Chapter Text
RAF Fowlmere, England
The airman in the truck spoke in his native tongue. Rocky didn’t understand a word of it but fortunately the MP up front did and he translated along the way.
“He says that this pilot you encountered is the son of a Prussian aristocrat. Felix Jager. He has been flying since 1934 and flew in Spain…” The translator paused while the German prisoner continued. “He says that the pilot also flew missions in Poland and France. The papers say he has at least twenty-five victories to his name.”
“And I apparently killed his friend. Ask him about that. Anyone famous that has died in the battle at the hands of a rookie RAF pilot?” Rocky asked. The MP translated and awaited the response. It was short. “Yes.”
“Leon Weber?”
The German didn’t need a translator. His eyes grew wide with surprise and replied back. The MP too did a double take. “He asked if it was you who killed Leon Weber.”
Rocky nodded his head. “I was lucky” he admitted. “But this pilot wants to kill me, and I need to know how to survive.”
The MP translated and the German gave another short reply. “Don’t fly.”
Rocky leaned against the railing of the truck. He could lay low for a few hours then emerge and fly again tomorrow. He could even tell Sandy that one German in particular is out to get him. Surely even the best pilot is no match for an entire squadron. But then Rocky remembered Kensington, Nathan, and Gerald. All good pilots, all good men gone too soon. So long as Germany had experienced pilots the RAF would lose their flyboys one by one. By this point he had amassed more flying time than most in the service. “What would Ethan do?” He asked himself.
That was all he needed to make the decision. He had to find a way to finish this. “I must fly.” Rocky said and the MP translated. “But I need to know how to beat a Messerschmidt 109.”
“You’re going to take flying advice from a prisoner of war who would want to see you dead?” The MP asked in disbelief.
“No, I am asking the man I just saved from an angry mob.”
The MP, despite his better judgement, translated. The airman nodded his head in understanding and began to speak through the MP.
“He says that while he is not a pilot, he has heard and witnessed that a Spitfire is better than a Bf-109 in one way. It can turn better. If you must beat this pilot, that is your only advantage.”
It was sobering, but it at least gave Rocky something to think about as the truck came up to the Fowlmere airstrip. He hopped out of the truck and shook hands with both the MPs and the German aviator before walking through the entry. The war for that man had just ended, but the war for Rocky was only beginning. Or at least that was his hope.
Rocky quickly got himself ready to fly again, noting the aircraft outside and the ground crews at work. Noting the time, it was already one o’clock. By now his enemy would be refueling as well and likely eager to get out ahead of the next wave of bombers. But Rocky still needed a plane, so he rushed into the office where Sandy was gulping down coffee and looking at a map to strategize.
“Sandy!”
The officer picked up his head. “Roark. Where the hell have you been?”
“I, uh, I had an incident.”
“Of what nature?”
“Well, there was a trio of these light bombers. I ran out of ammunition and decided to ram them.”
“You rammed them?”
“Yeah, like an ancient Greek ship. Worked a treat too. Cut the tail off the second plane and—”
“Very well. You’ve got the rest of the day then. We’ll have replacement planes tomorrow.”
“Naturally, I’d like to get back in the fray as soon as possible. We have nothing available?”
Sany took a deep breath, eyeing the line of Spitfires he distrusted. “Well, that group of four over there is due for a retrofit.”
“They look airworthy…”
“Yes, they fly brilliantly. An improvement over the mark one design. The only trouble is those planes use cannons. The machine guns are better.”
“Surely having one more plane in the air would be beneficial? Please let me fly, sir. It is important that I do.”
With a sigh, Sandy relented. “Very well. Have the ground crews get one ready to fly. But if you have any trouble with the guns, radio me and get back to base. I take it you had success this morning?”
“Two bombers, sir. If you count the one I rammed. Maybe the cannons will get me a fifth victory.”
“Provided you don’t get cocky, perhaps. We will be ready to fly in thirty minutes. Don’t lag behind and let the rest of your flight know your tail number.”
Rocky sprinted out of the office and grabbed the nearest NCO he could find, leading him to the line of planes to explain the situation. While hesitant to detour from his duties, the sergeant promised to have the spitfire ready to fly in time with the rest of the squadron. Satisfied, Rocky then tracked down his two wingmen who were watching as crews repaired their aircraft.
“Rocky!” Adam said, shaking his superior’s hand. “I didn’t see you land.”
“Oh, you know me. I landed somewhere in central London. Thank Christ for the Thames!”
“Well, that makes two of us grounded.”
“One, actually. Henry, you are fit to fly?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Good, I need a witness.”
“Oh God, Rocky. Witness for what?”
“You know that German I engaged? It’s the same one who has been trying to kill me all summer. He or others in his squadron have killed some friends of mine and I intend to put a stop to it.”
“But our priority are the bombers.”
“No, our priority is to engage fighters so that the Hurricanes can take down the bombers. That is exactly what I am doing… just with more precision than usual.”
“So, what are we doing then?” Henry asked.
“As soon as we get the order to scramble, I’m going to take off ahead of the rest of the squadron. You’ll follow up with the rest of the squadron. Based on what I’ve been told about this Felix fellow, he’s likely wanting to get back in the fight. Hell, he even told me that he’d be back to finish our duel. So, I’m going to be in the same spot as this morning. You’ll have to find me in that plane over there…” Rocky pointed to the cannon-equipped Spitfire. Something Henry thought was both brave and stupid.
“You do realize those cannons—”
“I do.” Rocky said, but he really didn’t know the risk he was taking with those guns.
“Fine, same spot as last time. I’ll look for the wreckage.” Henry said before turning his attention back to his airplane.
Thirty minutes later, Rocky was sitting in the cockpit of his replacement spitfire. The squadron, now ready for deployment, got the order immediately. “Full section scramble!” The radio operator yelled out the window, ringing the bell. Every pilot sprinted for their aircraft and prepared themselves, but Rocky merely fired up the engine and flagged the ground crew to remove his blocks.
Sandy walked out of the office just as Rocky accelerated down the runway and up into the sky. “My god, who got up so quick?” He asked the observer.
“Rickaby, sir. He was ready.”
