by M L Maki
“No, ma’am. Thank you for pulling the families out of Alconbury and Duxford.”
“It was the right thing to do. I have a sortie in a bit, and I need to shower.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“It’s Spike, Richard. Remember? Spike.”
“Oh yes, sorry. I forgot. I just thought with you being Commodore…”
“Spike, my friend.”
LANCELOT 2 OVER THE BIGHT
0902, 27 September, 1942
The sun is bright in the east and the skies are clear at 30,000 feet. Below them is a lumpy carpet of clouds. LT Lorne ‘Jedi’ Luke asks his RIO, “You know, I don’t recall how you landed your call sign.”
LTJG Tyler ‘Stinky’ Lewis replies, “It was stupid. I guess most are. It was my second hop in the training squadron. The night before, my wife had arrived back home after visiting her folks. The XO said he could smell something fishy in the cockpit. That, and I like things clean. It’s stupid stuff that lands you a call sign.”
LANCELOT 1
Gunner and NOB hear, “Lancelot, Whiskey Bravo Bravo, raid south east. 20 at Mach 1.8, angels 40, course 340. Designate raid 14.”
NOB, “Whiskey Bravo Bravo, Lancelot is in.” On intercom, “Damn, that’s 14 raids already today, and it’s still morning.”
Gunner turns his ’14 right and comes around, “Let’s stay dark.”
NOB, “Stinky, lights out.”
They hear, “Lancelot, raid 14 has split. Six are turning west.” Then, “Lancelot, Little John inbound. We have the west flight.”
NOB, “Roger, Little John.” On intercom, “So, Gunner, we only have fourteen to kill.”
“Just? Let’s light them up at sixty.”
NOB, “Sixty, aye. Do you think they can keep making more planes?”
Gunner, “I don’t know. You’d think they’d run out at some point.”
NOB, “Picking up targeting radar.” On radio, “Illuminating. Jesus. Break! Break!”
Gunner pulls the stick to his belly, pickling off chaff and flares. They feel a huge kick in the ass and their bird pitches forward into negative G’s. Gunner pulls back and lights his afterburners. The engines don’t respond, and then, their plane inverts. Gunner counters and regains some control.
They hear, “Little John is hit! Little John is hit!”
NOB on radio, “Lancelot is hit! Lancelot is hit!”
Lancelot, Yankee, which bird?”
“Both birds, Yankee.”
ARTHUR’S HANGER, RAF KENLEY
Spike shouts, “Pull chocks and push us out!” To Lizard, “Starting engines. Get clearance.”
LANCELOT 1, OVER THE CHANNEL
Gunner lowers the nose to gain speed and works his engine start procedure. “Eyes out NOB. Where’s Jedi?”
“Jedi’s gone, man. Gone.”
“Got it. You gotta focus. Where are the Germans?”
“I see two at nine o’clock.”
“Okay, ‘Gs’.” Gunner pulls his gliding bird around to meet the inbound fighters. He fires his gun and smoke pours from the left engine of the FU-279. It rolls inverted and goes into a tight spin to the sea below. The other passes canopy to canopy. Gunner rolls back into a dive, still trying to restart his engines.
On radio, “Lancelot, Arthur, inbound.”
NOB, “They’re crossing us.”
Gunner, “Left engine, no start. Shifting to right.” He pulls, banking back into the German with a diving scissors. The coast is so close. “G’s.” At 6000 feet he pulls hard and triggers a passing shot at the German. His rounds hit the wing of the ‘279 and it streams fuel. Gunner stretches the turn toward the coast and the German rolls in on them. He pulls at the last second, and the ‘279 overshoots, but he loses a lot of airspeed. He inverts and fires another burst, hitting the ‘279 across the right wing root. The wing swings up like a draw bridge and the German jet falls out of the sky.
Gunner rolls back upright, “Anything else trying to kill us?”
NOB, “Not that I see.”
“Okay, jettisoning ordinance.”
“Yeah.” On radio, “Any unit, Lancelot 1, we’re east of London with no engines. We’re trying to make it to the coast.”
Lizard, “Boss says, as soon as you’re feet dry, eject. There’s nowhere to land. Don’t try the beach.”
