The Spitfire Mk Vc cruised along at 300 mph. Our valiant pilot relaxed, he still had about 5 minutes till he would reach the combat zone. He looked to his upper left and saw a Beaufighter Mk X cruising has well. He looked to his right and saw a fellow Spitfire Mk Vc climbing at 5 degrees. But something else caught his eye, it wasn't British. The plane looked boxy and was coming straight at them.
"Crap! Fw-190 3 o'clock!" The pilot yelled into his radio. How did a Falca Wolfe get here so fast? Wait, he wasn't alone, there were 3 other aircraft with him, he didn't recognize them. They had a squashed body shape and two engines, they were closing in fast.
Then he heard the sound, it sounded like thunder coming straight at him. The first aircraft had to be going at 500 mph at least, one of them fired at the Beaufighter...with a 50mm canon. The Beaufighter was shredded and started to dive, missing a wing and a tail. Our pilot pulled behind the plane, it had to be those supposed jets that he had heard about. Fast has light, scary than devil, and impossible to catch. No matter how hard our pilot pushed his Spitfire, it wouldn't go any faster. He couldn't dive and risk losing the wings. The jet turned around and prepared to fire back in a head on. The jet closed in on him much faster. The jet opened fire and the Spitfire did as well, the spitfire's 4 20 mm cannons hitting the left engine and setting in it fire.
Sadly our pilot didn't come out unscathed, a 50 mm shot hit his right wing, causing him to lose almost half of it. The Spitfire was still, somehow, flying and our British pilot was able to make it back to base in one piece for tea.
And that is British engineering at its finest, blessed by the queen, named by the Prime Minister, and built by the Scots.