*I do not own the rights to Neon Genesis Evangelion. I am also not writing this for money.*

*Thanks for reading*

May 25th 2021

I was woken to a beautiful sunrise at 0600 this morning by the infinitely less desirable voice of the Base Lieutenant Commander. Still, I couldn't even take the time to really appreciate it…barely thirty minutes after the wake up call, we were sent to the briefing room focused on our new defensive measures, and what we could expect to face. Honestly, it was the vaguest mission briefing I ever had to sit through.

There wasn't any new or reliable intel. We were only told to defend against a sea attack, an air attack…or hell, even a surprise ground invasion. 'Anything might happen, so expect anything' were the commander's words. Strong words, if a bit lacking in strategic value.

Of course, we still don't know who made the first attack. And the vague details I could remember from the insignia didn't bring up anything. Honestly, I could only describe a blurry picture in the shape of an S. The commander had looked at me as if I was a fool. The fact that I actually had a kill record at that moment probably meant very little to him. I hadn't made a big deal over it, but I came back from my debriefing yesterday to find that a crude airplane had been etched onto the paint of my Folgore, something the 2nd Lieutenant was proud to claim responsibility for.

Anyhow, the briefing today defined where we would fly on our patrol, and then gave us orders to bring along special armaments, specifically a 500 kg bomb. We're supposed to use it if we come across any enemy ships while we're on patrol. Actually, the base commander iterated that we'd be allowed to use these bombs on any unknown ships that failed to make any identification. That being said, I haven't had much training to really drop a bomb on any sort of target, much less a moving one or one that's firing at me. That's just the bad news of course.

The worse news is that Command expects at least one of our sea patrol units to come in contact with the enemy.

The only decent news is that we might have reinforcements soon. The military bases in the country are on alert. Obviously, it's the best the military can do. We can't really be in a state of war just because of a skirmish from an unknown enemy. Who can say how long it would take for any number our forces to take off and reach us, but the base commander seems to be confident that they'll be ready. I wish I felt the same way.

But as far as we are concerned, sending reinforcements won't matter nearly as much when our squadron will be on the frontlines. We've been ordered to start our patrols almost immediately. We're even equipping fuel tanks in order to stay up in the air as long as possible, two hours more. I can't wait.

They're starting to bring out that terrible coffee. Better head out there.


Sadio stared at the rest of his squadron as they continued to fly in a scrambled and disorganized formation, although no one commented on it. The six Folgores had been flying like this for over three hours already, travelling a route that started from the island base and headed Southeast for two hundred miles before turning lazily and heading back towards the base from a different direction.

The flight had been slow, and boring, and Sadio had found himself counting clouds and playing mind games, or simply pulling out the map chart and looking it over to pass the time. Every now and again, Sadio would either reset the trim, or lock the stick in place in order to give his hands a small bit of rest from the cramps beginning to set in.

Thankfully, none of his turns had caused his body any grief as the 2nd Lieutenant led them on a lethargic patrol over ten thousand feet above the water. At that altitude, Sadio checked his oxygen mask regularly. Besides that and the relatively claustrophobic and confined space in which he sat, he was comfortable. He was beginning to get used to sitting still for long periods of time. As the squad moved into another turn, Sadio remembered a current quirk to the plane that he had noticed the minute they had left the ground, but continued to ignore until they began to turn and push against gravity.

The controls were still quick to respond to his movements, but the plane felt heavier to his stick. The heavy bomb attached to the unprotected belly of his aircraft quickly came to mind, and Sadio soon began to wish he could find a target to drop it on. He felt big and slow, like an elephant crawling in front of a massive bull's-eye. The stick wavered a bit as a strong gust of wind pushed under his wings and through the tail, shaking the flaps, and in turn the rest of the plane. Sadio steadied his plane forcefully, and then watched as the rest of the planes went through the similar turbulence again, and again. In Sadio's mind, it was just a bit more interesting than the rest of the patrol had been.

"All pilots check in," the second Lieutenant asked suddenly.

"Mattone Tre, va bene"

"Mattone Quattro, I'm fine too"

"Mattone Cinque, feeling nervous," Sadio answered honestly.

Mattone six, and seven followed quickly after Sadio, each a calm and almost unrecognizable voice garbled by the static and distance given through the radio.

"Good," the 2nd Lieutenant spoke quickly, "The wind should pass soon enough, and we'll eventually get back to the ground. Just keep flying awake and you'll be able to get home and rest up for the same patrol tomorrow morning!"

