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Somewhere Over France...
by Vila

It was a fine day, and things were going well for the Reich. But I didn't particularly care about the "Reich" per se…. I was there for the planes…. Those beautiful flying machines I'd heard about since my youth. This was just an opportunity to fly them, and to perhaps carve out my own bit of glory like the tales of those great aces from the Great War that swept through the skies in their Albatrosses and Fokkers. And I had a beautiful plane with which to start my own personal quest for glory… a Bf109.

I stared at it as I wandered towards the flight line. It's lines looked sleek, yet sinister… the very picture of a great charger for a knight of the sky, as I fancied myself. The mission briefing began to cleave through my day dream. The mission today was an offensive air patrol. Our ground attack planes were making an aggressive push against the French lines, and the French air force was making its best effort to stop them, but they were on their heels so much, that the best they'd been able to do was to blunt our thrust. Our troops were moving 30-50 km a day… almost as fast as they could march, while the French struggled to move troops concentrations to somehow stop the onslaught. It was a race the French so far were losing, but the fight wasn't over yet. Reports were that the British had landed significant ground forces to aid the French, and the RAF were first seen in French skies a few days ago. I'd heard rumors of the "Spitfire", but like all wartime rumors, I was sure that tales of the Spitfire were exaggerated beyond all measures of reasonableness.

"Good morning sir!" I smiled at young Klaus standing next to my machine.
"Good morning Klaus, are we ready?" I tried to look relaxed, despite the knots in my stomach. I casually slipped into the parachute harness and climbed into the cramped cockpit of my machine. I went through the pre-flight checklist almost automatically, and before I even realized it, I was taxing to the runway. Ahead of me was Hauptmann Gunter Schmidt, my flight lead. As he ran up his engine, I followed suit, and shortly after lifting above the runway, I tucked in close to him for the short trip to the front.

"Spread out a bit more to the right," came the crackling voice over the R/T. I quickly cleared over my right shoulder, and let my machine slip further away from the leader. We were near the enemy now, and he wanted more room to maneuver.

Below us, the smoke and refuse of war nearly obscured the landscape in spots. The dusty clouds trailing advancing and retreating columns, and the thick oily smoke that marked burning vehicles. I afforded the sight a curious glance occasionally, but reminded myself that my quarry was in the air today and my responsibility to my leader.

I almost began to lose hope for a try at the enemy today when I heard Schmidt say evenly, "Down there to the left, French." I tried to spot the planes against the landscape, but I couldn't see them yet. I returned my attention to my leader and did my best to stay with him. As Schmidt stabilized into a shallow dive, I could just make out French planes flying low over the trees. They were looking for concentrations of our ground troops, and had hoped to avoid us by flying low and escaping detection. There were 2 that I could see, and we were closing fast. In my position, I didn't have a shot at either, so I just decided to try and hold my position on the leader as best I could. I looked all around me to try and detect any high cover, but I saw none. Ahead of me, I saw tracers come from my leader streak towards the enemy. As the first rounds struck home, a plume of smoke erupted from the Frenchman, and his right wing dropped suddenly. I couldn't see the other French machine, but my leader pulled hard into the vertical. I tried to follow, but in the strain and gray confusion of the hard maneuver I lost sight of the leader. After my vision cleared, I looked quickly all about me, but I could see nothing… well almost nothing. Below me in the field, a fire raged where the French machine my leader had shot had crashed.

I went into a slight spiral climb looking all about me for signs of ANYBODY, but I could see no one, and received no replies on the R/T. I decided to climb to a safe altitude and consider my options from there. But I had barely began my climb when a bright flash caught my attention to my lower right had side. I thought for sure that my leader had finished the other Frenchman… or the other way around… but I was met with an entirely different sight. The remnants of an older bi-winged attack plane were trailing smoke to the ground and emerging from the debris was a French Hawk, already lining up to attack the next plane in the formation. I had the distinct feeling that things were NOT going so well today… first I lost my leader, and now this Frenchmen is destroying a group of Luftwaffe planes right under my nose! Well, he would not do so without having to face me!

The Hawk was closing on one the two remaining biplanes. I was closing fast, but already I saw his guns firing and the biplanes left wing just seemed to fold , as if it were a closing book. I cursed my incompetence, bad luck, or both and pulled my pipper just a little in front of the Hawk and squeezed the trigger. My guns suddenly thundered to life, and I saw strikes on the plane in the cockpit area. No kill yet though…. and the Hawk reversed his turn, to the left, spoiling my aim and buying himself a little time. I soon recovered and pulled in behind the Hawk and hoped to get a good low deflection shot so I could hammer him with my 2 CM cannons. The plane slipped nose right just as I squeeze off another burst. I again saw strikes in the cockpit area, and I could see, or imagine I saw, a spray of blood on the canopy. But still, my cannon rounds traveled under the enemy machine. I was nearly on top of him now, and very low. Once last chance to finish him! With the Hawk filling my gun sight, I squeezed another burst. This time, I was rewarded with great flashes indicating cannon hits. At the last possible minute, I pulled up and to the right, avoiding the hulk of the plane. Even in my plane, I could hear the sickening sound of the enemy plane striking the ground. A quick look over my shoulder and I saw the Hawk had come to a stop… smoke was pouring from it, and French soldiers were running to it. I was so pleased with my victory that I almost didn't notice the sudden tracer fire all around me. I jinked quickly, but I still heard the unnerving sound of the small caliber bullets striking my machine's thin aluminum skin. I made a quick pushover at a ridgeline and I was shielded from the French troops near the crash. A quick check seemed to indicate all aircraft systems were functioning… I took some hits, but I was OK.

I made my way back towards friendly lines, keeping a careful eye out for enemy planes looking for an easy victory on a lone aircraft, but before too long, I was safely over my own field. I realized that my R/T was not functioning, and that explained why I was unable to reach my leader…. If he was still alive at all. Even with my victory, I did not look forward to facing Hauptmann Schmidt and explaining my failure to fulfill my assigned task of protecting him. I hoped that I would be allowed to fly another combat mission soon, despite my failure.

Note: This story should be read in conjunction with "Morte de la Raptor Francois" by Downtown