“Bloody hell, we better catch up to him then.” Sandy said, dumping out the rest of his mug, setting it on the table, and running for his own airplane.
German Airfield, Normandy
Across the channel, Felix personally supervised the reequipping of his plane. The cannon especially was his best weapon. It would only take a couple of hits to bring down an enemy plane. The real problem was range. Luckily, he didn’t need to waste time waiting for the bombers to arrive. In fact, he planned to deviate from the route. Something he told no one. His father before him had engaged in ariel duels, so why not he?
“Put as much fuel as you can into the tanks.” He ordered.
His sergeant in charge of the ground crew protested. “But sir, we must leave room for expansion.”
“As much as it will carry.” Felix insisted. Doing the calculations on the back of his notepad, he estimated having about 20 minutes to find and fight his elusive opponent. It didn’t sound like much, but to a fighter pilot 20 minutes was an eternity.
“Jager!” Adolf Galland called out while he strode up to the plane. “I hear you’ve encountered a special enemy.”
“The one who shot down Leon, yes.”
“You should remember that there are casualties in war, Felix. Whatever this duel is, it ends now. We cannot risk a pilot such as yourself. I want your word that you will perform your duty and nothing more, or else I shall be forced to keep you grounded.”
Felix nodded in understanding, composing himself and burying his vengeful lust. “You have my word, sir. No duels.”
“Good.” Galland said before walking to the next plane to check on another pilot. Galland was telling the truth. It took years to make a pilot like Felix, and the Luftwaffe could not afford to needlessly throw away pilots over petty duels. Felix resolved to fly ahead of the rest of the squadron instead of taking off early as he originally planned. Once airborne, he could deviate from the plan. All he needed to do was engage one plane. The incident earlier with an RAF pilot communicating on German channels caused a last-minute change to the flight plan. The bombers would be on a different frequency from earlier, which meant that this enemy pilot and himself would have the channel open to themselves.
In his aircraft a few minutes later, the squadron got the green light to fly and join the bombers. His wingman knew what he was planning and secretly agreed to cover for Felix once they got in the air. Pushing the throttle to the firewall, the 109 lifted gracefully into the air and climbed quickly to altitude. Once at the proper height, Felix gave his wingman a hand signal and deviated from his course.
“Where is the commander going?”
“He has been given special instructions at the last minute. Follow me and we will protect the bombers as planned.”
Felix rose higher into the sky, turning directly toward England. He was going to cut off about fifteen minutes of flight time be doing this, giving him ample opportunity to engage and shoot down this RAF pilot before the rest of the squadron could witness him defying orders. Letting his mind meditate before battle, Felix recalled the knowledge which originally put him on this path.
“Father, they are getting too close!” Felix said. He was only ten years old. His father, middle-aged and sturdy, did not waver. He instead spoke to his son calmly. “Let them come, my boy. We have the sun at our backs, and they do not know the threat we pose.”
“But—”
“Ready yourself. The leader of the pack is the most important. Shoot that wolf and the rest will not know what to do. Now breathe and wait until the last possible moment.”
“They could kill us, though!”
“Yes, they could. That is how you know it is not a hunt like our cousins do in their game reserves.”
The young felix lined up his rifle and waited. A moment later, two yellow eyes appeared through a bush. The wolf revealed himself, still unable to decipher what he was looking at through the glare of the rising sun.
“Now.” Felix’s father said. A rifle shot echoed through the valley, followed by another and another. Three wolves lay dead before them while the rest of the pack retreated back into the mountains.
“Keep the sun at my back and get in close.” Felix reminded himself.
Now at altitude, he looked forward beyond the plane’s nose and spotted English shores before him.
Knights of the Sky
“Roark, come in Roark.” Sandy radioed.
Rocky hesitated to radio back but decided it was for the best if he did so. “You are in range now, commander. I read you clearly.”
Sandy breathed a sigh of relief. “That must have been a world record getting a spitfire in the air so quickly. Are you at the rendezvous?”
“Yes.” Rocky said. In truth, he was further ahead, quickly closing in on the coastline.
“Hold there and we will catch up to you. Do you see other squadrons yet?”
“Negative, no other aircraft.” Rocky replied. He was now over the right spot. Remembering to never fly in a straight line for too long, Rocky weaved back and forth, scanning around him for a sign of his quarry.
“We are approximately ten minutes away, radio if you have trouble.”
“Yes sir—” Just then, bullets flashed across the front of Rocky’s plane. He reacted just in time, missing the string of machine gun fire as a 109 narrowly missed him.
“Change of plans, sir. I am engaging an enemy now. 109.”
“Pull back, Roark. Pull ba—” Rocky flipped over to the shared frequency. “You know how to make an entrance.”
“And you know how to avoid my fire. Good, I want a challenge.” Felix said, letting his need for vengeance fuel him. He may get a reprimand from his superior, but killing an RAF pilot like this one would balance the criticism with praise.
Rocky, remembering what the airman from earlier said, pulled himself into a horizontal turn in order to come around to Felix. He was at a disadvantage, but it was time to finally prove himself as a pilot worthy of the RAF. Both he and Felix came about and faced each other nose-to-nose. They closed in at a combined speed of over six-hundred miles per hour. Each lined up their shots and pulled the trigger. Felix peppered Rocky’s plane with machine gun bullets, but what he wasn’t expecting was the heavy bullets of a cannon. It was only a few shots, but suddenly Felix realized that he didn’t quite have the advantage he thought he did. Rocky cursed himself for missing while the two planes passed each other and went in for another turn.
The two circled around again and closed the distance. This time, Rocky and Felix waited until they were even closer than before. Their eyes flashed as another half-second burst erupted from each plane. Felix switched over to his cannon and sent several rounds down range. One glanced off the skin of Rocky’s plane, narrowly missing the propeller. Instead of pulling around for another pass, Felix gunned the throttle and rose up into the sky, trading speed for altitude. Rocky saw this in his mirror but remembered not to fall for the trap. Instead, he rolled the spitfire over completely and reversed his turn. Felix didn’t notice until he was at the apex of his arc looking down. Rocky pulled hard on the stick, bringing around the plane quicker than Felix expected. Instead of being on the spitfire’s tail, the German pilot found himself facing the guns yet again.