A resounding groan came over the radio in response, and even Sadio had to fight in order to keep his mouth shut. Though at this point, there was little point to it.

"Ascoltate, listen up!" the radio blared into Sadio's ear, "We will be meeting up with the naval patrol soon. We will fly down to seven thousand feet in order to keep an eye out for them, though we don't know how far off the patrol they might be."

"Or how far off we might be, tenente."

"Adrian, the birds in the sky have always had a better sense of direction than the dogs of the sea." The 2nd Lieutenant said with what Sadio felt was a smile in his voice. His leading plane began to roll over on its head and bank down gently towards the water. The rest of the planes followed after the lead plane, one by one, until Sadio felt the shiver as his rickety plane rolled over and began a steady decline in altitude. His eyes shifted to the rolling needle on the altimeter until it finally neared seven thousand, and he righted himself up again, finishing the fall in shorter and slower pushes of the stick.

As he continued, following after his fellow comrades on wings, he strained his neck as he looked from left to right, checking the water and the sky for anything out of place. For a few moments, he saw nothing. But the light reflecting on the ocean's surface began to shift and he noticed a few dark spots in the distance ahead of them, just slightly to the east. He was not the first to spot it.

"Sottotenente, this is mattone sette, there is a black…spot in the water up ahead."

"Who ever heard of black spots suddenly appearing in the Mediterranean Sea?" The 2nd lieutenant responded.

"This is Mattone Tre, I can see it as well. Actually, I can see another two black spots."

"What is that supposed to be?" Sadio asked himself as he leaned forward and squinted his eyes a bit. While black spots could mean anything, usually any small specks on the edge of the horizon where the ocean met the sky would be considered ships far into the distance. But these spots had very little distance and the flight could discern a rough circular patch, like ink dropped into a pool of water. An idea sprung in Sadio's mind as he clicked his radio on, "Oil? Is it oil?"

"Oil from what, Sadio?"

"A ship!" the 2nd Lieutenant responded, catching onto Sadio's thought process. "Increase speed! Don't let anything strange escape you."

Sadio gave his affirmative response as he pushed the gas into his engine and followed. Pistons pumped and the propeller whirled quicker as the fumes burst from the engine. He felt the burst of momentum press against his chest, not hard or tightening, but enough to force some air from his lungs.

Several long seconds passed as the six planes neared the black stains on the ocean, enough to see the black spots up close, and a few sparks of flame and floating debris within the splashing black liquid. It was ugly, and Sadio began to wonder if he might find floating bodies if he flew down close enough. He noticed that no one else flew down to check either.

"What ships were those?" Sadio asked.

"No way to tell aviere. Not anymore anyways. But this is where we were supposed to meet up with the patrol," the 2nd Lieutenant responded.

"Merda," Sadio whispered to himself as he looked towards the horizon, trying to take his mind off the image of dead bodies in the sea. He then began to think of the consequences of losing a patrol convoy.

"Headquarters, headquarters! This is Mattone leader. Place all bases on red alert." The second Lieutenant began over the radio. Sadio guessed it was a high-frequency channel, or at least a signal that was being boosted enough to reach the mainland. "Patrol fleet missing on the Western waters, enemy convoy unknown and at large, please confirm, over."

The radio remained silent for a bit as Sadio turned back to the oily waters, the squad was circling over them slowly. "Why were there no fires or smoke stacks for us to see from the distance?" Adrian asked suddenly, "I mean, there's oil and oil burns doesn't it?"

"Torpedoes?" another pilot suggested.

"Torpedoes would keep the fires low, and easily sink a scout convoy. Does this mean it was a submarine?"

Sadio almost shrugged his shoulders, "Or a destroyer."

"Enough talk," The second Lieutenant responded, "Keep silent for now. Sadio, pull up with Adrian and try to see if you can find any sign of those destroyers. Go, andare!"

Sadio waited very little as he pulled and sped up into the sky. He checked the straps for his mask again and looked in the distance through his goggles. Minutes after they reached the air, clouds moved away and uncovered a strange sight, a tall pillar of smoke. "Tenenente! I think I've found them! Smoke stack to the east!"

"Get yourselves in position, but stay at that altitude!" Sadio heard through the radio, though it felt as if the lieutenant had yelled down a hall full of static and noise. "We're moving in now! Both of you wait for my order before you do anything!" He yelled again.

