The Misfits thrived in the chaos that ensued. As they had done so many times before, the two most agile fighters ducked and weaved around the large machines, using them to confuse and frustrate the Italian fighters that tried to corner them. Mac and Gwen, in the meantime, kept their speed up, easily outpacing any pursuit, and used it to carry out repeated runs on any part of the bomber formation that showed signs of reorganising, keeping them disoriented and making them easy targets for Abby and Drake.
Unfortunately, though, the Misfits now found themselves at the same disadvantage that the Prussian fighter pilots had been over Britain; they had to fly so far to get to the battle that they didn’t have much spring tension to spare to actually fight. They used what little they had to good advantage, though, taking a heavy toll among the enemy aircraft, but it was like the summer all over again; no matter how many they knocked out of the sky there never seemed to be any fewer.
The Sea Harridans had already retreated by the time the Misfits arrived. Their special springs, which sacrificed range for higher-power and in theory provided them with an advantage over a conventional fighter, now proved to be their downfall. With the Heart of Oak sinking and the Arturo unable to land them quickly enough, many of the remaining aircraft ran out of spring tension and the pilots were forced to bail out.
Only eight managed to land safely.
It took almost an hour, but finally the fires were out, the survivors from the Heart of Oak and the destroyed transport had been rescued, and the Sea Harridans were safely on board the Arturo being rearmed and rewound.
Just in time for the warning to come of another impending raid.
By the time the Misfits had landed back at Hal Far, the next enemy raid was already in the air. The pilots had enough time to stretch their legs and grab some food while the fitters worked, but then they were back in the cockpits and once again chasing after the enemy.
There were just as many aircraft in this raid as there had been in the first, but when the Misfits caught up they found it was made up mostly of green and grey aircraft - it appeared that it wasn’t just the Italians who had finally realised that they should be dedicating far more resources to dealing with a target of such strategic importance. The three MU9 squadrons which had surprised the Misfits the day before were only a very small part of the additional forces the Prussians had brought in - there were more than double the number of HO111’s and FU88’s that had been seen over the island before, as well as four or five dozen heavy fighters to provide close escort, and even a couple of squadrons of FU87 dive bombers.
This time the Misfits were much closer when the raid arrived over the convoy, but that only meant they had front row seats to witness the far more effective Prussian bombing.
The bombers went in much lower than the Italians had, at five thousand feet, instead of twenty, exposing themselves to concentrated fire from the anti-aircraft guns of the convoy, but they were more than compensated for the few losses they sustained. Dozens of bombs found their targets, exploding mostly on the slower transports that were unable to effectively keep up an evasive pattern of course changes. Two took on more water than damage control teams could handle and began their last, slow voyage to the bottom of the sea, fires broke out on several more, but one blew apart with an enormous detonation when a bomb found its hydrogen tanks.
The transports weren’t the only casualties. Two destroyers were struck, one taking a direct hit to its bridge, instantly killing the captain and several senior staff members. Both continued to pour fire into the sky from their anti-aircraft batteries, though; even without a bridge or a leader, the naval personnel knew their duty and would continue to do it until told to stop, even if their ship were sinking beneath them.
However, it was the Arturo that took the brunt of the attack on the military vessels. The Prussians, like the Italians before them, recognised the worth of the carriers, even an old obsolete one like the Arturo, and had chosen it as the target for the two dive bomber squadrons.
The FU87’s came screaming out of the sky almost vertically. Far more accurate than their more stately cousins, more than half of their bombs hit the Arturo. The thick flight deck protected the ship from the worst of the onslaught, but unfortunately the carrier had been in the process of launching the recovered Sea Harridans and one of the aircraft had been on the lift, ready to be hoisted on deck. Two bombs found the hole and detonated within the hangar, killing the unfortunate pilot instantly and filling the rest of the confined space with shrapnel and fire.
When the Arturo suddenly found itself with double its usual compliment of aircraft, there just hadn’t been enough naval mechanics to go around. Eager to contribute to the fight, Wendy, Owen and all the Misfit fitters immediately volunteered to help with the Harridans, rewinding and rearming them as quickly as they could, trying to get them back into the air to meet the raid that the tannoy system had announced was already on its way.
Standard procedure on the carrier was for the mechanics of an aircraft to clear the hangar once their aircraft had been taken to the flight deck. By the time the Prussian raid reached the convoy five had already gone up and there were only three left, so thankfully most of the ground crews were already gone.
Owen and Wendy were standing together by the starboard wing of the last Harridan in line, waiting to push the aircraft onto the lift, when the bombs exploded and a hot wind blasted them.
Gwen tore her eyes from the destruction taking place on the placid sea and looked back at the dark swarm on the horizon, awaiting them.
With barely any Sea Harridans coming from the carriers, the Prussians had placed most of their fighters as a screen between the Misfits and the bombers. It was impossible to accurately count them, but she estimated that there were at least five squadrons of MU9’s and HH190’s, possibly six, and two of MU10’s. Even at the height of the summer, they hadn’t faced such extreme odds. Her mouth went dry and her eyes flicked involuntarily to Dragon, a hundred yards off her left wing.