“Roger.” They clear the beach and barely miss a radar mast. Gunner turns the plane back to the sea with the last of his airspeed, and “Eject. Eject.”
NOB pulls the handle and the canopy explodes off the plane and NOB is rocketed out of the plane. Next, Gunner’s chair ejects him out of the stricken plane. Both men pass out.
ARTHUR 1, ACCELERATING DOWN RUNWAY, RAF KENLEY
The moment the wheels leave the runway, Spike hits the landing gear lever, and cleans up her bird. “Where are they?”
“Just over north London, boss. Two Fox 1s.”
Spike pickles off her AIM-7s. “How many?” Climbing out, she follows her missiles.
They hear, “Whiskey is hit. Whiskey is hit.” Spike realizes that they’re radar plane is going down.
“Twelve, Little John got two.” Their closure speed is over 1000 knots and both missiles track and hit. “Ten, now.”
Spike can now see them. Some have turned away, but five continue toward her. “Okay, Target the farthest out.”
“On it. They’re bugging out south and east.”
Spike takes a chance and fires her gun at the closing jets. The rounds hit the radome and cockpit of one, causing the German jet to immediately roll into a violent cork screw, shedding parts on its way down. It crashes within the RAF Kenley fence line. The other jets pass by her and she gently turns to help Lizard set up the long-range shot.
“Nose up, Boss.” She flattens her turn and rudders up her nose, then looks over her shoulder for the birds she passed. “Good lock. IFF clear. Clear shot.”
Spike triggers off their four AIM-1s. She’s rock steady and all find targets. Lizard, “Break right! Break right! Missiles inbound!” Spike breaks right and turns into the four inbound missiles. Lizard, “Um, Boss?”
Spike, “Got it.” As the missiles close, she starts a gentle negative ‘G’ dive. Then, “Grunt,” and she pulls back hard on the stick, firing chaff and flares. She rolls and pulls back to sight the enemy. The missiles pass harmlessly below them. Then, still inverted, closes on the enemy jets at over 1000 knots, in a shallow dive. She fires her gun to mess up their firing solutions and meets them head to head. Then she rolls into a minimum distance right turn.
Lizard, “They’re coming around. Two in a two-circle fight. The others popped.”
Spike lights her afterburners to keep her energy up. She times her shot and hits the lead jet, stitching it centerline from the nose to behind the cockpit. It erupts in flames, tumbling forward. As they pass, they see the broken canopy covered in blood.
“He’s on us, Boss! One of the jets went high and is coming down on our six!”
“Grunt, Lizard,” and pulls back the stick, going high.
“There are two more out there.”
Part way through the climb, she snap rolls left, pulling into a violent barrel roll. Tracer rounds pass harmlessly behind. Then she comes off the afterburners and pulls into a ‘279, manually pushing the wings forward and putting the air brakes out. A half second burst and it’s stitched through the cockpit. She’s flying close enough to see the shattered canopy turned red with blood. She puts her burners on and the wings fold back.
“Boss, four o’clock high, crossing. He fired!”
“Grunt,” and Spike pushes the wings forward again, violently pulling back on the stick. She fires her gun and hits the incoming missile, then meets the two jets head to head. Low on airspeed, she pulls back on the stick and goes inverted, and gets Sidewinder tone. Steadying her bird in inverted flight, she fires the Sidewinder and it tracks a graceful curve right into the left tail pipe of the ‘279. The missile warhead blows the engine.
Black smo
ke pours from the engine, but the jet isn’t done. The German pilot, on one engine, rolls left and dives for the ground. Spike gets under him, gets a lead, and fires. The rounds stitch the plane from the nose aft, right down the centerline. The plane yaws violently and tumbles out of controlled flight into the ground.
Spike pulls up, looking for the wingman. He’s on the deck accelerating away at full burner. She lights her burners, inverts, and gives chase. As she settles on his six, she gets tone for a Sidewinder. She fires at a range of just under a mile. The missile flies directly into a tail pipe and explodes. The ‘279 pitches up, then down, and the pilot punches out. “Where are they?”
“The last one bugged out for the coast. He’s at fifty miles, Boss, out of range.”
Spike turns off her afterburners, “Let’s find Little John, Gunner, and NOB.”
She gently dives and Lizard says, “I found one of the Griffins. He bailed out and landed on the south bank of the Thames. He’s okay.”
