Jan was in the Yellow Section with Miro and Jerzy. The three Hurricanes followed close behind the Red Section, broke through the fighter cordon and targeted the leaders of the bomber formation. Golden streams of tracer bullets from one bomber’s gun turret flew just past the left of his cockpit and then the right. Jan hunched forward with his finger poised on the gun button. He pressed and a shower of bright lights burst in front of him. He pulled his stick and banked away over the Dornier and he just had time to notice the black smoke pouring from the bomber’s engines before he became aware of the 109 on his tail. He veered to the right, down and then to the left. He felt the tremor of a nearby explosion and his radio crackled to life. “That’s one you owe me, Jan. First drink is on you when we get down.”
Jan glanced to his right and saw what moments before had been his chasing Messerschmitt spiralling down towards the Surrey countryside. He waved at Miro, who waggled his wings back. Another 109 raced in front of him, chased by one of Red Section, which was in turn being pursued by another German plane. Jan followed and fixed the Messerschmitt in his sights. The stick rattled in front of him as the four fighters plunged beneath the bombers. His prey’s fuselage now filled the circle of his sights and he pressed the button. Red and yellow flames jumped from the 109’s right wing and the fighter wobbled briefly before tailing away. A moment later the Red Section plane, he thought it must be the Squadron Leader himself, nailed his own target.
“Thank you, Yellow 3. Well done.” Jan followed the Squadron Leader, who wheeled to his right and headed back up to the bombers. As they were climbing, a 109 peeled off from the bomber formation and headed away from the action. Jan saw a small puff of grey smoke coming from the engine and then another.
“Looks like he’s in trouble, Yellow 3. Why don’t you put him out of his misery?”
“Roger, sir.”
The 109 was flying down into the sun, which was just beginning to touch the horizon. Jan was briefly dazzled by the glare and when he looked again the 109 was nowhere to be seen. Then he became aware of the Messerschmitt descending behind him with its guns blazing. Whatever the reason for the smoke, it wasn’t yet restricting the 109’s manoeuvrability.
Jan pointed the Hurricane towards the sky and narrowly avoided the tracer bursts. As he rose he twisted and turned and then put the plane into a dive, aiming directly at the 109. As the German tried to pull away to the right, Jan’s gunburst hit him right in the middle of the fuselage. Jan could see that the pilot himself had been hit. Jan drew closer and saw blood pouring down his face. He was still alive though and turned towards Jan, smiled bleakly and ran a finger across his throat before the plane began to corkscrew away towards the ground.
Jan looked at his fuel gauge and realised he only had just enough to get back to base. He scanned the skies for his squadron, but could see nothing. “Red 1, Red 1. Am returning to base. Fuel low. Over.” There was no reply.
Jan swept the Hurricane round and set a course for Northolt. His first sortie over English soil and quite a successful one at that! The heat of the action had quickly cured his churning stomach and his heart now returned to its normal rhythm. He suddenly felt ravenously hungry. It was good to be alive!
*
“Three pints of bitter, please.” Jan tried to make himself heard above the raucous clamour of the room. The landlord leaned forward cupping his ear with his hand and Jan repeated his order. Shouting, excited Polish voices drowned his words again and Jan pointed at the beer of a nearby customer and held up three fingers. The landlord nodded his understanding and drew the foaming dark liquid into three tankards.
Jan pushed his way through to join Miro and Jerzy at the corner table, which some admiring locals had vacated for them. The inhabitants of Northolt had quickly got used to the boisterous but polite and charming Poles, who had suddenly arrived in their midst. News of the initial success of the Kosciuszko Squadron that week had quickly spread and the customers of the Orchard Inn were proud to make room for them.