Before she could say anything, though, Mac asked the question that was on all their minds. ‘Are we really going into that, Badger Leader?’
It was several seconds before Abby responded. ‘Affirmative, Mac.’
Gwen heard the doubt in her voice and looked across to Dragon again, this time slotting lenses in place to see Abby better. Her old wingmate had her lips pressed tightly together and was sitting stiller than she ever did whilst in a combat zone, not even scanning the sky. Even as she watched, though, the woman seemed to shake herself out of whatever had been going through her mind and resumed her restless watch of the sky.
‘We can’t let these bastards know we’re afraid of them, otherwise they’ll keep doing things like this, but we’re not going to press our luck, not today anyway, and we’re only going to do a single pass through them. We’ll wait until we’re a bit closer, then pretend to lose our nerve and start to turn away, but at the last moment we’re going to turn back into them and try to surprise them. I only want to have to do this once, so expend as much ordnance as you can on any target you can get in your sights, then, when you’re through, dive and skedaddle back to Malta.’
Drake laughed. ‘Sounds like a plan, Leader. First one back to Hal Far is a wet blanket!’
‘First one, Digger? You’re only saying it like that because you know you’re in the slowest aircraft here.’ Gwen chuckled, but even she could hear the note almost of hysteria in her voice. Of fear.
‘Radio silence, Misfits.’ Abby snapped, her voice tense, betraying her own nervousness. ‘Turning left on my mark. Mark.’
Together, the Misfits stood their aircraft on their left wings and gently pulled back on their sticks, beginning a turn across the front of the enemy formation as if they were going to flee. They lost sight of the enemy fighters in the process, so they were unable to see if their ploy was having any effect, but it didn’t matter; they would make their run whether the Prussians fell for it or not.
They held the turn for a couple
seconds, presenting their bellies, but then, at Abby’s command, they snapped back onto their other wings and pulled hard towards the enemy. In an instant they were facing the enemy once again, but thanks to their feint they were no longer facing the centre of the enemy formation but rather the flank and the Prussians were scrambling to adjust. The neat pattern of aircraft shifted and all but disintegrated as each of the flight leaders tried to manoeuvre their machines to get a clear shot at the approaching Misfits. Gaps appeared, as did overlaps, and suddenly more than half of the enemy were unable to fire for fear of hitting a friend.
The Misfits plunged into the disorder, cutting swathes through it as if they were the Dark Scythesman personified.
Gwen gritted her teeth as she pulled her trigger over and over, her eyes darting everywhere, her hands and feet unceasing on the controls as she slewed Excalibur back and forth, like a dog worrying a bone. There were so many aircraft around her that she barely had to do anything to find a target in her sights, but, as the British sliced through them, the Prussians were reacting in ever more unpredictable manners, crossing her path and closing gaps she had been aiming for, moments before she reached them, and she was being forced her to push her aircraft to the limit just to avoid a collision.
Fire reached out towards her as the highly-experienced Prussian pilots recovered from their initial surprise. It was far too hastily snatched, though, and most of it came closer to hitting their own machines than it did hers. At least two impacts made the stick shudder and jump in her hand, but she couldn’t afford to take her eyes off the view through her canopy to see where she had been hit, so she ignored them and just kept going.
Suddenly, she was through and she instantly inverted Excalibur, pulling the stick as far back as it would go at the same time and feeling they familiar exhausting increase of weight as the G forces piled on. Her heart was already beating so fast that her vision barely greyed, though.
A flash of colour in the corner of her eye caught her attention and she found Mac’s golden Jaguar keeping pace with her. She grinned and tried to lift her hand to wave, but it was so heavy she couldn’t move it from the throttle where it was resting. She saw him grin back, even as threw his head back and shouted to keep the blood in his head, but then he was falling behind her as Excalibur’s superior performance showed.
Gwen let up on the stick as the nose of her aircraft approached the horizon and, when she could, she looked around for pursuit.
She found Mac immediately, but it wasn’t him she was worried about; Abby and Drake were in aircraft that were too similar in performance to the MU9’s of the Prussians for them to easily outrun them like Excalibur and Jaguar could. She soon spotted them, several hundred yards behind and above her, a cloud of enemy fighters on their tails, closing rapidly.
She didn’t think twice.
She slammed her throttle to full emergency unwind even as she pulled back on her stick as hard as she could. The G forces piled on, far stronger than they had before and this time Excalibur did creak in complaint as her wings were subjected to strains that would have folded up any another aircraft. Gwen kept the stick in her lap, though, and screamed, fighting hard to stay conscious. Blackness crept in on her vision as Excalibur’s nose came above the horizon, but it receded again as the aircraft climbed, beginning to slow. By the time she was passing the vertical her vision was normal again and she was able to seek out her fellow Misfits and their pursuers.
The aircraft were a few hundred yards below, but still half a mile in front of her, so Gwen throttled back to half and when Excalibur’s nose reached the horizon, she kept her there. She waited patiently, judging her moment, and when Abby and Drake were just passing below her, she pounced, completing her loop and swooping down behind the Prussian fighters.
The Fleas had been so focussed on their prey that they hadn’t even noticed she was above them and by the time any of them saw her it was too late; she was already on them.
