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LJG Kyle "Retro" Goodman, USN, 42nd Squadron

He was bearing down on the plane ahead of him. He had just downed a German Heinkel and was trying to catch up with the rest of his group. The closest was still 5 clicks ahead.

Then he noticed two fast moving blips on the radar, dead ahead and moving right towards their group. Focke-Wulf 190G-9's, probably. He pushed the throttle as high as it could go, feeling the engine start to shake slightly as it topped out at maximum speed.

It was less than a minute before the bogies came into view, but it felt more like twenty. He was now only a few clicks behind his group and they were already under fire. He winced as he watched one of his own take heavy fire across it's fuselage causing it to bellow smoke and flames as it dove into the ocean.

The FWs passed what was left of his group and was quickly closing the gap on him. His finger tightened around the trigger on his flight stick, and squeezed off a hail of bullets just as the bogies came into range. They began returning fire. He quickly took evasive action, throwing the Hellcat into a barrel roll. The FWs were right on top of him now. He could hear the guns over the roar of his engine, and watched helplessly as his left wing passed through a stream of bullets.

Just as the FWs passed him, he was coming out of the barrel roll. He pulled back hard on the flight stick. He climbed to about 300 meters, and glanced back. The FWs didn't continue pursuit. That was a relief. Checking on his group just ahead of him, he saw that what remained had taken minor hits but were still airborne. That was a relief, too. Then he checked his left wing. There were a few good size holes, but it would hold together.

The F6F Hellcat he piloted was known to withstand a lot, and that he was thankful for. Most of the other pilots preferred the newer fighters, and dubbed him mad for still flying a Hellcat. He didn't care, it was a good plane--no, a great plane. He began to descend closer to his group, now that he had caught up.

He heard his own voice crackle on the comms as he spoke, "watch your horizon. Beach in 13 clicks." he gently lowered his plane to the lead pilot's upper right and slightly ahead, to let the other pilot know he's still there, then gradually climbed to about 100 meters. Just then, a pair of blips appeared on his radar, and then another. Bad news.

"Bogies inbound. Three at ten o'clock. Slow moving... Could be Messerschmitts. Stay sharp," he flipped a couple switches on the panel to his left. A red indicator began pulsing, confirming primary and secondary missiles were now armed. Glancing down at his comrade's plane once more to reassure himself, he banked left and revved the RPMs, putting himself on an intercept path with the bogies.

Messerschmitts may be slow, but they had much more firepower than his Hellcat. He was hoping to out-maneuver them.

"Ten minutes to engage," his voice crackled over the comm again, more to himself than anyone. His job was to ensure the payload was delivered, whatever it takes. He decided to light a smoke to pass the time, not knowing it would be his last.

LJG Kyle "Retro" Goodman, USN, 42nd Squadron

Retro pulled one last drag from the cigarette, savoring the last puff of smoke as he let it out and then pushed the butt out a small window in the cockpit.

The Messerschmitts were just coming into view ahead of him. He dropped low over the ocean, hoping the blue paint job of his bucket would hide him for just long enough to get an advantage on them.

He ran through checks of his guns and missiles, and checked his payload. Four of the M2s had about 220 rounds each and the last two still had full 400-round mags. He had only used one of his HVAR rockets in the last dogfight, so there were still 5 left. He was up against quite a bit of firepower though. Most Messerschmitts these days had the standard six machine guns in the nose of the aircraft, as well as the flexible mount turret. The type of machine guns mounted on them would depend on if they were outfitted as bombers or not. He was hoping they were not.

The bogies began to bank to port, confirming their primary objective: take out Flyboy and his group. They either hadn't noticed him, or didn't consider him enough of a threat.

Only five clicks away now, almost in range.

He took a deep breath and pulled back on the stick. Thanks to their change in flight plan, it put him on a flanking course. Not a moment after he climbed to their altitude, one of the bogies broke away from the group. It was heading right for him.

He closed his eyes for only a second, trying to mentally brace himself for what was to come next.