Neither got the chance to use their weapons though as Felix rolled his plane over and tried to gain altitude yet again. Now Rocky was faced with a dilemma. Give chase and run out of speed or risk losing sight of the enemy to get distance. Rocky thought about what Kensington would do in the situation and realized that the aggressive approach would only end in defeat. Gunning the throttle, Rocky raced for cloud cover. Felix saw Rocky running and flipped around to enter a dive, hoping to catch Rocky before the line of puffy white clouds could serve as cover.
Diving down at speed, Felix felt the controls stiffen up. But he was on target and lined up for a burst. Just before he could fire, Rocky flipped his plane to the left, cutting inside Felix and forcing the pilot to overshoot him. Like an apparition, Rocky faded into clouds. Water droplets hit the canopy, and a second later he was out of the first cloud and flying toward the second. Felix brought himself around, climbing up to get a look from above. Rocky spotted a big cloud below him and dove down to try and confuse Felix. His brain was working overtime to estimate his options. One thing was clear; Felix was being aggressive. Moreso than in previous times. Even this morning he was exercising caution. Rocky figured he could use that to his advantage.
Growing anxious about losing Rocky in the clouds, Felix risked it and dove down into the layer. They caught glimpses of each other, with Rocky leading Felix further and further into the haze. By evening there would be rain over England yet again, which meant this may be the last chance to kill the other. Felix spotted a shadow of a spitfire to his left and quickly moved in, hoping to get behind Rocky. Rocky, meanwhile, was using his greatest advantage to full effect. Randomness. Even he didn’t know what he’d do next. Instead of relying on training, Rocky was relying on intuition. His hands could feel how the airplane reacted to his every command. All the instruments in front of him were nothing at the moment, just a distraction. Years ago, he may have been distracted by the lights, buttons, and switches, but now he was focused. Hyper focused. A glimpse at his mirror told him that Felix was closing in. Now was the time!
Rocky pulled back hard on the stick and broke free of the clouds. For a moment he was alone above the clouds, the afternoon sun reflecting off his photo of Joseph rescued from his previous plane. He’d be so happy to see him again, and he’d be damned if he was going to let one measly pilot get in the way. Rocky completed his climb and arced back down into the clouds, coming in right behind where he figured Felix would be. Felix, not realizing the maneuver, burst through the other side of the clouds and into open sky once again. There was no spitfire ahead of him. He looked around frantically trying to figure out where Rocky was, only to realize the terrifying truth. Not one, but four big guns were pointed at him from behind.
Rocky smiled. “Gotchya!” He pulled the trigger. Four shots rang out, two of which tore through the Messerschmidt. But then… nothing. Rocky looked down in surprise and pulled the trigger again. Still nothing. “Ah hell…”
Felix opened his eyes, realizing that despite having some damage he was still flying and in one peace. For a moment he was as confused as Rocky, then it dawned on him. Rocky’s guns were jammed up! Felix rolled to the right and began to climb in a circle, bleeding off speed but hoping that a partial stall could get him around behind Rocky. Rocky was forced to follow or allow his rear to be exposed to the enemy. Now panic set in. He didn’t have working guns! It was all a mistake! He flipped the radio back to hear Henry’s voice.
“Blue one, where are you?”
“I’m here Henry! West of that bank of clouds!”
“Oh hell, I’m too far away. What’s happened? Sandy is furious.”
“I ran into the pilot. The one from this morning. My guns are jammed up; I can’t kill him.”
“You’re not going to ram him, are you?”
“No, I don’t think that will work. He’s too fast.”
“I’m still about five minutes behind you; can you last that long?”
“…I don’t know.” Rocky said, realizing the magnitude of his error. “At least it’s just me that suffers this time.” Rocky said to himself.
Felix looked behind him and smiled as he saw the spitfire couldn’t keep up in the climbing spiral. By now they had done one revolution and gained about a thousand feet of altitude. The nose of the spitfire was slowly coming around but that didn’t matter now. Without the ability to shoot, all Felix had to do was wait for Rocky to fruitlessly cut inside of him. Three minutes, that’s all this engagement had been by now. Plenty of time, plenty of fuel.
Another revolution later, it happened. Rocky couldn’t fly in the same path as Felix and was forced to either cut inside him or stall out. In a last-ditch attempt to avoid being shot down, Rocky rolled his plane over steeply and tried to cut behind Felix, but the experienced German anticipated this. Rolling over at the same time, he got on Rocky’s tail and lined up for a burst. Pulling the trigger, bullets landed around Rocky and his airplane. Terrible sounds of rounds cutting through thin aluminum and bouncing off of the reinforcements protecting him in the cockpit. Should he bail out? The altimeter read 25,000. Too high to jump, he’d pass out. He couldn’t outrun the German either. At best he might be able to limp closer to the squadron. He didn’t have the speed to climb either, but he could still turn and so that’s what Rocky did in a desperate bid to buy time. Felix couldn’t quite match the turn radius. For Rocky, the plane would shudder and buck to warn him of a stall. For Felix he had to rely on his instruments. The smaller wings could not carry him in a slow speed turn like Rocky’s spitfire could. But even so, Felix only needed to pull away, roll around, and come back at a different angle. Deciding to finish this, Felix lined up once more and let loose with the cannon.
Three or four rounds punched big holes in the airframe. Though the wings held steady, Rocky knew this was the end.
Then he recalled something. He couldn’t outrun the German, but if he dived he could set a trap. A dangerous one that was as likely to kill him as it was Felix. But by this point he was dead anyway, so why not?
“I see you, Rocky!” Henry radioed, still two miles away.
“Keep your distance, he’s got me. He’ll get you too.”
“Then what do you want me to do?”
“Dive behind us. You’ll either see one wreck or two.”
Felix lined up his sight and took a breath, ready to send one last burst through the spitfire that was now flying straight and level in front of him. “Goodbye, pilot. It was a good fight.”
Rocky’s eyes flashed. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye just yet! Not when he still had one last trick to pull!
