France - Chapter 6

I hate this damn war. Everybody is upset in the squadron. We suffered our first casualty. We were ordered to relocate to Rheims. The plan was to fly over the German lines and lure some fighters into combat. We did not see a single German fighter, but they got a surprise for us anyhow.

The squadron took off, without a hitch and we soon formed to head for the frontline. I took the lead with David Jenkins on my wing.

The flight was uneventful even when we crossed the frontline. It look like this would be a milk run.

I did not here any explosion, there was no tracer fire. Only somebody yelling: “Jenkins is hit!”. I glanced over my shoulder, only to see the left wing of Jenkins Hurricane swirling next to his aircraft.

We had stumbled right on top of a German Flak Battery. With their first shot they managed to tear Jenkins Hurricane apart.

Some us yelled “jump, jump”. How he did it we'll never know, but somehow Jenkins managed to jump out his bird.

The lead plane in the last wing reported seeing Jenkins fall face first into the ground with a partially opened parachute, there was no hope for his survival.

We landed in silence at Rheims. We just lost our first pilot and friend, not in chivalrous combat, but to some lucky German punk with a big gun.

In my tent, I hoped I would not have to write many such letters, informing relatives of the dead of their loved ones. I could not write the truth to Jenkins parents, I just wrote he was a fine pilot, friend to everybody in the squadron and that he died fighting for his country. I left out the part of him plummeting to his death.

War sucks.

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