LJG Kyle "Retro" Goodman, USN, 42nd Squadron

As he opened his eyes again, Retro saw that the Messerschmitt was practically on top of him now. He positioned the bogie in his sights and squeezed the trigger. For a moment the sound of those first two guns unloading drowned out even the sound of his own engine.

The bogie banked in an attempt to evade, but not quite soon enough. He had already gotten a few decent tags down it's fuselage. It was heading inland now. Retro banked to starboard to pursue.

The gun mount atop the Messerschmitt began to spin around toward him. Thinking quickly, he dove below the other plane's horizon and revved the engine to bridge the gap between them just a little more. Just as the gun at the tail of the bogie began to track his position, he squeezed off another hail of bullets as he pulled back on the stick. At that moment the bogie's tail gun also opened fire on him. He pulled back even harder trying to climb out of the path of the majority of the return fire.

Thup thup .... thup.. thup thup.

"Damn!" He blurted as he heard the bullets hitting their mark. One had pierced his right wing, he could see a thin stream of fuel trickling out through the wound. The other bullets must have his in the aft end of the fuselage or tail of his plane. Instinctively he flipped on the comm link and practically shouted, "I'm hit! Looks like I've sprung a leak.... Not too bad... I'm continuing pursuit. Out." With that he switched the comm back off.

The Messerschmitt was now just out of firing range ahead of him, so he had to catch up. He double checked his fuel gauge--just over half--and reassured himself it would be enough.

"Your turn." He gritted his teeth and pushed the throttle a little higher. His thumb clicked the button on the flight stick just as the bogie drifted into the cross-hair and a rocket shot out from under his left wing.

Major Klaus Wulf, Luftwaffe, JG-26

Hizel-burg airfield, five minutes before Messerschmitt engagement

The air raid siren in Hizel-burg had been going off constantly since the enemy planes were picked up on radar; the loud, monotonous noise being Klaus' alarm clock to get into gear and do his job. He had spent the night in his flight suit, which wasn't the most comfortable of things, but he was a generally cautious man and never once thought there wouldn't be an attack; constantly alert, constantly ready, that's how he was.

Klaus didn't know what time it was by the time he reached the airfield, jogging across to his plane where his two wingmen stood. Kristoff and Hans were his best friends, with him since flight school, and amazing dog fighters.
"Cutting it a bit close, Klaus." Hans said with a quick shake of his head.
"It would help if our Intel gave us the right day for this attack, but that doesn't matter. Get to your planes and I'll see you in the air." Klaus gave a sharp salute to both his men and watched them run towards their Henschel 132's.
Klaus took a moment to survey his Hawker Tornado, a British prototype fighter he had bagged after being shot down over Lancaster. 2,210 horsepower backed this baby, giving him a top speed of 402 miles per hour when pushing it sacrificing the ceiling he could reach at 33,000 feet, but he mainly preferred this plane for its manoeuvrability. Of course only four of these planes were made due to the Bristol Centaurus engine being unreliable, but it hadn't failed him yet. The rather basic armaments, 12 7.7mm machine guns, were at his disposal and gave one hell of a volley if he opened up completely on a target.

After going through his ritual of stroking each propeller on the nose of the plane Klaus climbed onto the wing and into the cockpit, pulling his leather gloves on and a flight cap over his head. This was by far the best part of any mission; getting a feel for the plane you were in, just those first few seconds when you climb in, was so invigorating to Klaus that he was normally the first in this group to take off. Today was different though, today was the tenth year anniversary from when he first joined the Luftwaffe. Being the superstitious person he was he saw this as a bad omen, but he thought his ritual counter-acted this and paid no attention.

After perusing the array of buttons, dials, and knobs on the dashboard, Klaus secured his flight cap and started the engine. An engineer was there to give the props one tug, backing away quickly as the engine roared to life like a caged animal and the props started going.
"Flight check complete, sound off." Klaus could hear his own voice in the radio, crackly as always.
"Viper two, green across the board." Hans came back to him first.
"Viper three, good to go. See you in the air Viper one." Kristoff came back last, giving his two companions the thumbs up from his cockpit.