Rocky flipped to the channel he was sharing with Felix. “This one is for you, Nathan.” He said, making Felix hear his name. Surprising the experienced German, Rocky pitched his nose down and gunned the throttle. The negative forces on the plane caused the engine to sputter momentarily, but it then roared to life as air and fuel came rushing into the cylinders. Rocky picked up speed. 250, 300, 350, 400 miles per hour. Felix at first could easily keep pace but slowly the spitfire started to gain ground. Rocky pitched the plane down further until he was looking directly at the ground. Bullets started whizzing by him, so he rolled one way and then the other. Felix tried keeping up, desperate to finish off the stubborn pilot. The altimeter descended faster and faster. The two of them punched through the cloud layer in less than a second. Rocky’s plane began to vibrate from the speed. Back in the 109, Felix’s controls started feeling odd. He realized too late that Rocky had lured him into a death dive. He was going to take both of them out!
Rocky took a deep breath and timed it just right. Pull out too early and Felix catches him. Pull out too late and he’ll hit the ground at 460 miles per hour! Risking it all, Rocky cut his throttle and deployed everything he could. Partial flaps and gear. Anything to slow him down. Felix didn’t expect the maneuver, and all common sense would dictate that no pilot should do this. And it was for a good reason. While Rocky’s plane did slow down somewhat, he heard a loud bang and then another as the wheels of his airplane tore off from high speed. The flaps too began to collapse. His wingtips started to bend under stress!
At five thousand feet, Felix desperately tried to pull out of the dive, but his controls were locked up. Rocky pulled back hard too, and his airplane responded to his controls! Felix strained against the forces on his tail and began pulling out too. It was going to be close! He couldn’t aim for a low spot; he could only pray. His plane was nearly level and he felt some relief, but as he descended to the bottom of his arc his heart sank. Trees just ahead.
The Bf-109 crashed through a line of tall poplars. Rocky didn’t even see the explosion because he too was focused on pulling out of the dive. The wheat field approached him at astonishing speed and all he could do was close his eyes and hope the gamble would pay off. His vision blurred and darkened as the blood rushed down into his feet. Luckily, he was used to acting without thinking and his arms were steady on the controls right as he was on the verge of passing out. The spitfire leveled out just above the field and Rocky felt life come back into him. He opened his eyes but realized he was flying right at a small hill! Trying to steer to the left, he felt and heard the prop sheer off. The plane bucked hard and instantly bled off precious speed. Unable to climb, Rocky shot forward at a fast glide. He managed to maneuver around another line of trees and found himself looking down at a long field of barley.
“Rocky!” Henry radioed, but Rocky didn’t respond. He was focused on getting back down to Earth.
Still, he was far too fast to land properly. Rocky tried bringing the plane down gently, hoping the crops could help him bleed off speed before hitting dirt. For the first second it worked. He heard a thunderous racket beneath his feet as grass scraped against metal. Unseen to him was a wooden fence. He hit it with enough force to sheet the tip of his left wing off and sever the controls.
“Crap…” Rocky said as the plane pitched down into the field at over two-hundred miles per hour.
Henry, just seconds behind, tipped his wing down to look at the wreckage. All he saw was a long dark streak from the plane striking the dirt and a cloud of dust ahead of him. Nearby farmhands immediately sprinted toward the downed plane, recognizing it as one of their own.
Wins and Losses
Henry’s face was pale seeing the wreckage of Rocky’s plane. He slowed down and circled back one more time and noticed people gathering around the plane and pulling someone out. There was nothing he could do but radio in what happened.
“Squadron leader, do you read me?”
Sandy responded quickly. “Yes?”
“This is blue three. Roark… I mean, blue one, went down.”
There was silence for a few seconds before Sandy responded. “Did you see a parachute?”
“Negative, he ditched it in a field.”
“There’s nothing more you can do, Henry. Go back to the rendezvous and meet up with the 3-0-3. We need every plane we’ve got.”
“Roger that, sir.” Henry said, throttling up and flying low over the English countryside and back across Portsmouth.
Meanwhile, far above and over London the RAF engaged the Luftwaffe with everything they had for the afternoon wave. Bader closed in on a bomber, tearing it to shreds with his machine guns. Sandy too was there in the fray, making quick work of a 109. Around him, Spitfires and Messerschmidt danced and arced through the air, each trying to gain advantage. It was complete chaos and yet Sandy felt like they were gaining ground… or sky to be more specific. Rookie pilots fell from the sky in droves on both sides. The difference being that most of the RAF’s rookies would be back in an airplane by the morning and for the Luftwaffe they’d either be in a casket or become prisoners of war.
People watched throughout London, cheering for every falling German plane. St. Paul’s Cathedral glistened in the afternoon light, set against a background of blood. Smoke trails and engine exhaust trailed through the sky in wide loops and arcs. Small flashes of gunfire were visible from the ground as was the occasional fireball. Anti-aircraft guns did their job as well, saturating key sectors with shrapnel so thick it looked like smoke from an industrial fire.
Bare-bottomed mud larks who preferred to be nude rather than ruin good clothing while they hunted for treasures along the Thames, looked up in wonder at the battle above them, the river water evaporating off their fur and leaving behind the dirt and sand.
“Look, Heinkel’s!” One boy said, pointing at a flight of bombers.
“And spitfires!” Another joined in.
“No, those are Hurricanes.” One of the older boys corrected.
A wounded Bf-110 with one blown engine and another barely holding on came flying down the river at low altitude. Right behind them a Hurricane gave chase, quickly closing the gap and destroying the other engine. The Hurricane, confident in having scored yet another victory, looped back and did a barrel roll before climbing back up into the sky.
“3-0-3, are you there?” Henry asked.
“Ya!” Jan responded, now a flight leader. “You are separated from your squadron, yes?”
“That’s correct, sir. Sandy told me to meet up with you.”
