France - Chapter 4

My first and encounter with a German fighter had spooked me bad. I wondered how I could lead a squadron if I could not handle myself in a dogfight. But I could ot just hand in my wings or ask for transfer back to transport duty. The Germans had invaded Poland and would surely try a repeat of the last war by invading France. My only hope was to squeeze in as much training as possible for my squadron and myself.

Today we would fly another training patrol. As part of the exercise we would intercept a group of British bombers. Masking my fear towards the other pilots of the squadron, we took of for what I hoped would be a routine flight.

But halfway our flight, one of my wingmen spotted a German bomber. My younger wingmen were eager to engage, but I held them back. Partially because we were too low for an intercept and partially because I was afraid for another encounter with German fighters.

Pulling away from the German bomber, we headed for some small specks on the horizon. I thought it were our bombers. I called them on the radio, but nobody answered back. The planes were heading straight towards, while they should have move away from us. These were not our bombers. These were the escorts of the German bomber.

But those enemy fighters were as surprised like us. Perhaps they were expecting a relief escort for the bomber instead of us. This bought us enough time to turn onto them. The Germans were clearly low on fuel because they all made a beeline straight for their side of the frontline.

I managed to score some hits on one German. Like I did, during the last mission, this German dove straight for the deck. Setting my fear aside I pressed on.

Side by side we dove towards the deck. I feared that the German would slip behind me, but he seemed to pre-occupied with outrunning me.

Instead I got behind him and started pounding his aircraft. The German had to be an even bigger rookie in dogfights then me. He did not make a single evasive maneuver. Soon his aircraft was riddled with holes. I seriously had to watch not to smack myself into the ground, so low was the fight.

“whoa sir, you got one.” Yelled my wingman as the German fighter clipped some trees and turned into a gigantic fireball. The other German fighters were nowhere to be seen. They had abandoned their comrade to save their own skin.

To celebrate my first aerial victory, I performed a low and fast pass over the farm which serves as HQ and mess hall. Climbing out of my Hurricane the other pilots of the squadron cheer. James, my crew chief, who is a man of few words, shakes my hands while saying: “It seems the cargo haulers can bite too, sir”.

The cargo hauler can indeed bite, so bring on the Jerries, I'll teach them a lesson!

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