Lady From Hell

It almost happened. My salute to those who didn’t come back.

George made the turn for home as the low squadron dropped their bombs. Havensberg was not a milk run, we’ve had it worse. The murderous splats from the black puffs of death thinned, then ceased. This meant it was time for the fighters. I crawled into the top turret and swiveled to face the sun — the bastards always came out of the sun.

I swiveled the twin 50s back and forth, back and forth centering on the sun. Where were they? They always followed the flak, always. As high lead, we’d get hit first — first and hardest. We were to fly due north until we passed the Baltic Coast, then west by northwest until we sighted Dover, then due north again until home. Home sweet home.

“Bogie 3 o’clock high,” I shouted, pressing the mike tabs against my throat. The spot was growing too quickly, he was coming in too fast.

“I don’t see him,” said Fred. “Wait, there he is. That can’t be, he’s too damned fast.”

He was a winged shark coming in for the kill. He made his first pass without firing. I couldn’t track him. I fired as he came directly at me, but I overshot — he came in under my tracers. No one got a piece of him. I followed him more with my eyes than my guns. It was a beautiful plane, never saw the like. He climbed straight up, did a wing over, then down, coming…