“Very good. We could use a Spitfire!” Jan responded and then gave directions for Henry to follow. The squadron, plus one, climbed up to altitude and engaged another flight of bombers. For Henry it was all so overwhelming, but for the Polish pilots they were eager to exact some level of revenge for how the Luftwaffe ran through them the previous year. They weren’t flying outdated, gullwing mono planes this time. The Hurricane wasn’t a speed demon, but it was tough and packed a punch. That was all they needed. Jan circled behind a bomber and tore through it with devastating accuracy, killing half the crew before it blew up. Jan could only smile. Centuries before his ancestors were winged Hussars. Now, here he was with actual wings!
Henry could easily keep pace with the Hurricanes but saw a flight of 109s closing in. “Jerries above!” He warned but realized the Poles were all too busy with the bombers. Taking a deep breath, he pushed his throttle to the firewall and rose to meet the whole squadron, scattering them as the lead pilot lost his cool demeanor. He was expecting slow Hurricanes to ambush and instead he was being met with Spitfires?! Henry took advantage, led his guns just the right distance, and gave one of the stragglers a good burst, sending the 109 down in flames. Only then did Jan notice their tag-along had just shattered an ambush. Before the rest of the Germans could regroup, the squadron formed around the rookie and took control, seizing the opportunity to go toe-to-toe with the same airplanes that shred their friends and family to pieces early in the war.
The Luftwaffe had sent up everything they could toward London and the attack simply fell apart like waves being smashed against rocks on the shoreline. For over an hour the skies were heavy with death, fuel, and fumes. The Royal Air Force had not only held the line, but they were also now teaching the Germans a lesson they wouldn’t soon forget.
With the sun going down, a Spitfire flew over London and did a victory roll near White Hall, its engine sputtering for a moment as the plane went inverted. The pilot would certainly be reprimanded once back to base, but he didn’t care. A few thousand aviators and ground crew won the day.
Across the channel, a wounded Bf-109 made an emergency landing. On fumes and with an engine barely holding together, the landing gear collapsed and sent the plane careening down the grass runway, bursting into flames. Firefighters rushed to help, pulling out the badly burnt pilot from a different squadron. Adolf Galland looked at the scene before him with a grim face. One of his pilots approached, tired and drenched in oil.
“How bad was it, Hans?” Galland asked him as he passed. The pilot stopped, saluted, and gave a pointed assessment of the day. “The whole Royal Air Force was there. Thousands of planes.”
“Thousands?”
The pilot slowly nodded. Galland took a deep breath. “Then it was truly bad. Go clean up, dinner is in thirty minutes.”
That evening, with the roar of bombers overhead rising to bomb targets over London at night, Adolf stood at the end of the dining table and surveyed the day’s losses. Half his pilots gone in one day. No one said a word, not even him. There was nothing that could be said. Their spies were wrong and they had severely underestimated a determined enemy. A waiter went around to light each candle in front of an empty chair. Leon and Felix’s chairs were empty, two candles burning next to each other.
Across the Channel, Dowding and Park observed London as bombers raided the industrial districts south of the city. “What are the day’s losses?” Dowding asked.
“A dozen confirmed so far with at least as many missing.” Park replied.
“And the enemy?”
Park inhaled deeply, remembering the numbers that were put in front of him an hour ago. “If the reports are accurate, over one hundred. Most bombers failed to reach their targets.”
“Then it was a good day.” Dowding said. “But don’t give anything official to the press yet. I would hate to spread propaganda.”
“We could have shot down more if 12 Group engaged as single squadrons.” Park added.
“Please, Park. I can only fight one battle at a time. While I agree that Leigh-Mallory’s big wing isn’t performing to expectations, it is performing. Let’s beat back the Germans first and then we’ll discuss strategic errors later. Was there anything else?”
“One more thing, sir.” Park said, putting his hat on and making for the door. “Pilots. I still need quality pilots. Especially any who are daring or skilled enough to fly at night.”
“I will… ask around. You’re right, we do need pilots who can fly at night. If that’s all, have the boys ready by 8 o’clock to fly. I imagine the Germans are as tired as we are after today.”
In an empty office, Dowding exhaled and relaxed in his chair, settling in to finish any remaining paperwork for the day. But first he took a moment to look up, smiling at those he felt could still hear him despite shuffling off their mortal coil, “Thank you, lads. Churchill was right. Never before has so much been owed to so few. And you’ve all given me the strength to dare to hope that we may yet win this war.”
The distant roar of guns echoed in the background as Evelyn unlocked the small, rented cottage. Tired from another day at the field hospital, she could only look forward to the time off both Rocky and she would be able to share in a couple of weeks. Since being moved closer to London it was lonely around here for her. She smiled when she saw the small bit of jewelry he bought her. He’d infrequently sneak out at night to spend a couple of hours with her before sneaking back in before dawn. It wasn’t much, but oh was it exactly the sort of thing Rocky would do! In his own words, “What are they going to do, fire me in the middle of a battle?”
Dressing down into more casual clothing, she relaxed by the small fireplace, basking in its warmth while tea brewed in the kitchen. She had to be careful not to fall asleep and light the place on fire! Just then she heard a knock on the door. Instinctively grabbing Rocky’s service pistol, he left behind for her, something he didn’t think he’d ever have a use for again, she approached the door and opened it a hair. There before her were two men in uniform. “Mrs. Rickaby?”
“Oh, um. Sorry gentlemen. Rocky and I aren’t wed. Were you looking for him?”
“Sorry ma’am.” The taller one said. “Our mistake, but you’ll want to come with us?”
Her face grew concerned. “Why? What’s happened?”
“It’s your husb—I mean, your boyfriend, ma’am. There’s been an incident.”
Her eyes grew wide. “Is he hurt?”
“He’s been taken to the hospital.”
“Oh no… Alright, give me two minutes and I’ll be outside.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
Wearing a thick borrowed coat and street clothes, she climbed into the back of a Land Rover and sped off into the night. “Is he badly injured?”
“I’m sorry, but we don’t have any details. Our superior told us to pick you up and bring you to him.”
“Okay… what kind of incident was it?”
“We know he crashed his plane. Medics got him to the North of London before the latest wave of bombers. He’s down at Morely Hall. I promise you, ma’am, if we knew more we’d tell you.”
