He deposited the beers and Miro and Jerzy clinked their glasses with his and they drank. “Well, Jan, you are blooded in England now.” Miro Kubicki was a dark, stocky man with an unkempt head of thick, black hair. The most notable feature of his face was the thick pair of lips which detracted from what would otherwise have been very good looks. He grunted sardonically and lit a cigarette, which he left dangling from the left corner of his mouth. “Jasne. Of course, I wouldn’t be able to say that to you in person if I hadn’t saved your backside up there, eh?”
“Oh shut up, Miro. And you wouldn’t be able to say anything if I hadn’t come to your aid on Sunday. So don’t go on about it.” Jerzy Kowalski was the oldest of the three men at thirty-one, but looked as though he should still be in school. He was tall and slim with delicate almost feminine features. However, those who interpreted his looks as indicative of physical weakness were wrong. As a teenager he had been a champion boxer in his native Warsaw and he had proved himself capable of looking after himself many times, both on the ground and in the sky. A small scar under his right eye remained as a souvenir of one of his encounters.
Miro puckered his lips, then laughed. “Only teasing, Jerzy. So come on, Jan, how many kills are you claiming?”
Jan wiped some froth from his lips. “Three, I think. There was that bomber at the beginning. I know I hit it, but I didn’t see what happened to it after. Did you?”
Miro nodded. “It went down.”
“Unless, of course, you hit it too and you’re claiming it.”
“No, no. I went after another one when I saw you attack. I got that one and the 109 I saved you from.” Miro grinned at Jerzy. “I’m claiming two. I had a couple of near misses and one I’m not sure about. Maybe I should claim that one. I don’t know.”
Jan spilled some beer in his excitement. “Well then, I’ll claim the bomber, then there were two 109s, one that was on the Squadron Leader’s tail and then the one that broke off from the pack. So I’m claiming three. How about you, Jerzy?”
“Only two, I’m afraid. One bomber and one 109. I thought I’d get another, but I missed out. For some reason my Hurricane felt a little sluggish today. I’ve asked the ground crew to have a very close look at it. Anyway, that’s seven kills for the Yellow Section. Not so bad. And here’s to you, Jan, the winner for the day.” Jerzy raised his glass to Jan. “And what was the overall count, do you know?”
“Kellett told me that Red Section had six. So that’s thirteen in total for A Flight. And apparently B Flight had some action over the Thames Estuary and brought down five, so eighteen in total for the squadron.” Miro raised his right hand to his forehead and aimed a salute at the crowd of other Polish pilots mulling around near the bar.
Jerzy helped himself to one of Miro’s cigarettes from a packet on the table.
“Hey, Kowalski, I’ve only got a couple of packets of Polish cigarettes left. Go and get some Woodbines from the bar, will you?”
Jerzy winked at Jan. He lit up and blew a perfect circle of smoke into the air above his head before asking, “Any sign of Ziggy yet?”
Miro shrugged and shook his head. Jan sighed. “I can’t imagine what’s happened. I know he’s a bit of an odd character, but I can’t…”
A middle-aged officer with immaculately Brylcreemed dark hair and a bushy moustache arrived at the table, placed his pint on the table and banged his pipe against one of the table legs. “There you all are. Very well done, gentlemen. I think you all performed admirably today. Admirably. And you, Sieczko, you saved my bacon. I am most grateful. Most grateful.”
Squadron Leader Kellett patted Jan on the back. Although the Kosciuszko Squadron was made up of Polish pilots, the RAF had insisted that the squadron be under the overall command of a British Officer. Stanley Kellett, a career Air Force Officer, was that man. There had been some difficult moments, but the Poles had grown rapidly to respect Kellett and Kellett in turn was learning rapidly to respect his pilots’ flying skills.
Kellett’s pilots reverted to English. “We were just wondering about Ziggy, sir. Any news?”