by M L Maki
Captain Buck ‘Poke’ Hall, his element leader asks, “Were you hit by ground fire?”
Okie turns and inverts trying to get a shot at the high-speed jet, but the 163B is already circling to another area. “Negative, a German jet.” He feels the plinks of ground fire, realizes he’s too close to the ground, and pulls up, clearing a tree. He goes back down. Staying low is safer.
Okie hears LT Peter ‘Loony’ Thun, “Loony’s hit, lost number 2 engine.”
Poke, “Loony, what hit you?”
Looney, “A German jet. Jesus, it’s fast.”
Okie swivels his head trying to locate the German jet and avoid obstacles. A German soldier stands up with a tube launched weapon, so he adds right rudder and fires a burst. He barely sees the man go down, before he’s past him.
When he turns to look back, he sees the German jet on his six approaching fast. Okie pulls up and rolls to the right causing the German to miss. As the German flashes by, Okie rolls left and adjusts for windage and fires a burst of 30mm. He stitches the plane in front of him in the wing root and cockpit. The aircraft continues on for a moment then rolls and augers in.
Okie yells, “Shit howdy, I got one!”
Captain ‘Buck’ Hall, “Radio discipline, Shit Howdy.”
LT Larry ‘Tip Toe’ Timpkins, “How did you get him?”
“When they jump you, fly low and slow. They have to attack on your plane of flight. As they fly by, pull in on them.”
“Thank you, Shit Howdy.”
“But, I’m Okie.”
Buck laughs, “You’re Shit Howdy now.”
MOUSE AND TROLLOP, 10,000 FEET ABOVE THE FLEET
ENS Julie ‘Mouse’ Mulligan, RIO for LT Pauline ‘Trollop’ Cash, says, “Another raid to the east. Ten aircraft.”
Trollop, “Okay, Mouse. We have two AIM-1’s left. Give me a steer.”
“Five right. Lock.”
Trollop, “Fox 3, Fox 3.” The two missiles streak toward the inbound bogies.
On radio, “Gawain 2, Whiskey India 7, Dog flight 2 is under fighter attack. Come to 210 and engage.”
Mouse, “Splash 2. There’s another raid closing the fleet. What is your priority?”
WHISKEY INDIA 7, 36,000 FEET OVER CAMBRIDGE
Flight Lieutenant Thomas, “Understood. Disregard. Do we have any aircraft to cover the A-10’?”
They hear Shotgun in Yankee control, “All units, Yankee. Yankee actual has established the priorities. At this time, the fleet is priority one. The A-10’s are priority two. The air bases are priority three and all other areas are priority four.”
Thomas to his men, “We need more planes. Many more planes. Instead, we’re losing what we have.”
4TH PLATOON, EASY CO, 509TH PARACHUTE REGIMENT, NORTH OF NORTH SHIELD, UK
Johnny comes to, rain on his face. He’s lying face up, in the mud, and looking at someone’s legs. He hears his gun fire and sits up.
“Johnny!” The corpsman grabs him, “You okay?”
“My head hurts.”
“Fucking ‘A’, your head hurts. Your one hard-headed mother fucker. A bullet bounced off your skull. Can you fight?”
“Fuck, yeah.”
Their captain runs toward them and drops into their trench, “Boys, the major is talking to a local. He has a way for us to cross the Tyne and get south. Get ready to move out.”
GAWAIN 2, EAST OF THE BRITISH FLEET
Trollop and Mouse are completely defensive against the six ME-262’s circling them. Mouse squeaks, “We’re outa missiles. What the fuck are we doing?”
Trollop, calm, “I still have 150 rounds.”
Mouse, “Break left!”
Trollop yards the stick over in a left snap roll and puts on the afterburners. “G’s.” She pops the plane back level and pulls. A ‘262 overshoots and she turns after him, “G’s.” Tracer fire from his wingman passes behind them just as she squeezes the trigger. Her rounds hit right behind the cockpit of the lead plane and tracer rounds go into the fuel tank. She smiles when she sees flames.
Mouse, “Break! Break!”
Trollop rolls right, “G’s,” then snaps back left and inverts into a dive. With the afterburner still on, she accelerates like a bullet. The Germans pursue, but they’re far behind.
