
At 300 mph the mosquito screamed over the airfield.
The enemy bombers were right overhead as Hans took off.
“Watch out, Spitfires”
The spitfires who had flown top cover for the mosquitoes now dove also onto the airfield.
Hans managed to take off but a pilot behind him was not so lucky. His Focke-Wulf disappeared in a cloud of dust and burning metal, when a Spitfire dove onto him with blazing guns.
“All fighters, attack any Brit at will”
It seemed that the commander got also airborne. Hans quickly climbed to a higher altitude, checking his six for any spitfire.
Suddenly he spotted a mosquito trying to climb for safety. Hans went behind it.
Blake and Edwards pulled up from there attack run. Normally you only attack your target once, since after the first attack the AA-gunners would be ready and waiting. But with so many mosquitoes buzzing around the gunners would have a hard time picking a target.
So Blake started to climb slowly and circling around, preparing for a gun run. Neither he nor Edwards were aware of the Fw-190 sneaking up on their tail.
Aboard his aircraft Hans prepared his attack. The crew aboard the mosquito was completely unaware of him. Just like he had trained young Luftwaffe-pilots, Hans snuck up to the enemy.
“Wait until you see the white of their eyes”
It was something he had taught to every rookie. The guns were deadly on the Focke-Wulf, but if you waited until you got within range of the canons you could seriously hammer away at a target.
Hans got so close that the Mosquito seemed to fill his entire windscreen, only then did he pull the trigger.
Blake and Edwards were caught off-guard until the canon shells tore away parts of the wing.
“Where is he?”
Edwards twisted around in his chair, trying in vain to spot their attacker.
The port engine caught fire.
“I can’t shut the engine down!”
Blake struggled with the wounded aircraft.
“Can you hold here?”
“No, we are going down”.
Hans got a bit too close for comfort with his attack. His bullets and shells tore at the port-wing of the Mosquito, but he almost crashed into the tail of the bomber. With a quick push Hans dove underneath the bomber.
With satisfaction Hans spotted the bomber going down, trailing fire from its wings.
All pressure was now gone with his first kill; it was time to turn into a fine German killing machine. Hans scanned the sky for another victim.
On the radio he heard the other pilots yell and scream as they butchered the mosquitoes. Only a handful of Focke-Wulfs had taken off but they were sure fighting back with fever.
Hans spotted a Mosquito circling around high above the airfield. It was probably the British commander guiding the attack. He was a fool to loiter so defenseless above German ground.
This time Hans fired from much further away, using only his guns. The first bullets struck the engine, which blew up. Hans pulled closer and closer now firing also his canons. The British pilot kept flying in a straight line. Was he killed by Hans first salvo?
Hans got pretty close, almost risking crashing again into the tail of the bomber. But then the aircraft erupted into a giant fireball. The fuel tanks had exploded. All that remained of the mosquito were the wingtips, which fell like leaves towards the ground.
By now the bombers had spread out and were flying each on their own back to home. That made it harder for Hans to spot potential victims.
But a low flying mosquito trailing black smoke caught his attention. Hans circled above the bomber like a vulture waiting for its prey.
He rolled his fighter on its back and dove to the target. With only one engine the mosquito was no match. Dogfights are messy its killed or be killed and Hans was not about to show any mercy.
Bullets and cannon shells tore through the airframe of the mosquito, snapping control lines. Then the tail section separated from the rest of the body. Like a giant leaf the nose section fell to the ground, crashing in walking distance from a Focke-Wulf and a spitfire.
Hans buzzed over the French village where the mosquito had crashed. He had seen no parachutes. Perhaps he could return to the village to pick up some pieces of the mosquito. Like Manfred Von Richthofen during the Great War, he would like to collect piece of each aircraft he shot down.
Hans touched down on the airfield as the sun settled. Taxing to the hangars he noted the commander waiting for him.
With all the flair of a professional Hans jumped out of his cockpit.
“How many?”
“3 Sir, all mosquitoes”
The commander slapped Hans on the back.
“Good, Hans, I watched you in the sky. I believe you have the true blood of a fighter pilot in you.”
“It runs in the family sir”.
The commander stopped, looking at Hans, watching if he was joking or not. That was important if you wanted to stay out of the hands of the Gestapo.
Hans smiled to comfort his commander. He was well aware of his connections. But at least he had now found a place where he would be judged on his actions, not on his blood.
Blake struggled to keep the mosquito in the air. Apparently the German thought they had crashed because he had not pressed on his attack.
“Do we bail out”
Edwards was a bit uncomfortable so close to the burning port-wing.
“No, she will hold, we’ll try to fly as far away as possible from this mess”
Blake was right; if they bailed out they would certainly fall in the hands of the Luftwaffe soldiers guarding the airbase.
But the mosquito kept loosing altitude.
“Edwards, chart me the shortest route to the coast”
Finally the mosquito pulled level with the ground. Only a 400 ft above the ground the mosquito raced towards the coast. Edwards looked up from his maps to the gauges. Blake had spotted it too.
“Engine 1 is overheating”
“Can we make it?”
“Not with one engine burning and the other about to burn too.”
Edwards realized what that meant. He quickly gathered his maps.
“Brace yourself”
The mosquito was to low for a bailout. Blake crash-landed the aircraft in a meadow. The aircraft slid over the ground, hurling its occupants around, Blake hit his head against the dashboard, loosing consciousness.
“Blake you are alright?”
Blake woke up lying on his back. In the distance the mosquito was burning.
“I had to pull you out”
“Thanks buddy”
If it not had been for Edwards, Blake would have burnt to dead in the cockpit. But they were still on enemy territory.
“Can you walk?”
“I’ll have too, because its still a long way home”
At least they were in France, with some luck they would stumble on the French Resistance who could Sheppard them back home.
Blake stood up and together with Edwards he fled away from the burning wreckage. It was indeed still a long way home.