It was like basic training all over again, shooting towed targets, except that there were living breathing men in these aircraft. Gwen put round after round into fighter after fighter and saw huge chunks spinning off them as her cannon ripped through them. She was able to attack seven of them before the rest scattered in panic.
Her intention had only ever been to get them off her friends so she let them go and formed up on Abby’s wing, opposite Drake.
Abby glanced across at her and nodded her gratitude, but Drake pulled up slightly so that he could grin at her. ‘Really, Goosy, you have to tell me who you got that bird from so I can thank them.’
‘Um... Digger here, Leader. I’ve got a bit of a problem.’
The Misfits were on approach to Hal Far and Drake, in the most inefficient aircraft, was supposed to land first, but he had pulled out of his descent just before landing and turned out of the circuit.
‘Report, Digger.’
‘I’m pretty sure there’s something wrong with my landing gear.’
‘Wait one, I’ll check. Goosy, Mac, go ahead and land.’
While Gwen and Mac continued towards the airfield, Abby banked away and formed up on Drake’s wing.
‘Put them down, Digger.’ Only one of Drake’s wheels came out and Abby grimaced. ‘You’ve only got one leg. Give the manual pump a go.’
There was silence and Drake’s Harridan bobbed gently up and down a few times as he pumped the lever of the hydraulic system that was supposed to put his gear down if the electrical system failed.
‘This feels a bit loose, Leader.’
‘It’s not doing anything. Hang on, I’m going to take a look.’
Abby carefully manoeuvred Dragon until she was directly below the Harridan and sighed; there was a ragged hole in the wing where the right wheel was and the strut which connected it to the aircraft didn’t anymore.
Drake heard her and chuckled. ‘Sounds like you’ve got good news for me, Leader.’
‘Not exactly, Digger. You’re going to have to bail out. Point her out to sea and jump.’
Drake fell silent for a moment. ‘I’m think I’m going to do a belly-flop, Leader.’
‘Negative, Digger, it’s not worth the risk.’
‘I know what I’m doing, Leader, and we need this aircraft - if I can get her down without too much damage it will be worth it.’
‘Alright, then, but don’t blame me when you do yourself a mischief.’
Drake laughed. ‘I won’t!’
Gwen smiled at the waiting Kitty and stepped down from the wing of Excalibur. Her legs gave way beneath her and she staggered, but Kitty caught her before she fell. She closed her eyes and leaned against her, taking a moment to luxuriate in the feel of the American’s strong arms around her, but then forced herself to pull back. She went on tiptoes to kiss her, then turned away and shaded her eyes against the sun to peer into the sky.
Kitty correctly guessed what she was searching for. ‘What’s happening with Rudy? We saw him on approach, but then he broke off.’
Gwen spoke without stopping her search. ‘He has a problem with his gear. Abby was going to take a look for him.’
Kitty joined her and after only a few seconds pointed towards the end of the runway where Dragon had just come into sight, on final approach. ‘There’s Abby, but I don’t see Rudy.’
It wasn’t until Dragon was touching down that Gwen finally saw the Harridan. ‘There he is.’
Relieved, she watched Drake’s battered aircraft descend from the sky as elegantly as her pilot. Since he was coming in to land, she assumed that whatever problem he’d had was resolved, but when he was less than half a mile away she realised that his wheels were still up. ‘What’s he doing?’ She knew exactly what he was doing as soon as the question was out of her mouth - for some reason he had decided to put the aircraft down with the wheels up instead of just taking to his glidewings.
It was typical Drake bravado, but there was one thing in his favour - the Harridan itself. She herself had designed the “Hawking Cage”,
which protected the pilot in the event of a crash landing. Drake had even been saved by it once before, when he’d been shot down by Hans Gruber, the leader of the Crimson Barons, in Muscovy. She just had to trust that it would again.
Dragon pulled over onto the apron next to Excalibur and Abby stood up on her seat to peer back along the runway towards the landing aircraft. Gwen briefly tore her eyes from the Harridan to glance at her, taking in her worried frown, but quickly turned away again and bit her lip as she watched the aircraft’s final approach.
Faith crossed the fence surrounding the airfield with only yards to spare and Drake slowly throttled back and let her sink slowly towards the parched grass. When he was only feet from touching, he levelled the Harridan off, then shut off his spring.
He held the aircraft perfectly level as his airspeed dropped. It was an incredible piece of piloting, even if he did say so himself, and for a second it seemed like the Harridan would just settle gently to the ground like a butterfly, but then disaster struck.
The damage to the wing that had put his undercarriage out of action had also changed the characteristics of the wing itself, giving it a slightly higher stall speed than the other.
Drake felt it happen, but before he could send the message to his hands to compensate for it, the wing had stalled, dipped and lightly brushed the ground.
The machine, which looked so beautiful in flight and was so calm and relaxing to fly, instantly became a hell of tearing metal and shattering glass as it cartwheeled over and over. His straps bit painfully into his shoulders as he was thrown every which way, his head whipping from side to side, but there was nothing he could do except squeeze his eyes shut and wait for it to be over.
The Maltese Defence Page 9