They hear, “Spike, Little John 2. I’m okay. Sorry, I lost the bird.”
She keys her mic, “I’m just glad you’re down safe.”
Lizard, “Valkyrie, we need recovery.”
“Arthur, Valkyrie 2, inbound.”
“Arthur, Little John 1, I’m hanging from a bloody tree east of Dartford. The locals are coming.”
BAWDEY RADAR STATION, UK
Gunner stands up in a field, rolling up his parachute. He sees NOB only a hundred feet away. As he gets his chute under control, he sees a dozen British soldiers running toward him. He drops the chute and lifts his hands.
A sergeant asks, “Are you okay, sir? Can we help you?”
He grins, “Sorry guys, they got me.”
“Sir, we saw you shoot two down on your way down. That was legendary.”
Gunner hears the sound of a jet and looks up to see Spike flying over at about a thousand feet. NOB walks up with his chute. “You okay, NOB?”
“Yeah.”
Gunner says, “Wave at the boss.” They both wave and Spike rocks her wings.
NOB, “Jesus Christ, you shot down two without engines.”
Gunner, “I had to, buddy.” He takes a deep breath fighting tears, “We lost Jedi and Stinky, NOB. Gone.”
NOB puts his arm around Gunner’s shoulders, and they’re silent, surrounded by soldiers respectful in their grief.
A few minutes later, Dim Bulb finds them and comes into a hover to pick them up.
RAF KENLEY
Spike flares and her main gear chirps on the runway. She brings the nose down, rolls out, and makes the turn onto the taxiway. In front of their hanger, “Lizard, I need you to get her refueled, rearmed and checked out. We’re going back up.”
“Are you okay, Boss?”
They canopy goes up, “I’ll never be okay. Just get us ready to fly.”
“Roger, Boss.”
She waves off Washington and climbs out of the bird. Swede walks up, his face pale and tight. She motions for him to turn around and follow her to the head. He stops and she motions him in. He follows, stiff. She pulls down her flight suit to pee, “Swede, they have accurate long-range missiles. We have to change tactics.”
“Are you okay?”
“SWEDE! I don’t fucking care how I am. How do we kill the motherfuckers who killed Jedi and Stinky?”
“I don’t know.”
“Look at me,” and makes eye contact. “That isn’t good enough, Swede. Our guys need and deserve more.”
“Spike, I’m hurting.”
“Swede, you’re their leader. Hurt later. How do we respond?”
“We could have Too Tall jamming them, when he’s available.”
“Okay, it’s a start. Also, no more flying blind. That, and get Too Tall’s folks with Hammond and Fluffy. See if we can rush a jamming pod that our ‘14s can carry and our RIOs use.”
“Okay, I’ll get Grumman on it, too. Maybe we can put jammers in the radar birds.”
She wipes and stand up, pulling up her panties and flight suit. “Do it. That’s a good idea.” Her voice softens, “Swede, we think first, and cry later. We’re not allowed to feel until it’s over. All we can do is keep killing and hope it ends before we lose everyone we love.”
Swede smiles tiredly, “Okay. You know, if we keep meeting like this, folks will start talking.”
She smiles as she washes her hands, “Maybe it will take some strain off you and Gloria. I had to pee and we needed privacy to talk this out. Out there, we need to have it together.”
“How did you know I was a mess?”
“Stephan, you wore it on your face.”
They walk out and find Fluffy waiting, his arms crossed, “You two all done?”
Spike says, “Master Chief, we need new gear. Swede will brief you. We also need to plan a funeral. Lord knows when we can find the time.”
Fluffy frowns, “You okay, Boss?”
She meets his gaze, “I’m growing weary of that question. Swede, make sure everyone is briefed about the new long-range missiles. The Germans are getting better and we, too, have to get better.”
“Roger, Spike.”
Fluffy, “Do you have time to talk?”
“No. I have another flight. When I get back, we can talk.” She turns her back on them and walks alone back to her jet.
Watching her go, Fluffy says, “Eleven kills in three minutes. Lizard told me.”
Swede, “She’s pissed. She’s so angry, she’s draining herself. Find Gandhi for me, I need to get in the air.”
