The Desert Hawk

February 22, 1942

Somewhere Over the Sultanate of South Shamlak

Flight Lieutenant Pieter Van Straaten was a man who craved adventure. It didn't usually didn't matter what kind of adventure it was; he needed to keep moving and keep riding that edge. War or not, world events or not he pursued what he wanted to pursue. He had that wily, toothy grin and curly blonde hair that reflected his desire to remain in the shadow of danger. The latter had been chopped down, though, and manicured into a style that fit Lenish Royal Air Force regulations. He'd also traded a motorcycle for a Kittyhawk Mk. IA this time. If it hadn't been for the growing scope of the war, Pieter wouldn't have cared about whether or not Belka wanted to expand its empire. He'd always figured that their borders from Fato to Osea, Recta to Sapin would never be enough but that they'd never try anything too bold.. Sooner rather than later he'd also found that it was better if the Belkans didn't rule the world when they did try it.

He pushed his Kittyhawk along the desert landscape, dipping and rising to maneuver with the massive dunes in this part of the world. He could feel the centreline tank and the two 100-pound bombs with each move he made. The plane would struggle a little to ascend and then drop pretty abruptly when he tried to ease it down. His eyes widened a bit in interest each time he did either. The pilot's eyes ceaselessly searched the desert's emptiness, looking for the slightest sign of movement. He and the three other fighters of 717 Squadron, The Fennecs, were deep in Belkan-Shamlak territory now, which meant that someone had to be out there, heading south towards the forward positions of the 11th Army. Pieter decided that he'd go this way for another few minutes, and then press more towards the west. It didn't matter what his flight lead said; they were out here to tear up some Jerries and Pieter was determined to do that.

He glanced back to his left and saw the Kittyhawk of Flight Lieutenant Gabriel Olivia bobb over several particularly high dunes before going back down towards the ground. Pieter imitated the Skully's move to a degree, almost as if to return some sort of signal. He looked around again and frowned. Still nothing but desert; the pilot keyed his radio and cleared his throat.

"Fox Leader this is Fox Three, still no sightings...we sure there's Jerries out here?" He asked.

"We are, but we still need to check. Stop complaining and keep your eyes scanning, Fox Three." Squadron Leader Bruce Oxton replied in a terse tone.

Pieter grimaced and was about ready to reply with a few snarky words in his native tongue, but stowed it. The man was right and if he spent all his time arguing with the man next thing he knew they'd been in the midst of a flight of Luftwaffe 109s. The pilot craned his neck and sat up as high as he could against the back of his seat. Even then he saw nothing but beige and various shades of brown. He rose up again to clear a wide gorge and looked down over his shoulder. The pilot then made a quick circle, pushing up a bit higher for a better view. He stared down and saw movement. After a second he realized it was a line of camels, likely accompanied by one of the nomadic groups of the area. As he swooped down and banked left he saw Gabriel's plane. The other Kittyhawk swooped over and settled off his left wing.

"Spot something, Ataata?" The man asked.

"Buncha nomads, Skull." Pieter replied as the two Kittyhawks resumed their course to the northwest.

Pieter checked his map and noted that they were nearing a popular route for Belkan supplies moving south. The Afrikaner was banking on that being the place where they'd hit paydirt. Pieter pushed the throttles up and loosened up a little before he selected his six machine guns. When he was closer to the route he signalled to Gabriel and pointed to the west. After giving their leader a heads up, Pieter and his wingman pushed due west. Pieter stayed low until he reached the last major rise before a long, flat valley. The two Kittyhawks raced nearly parallel to one another, rapidly reestablishing their mile separation. When the slope went upwards the pushed up it and burst over the crest. The two planes dipped their planes in opposite directions to check both sides. He saw movement to the north and turned towards it.

"I might have somethin, Skull! Three o'clock!" He called.

And oh did he ever. Pieter almost immediately noted figures scattering around formation of . 222 armored cars and Opel Blitz trucks. Pieter switched to his bombs before he rose up and made a right-hand turn to circle around. He slowed and aligned his plane with the row of vehicles below.

"Ek sê, Fox Lead! Whole buncha Jerries down below us!" He called.

Gabriel went high while Pieter pushed across the convoy, leaving the two bombs in his wake. He ditched his centerline tank and switched to his guns, going nearly vertical to get a look at what the two bombs had done. Black smoke swirled together with the sand over flames where vehicles and men had once been. At least one had made a direct hit, and the second had either clipped something or landed just long enough of the convoy to do something. Pieter looked forward and rolled, smoothly and carefully repositioning himself parallel with the ground. Gabriel had landed his two bombs somewhere in the middle of the convoy, landing one long and the other right next to several trucks. The two Kittyhawks circled while the convoy below burned. Pieter switched to his guns and considered whether or not they should lay more hurt on the bastards.

"Pieter looked out and around for Foxes One and Two and spotted shapes in the distance, coming from the...north. Pieter squinted his eyes against the glaring desert sun and stayed above the incoming shapes.

"Fox Lead, are you and two approaching us from the north?' He radioed. The reply was immediate.

"That's a negative, Fox Three."

"Then Skull, break off the attack. We've got bandits."

Pieter came around and rose before diving at the growing shapes, straining to see what they were. As he closed in he realized the aircraft were twin-engined types. One lumbered towards him and started to climb albeit slowly. By now he'd concluded it was a pair of Bf 110Ds, likely coming to the rescue of the convoy. Foolhardy bastards to take on a bunch of smaller and nimbler Kittyhawks, Pieter thought. He swept his nose to the right and fired several shots at the other Bf 110 to keep it down. He easily made it out of the way and turned back into the attacking fighters. He saw dark objects falling from one of the machines; bombs, it seemed. The Afrikaner stayed out of the reach of the rear gun on the climbing 110. He triggered his guns several times as he climbed behind and above the Bf 110. He caught impacts just before the Belkan fighter-bomber disappeared behind his nose section. Pieter broke to the right, mindful of the errant tracers zipping past him. He went right and made a wide circle to put distance between him and the Messerschmidts He saw the lead Bf 110 turning to either try and follow him or run from the fight.