Mouse, “They’re falling back.” On radio, “All units, Gawain 2 is exiting west at high mach. We are skosh.”
WHISKEY INDIA 7, 36,000 FEET OVER CAMBRIDGE
Flight Lieutenant Thomas, “Understood, Gawain 2. Texas flight is inbound. Thank you, Gawain. I counted six kills.”
To his radar operators, “I’ll tell you this, these yank Shiela pilots can really fly.”
One of his ratings says, “I would like to dive into the covers with her. I bet she shags like a rabbit.”
Thomas, “Guiles, you will retract that remark right bloody now, or I will have you on the docket.”
“Sir, they ain’t here to hear me.”
“I’m here, and those Valkyries are saving our country. I’ll not have a cross word said about them. Am I understood?”
“Yes, sir. I’m…I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“See that it don’t.”
GAWAIN 2 OVER THE BRITISH AND AMERICAN FLEETS
As Trollop flies over the fleet at 2000 feet, she rolls the plane to check the damage. “Oh my God! Mouse look. More are sinking than afloat, and they’re still fighting.”
Mouse, “We’re all in, ya know? We’re pushing in all our chips.”
“So much death.”
“All because of a handful of megalomaniacs.”
“Are you up for another flight, Mouse?”
“A piss break and more missiles and bullets. That, and I’m good.”
Trollop smiles, “All in.”
4TH GERMAN ARMY CORPS, NORTH SHIELD, UK
1852, 23 September, 1942
Field Marshal Erwin Rommel walks from his Tiger HII tank to his command communications track, “Manfred, how many units do we have south of the river?” His armor fills the streets and are hard to see between the tall buildings.
“First Division has about half of their units south of the river. Only air attacks and light skirmishing thus far. Eighth Division is ashore. They are securing North Shield and Newcastle. They have been heavily engaged with parachute units. Those units have disengaged and slipped into the population.
An SS Oberfuhrer approaches and salutes Rommel, “Heil Hitler.”
Rommer returns the salute, “Oberfuhrer Werner. Is your division unloaded?”
“It is Herr Field Marshal. We depart south now. You must halt the movement of the other units so we may pass.”
“I will do no such thing. You’re to travel west along the road to Corbridge and Hexham. Secure the bridges and hold.”
“You don’t understand, Herr Field Marshal, our orders are to race south and destroy Alconbury. When we destroy their base and capture their ground crews, the Luftwaffe will own the sky.”
Rommel nods. It was not at all unusual for SS units to receive orders from Hitler himself. “Will you move as a division?”
“No. My units will race to Alconbury, while your forces plod behind. Glory will fall on the first unit there.”
Rommel stares at the SS officer and shakes his head, “Very well, we’ll make room. You will keep me informed so that I may coordinate with your, um, efforts?”
“Of course, Field Marshal. Though we may have victory before you even sort out your formation.”
CHAPTER 5
SPIKE’S QUARTERS, RAF ALCONBURY
0418, 24 September, 1942
Sam wakes with a start, disoriented. Then it comes back like a weight. She listens and hears nothing. Stiff, she climbs from her bed and goes to her wardrobe. There is one flight suit and some underclothes. Everything else is gone. “Radar!”
She has her underwear on and is pulling on her flight suit when YN1 Cooper walks in with a cup of coffee. “Thud and Jedi are up. Gunner just landed. Your bird is st
ill down. Air Marshal Dowding has found us a new home. The field is RAF Kenley south of London. It has an eight thousand foot and a five-thousand-foot runway. Miami and Kansas fly out of there. He’s moving them to Biggin Hill. Oh, and Dowding wants to talk to you soonest. I can turn on a helicopter when you want it.”
“How long for us to move?”
“Spike, do you really think they will attack here?”
She meets his gaze, “Yes, I do. I know this disrupts our operation, but it’s necessary.”
“Oh, okay.”
“Radar?”
“What about all the girlfriends. Are we going to leave them behind to get raped and killed?”
“No, Cooper. I’ll see to it.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s all right. Thank you for the coffee and the update.” Now dressed, she hands him the cup and walks to the operations center. As she enters, “Report.”