"Understood." Sadio answered simply.

Time passed slowly, and for a few moments, Sadio began to wonder if the ships, which increased in size as he came closer, were enemies at all. Up until a shocking sound, a loud crack, shook the air around him. He grabbed the stick hard and searched for the source of the sound but found nothing. Then a star of black smoke expanded suddenly in his direct path, and Sadio quickly rolled to the right. "Flak cannon!" He yelled, hoping that Adrian and the pilots down below could hear.

"Dive!" He heard, "Dive and bomb the cruiser! Dive now!" By instinct, Sadio reached towards the dashboard and then suddenly froze as he tried to remember what needed to be pulled first. Another explosion then tore through the air.

Suddenly, Adrian zoomed past his right side and began to dive towards the water. "Sadio! Follow me!"

Focusing on the moving plane, Sadio pushed the throttle forward to keep up with the speeding Adrian, and pushed the stick forward to lower his nose. He felt gravity begin to fail him as he floated a centimeter over his chair, held down only by the belts over his shoulders. He felt his insides rise up a bit as well as he pushed harder on the throttle.

"Keep your nose up!" Sadio heard suddenly, "You might not be able to pull out from a steep dive!"

"I know how to drop a bomb, Adrian!" Sadio yelled out as he tried to keep his hands steady around the stick. The ships became clearer beyond his propeller as he neared the surface of the ocean. He quickly counted five ships. Each ship had flashes appearing sporadically, and of varying quantity, on the decks. Tracers flew around Sadio's cockpit, flak exploded around and in front of him.

A following flak burst shook his Folgore, though he steadied it once more and kept his heading behind his wingman. He followed Adrian's example as they cut the distance to the three more dangerous ships. Two destroyers swam on each side of a cruiser, and the destroyer closest to them had a smoking hole along its side.

Sadio continued to dive, flying between streams of fire hot lead, twisting and turning his plane to make sure his dive was heading towards the cruiser. He began to pull himself out of the dive, ignoring the thick black pillar of smoke pass him, and grabbed onto a handle to his left side, ready to tug it and drop the payload attached to his Folgore's belly. Sadio tried to smooth his flight path through the surrounding flak and watched as Adrian continued to near the cruiser. The bomb disconnected from the bottom of the 202 as Adrian then smoothly pulled up and rolled away from more of the incoming fire. Sadio's eyes followed the bomb for a moment, before it disappeared below the nose of his aircraft and then focused his eyes on the cruiser and the bullseye in front of him. He counted quickly in his mind, calculating his speed and distance, before he began to pull up. He then tugged hard on the handle to his left, releasing the heavy bomb. The plane jumped as the weight lifted, and the sound of creaking and scraping metal echoed from below Sadio's feet.

Sadio quickly pulled upwards and started to turn away amid the crossing streams of gunfire as the cruiser disappeared completely from his mind, at least for a few seconds as he quickly flew around to stay safe. He could not help but to look down towards the cruiser, and watch as a blast of hot red and orange erupted from the deck of the ship. Strips and bits of metal flew from the deck, and people disappeared under the flames. Then, another blast erupted from another part of the deck as Sadio's bomb hit home.

More pieces of black smoldering metal flew into the water, and several explosions burst from under the deck as the guns ceased firing. "Very good chain reaction!" Sadio heard the 2nd Lieutenant yell as the rest of the Folgores began their approach from the West against the remaining destroyers. They flew low over the water, ducking under and through white bullets and black flak.

The crippled destroyer, having the best and closest position on the oncoming fighters, fired what working guns it had at full burst, the only source of shells being fired at the four remaining fighters. Round after round few up until a flak round finally hit an unfortunate mark. The shell connected with a wing of one of the low-flying Folgores, exploding on contact and lighting the remains of the wing in black and red flames.

"Dio!" the pilot screamed over the radio spun fast and smashed into the base of the destroyer's bridge. The fragile fuel line lit and the plane exploded, as did the bomb attached to it, and the momentum drove the plane deep into the ship. Some pieces of the burning plane fell over the other side of the destroyer, the momentum was so great. Pieces of the Folgore crashed through windows before a bit of fuel ignited and the entire plane exploded along with its payload. Another bomb fell upon the ship from above as three Folgores passed over it. The ship buckled and shook on the already rocky seas, and then the hull at the belly of the ship tore suddenly, splitting and beginning to sink with each side's end moving to point towards the sky.