Two minutes after Messershmitts engaged

Klaus' sky blue Hawker came hurtling down the air field, Viper two and three on his tail. He could feel the power rumbling through the cockpit from the engine, the powerful humming noise almost deafening him to the radio. A slight pull on the stick lifted his plane's nose into the air, the wheels leaving the ground soon after. Klaus had made his stick as sensitive as he could in order to get the most out of his plane, though it did mean the smallest of movements had to be used for less combat orientated moves.
"Time to interception with the bombers, one minute." Hans called over the radio, shouting in fact.
"Affirmative, Viper two."
Ahead Klaus could see the Messershmitts getting work work on the bomber squadron, a small smile coming to his lips as he thought of his target's position; they had the patrol units coming at them from behind and now they had a squadron of three swift attack planes coming in from ahead.
"Two and three, break off and engage the escort, I'll charge the lead bomber."
Nothing more needed to be said, he could already see Hans and Kristoff peeling away to engage the escort fighters as he headed straight towards the lead bomber.

For 40 seconds he stayed on a collision course, still 20 seconds away from hitting, he did not break off. 50 seconds now, concentration removing the smile on his face as he made sure to line the lead bomber up in his sights. 52 seconds, time to act; Klaus squeezed the trigger on his flight stick, six of the twelve guns spraying a hail of 7.7mm rounds towards his target. Two seconds of holding the trigger down was enough, he was about to collide, so he yanked the stick back and flew almost vertically out of the bomber's path.

Captain Cal "Flyboy" Morrison, USMC

The peppering of his plane with bullets burst Flyboy out of his trance. He felt the change in air pressure as the enemy plane barely missed him. Fly boy yanked the flight stick towards him, barreling to the ground. Flipping over he flew on, barely missing electrical wires that lay in his path. A voice crackled over the com, but he didn't hear what was said. A building almost sheared his wing as he flew on his side for a moment and righted himself, flying vertical once again.

His heart beating as he righted himself. Looking at his radar he could see the plane that almost rammed him. He flicked his his thumb against his fuel gauge for a moment, noticing the quick descent of his right tank. Signing he looked back to see the spray of fuel coating the road and sidewalks below him. Not just sidewalks, but a few civilians made a bee-line for their abodes as the fuel landed on and around them.

Flyboy thumbed the com to life. "I'm going in. Have a bogey on my tail..or around my tail anyway. If you an keep up with me. Flyboy out."

Flyboy knew that this pilot had guts. He would see how gutsy this pilot truely was...

Gripping his flight stick he turned towards the heart of the city. His target was there, but so was a chance of escape. The buildings loomed tall here, a testament to German progress and defiance of the war years. Going as close to the ground as he dared, fly boy jerked his stick right at a wide intersection.

People yelled and cars honked, lights flashed below him. Flyboy was now in the heart of Hizel-burg. A bit lower then he had expected, but his target was close at hand. He primed his load, ready to drop at a moments notice. If he went down a good portion of this city was going with him.

LJG Kyle "Retro" Goodman, USN, 42nd Squadron

What looked like two Henschels appeared on his radar, apparently escorting a British Hawker.

Odd, he thought to himself.

The Messerschmitt was heading toward the German airbase on the edge of Hizel-burg. It was retreating. Retro had no desire to pursue it there, there were too many anti-aircraft guns at the base. Just as he was assessing the situation, the Henchels broke formation and were headed right toward him.

The bogies began firing on him, but they were well out of range.

Odd, the thought again.

He calmly banked to starboard--towards the heart of the city, and away from the airbase--and opened her up full-throttle. Henschels were notorious for being sluggish in the air, Retro would have no trouble out manuevering them. There were two of them though, that put the odds against him. His skill as a pilot would be his best defense. His light and quick fighter had easily out flanked the Henshels. He was now passing them a few hundred yards to port, and hoping they would follow. He backed off on the throttle a little, to allow the Henschels time to turn around and pursue him.