Major Louis ‘Shotgun’ Mossberg, USMC, repeats Cooper’s report and adds, “Swede is on ready 5. We’ve dispatched Dim Bulb for dust off. Hot Pants and GQ are getting checked out at the infirmary. The Warthog ground crews have arrived. We are shifting them to Kenley and trying to keep pressure on the Germans. Ma’am, we’ve lost two ’10 already. The German’s have SAM’s. I know they are pri 2, but they need high cover.”
She shakes her head, “Murphy’s laws of combat, when you are out of everything but enemies, you’re in a combat zone. Is everyone, including ground crew getting sleep?”
Mossberg, “We don’t have enough aircraft to keep the ground crews busy. Ma’am, three birds. One bad sortie and we’re done.”
“I’m aware of that, Major. We cannot have that sortie. We must survive more than we must win.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Spike, please.” She takes a clearing breath, “I need to talk to the A’10 CO’s. Set that up without disrupting their flight schedules. That and get me Dowding on the line.”
Cooper comes in with a tray holding her breakfast, “Eat.”
Mossberg, “Ma…Spike, it’s 0430.”
“I don’t care and neither does he. I also need to know what the Germans are doing on the ground.”
“Roger, Spike.”
She studies the map below her, absently eating her breakfast. The Germans are returning from a raid on Portsmouth and Miami is battling four Germans over York. “Section Officer Lorrie.”
The woman managing the control room looks up, “Yes, Commodore?”
“Would it be possible to mark the forward progress of the German land units on the map?”
“I’m not sure, Commodore. I will find out.”
“Thank you.”
Shotgun says, “Dowding on line, Spike.”
On radio they hear Speedy, Thud’s RIO, “Splash 1, no, splash 2.”
She takes the receiver, “Hunt.”
Air Chief Marshal Hugh Dowding, Commander of British Fighter Defense, says, “Commodore, how many aircraft have you?”
“I have three flyable and one or two I might get repaired. Thank you for finding us a home south of London.”
“Of course, I do hope it’s an unnecessary precaution, but you were quite right.”
“How many Griffins do you have?”
“Sixteen flyable. We’re building four a day, but the invasion will disrupt that.”
Spike grimaces, “Do you think the Army can stop them on the beach?”
“No, I’m afraid not. We had quite discounted the likelihood of a northern invasion. Over half of our army is in the Middle East, and those are our most experienced.”
“The new A-10 Warthogs will be a force multiplier, but we must protect them from air attack. They’re powerful uncompromising ground attack planes, but they are slow and vulnerable to air attack.”
They hear, “Yankee Control, Rusty 1. Can you please give us the forward edge of battle? It’s chaos here.”
Spike, “Excuse me.” She picks up a microphone, “Rusty 1, Yankee actual. I’m sorry, no. We are trying to get that information.”
“There are good guys engaged on the ground and I can’t tell who is who.”
“Understood.”
“Chief Marshal, we need to know the forward edge of battle to help guide the Warthogs.”
“I’ll see what can be done, but right now, it’s chaos.”
On radio, “All units, Arthur 2. I’m with a British Home Guard unit south of Newcastle and engaged with German mechanized units. I can walk you on, Rusty.”
Spike, “Arthur 2, Yankee actual. Authenticate.”
“Roger, Yankee. I wasn’t there, but I’m still wearing my pink ribbon.”
“Roger, Wingnut. Rusty 1, take your steer from Wingnut. He is confirmed Arthur 2.”
Dowding, “Pink ribbon?”
“I’ll explain later. One of my downed air crew is acting as a forward air observer. That will help, but he can’t be everywhere.”
“So, you have set the priorities for the defense of Britain?”
“Sir, I have to. My assets are limited. The fleet is engaging the invasion fleet, making them pri1. The A-10’s are vital for destroying their armor and vehicles. They must be pri 2. The airfields are vital for air operations, but we have more than one, so they are pri 3. Everything else must be pri 4. As Admiral Halsey said, “I don’t have to win every battle, but we absolutely must survive.”
“Your logic is impeccable, and I quite agree. Parliament will be quite disappointed, though, to know they are at the bottom.”