"Fox Four, where are ya?" He drawled.

"Above the Jerries; got the trailing guy." Gabriel replied.

Pieter let his wingman make a diving attack on the aforementioned plane and moved in when he pulled away. Pieter went up and dove at the Bf 110, leading it while it turned and placing another burst of rounds into the machine path. He kept leading the plane and firing until he saw one of the propellers shatter. The opposite engine belched fire and secured Pieter's 17th kill. He pulled away and circled upwards again, searching for Gabriel or the other 110. As he twisted around he saw two shapes high above the sky. For a second Pieter wondered if they were Foxes One and Two, but as the planes nosed down he noted they weren't Kittyhawks. He squinted more but was interrupted when their noses twinkled. He broke to the right as two Bf 109Gs passed by. Pieter turned and rolled over into a dive, pursuing the two Belkan fighters as they came down and leveled out near the desert floor. The two planes split; Pieter took the lead plane.

"Fox Four be advised; we got a couple a blerry Jerry 109s." He radioed.

"Roger that Fox Three." Gabriel replied.

Pieter followed his prey to the left and moved to keep him pinned against the terrain. If the Bf 109 got altitude, room to maneuver, then he'd either have to gamble or run. Pieter wasn't very fond of running from the other guy. He lead the 109 and fired several bursts from his .50 calibers, hoping to hit the Bf 109 soon. He looked back and saw the other Messerschmidt snaking towards him. Pieter broke to the left and started circling around to counter.

"Skull, the hell are yah?" He asked.

"Coming in...be advised we've got at least two more 109s...Fox Lead?" Gabriel radioed.

"We'll intercept them, Four. Go help Three!" Oxton snapped.

Pieter found himself almost nose-to-nose with the Bf 109, He jammed the triggers back and clipped the Belkan's tail with his bullets. Pieter titled his Kittyhawk to the right to avoid clipping the bandit with his wing. Pieter dove down and hurriedly reversed his course so he was again chasing the Belkan fighter. He looked up to see it trying to flee and decided to catch it before it got too high. He pushed the throttles up and braced himself against the seat as his fighter roared upwards. He clenched his teeth and drew in a breath before balancing his Kittyhawk a little more. The aircraft was slowly going inside the Bf 109's turn as his machine guns chattered away, tracers marking the progression of the bullets. Pieter could barely see the Belkan by the time he rolled and was forced to dive back for the Kittyhawk's realm of strength. He caught a glimpse of the Bf 109 trailing black smoke as it started to tumble down from the upper reaches of the sky. Before he could reach it, though, the pilot heard unsettling scrapes and felt his plane shudder. As he rolled upright the hydraulic fluid gauge in his cockpit started to fall. Pieter hit it a few time and then looked around. He caught a glimpse of the other Bf 109 and yanked the stick to the left, slowing to foil the paid descent of the Belkan fighter. Tracers flashed by and one chipped at the top of the canopy. He tried to turn back and at least fire but the Kittyhawk reacted sluggishly.

Pieter looked all over for the Bf 109 or another Kittyhawk, and spotted Gabriel ascending to pursue the Belka. The Afrikaner cheered him on over the radio while he tended to the situation in his plane. The hydraulics were quickly dying, but he couldn't tell what the damage was. It didn't seem to matter, though; the Kittyhawk was in rough shape and an attempt to level out didn't work for very long. Pieter pulled back the throttles and thankfully got what he wanted out of that. He then tried to turn to the south and barely got that one. The pilot, growing angry and started to think more in terms of how to control his descent, decided now was a good time to ditch...or land. As the plane buffeted against trying to go nose up. He finally gave up and took a hand off the throttle to open the canopy. He unbuckled himself and started to stand up. The plane was coming down faster and faster. The man looked down at the ground and saw he needed to get moving.

"Ahh kak…" He growled as he gripped the parachute's ripcord.

The pilot's escape route was out of the left of the plane and into the open air where the wing was clear of the rear stabilizers. He nearly fell out of his cockpit, and then was pulled from the plane when the unheld stick was free to fall whichever way it chose. Pieter pulled the ripcord as she started to tumble and braced as his parachute deployed and pulled him to a very abrupt standstill. He looked around and drew in several loud breaths. He looked up and saw he had a good chute, then realized that the impact had pulled off his leather helmet. He looked down and watched his Kittyhawk falling down to the desert and its death. The pilot started slowly getting his bearings. The convoy was now far behind him, which gave him hope that he was further south than he'd first been. Still, that meant that he was closer to the lines, and even if he snuck through the lines and all the Belkans waiting out there...he still had to hope he wasn't shot by his own side. Pieter sought distraction from that thought as the ground started to come up at a faster rate.

His training and instincts carried him through the final meters. Pieter braced himself but the landing still hurt; the dune he hit felt like concrete. He tumbled a little before he stopped and struggled to his feet. His parachute tugged in the gentle breeze until he wrenched his survival knife free and started cutting it's he did, he heard a steady droning and looked up. His eyes were drawn towards the location of his destroyed Kittyhawk, and the Bf 109 circling over it. Pieter scowled and considered drawing his Webley. He watched the 109 circle once more and felt a deep sense of indignation and an equally deep stain on his pride. Verdommnt Jerries...