“What do you mean, without cover?” Johann countered grinning. “Willi, I mean Fähnrich von Sielaff will be my cover. He’ll mind my tail just fine.”
A couple of mocking snorts from the pilots, who’d had “luck” flying with such a wingman as Willi, came in response to their comrade’s naiveté.
“He’ll disappear in the middle of the fight and will leave you alone,” the Staffelkapitän declared without a shade of doubt in his voice. “And he’ll remember about you only when he’s done with all of his victories. There’s every chance that by the time he decides to radio in and return to his position, you’ll be shot down and quite possibly dead.”
“I trust him,” Johann countered calmly. “Besides, you don’t really have a choice, Herr Oberleutnant. You have no one to pair with him anyway.”
Willi ran up to the group, out of breath and smiling brightly and in his usual innocent way asked if he’d missed anything.
“Only the pre-flight briefing and your new assignment.” The Staffelkapitän turned his back on him and ordered everyone to their respective aircraft.
“Flying out to London; escorting Stukas; you’re my wingman,” Johann filled in his friend with three laconic sentences.
“Really?” Willi had obviously taken his new assignment with great enthusiasm. “That’s great! I always wanted for us to fly together.”
Johann only slapped him on his shoulder and trotted towards his BF-109 fighter, where his crew-chief was already waiting for him with the flight gear. He zipped his warm pilot’s jacket, pulled on the gloves and helped the crew-chief put a parachute on his back. After the usual exchange between the two, good luck; be careful◦– I will, he slid the canopy of his plane closed and checked his instrument panel.
Rudi flew with them again, but unlike in the fall of the previous year, Johann embarked on the escort mission with a much lighter heart. After their leave, Rudi returned to the base much calmer and acted much more indifferent to his missions, which now were far worse than his very first one, which had traumatized him so. He didn’t bomb airbases where he thought he saw a few people running; he bombed cities where those people most definitely were running and not soldiers but civilians at that; yet, Rudi appeared to be much less concerned with their fate than he used to be. Got used to it, perhaps, Johann thought to himself broodingly.
He, for one, still didn’t. Neither did Willi, who sat without moving for hours, with a tragic face, after each new white little bar was painted on the rudder of his bird. I killed someone’s son, Johann. Someone’s husband, perhaps… Johann always stopped him abruptly. He shared the same exact sentiments but what good was it mulling over the inevitable? They were in the middle of a war after all and if they didn’t kill, they would have been killed. Johann preferred not to think about his twenty-eight confirmed victims and preferred to forget all the unconfirmed ones.
“I’m ready when you are.” He grinned at the sound of Willi’s voice over the radio. “Lead the way, flight leader! Over.”
Johann began his take-off roll. “Less talk more following my movements. Over.”
“I’m not Mina. Over.”
“I’ll let you have it for that one when we land. Over.”
“Keep all the conversations relevant to the mission! Over.” The Oberleutnant’s voice broke through the radio waves.
“Jawohl, Herr Oberleutnant,” in unison and chuckling. “Over.”
It was a fine day, as fine as they can be in June in France. In the middle of this endless azure sky, Johann experienced the same ecstatic feeling of freedom, intoxicating, powerful, similar to what birds must experience when they spread their wings and become one with the wind. They flew the usual Schwarm formation, or “finger four” as their British counterparts called it. Over his shoulder, just a bit behind his fighter Johann saw his smiling friend waving at him. He waved back and relaxed his stiff back a bit. Willi would watch him. Willi wouldn’t let anything happen to him.
“The enemy formation spotted about six hundred meters,” the Oberleutnant informed his unit over the radio.
Johann’s fingers squeezed the stick tightly as adrenaline shot up straight into his bloodstream. That was his second favorite feeling in the world.
“Yellow Four, are you ready? Over,” he called to Willi.
“Always ready, Yellow Five. Show them! Over.”
In less than a few seconds a peaceful sky turned into a veritable battlefield, with projectiles from the guns flying and whizzing in every possible direction. A formation of Hawker Hurricanes attacked them with brutal force, taking advantage of their outnumbering the Messerschmitts. Johann spotted his target, who was tailing the Stuka’s formation and already shooting at them◦– without any success, much to Johann’s relief. He saw the pilot’s mistake from his position at once; despite pulling at the furthest Stuka’s blind spot, he was much too far for his bullets to reach their aim due to the general law of gravity. Everything shot at a greater distance than 450 meters would fall to the ground; the Hurricane was at least six hundred meters behind.
“See him, Yellow Four?” Johann motioned to his wingman at the lone Hurricane. Willi nodded, concentration creasing his brow. “I’m getting him. Over.”
“Go ahead, Yellow Five. I got you. Over.”
Johann pulled his stick forward and dived after his opponent, coming dangerously close before opening fire◦– one of his favorite maneuvers. The Hurricane didn’t stand a chance, Johann knew it instantly as the RAF aircraft started trailing smoke.
Shall I finish him? Johann tried to assess the damage he had inflicted in the few seconds that he had in his possession. The plume of smoke thickened and the plane started losing altitude. Johann disengaged with a sigh of relief when he noticed the top of the Hurricane open and a small figure dive down to the safety of the water.
“Good job, flight leader!”
“Yellow Five, did you get him?” The Oberleutnant’s voice.
“I did, White One. Over.”
“Two Hurricanes on our tails, Yellow Five. Over.” Willi’s voice again.
“Got you, Yellow Four. Over.”
Throwing his throttle fully open, Johann pulled his stick with force. He started gathering altitude with the purpose of diving down on his opponent as soon as he was in the periphery of his vision. He felt guilty for throwing glances over his shoulder just to see if the bright yellow nose of Willi’s fighter was still following him and felt even guiltier when each time it was invariably there, faithful and alert, sticking to his side like glue, mirroring all of his maneuvers with brilliant precision. With a smile, he started closing in on his intended target. The fight this time lasted a long four minutes. Sweat dripping off his forehead, Johann cursed at the obviously experienced pilots while marveling at their skill at the same time. Yes, the skill they certainly had but what they didn’t have was Johann’s seemingly suicidal technique of coming at his opponent and shooting at such close proximity that he quite often saw their faces, pale, wide-eyed and positively terrified at the thought that a crazy Hun would ram them instead of shooting them. The first Hurricane finally fell to Johann’s guns; the second was shot down almost right after by Willi.
“Two-one, Herr Flight Leader! Over.”
“I love you, Yellow Four. Over.”
“Again, you’re confusing me with my sister, Yellow Five. Over.”
“Thank you for clearing my tail, Smart Mouth. Over.”