“I understand, and I don’t envy you your job. I should point out; a new politician is much easier to find then a new jet or pilot.”
Dowding laughs, “Have you heard what the Germans are calling you?”
“No, but I’m sure it would be an unwelcome term in polite society.”
“Quite, but not really. You are called the Dragon Lady. I’m told it’s a phrase that connotes fear and respect.”
“Oh, well, not so bad. Do you have a call sign, sir?”
“I do. I’m called Stuffy, Spike.”
She smiles, “Thank you, sir.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll let you get back to it.”
SOUTH OF GATESHEAD, UK
LT Tommy ‘Wingnut’ Urland stands next to a Home Guard sergeant, Andrew Tully. North of them, they see a column of German armor in the early morning darkness. “Rusty 1, Wingnut, please turn your running lights on and off for identification.”
“Roger.”
They see the lights wink on and off to the east. “Got you. You’re heading mostly north. Turn west and descend. I’ll flash a light. Germans 400 yards north of our position in a field near houses.”
He hears the engines change pitch as the pilot turns. He shields his light and flashes it at the A-10.
“I have you, Wingnut. Hunker down.”
They hear the brrrt of the chain gun and a bright explosion silhouetting a tank turret launching into the sky. Another burst, and a second tank goes up. The concussion thumps them in the chest. “Rusty 1, Wingnut, good kills. Keep them coming.”
“Rusty flight, Rusty 1, we have a hunting ground. Approach east west and roll in by the numbers. You’ll find me by the burning tanks.” After his unit acknowledges, he asks, “Wingnut, Rusty 1. Are those houses evacuated?”
“Stand by,” and Tommy turns to Sergeant Tully, “Are they?”
“It can’t be helped, Yank. Just keep it coming.”
“Fucking bullshit. We don’t kill our own.” On radio, “Negative, Rusty 1. We have no status on the houses.”
The sergeant grabs Wingnut by the lapels, pulling him in close, “We’re at war, Yank. The Germans got to be hit!”
Tommy, a large man, pushes the sergeant away, “We are at war, SIR. Sergeant, I’m a fucking officer. Don’t you fucking forget it. I will NOT kill innocent people.”
“The Krauts will, sir.”
“That’s why we’re fighting them. If they were good people, we could settle it over a pint.”
�
�Yes, sir.”
GENERAL WEBER’S HQ, OCCUPIED FRANCE
0542, 24 September, 1942
Weber stands studying a map of Britain. A staff sergeant approaches, “Field Marshal Rommel on the radio, sir.”
He picks up the microphone, “Air Group West.”
“General, what are you doing to destroy the Yankee cross, the American attack jet. It has a high capacity, large caliber gun that cuts up our armor. It needs to be your focus.”
“Yes, Herr Field Marshal. I’m drawing the American fighters away and attacking those planes. I’m told it’s very hard to kill.”
“How many jets do they have?”
“Three, perhaps four.”
“Soon, I wish that number to be zero.”
“Yes, Herr Field Marshal.”
“We do well, and I’m pleased with your accomplishments, but the issue before us, it is still very much in doubt.”
“I agree, sir. But their weakness is an advantage we may exploit.”
CHEESEBURN GRANGE, NORTH OF RAF OUSTON
0502, 24 September, 1942
LT Gus ‘Cuddles’ Grant moves from concealment on the roof top and stops, looking east. The Home Guard and the base security are making a go of it in and around the buildings south of the field. Uncle Tucker and his nephew, a Home Guard radioman named Charles are with him. Tucker asks, “Maybe they’re all going south?”
Cuddles replies, “The Germans aren’t stupid. They’ll want this field.”
“You suppose we can stop them?”
“Doubt it, but it’s why we’re here.” He sees an A-10 climb and turn for a pass. “See that?”
Tucker, “A German Jet?”
“No, that, my friend, is an A-10 Warthog. I heard we were making new ones. Charles, have you heard from the regular army unit north of us yet?”
Charles, “They’re close. A few miles away.”
In the distance Cuddles sees a Panzer 4 break through a hedge, followed by German infantry. He turns on his radio, “Any Warthog, Cuddles.”
“Cuddles, Dog flight 3, authenticate.”
