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Wake Up Call
by DB*159

It was an abrupt awakening, the shrill of the air raid siren blaring across the station, at five in the blessed morning. Five AM what in hell was Gerry up to? Never before had he come calling at this hour. I sprung from my rack, into which I had slithered at 0300 after an evening of celebrating my tenth victory, and lept into my flying gear (like cramming 10 pounds of s**t into a 2 pound bag). It still had the distinctive reek of avgas and sweat.

I made a bee-line for my trusty Spit and without even a quick onceover made contact and was carrying out my quick taxi for immediate departure. Eight of us departed into the crisp autumn air in an amazing 6 minutes. Impressive for any unit but especially impressive for one so worn and bone tired. Damn this war.

The radio crackled.."fighter group orange, proceed heading 161 for bandits,33 miles,angels 17"..the adrenaline was now beginning to flow like a torrent. I answered promptly.."Roger intercept,orange 161 33miles 1-7 thousand"..we raced to our objective.

After what seemed like an endless climb to altitude the search was on, but it was not a long one, "BANDITS 12lo " came over my headset, followed by a flurry of "TALLY HEINKELS".

We engaged the bombers as we had countless times before and were rewarded for our efforts. As the last of the Huns were dispatched it happened...with a horrible roar, all at once my lead exploded and what could only be described as a rocket was a flash over my canopy. I was in shock until "262..262..262" blared in my ears. I had seen it but could it be? This close to home? Hell yes and that b**t**d is mine! I planted the throttle to the firewall and hastily persued the murderer of my cohort. Vengange was coursing through my veins and I was bent on destroying the interloper. He was now gunning for my other squadron mates and in so doing proceeded to slow enough for me to get in range, albeit the outer reaches of said range, I had one chance so I opened up on him and dumped all remaining ammo into his craft. All at once the ammo gave out, the 262 entered a flat spin, and my engine gave up the ghost.

In my haste to depart to defend my country I had hurried through my checklist and left out one small item.....fuel.

Needless to say the ribbing I took when I returned to the field was scorching, after being fished from the channel to add insult to injury, however not as scorching as the untimely demise of the driver of the 262...