Evelyn spent the rest of the journey immersed in guilt. What if he was dead or dying? How would she be able to break the news to his family? To Joseph?! He’d already lost so much in his young life, to lose the father who chose to raise him when everyone else pushed to have the boy placed in a state home… the thought of what she had led them into sickened her. A selfish desire to see grand places and tour the world with the one she loved! But at the same time, it was an innocent desire. By the time they realized war was coming to English shores crossing the Atlantic had become too hazardous. Rocky himself, having remembered the Lusitania, didn’t trust an American ship to carry them safely home.
And joining the RAF? Ill advised, but it was also exactly the sort of thing Rocky would do. He always wanted to be needed. To feel useful in times of strife. And it was exactly this sort of trait which enamored her to him. Had he been the sort of person to avoid a battle of it meant personal risk then she may not have ever given him the chance, and they certainly wouldn’t still be together.
Another aspect of guilt encroached on her. Evelyn teared up, realizing that if this truly was the end then they never got married. She never had the chance to proudly declare Rocky her husband! The fact he hadn’t proposed shouldn’t have stopped her from having that conversation. Even worse, if Rocky was dead then she’d be all alone in a foreign land with few friends.
After what felt like an eternity, the Land Rover pulled up to the hospital. The two men got out and opened the car door for her. “We’ll take you to the head nurse. She’ll be able to tell you where he is.”
They walked inside and were immediately greeted by an exhausted, blood-stained nurse who was between surgeries. “Apologies for the state of my clothes. A poor lad had to have a leg amputated.”
Evelyn’s knees grew weak. Not at the sight of blood, but the image of Rocky being without one of his legs. The two men escorting her held her up, letting her lean against them for support.
“Lucille, this is Lieutenant Rickaby’s, um, girlfriend. We’ll need to amend the documents when we get a chance.”
“Oh, right. Follow me, then. I’ll take you to him.”
Evelyn regained her balance and walked behind the nurse but in front of her two escorts. “Please tell me, ma’am. Is he badly hurt?”
“If you consider three broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and a fractured leg badly hurt, then I suppose. But on the bright side, he’s not as bad off as some.”
“So, he’s going to be alright?!”
The nurse couldn’t help but laugh a little. “After listening to him for five minutes, I doubt he was ever ‘alright’. But he is alive and will be pleased to see you.”
She then stopped at a room reserved for officers. There were four cats propped up on beds with Rocky being next to the window, struggling to read through his concussion.
“Rocky!” Evelyn exclaimed, crossing the room quickly and sitting by his bedside.
“Evelyn? W-what are you doing here?” He asked.
“A couple of the boys went to retrieve her. The good news is he’ll be cleared to leave tomorrow… and I see you two have a lot to catch up on.”
Before Evelyn could react, Rocky pulled her in for a kiss and a hug with his one good arm.
“Rocky… we’re in public.”
“Nonsense, ma’am. We’re happy to see a couple reunited.” One of the other flying officers in the room said. “And besides, it’s not like any of us are getting privacy in this bloody building.”
Evelyn gave the man a smile before turning her attention back to Rocky. “Oh, you poor thing! What happened?”
“Well, that German ace was trying to kill me, so I had to take a gamble. I crashed and he crashed harder.”
“The damn fool is lucky to be alive.” One of the other officers said. “We heard about what he did. But at least it got rid of that filthy German before he could kill more of us. And for that, he has our gratitude.”
“And the silver lining, honey, is I won’t be flying for a while. I’ll be at home waiting for you every evening.”
“Well, that is indeed a silver lining. Oh Rocky, I’m sorry for having dragged you into this. The whole ride over I was struggling to think of what I’d say to Joseph. We never should have come here, and it’s all my--”
“Hey, shush. No, none of that.” Rocky said, letting Evelyn lay her head down on his chest. “If I knew I was going to wind up in a hospital, I still would have come with you just so you wouldn’t be alone. The three greatest things to have happened in my life, love, is the Lackadaisy, Joseph, and you. I don’t regret coming to England. Look around us. The people here need all the help they can get. And did you know that in the span of a week I’ve flown with Canadians, Poles, Czechs, Norwegians, Danes, and French? I hear that some other Americans have showed up too, smuggling themselves in. I didn’t quite understand what Ethan was so afraid of a few years ago when dealing with that Albert Muller fella, but now I see it. We’ve both got a job to do, Evelyn. So, promise me you’ll be strong and keep helping these people as much as you can. And when I’m healed, I’ll be right back in the cockpit, ready to fight like a knight of old.”
“Rocky, I think you’re the bravest feline I’ve ever known.” Evelyn said, a tear falling from her face into Rocky’s chest fur.
“No, Evelyn. There are far braver people than me. And that’s why I know it’s worth it for us to keep fighting. All they need is time to realize the danger. Then, like Mr. Churchill said, the new world will come to the rescue of the old.”
September 16th
At 8 o’clock the next morning, pilots filed out of the field office and sat down on lawn chairs scattered around the facility. Adam was more refreshed than Henry, standing and smoking a cigarette. Henry collapsed into a chair, dreading the day to come. Right inside the office the phone rang, and all eyes were on the dispatcher.
“Fowlmere.”
A deafening hush fell over everyone in the office as they strained to listen to the voice on the other end. Henry, unable to stand anymore stress, grabbed his stomach and walked behind the office, throwing up in an out-of-the-way place. The dispatcher hung up the phone and went back to filing paperwork. “Tea is ready.” He said in a monotone voice. Everyone around him relaxed.
Over at Uxbridge, Dowding watched over an empty map of Southern England in the middle of the radio room. Besides a few light raids along the coast, the skies were quiet. Most people standing around the map and the different radio booths were silent. Everyone could hear the hum of the radio equipment and perhaps it was the quietest the room had been since June. Park looked over the large map next to Dowding. “They’re up to something.”
“Perhaps.” Dowding replied. “And perhaps not.”
“In any case, at least we know the Dowding System works.” Park said, shaking the commander’s hand. “I have some airfields to check on.”
A borrowed Land Rover driven by Evelyn, she and Rocky made their way into the airbase. “Okay, the clutch is a bit—” The car came to a sudden stop as Evelyn hit the wrong pedal, causing Rocky to bump his leg cast against the glovebox. “—touchy… ow.”