Sadio could see no more as he quickly pulled away and to the East, avoiding a straight flight as much as he could. The air was still obstructed with lead, and Sadio wondered if he could smell the smoke and sulfur in the air. During the turn, Sadio focused on other ships, a pair of transport barges retreating from the battle and heading further North, towards Italy. He straightened his flight a bit and pulled upwards as the shots fired over him from behind, coming from the only destroyer still able to fire.

"Transports are running," Sadio called in, "This is Mattone cinque, I'm going after them!"

"Not alone Sadio! Mattone Quattro, following close and supporting!"

Sadio flew higher, gently rolling over simply to keep the transports in view and to ensure that he was following. After he was certain that he had flown past and in front of one of the trailing transports, he roughly pulled on the stick, sending the 202 up a bit as it rolled off to the side and then began to dive upside down, a split S-maneuver.

Sadio could see many things as he flew nearer, beyond the target reticule on the top of his console. He saw jeeps, tanks, boxes covered in tarps, and people running over the deck as he felt the shake of his cannons reverberating from his wings down to the soles of his feet. Short flashes of light riddled the ground as the men fired back at Sadio with whatever they could find. A small bullet punched a hole in Sadio's cockpit window with a light shatter, while his own bullets thumped the deck.

He flew past the aft of the ship and let go of the trigger, leaving behind an intact and still floating transport. "Not sure what I expected from that…" He whispered as he pulled away and began to circle around. He climbed and rolled, slowly bringing himself behind a different transport. He began to strafe quickly, pulling the trigger before the ship had reached the target cross. He watched the bullets punch through the wooden deck as if it were paper, and leave

A burst of fire and smoke mushroomed from the deck suddenly and Sadio shouted with wide eyes as he rolled out of the way. He flew towards the side of the first transport and Sadio fired again, sending bullets bouncing off the side of the metal hull. An explosion rocked its surface as another Folgore fired in a dive following Sadio's previous attack course. The planes crossed each other's path and flew away from the transports.

"They will be calming that fire for a while yet Sadio, good shooting!"

"Should we strafe it again?" Sadio half-yelled, still feeling the excitement from the adrenaline pumping into his blood.

"We might have enough ammunition for another run, but I do not think we have the fuel." Mattone Quattro, a young man whose name escaped Sadio's memory for the moment, answered wisely.

Sadio looked over his shoulder quickly, watching the plane follow behind him on his right side. His eyes then scoped over the smoldering wrecks of the destroyers and the burning barges as they slowly crawled forward in the waters. A small few guns flared from the decks, daring to entice and insult the planes that had caused such bloody wounds. But then other members of the crew pulled the gunners away, trying the save the ship.

Sadio's blood ran cold as his eyes narrowed on several far off figure lying still around the deck of the ship, and a few in the oily waters, visible only through the orange life vests.

Suddenly, the figures still moving started to run towards the bow of the ship, scared witless, as two preying shadows opened up on the burning deck, blowing through wood, fire, steel, and flesh. Another grand explosion ripped through each ship, finally sending the two barges to the bottom.

"Let's go home piloti," the 2nd lieutenant said over the radio, an obvious smile in his voice, "We've won this part of the war already."


May 27th 2021

The 2nd lieutenant said that, but I didn't feel like we'd won much of anything that day. Sure, we came back home. But we landed with one less plane, again. Mateos Veratti, a nice guy. He helped me clean the canopy to my plane the first time I realized it needed a thorough wipe down.

He died calling God's name, wing clipped and spinning out of control. He smashed his plane into one of the destroyers, though I'm not certain that he did so purposefully.

When I finally was able to sit down back at the base, I realized that I was beginning to feel sick to my stomach. It was an hour before our debriefing was scheduled when I realized why. We'd already defeated them, the people on those ships, what was the point of destroying them completely? The fight must have been taken from them right…? Was there no other way?

I suppose I may never have the answer to these questions…

We went through the debriefing as normal, the only difference was the lackluster congratulations the base Commander gave us. He then decided to give us a bit of bad news. Our squadron protected the Southern waters. The East and the West were also protected with a little help from the US Navy, the British Royal Navy, and the German Navy, otherwise known as the Deutsche Marine. But our own Italian ships were behind on the technology, and the training. We lost nearly half of our entire fleet in the fighting and now we don't have enough to safely patrol.

So instead, headquarters has decided to change our strategy. Instead of protecting against an invasion, we will become invaders ourselves.

