Bombers Moon

The coordinates provided by the dispatcher were inaccurate. Louis and Chuck flew at least fourteen or fifteen kilometers westward before seeing the trapped fleet and Nazi bombers. Five Dorniers were one less than what the dispatcher reported. Should have been shot down.Chuck searched the sky and saw neither the hurricane nor the enemy Me

109, which means that they may be fighting at high altitude, or the British fighter plane has already crashed, Me

109 lurks higher up.Neither possibility is good news.

Louis gave the command to turn, and Chuck frowned, thinking he heard it wrong: "East is the opposite direction, sir. Shouldn't we drive the bombers away?"

"Don't attack low-flying bombers," Louie replied, with static, "Me

109 is likely to be waiting at high altitude, which is their favorite tactic.Starting from the request for help from the Tanmir base, counting the time we arrived here, the fuel of the enemy plane should be almost exhausted, and we are now going to cut off their return route. "

"Understood, sir."

"Sergeant Sinclair, when your officer gives an order, you should carry it out, not say 'That's the other way'."

Chuck rolled his eyes at the scope in front of him: "I'm sorry, sir."

The Americans soon had to admit that experience was right, and the five German bombers abandoned the remaining transports and turned back to their bases on the northwestern coast of France.Above the bombers, hidden in the blood-red clouds, were fifteen or six Me

109 fighters.Because of the slight altitude difference, the Germans missed the two British fighters and flew straight towards Chuck.

"Wait for my signal." Louis said word by word, and he would slow down when he was nervous, as if every word was tied with a lead pendant.The two Spitfires adjusted their angles and entered the attack position. Chuck clenched the joystick tightly and listened to the continuous roar of the engines.

"Now!"

They dived down at the same time, fired at the German aircraft from the left rear, drew a steep curve, pulled up again, and once again occupied a favorable altitude for a second attack.Generally Me

The 109s would immediately spread out, climb rapidly, and meet the Spitfire head-on, but at this moment they came together even tighter, maintaining their original course.Obviously due to lack of fuel, they wanted to avoid fighting.The machine gunner at the tail of the bomber opened fire on them. The distance was too far and there was no threat. The Spitfire easily avoided it and continued to lock on several German fighter jets that fell behind, firing continuously. The firepower of the Browning machine gun was not enough for a single blow Destroying the opponent's aircraft often requires aiming at the same place and firing several times, unless the bullet hits the fuel tank or engine.Neither of them had such luck for the time being, and Chuck hit one of the Me

109's left wing, but it just wobbled a bit, quickly regained its balance, and was unaffected.

"Keep an eye on the fuel level," Louis reminded on the radio, "We've got a long way home, over."

Chuck glanced at the instrument: "I estimate that there are still 10 minutes of fighting time, over."

"clear."

They aimed at the same Me

109, crossfired, and the unfortunate plane shuddered as if hovering in mid-air for a moment before plummeting straight into the sea, billowing smoke.Its four companions suddenly broke away from the formation and rushed towards the British fighter.Chuck whistled. "Looks like we finally got 'em mad, sir."

"Dodge, they're going to shoot into the cockpit."

Before he finished speaking, he rushed to the front Me

The 109 opened fire, and sure enough, aimed at the cockpit, like a shower of hot lead raining on the face.Chuck rolled away, sky and sea spinning in front of him.A bullet pierced through the hatch glass, nearly shaving off Chuck's ear, shards flew, a piece of glass pierced his goggles, a searing pain, luckily it missed his eyeball.The wind that poured in through the gap screamed.Chuck briefly lost his sense of direction and turned half a circle before the fleeing German fighter jets re-entered the field of vision.With Louie gone, Chuck looked around the darkening sky and called his officer on the radio, but there was no response other than white noise.

Me

109 bit him again, machine-gun bullets sweeping off the steel guard, and it sounded like someone was banging on the door with a metal-tipped boot.Chuck cursed under his breath, accelerated the climb, made a dizzying turn, circled behind the bandit, and fired.The fighter plane with the black cross dodged it. Chuck thought it would attack again and was ready to dodge, but the other party had no intention of fighting and turned around and fled, chasing after his companions who had gone away.Chuck glanced at his fuel gauge and gave up the chase.The sun has been mostly submerged by the sea and is about to go out.If you want to get back on land before dark, you must adjust your course now.

"Louie, can you hear it?" Chuck lowered his altitude and skimmed over the sea, listening to the rustling noise in the earphone, "Louie?"

"On your starboard side."

Chuck was relieved and almost laughed nervously.He turned his head and looked to the right. The Spitfire numbered DWRX was flying in the bluish light, and Chuck could clearly see the graffiti painted on the fuselage with white paint.He waved his hand, although he knew that the other party might not be able to see it.

"Damn, I thought you were feeding the fish."

"Watch your wording, Sergeant."

"Are you okay? You sound a bit out of breath," Chuck asked.

"I am fine."

"I've got bad news," Chuck said to the windshield. "I've used up my spare tank, and I don't have enough fuel left to fly back to Beacon Hill."

"Me too. We can make an emergency landing when we see land, and then try to contact a nearby base."

