Just Ordinary Men

Chapter 1

A totally unnecessary 'Jawohl Herr Major!' brought a scowl to his lips concealed beneath the canvas oxygen mask.

He glanced all around constantly vigilant for a response to the early morning raid.  A wry smirk crossed his lips as he recalled the comment made by an early prisoner of war he had met 'Beware the Hun in the sun, Beware the Goon in the moon', the warning given to British pilots on the dangers of combat flying.  He growled at the thought that if the OKL - Oberkommando Luftwaffe - had their way he wouldn't even be here, at 41 deemed too old to fight.  'Bullshit!' he muttered.

'Scheiße!' he swore noticing the aircraft taxiing across the airfield below - evidently his charges in the Zerstorers had made an abysmal failure of preventing a response.  'Rot Schwärme mit mir!' pushing the stick straight forward, glancing back he saw Red Flight peel off to follow him down, and dove towards a section of three he had spotted below.  Flicking the selector to cannon he waited calmly as the centre aircraft below floated into the gunsight and allowing for drift opened fire.  A thin stream of shells spat from the cannon centred in the propeller and his lips set in a grim line.. not of pleasure but simply satisfaction of having done his job

A blast to his left rocked the wings of his Messerschmitt Bf 109F series and he cursed pulling back on the stick and kicking the right rudder realising he had come within range of the airfield defences.

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A twin-engined silhouette flashed by overhead and a glance was all Ashton needed to recognise the Me110 Zerstorer - Destroyer - as the Germans had christened their light fighter-bomber.  A quick tap of the foot on the left rudder pedal to put off the aim of anyone gunning for his taxiing plane and he opened the throttle fully feeling the power push him back against the only armour in the airframe, that designed to protect the precious pilot from attack behind.  As the tail came up he felt the controls, whilst sluggish on the ground become lighter.  A glance at the airspeed indicator showed take-off speed which his faithful crate had already told him, the rumble from the wheels ceasing as they left the ground.  He paused a second, no longer - to do so in battle invited death - then slapped the undercarriage lever to retract the main wheels, a second more then flaps retracted also.  Glancing around he flicked the switch on his R/T to transmit.

'Impi Leader to all Impis, report!'  Listening carefully as first one then two, three more reports came in of successful takeoffs.  Finally there were no more, eliciting a fresh round of swearing.  'Green One.. where are you?'

A pause, 'Green Two to Leader.. he bought it sir.. Green Three and Yellow Two as well.  Caught a packet taxiing.'

Ashton scowled in anger but swallowed, channelling the energy into positive action.  'Right.. let's make them pay..' Switching channels on his R/T he called up Sector Control, 'Beetle, Impi Leader squadron airborne, nine of us, where are they?  Over'

The reply instant and crisp 'Impi this is Beetle, Angels 10, bearing 105, range five miles.  Over.'

'Beetle, Impi, received, out.'  Switching back again to the squadron frequency, 'Form on me.  Angels 10 bearing 105 range five miles, make for Angels 12' knowing the extra 2000 feet of height would give them a vital opening advantage.  Glancing to the sides he saw the squadron fan out, not into the three ship Vics that had caused so much death in the early weeks of the growing air battle but mimicking the German two ship formations which gave so much more flexibility and safety as the pilots spent more time looking around for enemy aircraft and less time looking at the others in their formation to avoid collision.

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'Damnation.. they're airborne!'  Alfelt flicked his R/T to transmit 'Wolf Leader to all Wolves.. head for base!'  Opening the throttle he cast an anxious glance at his fuel gauge knowing even being based on the northern coast of France these operations only allowed his staffel five minutes over England.  Having automatically checked he was no longer transmitting he muttered 'Adler Angriff.. ach du scheiße!' voicing his opinion of Goering's much vaunted ideas, and looking round for his fellow aircraft joined the formation at the front, to escort the Zerstorers back home to their base.  Meanwhile he mused sardonically that the much vaunted Messerschmitt Bf 110D long-range fighters - intended as bomber escorts - had proven so disastrous in the role they had themselves been relegated to the role of medium bomber themselves, requiring that his staffel escort them.