GERMAN AIRFIELD, WESTERN FRANCE
0940, 27 September, 1942
The young lieutenant FU-279 pilot stands, shaking before Hermann Goering. “It was the Drachendame. She’s like a dragon. Three times I thought I had her and she moved like she could read my mind. Elev…eleven lost… my leader.”
“Goering, “But, four planes killed?”
“Yes, my leader, two were the F-14 swing wing type. I am certain. I fired on them as General Weber instructed. They did not have their radar on and hoped to surprise us. The surprise was theirs.”
“Did any of your missiles hit?”
“No, it was the others, as I said. I’m sure I hit one of the British jets, though.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I was in a left turn following my flight leader. I took the lead and fired my gun. I may have hit it, or scared it, but it reversed. Then I fired a heat seeking missile and it hit the jet near the exhaust and exploded. The engine exploded right after. A left aileron roll and the pilot ejected.”
“You have done well, Captain. I am proud of you. You will be assigned to Major Welter’s squadron.”
“Thank you, Herr General.”
ARTHUR 1, 20,000 FEET OVER LONDON, UK
0946, 27 September, 1942
Spike is circling over the port district to the east of London. It’s almost completely obscured by smoke. South of her Portsmouth and Plymouth are also nearly destroyed. To the far north, Scapa Flow is also badly damaged. The Germans control an airfield near Newcastle. All this because they have so few planes. It’s maddening.
Swede is on her wing. Somewhere near Scapa, Gloria and Thud have just fought some ME-262s. “Is there any Germans out there?”
“No, Boss. It’s quiet.”
“How are they building so many planes?”
“I don’t know. If this continues, our POW camps will have more German pilots than the Luftwaffe does.”
“Maybe, I should talk to them. The prisoners. Do you think they know where all the planes are coming from?”
“They should.”
GERMAN FRONT, EAST OF YORK, UK
1310, 27 September, 1942
Rommel stands in his Tiger HII’s commander’s hatch. Ahead of him, the rest of the battalion is in the fields, deployed in chevron formation. A few miles to his right, two brigades are being hammered by artillery and those cursed attack jets. West seemed open, so he chose east. On radio, “The fields ahead are flooded. It�
��s soup.”
“Left turn, head due east. Scouts advance ahead. We must find a way south.”
BRITISH SABOTAGE UNIT ON THE DERWENT RIVER, SOUTH OF THE GERMAN FORMATIONS
Chris Oliverson stands with binoculars studying the Germans. He’s a member of the SIS (Secret Intelligence Service) and is working with the British underground established by Churchill. “They continue east, sergeant.”
“Yes, sir.” Sgt. Bill Jones, a butcher from Pocklington, watches as the German formation turns to the east. He has a scoped rifle to his eye, counting vehicles. “This is a big force. At least, brigade strength.”
Oliverson, “Right, they’re going east. Use the tractor to tear the dam apart and tell team three to flood their fields. We’ll sow what confusion we can.”
GERMAN OCCUPIED, RAF OUSTON
1330, 27 September, 1942
Weber studies the map, “We have eighty aircraft available. Gunter, take your unit to South York. Take out the British and American artillery.”
“Yes, sir. We have some iron bombs available. Missiles would be more accurate.”
“Bombs. We’ll need the missiles later.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Gunter, are you a member of the party?”
“No, Herr General.”
“Good. A soldier should be a soldier and leave the politics for politicians.”
“Then you’re not a member, General?”
“No. Other than the SS units, have you noticed a shortage of party types here?”
“I hadn’t thought of it, sir.”
“Nor I. Focus on your mission, but tread carefully”
“Yes, sir. What do you think she’ll do?”
“She’s already protecting the attack jets. We have yet to provide direct air support. As both are near the lines, we must expect she’ll pounce. Be careful. Our foe has proven herself clever.”
GUNTER WITH 7 ME-262S, SOUTH OF YORK
Gunter pickles off four bombs in a shallow dive aimed at an American artillery unit. Anti-aircraft guns fire, but the rounds get nowhere near his fast jet. As he pulls out, he sees secondary explosions. “Find your targets. Hit artillery and supplies.” Climbing, he studies the cloudy skies. His wingman forms up on him in his slow left turn. “There must be attack jets around here somewhere. Let’s find them.”