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Morte de la Raptor Francois
by Downtown

I logged in when the company clerk shook me awake in my cot.

I sat up in bed, and started donning my flight gear, it was a warm spring day and I opted to carry my coat to the briefing.

The squadron leaders said that the Germans had advanced another 50 kilometer during the night, and should I survive the day, don’t expect the airfield to be here when I returned.

Along some of the roads would place fueling trucks near field where we could land and refuel.

We may have to circle once or twice, because the Luftwaffe HS-123 were getting their hits in behind the lines also, so the trucks would be camouflaged.

Don’t linger on the ground either, fuel up and get out of there.

Plans as of the briefing were to move the airfield back another 30k during the day, the English had landed a battalion with armor support, and it was hoped that they could hold the German advance to a mere 20K tonight.

I was paired with Jean and we were told that the JU-87, the big Gull wing dive-bomber, and the Speedy HS-123 were to be our main targets as we patrolled the front. We were to leave our radio's on, as we may get some calls to try and break up some of the Huns ground attacks by strafing the advancing troops.

I got a biscuit and a small cup of espresso, with a little brandy for my meal, dawned my coat, and waited patiently as the ground crew strapped me in, one of the sergeants tucked a few pieces of bread and some sausage in the map container for my lunch.

Pierre turned the crank, and I toggled the contact switch, Pierre than gave the propeller a turn and a quick black cloud escaped the exhaust as the engine caught.

I rolled the canopy closed and snapped the clasps to hold it closed.

I waited as the engine warmed, and the sun began to slowly rise.

When my gauges settled, I applied a little power, and rudder, and my Hawk began to roll down the field.

She easily made speed, and in short order I was airborne.

Almost as soon as I cleared the field, I could see the squadron leader had not been making a joke, I must have been so exhausted during the night to sleep through the shelling that had occurred only a few kilometers from the field.

As the sun continued to rise I saw the remnants of our great army, coming down the road, away from the front.

I knew the men on the ground had a hard time, but too see so many men going the wrong direction was disheartening.

I checked to my left and saw Jean, I gave him some rudimentary hand signals, and he agreed we would fly low over the troops hoping to raise their morale.

I made a series of quick turns, and entered a shallow dive as I aligned with the road, Suddenly I saw the men in front of me begin to dive to the side of the road, the fool thought I was making an attack.

I began seeing the flashes from their weapons as they shot at me, I pulled back on the stick and climbed away.

If this was the greeting I was to get from my own troops this early in the morning, I was certainly in for a long day.

I checked left, and saw that there was fire coming from Jean's engine, suddenly, his prop seized, and a cloud of black smoke engulfed Jean plane.

Then flames began to trace back from under the engine cowling toward the canopy.

I couldn't see Jean as his canopy was covered with oil.

We did not have enough altitude for Jean to utilize his parachute. I thought to myself, it may be a French invention, but it will not save Jean's life today.

Jean must have known this also.

His plane nosed down back toward the road, perhaps he could glide in, and land on the road, with luck he could be in the air later today, and the Curtis Hawk could be repaired.

We could not afford to lose any more aircraft, and certainly not to friendly fire.

I cut back on the throttle and began to weave to keep Jean in view.

He must not be able to see because; he did not align himself with the road very well, I watched in horror as the wing hit a tree.

The plane turned violently into the trees, and the wing tore away from the fuselage.

The fuselage then hit abroad another tree, and broke in half just behind the cockpit.

The fuel tank must have ruptured because there suddenly was a great explosion, and fire.

I had no thought to mourn Jean, I only knew that unless I met up with another lone Hawk or Dewontine, I would fly the rest of the day Alone.

I got on the radio, and passed the coordinates of where to find the charred remains of Jean and his aircraft.

I reported that Jean must have been shot down by the troops on the road, because I could see no other aircraft, and we were to far behind the line to be seen by enemy aircraft artillery.

The Squadron Clerk said that I was not to provide any further morale for our valiant ground forces, and that they need my efforts to be directed at finding and destroying German Aircraft.

I took a south easterly heading, I knew that two days prior the Germans had established their own airdrome in that direction. If I were to be lucky, finding enemy aircraft, I hoped it would be that area.