It's a dramatic way of putting it, I know.

We were just told the details of this mission this morning, and so they tried to give us some stirring speech before they rushed us out and into our planes. I didn't even have time to write this anywhere else but inside my cockpit, waiting for the order to move out.

I can't even be sure that we're attacking the right people. We seem to think that Tripoli is the only major port city where the attackers could have come from, and that's within the nation of Egypt, or has been since the end of the Fourth World War. But as far as I know, that's circumstantial. It's not enough to prove anything beyond a shadow of a doubt. But I guess that's just another reason I don't enjoy being a soldier. Orders and orders, and we're meant to follow them, not question them.

The only good thing is that we won't be going into this fight alone. Beyond the fact that most of our Italian fighter squadrons will be coming with us, we'll meet up with and escort a number of Lancaster bombers. There'll also be a squadron or two of United States B-17 bombers flying in from the South.

We were at peace only two days ago. Technically, we're still officially at peace. The radio has made no mention of a declaration of war…


Sadio was beginning to feel the strain of being on edge for several tense hours. Being hyped on caffeine did nothing to help his mood or his nerves.

The squadron had met up with the Lancasters halfway through their journey over the Mediterranean Sea, and their pilots had thus far been good company. Though there was still a language barrier that many could not overcome, Sadio could understand most of what was said. He simply felt no need to start a conversation with even the friendly British pilots. Sadio stretched his neck, turning to study the bulky Lancasters from time to time. It was a bomber of the same age as the Folgore, but obviously much larger and more sluggish in movement. Sadio figured it was probably harder to fly.

The plane was not built to look pretty or even intimidating and at times it would seem more like an eyesore to some of the more outspoken pilots. Sadio had to admit that the plane did seem fairly squareish and simple. Four engines kept the plane flying high and straight, attached to a pair of straight wings jutting out from a long cubed body. The tailfins extended horizontally from just behind the tail gunner position, with two fins vertically attached to each end.

Every now and again Sadio would break away from the squadron in order to carefully fly around a Lancaster, almost hovering, looking over the markings and specific details of the plane. His eyes would roam over the open windows and gunner bubbles, where a pilot might look back through thick goggles and an oxygen mask and then either wave or bob his head in greeting. Sadio could not help but raise his hand in return before pulling away and flying into formation with his squadron once more. He nearly joined up with the wrong squadron at one time.

"You would think we could see the fighting from here, eh Sadio? Ground forces were supposed to start the battle earlier..." Sadio heard over the radio as he steadied his flight within the formation.

Sadio figured the voice was Adrian, though he could not be certain from the static done by the radio. "How far are we Tenente?" he said, hoping to take his mind off of the boredom and tension.

"Too far, and we still don't know the full scope of the frontline."

"I don't like this. Flying under the sun, without so much as a clue to how combat is going on the ground."

"Si Sergente," Adrian replied through the radio, "I agree with you."

The chatter continued, grating in Sadio's ears for a little while, but at least it kept him awake. Meanwhile, the British pilots remained silent over the radio channel, either through better discipline or an interest in the Italian conversation; Sadio could not even begin to guess.

The radio crackled suddenly though, and a high-pitched whine caused Sadio to cringe. He shook his head to try and rid himself of the ringing now in his ears. A deep, and unfamiliar, voice broke through in broken and accented Italian, "Cut the chatter!" the voice said, "We've sighted a bomber flight far to the east. We can't identify them or their route. They may be enemies."

"What's their heading?" The lieutenant asked.

"South by Southwest, they're heading towards the same place we are. They likely have escorts, and their target might be the same as ours."

"How could they sortie so quickly from a surprise attack?"

"I'm not certain tenente and it doesn't matter. We can't let them reach the battlfield, or else there'll be no point to this mission."

"I understand." The second lieutenant replied, "Mattone Trei and Cinque, stay with the Lancasters. Keep them flying and remember to cover the other escorts when you can, over."

"Si Sottotenente."

"Adrian and Mattone Sei, you will follow me. Dio be with you all. Good luck, out."

"And to you sottotenente." Sadio heard the British pilot reply, this time in English.

The three Folgores broke away from the flight one after another. Adrian was the last to fall back, slowly trailing behind Sadio before pulling up into the air and following after the second lieutenant once he had pulled far enough to fly upside down. They pulled to the East and disappeared behind a passing cloud.