“Oh, Rocky, I’m sorry!” She apologized.
“It’s nothing, honey. I miss American cars though.”
Climbing out of the vehicle and grabbing his crutches from the back of the Land Rover. The roar of engines filled the sky. Not one, or three, but a full twelve Hurricanes gracefully came in for a landing. Rocky smiled when he saw the numbers on the side. It was 242 Squadron!
Sandy exited the office to meet Bader outside. “Quiet day, isn’t it?”
“Yes, thank God. If this keeps up we’ll be back to full strength in a few days.”
“Speaking of which, look who showed up.” Sandy said, noticing Rocky entering the office.
“Should you tell him or should I?” Bader asked.
“So… this is… um… artistic…” Evelyn said, noticing the hand-painted topless woman on the back wall.
“If I say it reminds me of you, would that make you feel better or angry?” Rocky asked with a cheeky smile.
“Sir!” Adam said, shaking Rocky’s hand while Henry got up from the lawn chair.
“Boys, this is Evelyn.” Rocky said, introducing his girlfriend.
“We’ve heard a lot about you.” Henry said, greeting her.
“Well, we’ve heard a lot about everyone come to think of it.”
“Lieutenant Roark!” Sandy called out as he stepped into the office. “And…”
“Oh, right, yes. Evelyn.” Rocky said. “My girlfriend.”
Sandy and Bader looked at each other with a raised eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you be in hospital?”
“They let me out… but I’m afraid I’ve got strict orders to stay on the ground. Doctor gave me eight weeks, but I hope to be back sooner.”
“Well, as long as you’re here, we’ve got business to discuss.” Bader said, gesturing to the chair.
Rocky winced as Bader went over every mistake and poor decision of the last 30 hours. “So, you were contacting the enemy via their frequency, dueled one of the deadliest 109 pilots instead of focusing on the rest of the pilot’s squadron. Then you made an agreement to duel him yet again, borrowed a plane you were not authorized to fly, left the airfield before the rest of the squadron, ignored repeated temps to communicate, and finally you crashed not one but two aircraft while performing dangerous students.”
Bader curled up the cloth surrounding one of his prosthetic feet, placing it on the table. “Did I ever tell you how I got these?”
“Uh…”
“I was performing acrobatics at low altitude. All it takes is one mistake to wind up dead or worse, crippled. Frankly, I got lucky.”
“As did you.” Sandy said, pointing at Rocky’s broken leg.
Bader took a moment to release the frustration. “We spend months training pilots like you, and the only reason we aren’t all in a camp right now is because most of us can operate our aircraft professionally and safely… relative to the standard hazards that come with being an RAF fighter pilot.”
“But…” Sandy said, giving Rocky a smirk and placing a letter in front of him. “…It appears your efforts to protect England have been noticed. Go ahead and read that.”
Rocky opened up the letter, adjusting it slightly so he could focus on the words.
“Several members of parliament mentioned to me yesterday the bravery of a particular pilot in 19 Squadron who shot down one light bomber, damaged another, and valiantly rammed a third to prevent loss of life in our national government. I wish to have this letter of commendation entered into the service record of this pilot and his current whereabouts and state of health shared with me as soon as “Sandy” can identify the pilot in question. I also wish to express my personal thanks and perhaps to interview this pilot if he agrees to do so.
Thank you,
Winston Spencer Churchill, Prime Minister.”
Rocky could scarcely believe what was in his hand. A letter sent from Churchill’s office!
“I’ve talked to everyone else in the squadron and you are the only one who could have pulled a stunt like this and walked away unharmed.” Sandy said with crossed arms.
“Under normal circumstances you would receive a reprimand for not following protocol. But seeing as you successfully brought down three aircraft yesterday and earned the praise of Mr. Churchill, I think we’ll say this discussion was punishment enough.” Bader added.
“I, uh, you must understand that I had to do it. That pilot, he killed—”
“I know, Rocky. But you can’t afford to die stupidly. The RAF can’t afford it.” Sandy said. “That being said, what you did yesterday was nothing short of amazing. From here to Edinburgh, people are discussing the daring pilot who rammed a bomber and killed a top Luftwaffe ace. We’d both be remiss if we didn’t reward you in some way.”
Bader presented a new pin. “God help us, Lieutenant Rickaby, but you are now a squadron leader. All the paperwork will be processed upon your return.”
Rocky couldn’t believe it. He was lucky enough just to be able to fly, and now they wanted him to lead other aircraft! “Sirs, this is a great honor. Where will I be assigned?”
Bader looked out across the airfield. “We don’t know yet, but the air ministry has a few ideas. Now then, if there’s nothing else…”
“Actually, there is one more thing.” Sandy said, pulling out a second letter. “This is the written testimony of Jan, one of those Poles flying in the 303rd. He describes the same incident the Prime Minister referenced. This, along with Henry’s observations yesterday afternoon mean you got three victories in one day. Quite impressive, Rickaby. And I believe that means your total is now five.”
“An ace…” Rocky said, barely a whisper.
“Yes, an ace. A long way to go to catch my record, but you’ve proven yourself to the service and you’ve gained my respect.” Bader said. “From the rookie who people said was too old to start flying to an experienced ace who has tangled with the best the Luftwaffe can throw at us. Damn fine job.”
Rocky stood up to look out the window, watching everyone bask in the morning sunlight. “Why’s it so quiet today?”
Sandy shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t know. The Germans could be readying themselves to attack again in a few days.”
“Maybe they gave up?” Rocky dared to say. The two senior commanders scoffed at the idea. “No, I doubt they’ve given up. There will still be plenty of work to do, but perhaps yesterday things changed for the better. Either way, when you return you’ll have assignments.”
Occupied France and Obersalzberg, Germany
“Life vest in this pile, rations in the other pile.” The quartermaster ordered while an entire unit of German infantry discarded unnecessary items for their march East. Behind them a long line of men and vehicles made slow progress away from the coast. Though outwardly every soldier maintained the iron discipline the Wehrmacht was known for, within each man was someone who was both relieved and angered by the news. There would not be an invasion after all. That meant they wouldn’t have to storm the beaches where Churchill guaranteed there would be no surrender to hope for, but it also meant that all this time preparing was for nothing.
