Eagles Over Britain by Jackson Lee

Author:Jackson, Lee [Jackson, Lee]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical, War
Amazon: B08GCZW9SG
Goodreads: 55425725
Publisher: Severn River Publishing
Published: 2021-04-13T07:00:00+00:00

27

August 16, 1940

RAF Tangmere, England

Jeremy joined in as pilots of 601 Squadron enjoyed a midday party of sorts with a group of WAAFs and pilots from other squadrons based at Tangmere. This was no planned event, just men and women taxed to the limit finally enjoying a day off ready status with time to relax.

Suddenly, the front door swung open, and the station commander hurried in, grim-faced. “601 Squadron, you’re back on readiness. Everyone else out. An attack is coming our way.”

The airfield was rutted and pockmarked, the result of overuse and an attack the day before, causing the squadron to take longer than usual for takeoff. To compensate, they climbed steeper and faster than normal to gain height before engaging with the incoming enemy, at the cost of burned-up fuel. Then they orbited the airfield, scanning for bandits and listening to their controller. His instructions were firm. “Engage the big boys. Leave the little ones alone.”

Jeremy’s heart beat faster than at other times when they had scrambled. Always before, they were sent to meet the enemy, first flying to altitude, then vectoring to intercept them. This time, they had almost been caught unawares, and now they circled, waiting for an impending attack on their home field.

He scanned the southern skies, saw nothing, and scanned again. Then Fiske’s voice came across the radio. “Bandits at ten o’clock, low. Going for Tangmere.”

Having deserted the vic formation in preference for the more flexible one copied from the Luftwaffe, all eyes focused on that section of the sky. “I see them,” Jeremy called. “Estimate fifty. No big boys.”

A diamond-shaped formation of Ju 87 Stuka dive bombers/fighters flew into plain view with no escort. Squadron Leader Hope called the controller. “We see the bandits. No big boys but plenty of little ones. Request permission to attack.”

“No.”

As they watched, the Stukas flew over Tangmere and dipped their noses. Then their searing, signature whistle rode the winds as they plunged toward their targets, one bomb landing near 601’s dispersal hut and barely missing Squadron Leader Hope’s car.

“Bloody hell,” he called, and against orders, uttered the command, “Tally-ho.”

The delay was costly. Before the 601 fighters could get to the swarm of Stukas, it had destroyed seven Hurricanes on the ground at Tangmere as well as the officers’ mess and two hangars.

Fiske’s voice came over the radio. Anger tinged it. “Blue flight. Follow me. Tally-ho.”

With a fury, Jeremy and the fighters of Fiske’s wing dove into the flank of the Stuka formation, lining up, shooting, rolling out, and looping through tight turns to strike again and again. The Stukas, designed years ago as dive bombers, were slow and outclassed by advanced-design fighters, and were easy targets for the Hurricanes. Within minutes, they fled for the coast, only to be picked off by the pursuing, furious pilots of 601 Squadron.

Jeremy climbed and dove, circled and looped, ignoring the stream of bullets from the Stukas’ rear gunners and delivering blistering fire on the slower aircraft, asking no quarter and offering none.

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