Jan Sieczko had been spitting tacks when he got back to base on Monday evening. After waiting around fully kitted up for days in the suffocating late August heat, the squadron had finally gone into action on the very day he’d gone on leave. What made matters worse was that after some frantic activity the day he had been away, the following two had been quiet. He had got into the air, but had not engaged the enemy. He had hoped today would be different, but it was already evening and he’d still not found any action. He looked to his right at the five other Hurricanes. They looked magnificent against the deepening blue of the sky. The sun would set in about an hour, he thought. He was flying as the wingman in Squadron Leader Kellett’s A Flight. They had scrambled in the late afternoon on reports of German bombing formations over Hampshire, but they had found nothing in their sweeping reconnaissance of southern England and now Jan could hear Kellett’s voice crackling over the radio to suggest that they call it a day. The squadron had begun to swing round on a northerly bearing when Jan saw the bombers. On the northeast horizon a fluffy white bank of cumuli had appeared from nowhere and they were slowly emerging from this cloud cover. By the time the formation was out of the clouds, Kellett’s group had realigned itself yet again to face the approaching enemy.
“Dorniers. About fifty or sixty, I think.”
Kellett’s voice crackled again over the radio. “I can’t make out the size of the fighter screen. Can anyone?”
Jan thought he could see about ten Messerschmitt 109s, but there must be more. “Twenty or so, I think.”
Miro’s voice burst excitedly through the static. “Now we shall have some fun, my friends!” Jan saw Miro waggle his wings to signal his keen anticipation.
“Now, gentlemen. Keep to English please and remember – no grandstanding. Yellow 2! Wait for my order to engage.”
They were about two miles distant and closing rapidly. Jan could make out the rest of the Messerschmitts now. His heart began to pound as Kellett signalled for the aircraft to climb. The descending sun behind his left shoulder glinted and sparkled on the glass of his instrument panel. The sky above stretched away to infinity. They levelled off and now he felt his stomach clench. Jan closed his eyes and said a quick prayer. When he opened them the squadron was almost in position. The Hurricanes were flying a quarter mile or so above the bombers and their protective screen of fighters.
“Good luck, everybody. Just pick your targets and go get ’em!”
Kellett’s Red Section dived down out of the sun and within seconds two 109s were plummeting earthwards.