Tommy knew he was hit. Knew he was dying. He tried to draw a deep breath, tried to speak into his headset but couldn’t. He wanted to say goodbye to his friends.
Strangely Tommy felt no pain. Just a heaviness that he couldn’t understand. He tried to lift his fingers to feel his chest but they were too heavy and he couldn’t move them. He felt giddy, light headed, tired. He hadn’t drawn a breath in nearly a minute. The tiredness was overwhelming now and all he wanted to do was close his eyes. Slowly his head dipped forward onto his chest. His hands slipped off the joystick and his Spitfire began a very long, slow, descent to earth. Bill Smith saw a Spitfire flying on in a straight line, losing height.
He called out to it.
No reply.
He called again.
“Does anyone know whose plane that is?”
“It looks like Tommy Burke,” came over the radio.
“Tommy! Tommy! Are you receiving?”
No answer.
“Did anyone see if he was hit?”
“His plane looked pretty shot up Bill.”
A Messerschmitt blasted right across Bill’s nose. So close he felt he could have reached out and touched it. Bill looked for Tommy’s Spitfire again but couldn’t see it anymore.
“Has anyone seen my brother?”
No reply.
“Jimmy. Jimmy.”
Only static came back.
Then there was a sudden.
“Whoohoo!”
“Hey did you see that?”
“Who’s doing all the yelling?”
“Squadron leader they’re Americans.”
Bill studied a plane as it whooshed past him. He saw the white stars on its wings.
“Thought you boys could do with a little help,” an American accent was heard over the airways.
“I notice you’ve turned up now all the hard work is done,” Bill said genuinely happy to see the Americans.
“Looks like you boys have been in the thick of it.”
“I’ve lost nearly half of my squadron to those damned fighters.”
“Hey leave it to us. You boys have a safe trip home.”
“Boys let’s call it a day. We’re heading home.”
Bill turned his plane to head back. Now away from the battle, alone in the silence he was able to think about his friends. Looking out to either side he could see how few of them were left.
On the way back to base Bill Smith spotted another aircraft. His heart leapt at first. Could it possibly be his brother. Bill left the pack to investigate. He soon realised that the other plane was small. A small reconnaissance plane. What’s more it was German. It was the Fieseler Storch that had been spotted before. Anger welled in him when he saw the enemy insignia. He knew that the small single engined plane could not return fire. Bill increased his speed and zoomed past the German plane. A maniacal grin spread across his face. He wanted the enemy to see him, to know that death was coming. They’d seen him all right. What was more the ’Bastard’ in the passenger seat was trying to signal him. The faces of his friends flashed before his eyes. Tommy Burke, his little brother Jimmy.
Bill watched the passenger as he flashed Morse code with a torch out of the window. Though Bill saw the signals they weren’t registering in his brain. He absently read them as he flew alongside the plane before peeling off for a turn. Alfred Dennis saw the Spitfire go.
“You definitely told him that there are English P.O.W.’s on board?”
Kleber nodded.
“Exactly as you said.”
“Then where is he going. Johnny keep an eye on him. Tell me what he’s doing. We’re sitting ducks up here.”
Alf looked accusingly at Kleber. Kleber read what was behind the Englishman’s eyes.
“I signalled exactly as you said. I have no wish to die here today.”
Alf kept his eyes on Kleber, truly believing him.
“Johnny what’s he doing?”
“He’s gone round in a big arc Alf. Now he’s straightened up. He’s right behind us. Shit Alf! He’s coming and coming fast.”
Alf tried to remain calm.
“What do I do?”
“The moment he fires, if he fires, push forward on the stick and drop five hundred feet.”
The Spitfire screamed in and Alf pushed the joystick forward and sent the small Storch into a dive. The little plane touched top speed. They were lucky. Bill was late in firing and the burst from his guns flew harmlessly through the air.
“Level out! Level out!” Kleber said “Too long at this speed and the engine could blow.”
Alf pulled back on the controls and the engine went into a drone as the Storch climbed again.
“There must be some way of getting through to him that we’re friendly. Aren’t you usually protected by fighters.”
“Sometimes. Sometimes not. The General wanted to keep a low profile on this mission. But if I may remind you, you did steal my aeroplane.”
“Well it may have all been for nothing if we can’t get this bloody idiot to understand. Johnny….!” Alf shouted over his shoulder. “What’s he doing now.”
“I can’t actually see him Alf,” Johnny said frantically looking for the Spitfire.
“Is he still above us?”
“I can’t see him. Shit Alf, he could be anywhere.”
Kleber tapped Alf on the shoulder and pointed ahead. Alf looked but all he could see were mountains. Kleber pointed again and Alf saw the Spitfire so well camouflaged against the backdrop. It looked tiny against the brown slopes. The mountains were in part sun, part shade.
Alf tried zigzagging across the sky but the faster much more maneuverable fighter caught them easily. Bill waited patiently on the tail, following Alf’s every move. Alf finally conceded.
“I can’t shake him off.”
The three men waited for the Spitfire to finish them off when Alf suddenly started laughing. Johnny looked at him as if he were mad. Kleber sat silently, resigned.
“What the hell is so funny?” The young Englishman asked.
“Everything we’ve been through and this is how it ends. Shot down by one of our own.”
Kleber laughed also.
“Bad for you two. At least I’m being shot down by the enemy.”
Bill followed the Fieseler Storch until he was absolutely sure that it wouldn’t, couldn’t escape him this time.”
“This is for you Jimmy,” he said squeezing the trigger. His machine guns exploded. The red hot projectiles eating up the distance between the aircraft.
“NOW!” Kleber shouted reacting to the sound of the rat-tat-tat.
Alf turned the plane but far too late. The bullets shredded the Storch’s tail before ripping up the bodywork. Instantly the Fieseler began to twist and buck. Alf now unable to control her. Bill fired again. This time the bullets hit the engine surround and black oil splashed out covering most of the front of the plane. Alf now had a very limited view from the oil smeared windows. The Fieseler Storch’s oil pressure gone, the plane started to dive. The altimiter spinning round and round
Bill followed and fired once more.
The guns clicked.
Bill tried again.
The guns were out of ammunition.
Bill pulled up and turned, shaking his fist at the Storch. The smaller plane was losing height. It was travelling much slower than the Spitfire could. If Bill slowed to keep pace his Merlin engine would stall. He looked at his fuel gauge. It was nearing the quarter full mark. He had spent longer flying than he should. He broke off the attack and headed home disappointed that he couldn’t stay and watch the German’s demise.
Inside the Fieseler Storch’s cockpit Alf and Kleber were trying the impossible. Kleber was trying to hold the joystick while Alf clambered out of the seat. But the bucking of the plane made it extremely difficult. Alf got thrown back into the seat again and as Kleber held on Alf looked out of the front window and realised it was too late. They were only feet from the ground.