Dogfight!

The 38th Fighter Squadron was on its daily patrols along the coast of France . Leading the fighters was Major Mayo, on his wing was Captain Thomas and completing the diamond formation were Lieutenants Dawson and Woods. Three cliques behind them flew Major Crow and his squadron.

The P-51 Mustangs thundered through the blue skies over the Normandy coastline. It had been a calm patrol so far. Below them, the American pilots could see the German coastal positions. The AAA batteries noticed the fighters and opened fire on the formations of planes with flak and small arms fire. The Mustangs roared through the gauntlet, rolling, banking, and increasing altitude to avoid the deadly field.

"Mayo! Enemy fighters on your 3 o'clock high!," radioed Major Crow. "Roger that Dylan. Squad! Break right and turn into their attacks. Let's have them overshoot us," commanded Major Mayo. The P-51s all made sharp banks to the right and dove under the attack angle of the Bf-109s and Fw-190s that had come out of the sun.

"Crow! Do you copy?' asked Mayo 'Go ahead, I read you.'

'I need you to see if you can get above those Krauts, can you?'

'Sure, come on boys!" Major Crow and his squad pitched up and began a hurried climb to their requested position. Mayo and his P-51s had broken off into individual fights. Lieutenant Woods slid in behind a Bf-109 and fired a burst from his .30 caliber machine guns. Several rounds punched through the plane's fuselage, one of them piercing the fuel tank and releasing a stream of gasoline and hydraulic fluid into the air behind it, leaving a trail. Lt. Woods pulled up, out of the volatile stream. Angling in for a high attack, Paul fired another burst and caught the disabled plane in the nose assembly, ripping several blades from the propeller. The plane lurched with the force of the rounds and began drifting downward, losing altitude rapidly. Paul tracked it to the ground, almost losing his lunch as he did, due to his ironic fear of heights, and saw a parachute and, shortly after, a fireball rising from the field.

Lieutenant Dawson was in a much worse position, or so it seemed. Two planes, a Bf-109 and an Fw-190 had closed in on his six and were sticking close. The 190 pulled in front of the 109 and opened fire. Obviously a quick game of rock paper scissors had decided who was to go first as motions could be seen in both cockpits. Jeremy barrel-rolled to the right and the 190 followed. The 109 pulled into an Immelman and used the higher position to initiate his attack. The maneuver he was about to pull was supposed to position the pilot under his opponent providing an easy target. It was not a maneuver for the inexperienced however, as he would soon learn. He pushed down on his stick and his plane began its dive. The roared down in between the combatants and started trying to pull up. The forces at work on the aircraft were too strong for the newly trained pilot to handle and he ended up going to far down. He finally leveled out at a height of about 3 feet. His eyes opened after the fear had passed and the praying was over, but it was all in vain as he flew straight into a telegraph line and tore the canopy from the plane, and subsequently crashed into a small barn, his plane exploding and setting the barn ablaze.

Insane laughter filled the radio as Jeremy realized his enemy's mistake. The pilot in to 190 only shook his head in amazement at the stupidity of the man that had just crashed. The moment passed, both pilots settled back into the fast rhythm of the dogfight. Lt. Dawson weaved his Mustang left and right, trying to stay out of the 190's sights. Then, Jeremy pulled tightly on the stick and set his planes into a high-g loop. The edges of his vision grew darker and blood pulsed in his head. He made it out of the maneuver and found himself in perfect position behind the Luftwaffe pilot. He pulled the trigger and rounds honed into the fuselage until the fuel tanks ruptured and exploded. The Mustang roared victoriously through the cloud of smoke and fire as the Fw-190 fell from the sky in a confetti of metal shards.

High above the battle, Major Crow assembled his squadron in a delta formation and prepared for a diving assault. They maintained their altitude waiting for the call to attack. Suddenly, at least six Luftwaffe pilots thundered from the heavens above Major Crow's four plane squadron. The outnumbered and surprised squadron broke into a defensive dive, rolling and twisting and spreading out to avoid giving the Germans too large of a target. A radio signal from Major Crow sent the planes into a circling maneuver, which allowed for all the planes in the squad to provide covering fire for each other. The Luftwaffe Major took his squadron and tried to hit the formation head on from the side of the formation. All the Mustangs opened fire on the formation and four of the enemy fighters fell from the sky, only one parachute was seen amongst the debris. The Major and his remaining wingman performed a split-s maneuver and headed back to their airfield in defeat.

After the short fight, Major Crow took his squad and went to Major Mayo's assistance. His squad had been trying to stay out of enemy sights since the beginning of the battle. The Germans seemed to come from every attack angle and they seemed to number in the mid fifties. Frequent radio transmissions were sent back to England requesting urgent reinforcement. Major Mayo barrel rolled left and right, dodging fire from several Bf-109s that had lined up behind him. He had taken several rounds in his wings and fuselage, but none proved lethal for the hearty P-51. One of his machine guns had been damaged and would no longer fire and half of his left aileron had been torn away. Lt. Dawson had taken a hit to his fuselage and fuel was draining from one of the tanks. Lt. Woods' canopy had been peppered flak and was making an obnoxious whistling noise. Capt. Thomas had taken a .30 caliber round through his elevator controls and his arm. He struggled his way back to England after scoring three kills and damaging two others.

Several of the Luftwaffe pilots formed in a swarm formation and swarm towards Major Crow's plane, attempting to overwhelm and destroy him. Seeing the swarm coming at him and Major Mayo, he radioed, "You had better not bury me if I don't make it out of this Mayo!"

"You had better hope any of us are still alive to do anything to anyone!" replied Mayo.

The swarm had come within range of them and had opened fire. The bullets were thick and the two pilots swore they would die right here. Major Mayo took a critical hit to his engine block and the propeller stopped in its place. His fuel tanks had been set aflame, black smoke billowing from the holes. Major Crow took a hit that nearly took his head from his shoulders, but thudded into the seat beside him. Mayo pulled out of the fire as best he could and attempted to eject. Weakened by the fire and bullets, the entire tail assembly of the Mustang tore away and tumbled loosely to earth. The rest of the plane spun violently, the instruments inside going wild trying to calculate different measurements. The canopy punched loose and Mayo scrambled out, kicking off from the hurling mass, trying to seperate himself from its deadly spin. The ruined plane fell away to the earth and Mayo deployed his parachute and drifted slowly to the ground. He was in occupied France.