WW2

Chapter 4: Devil's Ace

John and Oliver sat in the dimly lit room. Dust particles drifted around, and Juels, with a dictionary for Dutch and English and a piece of paper, was attempting to learn the language.

"You should attend a class for that you know," John advised.

"Lesson, two days."

The room fell into the morning ambience once again, the Sun slowly began covering itself with clouds, and the birds started their first of many flights. A set of double doors creaked open; a man walked in. He wore his light black trench coat and a hat that covered his face with an impenetrable shadow. His hands wore black leather gloves, hiding any skin that could show. He towered the others who looked up at him and the vanguard of dust he sent forward from his entry.

"Sorry for the wait. I was fetching a pilot."

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Five Days Prior - May 27th 1940

Doriph ran for his plane along with the rest of his squadron. Very quickly did he take his seat, and did the engine start. He felt an excellent air brush against his face as plane after plane left the airstrip in an organised fashion. He kissed two fingers and touched a photo of his wife on the flight deck.

He closed the cockpit hatch and moved his spitfire into position. The plane grew warm; it vibrated and growled as the engine prepared itself for another trip. He readjusted his helmet, which had a knife mark of his flight name, Devil's Ace.

The aircraft sped up. Every bump and notch of the grass shook his plane but not his confidence. Without much delay, he and his squadron were in the air.

"Alright, everyone go into formation. This ain't our first rodeo." The leader, Peraze, radioed to the 16 planes tailing him.

"How many Jerrys do you think we'll encounter?" William asked.

"However many they decide to throw at the beach. We should face fighter planes first though; if we are able to break through, then the Stukas would be a piece of cake."

"Not if," Doriph chuckled, "When."

"You sound confident," A fresh pilot chimed in.

"Sorry I forget, your name rookie?"

"Joseph."

"Well Joseph, be careful when attacking Stukas; they shoot backwards as well."

Ruth added, "You can say that about any bombers too; they got machine guns facing everywhere."

Doriph laughed, "It is a skill, a PHD doctorate skill, to get knocked down by a bomber."

"How many do you think you'll knock out?"

"Four, maybe five, depending on the ammunition. What about you?"

"I'd say-"

Miaim interrupted, "One, possibly zero."

The pilots laughed as they rested their head. The trip to and from, while mostly safe, was dangerously mundane.

"We're estimating the number of Jerrys were going to kill, not how many bitches you slept with."

"Your mama told you to speak like that?" William defended Miaim.

Ruth grinned, "You have no right to be talking, how many planes did you knock out?"

"Two. Never thought killing men would be a competition."

Doriph chuckled, "Confusing times these are."