I flew on alone for perhaps 10 minutes, and had just crossed over what must be the front lines when I saw three biplanes approaching from the southeast, I was in luck, the Dreaded German Battle Plane was no match for the Curtis Hawk.

I kept them in view as I began to climb and turn further south, I judged the opportunity was right to merge in behind them so I reversed my course, and began a gentle dive to their level.

I do not know, they must not have seen me, I easily lined up behind the third aircraft.

I closed to 200 yards, and armed my guns, a brief squeeze on the trigger, like the nipple of a gentle woman, yes.

I watched as the tracers covered the distance in an instant.

Suddenly the Plane explodes in front of me. I must have hit one of the bombs under the wing. I am momentarily blinded by the explosion, and some of the debris hits my aircraft.

I see that the other two Henshels have entered a dive, when I come through the smoke, they have turned away from each other, and I pursue the closer of the two.

I cut the throttle, and apply enough rudder to match his turn, and a little aileron, and I have cut inside his turn. So at maybe 50 meters, He is in my sight, I squeeze the trigger again. I see the tracers along the body of his plane, and I am so close I see a guy wire of the wing support snap. The left sides of the top wing snaps away, and folds into the fuselage, just ahead of the cockpit.

The plane catches fire, and falls from the sky in a short but tight spiral; I check my altimeter, Merci, only 30 meters of altitude.

Suddenly, I hear a loud thumping, and a blast of cold air, and sharp wind tears at me.

Shards of glass enter the cockpit, and I watch as bullets tear though my instrument panel.

I pull hard to the left, I am left handed, and most of the world is right handed, most pilots pull to the right, I know this, I turn right with them on the attack, it is expected, going left is unexpected and buys me a minute.

I check my instruments, and the only one that appears to be working it the altimeter.

The fuel lamp is glowing red, have I lost my fuel or is the lamp malfunctioning. I have climbed another 20 meters; it will not be enough to survive.

I can see the front now through the spiderweb of the front canopy. If I can perhaps lure my adversary into French anti Aircraft Artillery, I may be able to land.

I look over my left shoulder, and see a Messerschmidt aligning himself behind me for the kill. At the last moment I kick right rudder, and the cockpit erupts in a shower of sparks and fire. I feel a sharp pain in my right arm, and I turn my head just enough to see that side of the cockpit is covered in blood.

Alas the throttle is on the right, and my right arm is now numb and useless. I let up on the rudder, and the plane flies straight, I must be in shock for I do not notice the pain in my right arm.

Suddenly there again is the pounding on my aircraft, I feel the whole plane shake, there is a loud banging behind my ear, and I realize that the 109 has cannon.

Suddenly there is a stabbing pain in my ankle, and I look to see my left foot severed at the ankle.

Then almost as suddenly, the plane stops, I am pulled at the hips as my lap belt restrains me, but the fuselage buckles, as I fly forward, the remains of the instrument panel come back to greet me.

I am unconscious, or was; I see fire all around me.

I try to unbuckle the lap belts, but my right arm doesn't work.

I can feel the fire on my legs, and with my left hand I free the lap belt.

I try to push up in my chair, and my left ankle protests the weights, I see my boot still fastened to the rudder pedal.

I press against the useless bullet riddled canopy to free myself from my burning prison, and the catches still hold.

I draw my side arm, luck that it is on my left, and shoot away the catches.

The heat lifts the canopy away, and I struggle from the burning wreckage.

Suddenly I am grabbed under the armpits, I see the familiar shape of the French helmet, I will be safe.

There is pain as I am dragged, and then suddenly the world gives way, as I am tossed into a hastily made entrenchment.

I hear shouts of Medic, Medic, and the soldier say, Mon Dieu, Merci, Merci.

But I watch and his lips move, and I see them repeating Merci, Merci, Merci,

And the world goes back.

And I see in the Text Buffer.

Downtown has been killed by Vila.

And a menu appears asking me if I would like to start a new career as a pilot.

I decline, and log for the evening.

One death a day in this sim is enough.

Note: This story should be read in conjunction with "Somewhere Over France..." by Vila