Twilight deepened to the point where only the outline of the coast could be barely made out.Chuck guessed it was close to the Pevensey radar station, and tried to call the local observers, but there was no response. Louis tried the Fairlight radar station, also with no results, maybe they were too far away.With the spare fuel tank depleted, the engine rattling uncomfortably, the propellers stalled, Chuck glided for a while and landed in the dark on the beach—pure luck, if the plane had hit a power line or a log, the story would have ended. That's it.Chuck jumped out of the plane, freeing himself from his parachute pack and life jacket.Louie's plane passed overhead, a black silhouette against the deep purple sky.Chuck took off the blood-stained goggles, used his hands and feet to climb up the slope connecting the beach and the wilderness, and ran to the fire-breathing machine that was crooked on the grass.

Louie didn't come out of the plane right away, which wasn't a good sign.Pilots have been repeatedly taught since kindergarten (*Note 1) that after an emergency landing, regardless of the condition of the aircraft, they should leave the cockpit immediately.Chuck quickened his pace, it was not easy, the ground was uneven, and there were knotted grass roots everywhere, he almost tripped over stones several times.

The plane leveled a patch of bushes and weeds, and it was finally easier to walk here.Chuck climbed onto the right wing and tried to open the canopy, but it jammed and tugged several times before it slid open.Chuck couldn't see clearly, and could only hear Louie's labored breathing, "Are you okay?"

"Alive for now."

Chuck grabbed his arm and helped him climb out, half pulling and half hugging, and when the edge of the cabin touched Louie's leg, he gasped and squeezed Chuck's hand tightly.

"Are you hurt?"

Louis leaned against him, took a few deep breaths before speaking, "Maybe he got shot, in the leg."

"You actually told me I was fine."

"Even if I said something was wrong, you might not be able to help at that time."

"You." Chuck said a word, gave up, looked around, and a lonely black shadow of a tree came into sight, "Let's go over there."

The second lieutenant couldn't stand at all, Chuck supported him, and the two of them struggled away from the plane and walked towards the short tree.Chuck could feel Louie shaking, but no sound came out.

"I've got matches, they should be there," Chuck sat Louie against the tree trunk and slapped his pockets. "Great, it's here."

"It's against the rules to bring matches into the cockpit."

"Breaking the rules is my favorite thing in the world besides stout. You don't happen to be carrying a knife, sir?"

"always."

Chuck groped to collect some dried roots of plants, cut some twigs with a paratrooper knife, and started to build a small fire.These natural fuels were not dry enough, and when they burned, white smoke came out.He looked at Louis' wound with a flickering light source. The bullet must have penetrated the underside of the unprotected cockpit and hit the calf. The bullet was still embedded in the muscle, which was too deep. If only fingers and a knife were used to dig it out , I am afraid that more blood will be shed.He took off his coat and used a pocket knife to cut long strips of cloth to serve as makeshift tourniquets.

"We can only maintain the status quo." Chuck wiped the blood from his hands with his shirt, "By the way, I also pray that the base will find us soon."

"They will. The search and rescue team may start now."

The faint light of the fire carved a moving, sharp-edged shadow on Louie's face. Chuck half-knelt beside him. , half out of pain, half out of astonishment.

"You're bleeding."

Chuck had already forgotten about it, he touched his left eye, his hand was stained with sticky blood, the sharp shard of glass cut a gash from the corner of the eye to the temple, the blood dripped down his cheek, soaked Wet the collar.

"Come closer," Louie whispered, and Chuck did, leaning forward and tilting his head slightly so he could see the wound.It was a warm summer night, but Louis's fingertips were cold, and they gently slid across his temple: "It's deep, maybe it will leave a scar."

"Inevitable occupational risk, I suppose."

Louis smiled, as usual, not at the corner of his mouth, but at the corner of his eyes.He cuts more strips of cloth from the ruined coat and bandages Chuck's wound.

"You're lucky. I've seen people have their eyeballs gouged out by broken glass."

"Damn it."

"Occupational risk, as you said yourself."

The roots and twigs were dying, and Chuck added some bark to the fire, prodding the little fire with a twig.The moon should have risen at this time, but clouds covered the night sky, and the thick darkness was like an impending avalanche, which would engulf the faint firelight under the tree at any time.The chirping of insects came from the grass, it was very shy at first, and then it became louder and louder, echoing the undulating sea waves not far away.

"Can I ask you a question, Sergeant?"

Chuck sat down next to Louie, leaning against the tree trunk, "Ask."

"Why did you join the army?"

Chuck turned his head, "My former instructor asked the same question, two years ago, when I was still in Oklahoma."

"How did you answer that?"

"I said I was adventurous, and now I think it was stupid."

"You don't like 'adventures' anymore?"

"You can't say that." Chuck touched the cloth strip on his head, the blood obviously didn't stop, it was oozing, wet and sticky, "It's just, when you haven't gone to the battlefield, you always think I am invulnerable, do you know what I mean?"

Louie nodded.

"What about you?"

"What am I?"

"Why come to fly a fighter jet?"

"responsibility."

Both stared at the dancing flames for a while.There must be a wetland or pond near here, because the frogs join the summer night chorus.

"Sir."

"Sergeant."

"What are you trying to tell me this afternoon?"

"It's nothing." Louis put his head on Chuck's shoulder and closed his eyes. "It doesn't matter."

Note 1:

Air Force slang for flying schools.