Hundreds of miles away, an infamous feline ranted at his generals, especially Goring. “You promised this would break the RAF. You said there would be Messerschmidt’s flying victory laps over parliament! You said it would take days in June, weeks in July, and now you come to me to say it will take months in September?! My God, if the last three months hasn’t caused Churchill to negotiate, then what will? Our pilots should be sent back day after day until the job is done. I don’t care how tired they are or how many we lose, they must succeed!”
The more intelligent generals wanted to say “nothing”, but nothing was not acceptable. Their Fuhrer did not like the idea of having such a dangerous enemy so close to their new borders. Fortunately for them, the leader of the Luftwaffe was a longtime friend of Hitler who, more important than being friends with their Fuhrer, knew how to say the right thing.
Across the channel, German troops pack equipment and pull back from Normandy, having gotten word from Berlin that Hitler has postponed the invasion indefinitely. In Southeastern Germany, Hitler is furious with Goring for the failure of the attack. Goring proposes instead to burn London to the ground through night-time attacks, believing that the RAF has no answer to such a strategy.
“My Fuhrer, I take full responsibility for the results of this campaign. I know I have failed you, but there is still a path to victory.”
“Oh? What will you have me do, order our fleet into the Channel only to be sunk like the Spanish?!”
“No, of course not. Our intelligence was wrong about the RAF only having fifty fighters left. Five hundred would be more accurate, too many to shoot down. But we can remove England’s ability to make new aircraft as well as other equipment. Night-time bombing is the answer we’ve been looking for. The fighters cannot attack us at night, and our losses have been minimal. Every night we shall bomb London until the English have had enough, even if it does take months.”
“And this is low risk to our own aircraft and pilots?”
“Yes, my Fuhrer. The numbers show the truth. Well over ninety percent of our casualties have been during daylight raids. At night our crews are safe, and our bombers make it across the Channel in one piece. This will make the RAF irrelevant.”
Hitler stood up and adjusted his hair that had begun to fall out of place due to his ranting. “Very well. I want London to be burned to the ground to set an example to other cities. There is much more to discuss but I must retire for a while so that my physician can administer the vitamins he has prescribed.”
McMurray Farm, St. Louis, Missouri
“You think those letters we sent got to him yet?” Joseph asked Ethan while the two of them helped square away the kitchen at the McMurray farm.
“I’m certain anything we send his way will help.” Ethan replied. “During my service I only had two letters from home, but they pushed me to keep fighting and find a way to come back alive.”
“I hope he’s safe.” Ivy added, reaching to put a plate back in the cupboard. “I get the feeling he’s been in some horrific accident by now.”
The comment caused Joseph to freeze in fear and Freckle gave Ivy a disappointed look. “Don’t scare the kid, honey. He’s as worried as the rest of us.”
“Right, sorry.” Ivy said. “He can handle himself. He did manage to keep himself alive before you two got involved with the speakeasy, after all.”
“True, but I’ve also lost track of the number of times one of us has been saved by the others.” Ethan said. “Even so, Ivy is right, Cal. Even if it’s only by luck, Rocky’s always kept himself alive.”
“What would it take to go see him, you think?” Joseph asked the adults around him.
“Well, I suppose you could get yourself on a convoy, but then you’d be crossing the Atlantic on a giant floating target for the German Navy.” Ethan said.
“There’s always the option of neutral ports.” Freckle added. “You could still get to him through Dublin.”
“Or just join the army.” Ivy quipped, forgetting for a moment that the mention of such a thing brought worry to both Ethan and Calvin. “Sooner or later, I imagine the army will be in England to help.”
“Or just wait until the war is over.” Ethan said, patting Joseph on the shoulder. “He left you here with your aunt and uncles knowing full well you’ll be safe here with us. And he’s right. This far inland there isn’t a German plane or ship that can touch us. And if they come by sea… well, let’s just say us old warhorses know how to handle such a problem with or without the army.”
In the living room, Riley read the latest book that piqued her interest while the children gathered to listen to the evening’s programming and Casy sat next to her on the couch. William snuggled under his aunt’s arm, resting his head on her chest, looking down at the book she was reading. Riley instinctively began to stroke William’s ears, soothing him after a long day of school and then helping out around the farm.
Mary adjusted the tuning of the radio for her siblings and cousins. Right on schedule, the static gave way to a bell ringing followed by the sound of an airplane and an air raid siren. “Captain… Midnight…! Yes, Captain Midnight, brought to you every day by the makers of Ovaltine. America’s favorite food drink! Now have you heard the news? The news about that black and orange shake-up mug Captain Midnight has for you? That nice, tall, shaker cup can be used to make a refreshing glass of—”
The radio broadcast suddenly cut out, causing everyone including Riley to notice. The static sound quickly gave way to a news broadcast tone that alerted the adults in the kitchen.
“What’s going on?” Freckle asked. “Do I need to get Viktor’s tools out to fix it?”
“We interrupt this broadcast to bring you breaking news out of Washington D.C. A few minutes ago, President Roosevelt signed into law the Selective Training and Service Act, passed through the Senate earlier today. This will be the first peacetime draft the United States has ever created and, according to the President, is a precautionary measure against potential hostilities with the Axis powers. All men ages twenty-one to thirty-five are required to register with their local draft board no later than October 16th. We will deliver updates to you during our regularly scheduled news broadcasts at 8 am and 5 pm. This has been Bob Hite with KWK radio. We now return to our regularly scheduled program and we apologize for the interruption.”
While the show continued, the room was silent. Ethan thought about what this meant. Freckle, Joseph, and Casy would have to register. Based on his own experience, it would only be a matter of time until at least one of them would get called up for service. Freckle looked especially worried. Older than the ideal recruit, he was still young enough to have to register. He had hoped the ages would be more restricted in the version the Senate would pass.
“Well…” Ethan said. “I’m going to a boxing Gym tomorrow after the kids get out of school. You boys are welcome to join me there.”