To Guest - I hope you are liking this story
Okay side note, there will be a change in history for a future story I plan on writing, briefly mentioned. No spoilers, just history changing. Enjoy this short chapter.
15 December 1994
Sipping tea, Janos was watching an old British movie. Ice Cold in Alex. A story from the North Africa campaign. One which the old man never served in. As he watched, he thought of the real stories he heard from returning pilots. The Aces who fell in British hands. As he took another sip, Emil walked into the room. The old man smirked. "What are you watching?" the little child asked.
"Ice Cold in Alex."
"What's it about?"
"A soldier trying to get to an Army ambulance to Alexandria. Crossing the African desert. Back in the second world war." Janos said and the boy sat in a chair.
"Where you there?" Emil asked. The old man laughed, shaking his head.
"No. While the Brits and Americans were fighting it out in Africa, I was in Europe. Escorting the bombers." the old man said, starting to tell his story.
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28 May 1942
Flying high above the dozens of Lancasters, Blackhawk and his squadron entered French airspace. Finally, the Allies were making ground. The Germans and Italians were losing Africa, American joined the war, some kind of miracle was turning the tide in Greece, now mass bombing raids were heading down the German's throats. He was bitter about the Soviets joining the Allies, but it was the lesser evil as well as strategy. But he hopes that Poland will stand free after the war. The night sky loomed over the fleet of aircraft, making it difficult for the Pole to find German fighters. But he would watch the skies nonetheless. Looking at the moon, he spotted two shadows. "Contact two o'clock low. Blake, Wilson, go greet them." Blackhawk said. The two fighters broke off, nose up, getting ready for a dive run. Focusing back on the bomber formations, he thought of the new pilots. Untested, but still full of hope. Searching the night sky, he watched with a careful eye. But even a careful eye can't catch the darkness. Rows of tracer rounds shined from above the group. "Contact! Eleven o'clock high!"
Pushing the throttle, he lined up the tracer's origins in his sights. Taking a breath, he fired, his tracers lighting up the German night fighter, their left engine burst in flames. As the Germans got lower, the bomber's gunners finished the job. Examining the situation, he saw little to no damage. Circling back, the flak opened up at the forward bombers. This was the point which the fighters had to fall back. Circling the empty sky, the Pole watched out for any more night fighters. It took many long minutes for the bomber to drop their payload and return. As he waited, he saw four more night fighters speeding towards them. "Contact. Nine o'clock high. Hans take Friedriksen. Take them out." Blackhawk ordered. The two Spitfires broke off from the formation. As the flak got closer, he led the squadron to meet them. When the bombers got out of the flak field, the fighters flew over the bombers. Heading home, the path would be more peaceful.
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9 June 1942
Standing on the tower, Blackhawk waited for new aircraft to arrive. Command has decided that his squadron was to become ground attackers. Not air superiority. Leaning on the railing, he looked out at the channel. So much has changed for him. Ever since the Battle of Britain, he and his squadron has been noticed by every nation. Famous Aces of Aces. He amongst the most famous. There isn't a man who hasn't heard the name Blackhawk. It inspired fear in German pilots. But he could only hope that the Germans don't find out his real identity. Then Ruta will be in danger. When the roar of piston engines echo the air, he looked at the runway, seeing new P-40 Kittyhawks flying down onto the airfield. The Pole hopes these new fighters will bring hell to the German bastards.
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23 June 1942
Two fighters, railroad intersection was the target, flying low Blackhawk kept an eye out for German fighters. With him was Andre in the P-40 with victory marks. Traveling above the French countryside, he listened over the roaring engine. Waiting for AA guns or lucky German aircraft. But for most of the journey, they flew in silence. That is, until their target was up ahead. A watchtower surprised them. Likely placed to detour freedom fighters. Worry set in. If they had a radio, then fighters will soon rush to them. Pushing the nose down, putting the tower in his sights, he pressed the trigger. The tower was ripped apart, giving him the chance to pull up as the railroad came in sight. Dropping the bombs, both P-40s turned, the violent sound of explosions echo behind them. Another successful mission. Looking back, he saw a pillar of black smoke, more than there should be. Perhaps they managed to hit a passing train. If so, then it would be a bonus.
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13 August 1942
"Contact ten o'clock low." Blackhawk said, seeing a squadron of bf 110s diving to the Manchesters. Pushing the throttle, he looked down the sights, taking careful aim, the bomber gunners were already unleashing their wrath, taking a breath, unleashing a burst of bullets, the 110 spiraled in a tail spin. Picking a new target, he pursued a 110, putting the right engine in the sights, firing a long burst, the engine burst in flames, sending it spiraling down. Once the sky was clear for now, he pulled the throttle back, getting back behind the bombers. Pulling the nose up for attitude, he watched out for any more fighters.