The silence continued with only the whirl of the engine keeping Sadio in limbo between focused and absent-minded. An hour passed, with no signal or sign of any of the planes. In the back of Sadio's mind, he began to worry.

There was no sign of combat and no sign of the bombers. Hopeful words soon followed, wondering if the unknown bombers had been enemies at all. But the hope quickly began to fade as time passed and the bomber squadron was sighted again in the same direction and with the same heading. Yet the other planes were nowhere to be seen.

The bomber flight fell farther back and hid behind spread out and darkened clouds. Sadio felt like he could smell the smoke in the air even at that altitude, watching the many burning buildings along the coast.

Sadio began to see flashes of light along the beaches and further inland, likely from cannons and tanks in intense combat. Sadio's heart pumped harder and his hands trembled as he remembered the fear of dying. But before anyone could notice, a black cloud of smoke suddenly exploded a few feet above Sadio's Folgore. Shards of hot metal fell from the cloud, passing harmlessly through the air between himself and the bombers. Soon the sky was peppered with these blasts, shaking the air and easily heard even over the roar of the engine. Sadio found a focus to his wavering mind and clamed down. He still felt dread from the approaching dangers, but he focused instead on survival and accomplishing the mission.

"Flak is heavy!" He heard over the radio from a British pilot.

"Where the hell is it coming from!" Another nearly screamed, "We aren't over the target yet!"

A blast caught the a Lancaster next to Sadio, blowing through the wing from below, "Bugger!" someone yelled, "We've got a hole on our left wing, no major damage though!"

"Thank god for small miracles." said another British pilot, this one a bit older, "All right, everyone hang tight! We've got to get through this!"

Not long after he said that, the flak died away and more screaming filled the radio, "Planes incoming! Enemy planes incoming from 6 o'clock high!"

"I've got a flight of Folgores coming in from 12 o'clock north, and they don't look very friendly."

"Escort fighters," The British translator yelled into the radio, trying to keep his Italian smooth and easy to comprehend, "do what you can to keep those damn fighters off of us!"

"Si signore!" the sergeant yelled as he pulled away and began to dive into the fighters coming in straight on. The other Italian escort squadrons quickly separated like Sadio as he pulled into a tight turn, beginning to scout for any other incoming planes heading for a weakness within the bomber squadron. The turn was short and quick, and he watched as a fighter flashed by him, guns blazing. The single act of turning around to look for other fighters had saved Sadio's life.

Sadio could see far enough around him to notice that the attack on the bomber squadron was well coordinated. Several enemy fighters dived down on the Lancasters, strafing along the bulky planes and passing by them without any damage along their own planes. The planes would then turn around and attack once more, this time from below.

During this moment of notice, a plane flew near Sadio's target sights almost absentmindedly. Sadio quickly pulled the trigger and peppered the engine as it passed by him completely. It turned into a blaze instantly, and began the long spinning fall to the ground.

Sadio then turned hard, following after several fighters that had been flying in the same direction as his first kill of the day. He felt a small grin come across his face as he thought this, flying after three enemy 202s as they attacked another Lancaster, already wounded with a smoking engine. Sadio fired a wild spray of bullets, trying to bring them down before they could destroy the Lancaster completely. None of the bullets hit their mark, but the squadron quickly separated and disregarded the target for the sake of their lives.

"Hey Bobby!" yelled a man through the radio in a thick west American accent, "What's the name of that pilot in the plane above us?"

Sadio ignored the question as he circled around the wounded Lancaster and began to fly deeper into the squadron again, looking for more targets.

"Damnit man, my name is Robert!" A male british voice replied, "And I don't know! We're in the middle of a fight, this isn't the time!"

Sadio quickly realized that this spat was likely between two members of the same Lancaster. This one, close enough that even Sadio would pick up the short range transmissions. It was already beginning to fade as he flew away, but not before the American replied, "Cause when we get back on the ground, we're gonna have to thank him."

Sadio began to feel a strain within his neck as he continued to push against gravity and then turned into a roll. The crossfire between planes did not continue for very long before the planes suddenly began to fall back. The reason came to them quickly in the form of black smoke and shards of metal.

Several feet off the side of a Lancaster, a flak shell exploded, and then several more began to pop quickly and at a rapid pace. For a while, a very short while, they seemed harmless and far away. But off to the side, Sadio suddenly felt the heat of a blast, even through his canopy, coupled with the sound of screeching metal.

