"First Encounter"
" Bandits, eight o-clock !"
Ryan jerked to nervous attention as the words tinkled in his ear-phones. It was his first engagement with the enemy. He peered through the perspex of his cockpit into the deep blue of the sky. An undulating plain of clouds floated below, shining in the June sun, and through the many gaps in the fleecy silver the vast ocean below glittered like a great glass studded with small patches of brown and green. Somewhere below that endless glimmering carpet was England .... and Wendy.
" Bandits, eight o'clock!"
He turned his head and stared with steel blue eyes into the crystal clarity of the sky. His hands trembled on the controls and a sick lump settled in his stomach. He was more afraid of being afraid than for his life. He thought of Wendy and the garden at home; the river on a dreamy evening with the scent of lilac on the cool breeze; the game of cricket on Saturday afternoons, and the drive to the covers; the Cliffs at Beachy Head, and the boats crawling in the Channel. But most of all he thought of Wendy and his unborn child.
" Bandits, eight o'clock !"
A nerve twitched rebelliously in his leg. Yes, it was his duty to help to save England, and to make it a land of peace to bring up his child in. Even if he died he must do his best. He gazed around, and saw the enemy. Eight of them. He looked at his companions. The Hurricanes were in perfect formation, masters of the air, man's supreme conquest of the element that had lain above him for thousands of years. He spotted Ginger with his fuzz of red hair, and the ten swastikas painted on his 'plane, indicating ten German aircraft ' bagged.' Yes, Ginger was an ace! He wondered if Ginger ever felt afraid.
" Bandits, eight o'clock !" ' '
He eased back the stick, and zoomed upwards. A thrill ran through his veins as he felt the 'plane respond to his touch. He seemed to be suspended on the spinning propeller as he nosed towards the enemy. Tracer flashed past him, and he was amongst wolves. A Focke-Wulfe loomed ahead, apparently floating into his gunsights. For one brief moment it was there, and he saw his bullets trace a line of punctured holes along the painted fuselage. The pilot jerked un-naturally, and his 'plane went into a spin. How he hated doing that!
He heard a rattle on his port side and something red hot tore into his leg. He jerked his Hurricane around, and slipped out of the line of fire. All around him the air was full of tracer, and zooming and plunging aircraft. More bullets shot past him and gouged into the nose of the Hurricane. He had a Jerry on his tail. If he did not shake him off------- For one moment he panicked. He waited paralysed for the bullets to plough into him. They never came.
And as he flung his 'plane into a half-turn he knew why. The Jerry was plunging earthwards smoke gushing out in a dense, oily column, and with angry flames licking at the fuselage and wings. Ginger had bagged another one, and saved his life. He had never realised before just how precious life was. A silent prayer rose to his lips, a prayer of thankfulness.
The sky was shedding crippled German aircraft to the rippling carpet of clouds at an ever-increasing rate. All the time Ginger seemed to be zooming around him fighting off the attacks of the Focke-Wulfes. He gained confidence under this cover, and shot down another of the enemy.
The German 'plane seemed to erupt in a sudden cloud of dense, black smoke, and a brilliant orange flash. When his plane tore through the clawing vapour of the vanquished, Ginger was still with him. He searched around for the enemy, but the sky was clear except for six Hurricanes. His relief was like a physical shock. He gazed thankfully at Ginger who "wagged his wings." The order to return to base sounded like music. The six aircraft glided down through the cloud layer, and soon the cliffs of Dover were shining at them in the late afternoon sunlight.
The green of the airfield, and its ribands of tarmac, laid themselves out like a map before him, as he slowly lost height and turned for his landing run. He hardly felt the bump as the wheels struck the tarmac runway, he was so elated. As the 'plane rumbled to a stop, he raised himself out of the cockpit. The bullet in his leg made him limp, but he tried to forget it. He waited beside his 'plane for Ginger, but he could not see him.
Marlowe had taxied near to him. He would know where Ginger was. He limped across to the pilot just as he was scrambling out of the cockpit.
"Where's Ginger?" Ryan asked, " I want to thank him for helping me out of some tricky spots."
Marlowe stared at him in astonishment. He wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead with a greasy hand and said, "Ginger? I'm sorry, old boy, but he never stood a chance. Jerry jumped him right at the beginning of the fight. Three of them. Never stood a chance !"
Mike Stanford.