Sadio quickly viewed the damage from a flak shell tearing apart the underside of a Lancaster's wing. The engine had turned into a bright orange flame with trailing black smoke. The propeller came to a halt and the plane itself began to tilt slightly. Then the engine itself exploded as the fuel line met with the flames, tearing through the wing completely and sending the Lancaster into a long fall. Sadio listened to the shouts and screams for help from within, turning over to the falling machine every so often. "B-Bail out!" He shouted in English, "Bail out or you'll all die!"

He could not tell if the message had gotten across. He was not even sure which of the disembodied voices had been inside of the plane. He felt a pang of guilt strike him at his chest, attacking him for trying to remain cold and detached…and silent when there had been time for such things. His mind wondered if the plane had been carrying the American who had promised to thank Sadio personally. A promise that seemed unneeded and false, Sadio could do nothing for the Lancaster and could do little more than continue to dodge flak. "We're coming up over the target! We might just have to make it through this flak boys, hold together!"

Sadio's teeth grit together as he waited, keeping his eyes open for any planes that might come out of the clouds. He felt as if just a bit of flak would not be enough.

A sudden bang shook his entire plane, down to his pedals and his stick, and Sadio began to feel the plane fight against his movements and his commands. The plane moved sluggish, and began to lose a bit of altitude.

"Pilot! Italian pilot!" Someone yelled in thickly accented Italian, someone different from the first translator, "You're leaking oil!"

Sadio strained his head over the canopy, trying to get a better look at the engine. He could see nothing, but the engine was already beginning to sputter. He focused again on the stick as the plane began to list and turn against him, to which he pulled to stay level once more. He looked up in time to see another Lancaster begin to fall, this one relatively silent, as another wave of enemy fighters had begun an assault from above. Sadio nearly shouted in frustration as he tried to pull himself higher in order to rejoin the fight, but the Folgore remained, pulled by gravity and an engine unable to cope with the strain of such a hit.

Another burst of black smoke and shrapnel suddenly filled Sadio's view and the glass over the cockpit cracked and the engine groaned and popped. Sadio's heart skipped a beat as he looked at the cracks move like lightning across the canopy, with some of the shrapnel protruding from the glass. He knew he still had life, but could not see through the black smoke even as he passed through the flak.

The reason came quickly, as he realized his engine was giving off black smoke with light flames coming off a few of the pipes. He could feel his speed die down as his 202 began to corkscrew towards the ground. "Sadio!" he heard through the radio, "Bail out! That plane is useless!"

Sadio pulled open the canopy, letting out smoke that had been trapped within the cockpit. He almost let out a breath of relief for checking the straps on his mask so often. He grabbed hold of the straps at his shoulders, trying to make sure that all of his equipment was still attached to him, fighting against the gravity of his plane's death spin. Blindly gripping onto the edge of the open cockpit, Sadio finally pulled himself out. He began to fall aimlessly, controlled by the battering of air currents and gravity.

"1…2…3" He began to count.

"Damnit! We can't keep going on like this Captain! We should abort!" Someone yelled through the radio as he fell.

"4…5…6"

"The November is going down too! We'll never make it!"

"7…8…9"

"Alpha flight to all planes. Our escort fighters have been shot down and most of our bombers are either down or falling back. Abort the mission."

"…10" Sadio finally reached over and pulls hard on a silver strap hanging from his shoulder. The pack attached to his back opened up and a parachute opened up behind him. He felt the air leave his lungs for a few seconds as the chute opened, bringing Sadio's body to a quick and jerking stop in the air, or rather, a very sudden slowing down.

Sadio eyed the sky as the planes began to pull away as quickly as they were able, most trailing smoke and flames behind them. Several of the enemy planes continued along their way, while others trailed behind the bombers, perhaps hoping to score another kill or confirming that the mission had been successful.

Sadio turned his neck from side to side. His nerves were beginning to catch up to him and overcome the adrenaline that had been in his blood. He was behind enemy lines, away from home and likely very far away from any hope of rescue. He could see an expanse of desert sands in one direction, and ocean water in another. He felt he could see a few villages far in the distance of the sands, but his focus remained on the port city not far from where he would be landing, where he could clearly hear gunfire.

He turned his eyes towards the sky, looking at the fleeing Lancasters, he instead caught sight of a full flight of bombers heading towards himself and the battlefield near him. Adrian and the Lieutenant had also failed in their mission.

-Hawk Strife