MIA, sequel to Dogfight

He hit the ground running. His legs spirited him toward the wreckage of his friend's Mustang, while his mind scrambled around, through survival scenarios and the events that led him here. He heard German chatter coming from ahead and ducked behind a hedgerow. Peering through carefully, he could see shadows marching past, away from the downed Mustang and probably to his own. Breaking cover, he continued on his hurried pace and arrived at the wreckage. There lay his comrade, Dylan Crow, in the blazing Mustang, like an ancient warrior upon his funeral pyre. A solomn solute and a "Good Bye" were all Mayo had to offer. "Least i don't have to bury you man. Good luck up there." At that moment, he heard clear German coming from just a few yards away. Scrambling into the hedges nearby, he lay still as a rock. He turned his face away from the light and hid his hands in his pockets, allowing his olive green flight suit to hide him.

The squad of German soldiers moved into the light of the fire, their faces wore a mask of inexperience, and their uniforms looked as if they had only gotten them that day. "Noobies," Mayo muttered under his breath, "Frickin' kids." One of the soldiers wandered up close to the wreckage, seeming to admire the once powerful war bird. "Ein gefallener Engel," He said sadly and walked back over to his comrades. The squad moved on towards the nearby crash site of one of their own. Mayo dashed over to the downed Mustang and punched through the cockpit. He reached in and grabbed Major Crow's dog tags and his flight wings. Putting the trinkets in his pocket, he offered one final salute, and continued his flight into darkness.

After seemingly countless hours of running and dodging Wehrmacht patrols, he stumbled across a small encampment in an old barn. One of the men there nearly jumped out of his boots at the sudden appearance of the pilot. More than a few pulled pistols out, but one of them knew this was no enemy. "Abaissez vos armes, il nous signifie aucun mal. Il est un Américain," her beautiful voice commanded. "Bienvenue, friend," she said with a warm smile, " May i ask, who are you?"

"I am Major Chris Mayo of the 382nd Fighter Squadron, United States Army Air Corps."

"A pilot? What puts your feet on the ground, airman?"

"My squadron and I were intercepted by Luftwaffe pilots, several dozen of them. I bailed out, but one of my friends was not so lucky." He pulled out Major Crow's dog-tags and motioned behind him. "Rode her straight to the ground."

"I am so sorry Major, it is difficult to lose a comrade. You must be tired, please, come and rest."

"Thank you,um..."

"Kristen."

"Thank you Kristen." Both of them smiled and Mayo offered a slight bow of his head.

The Resistance fighters were a good bunch. They stood for the France they believed in, not this new France under Hitler's dominion, and were willing to give their lives in her name. The Major got along greatly with the Free French, but he noticed someone at the camp who wasn't so friendly looking.

"Who is that in the red beret?" Mayo asked a group of Frenchmen.

"Him?' one of the Frenchmen responded,' He calls himself Spade. He is one of the British commandos. A group found him wounded near a network of trenches. We try to talk to him, but he won't have any conversation." At that, Mayo walked up to the giant of an Englishman. Seeing him approach, the rather large man asked one question. "Who the hell are you?"

Somewhat taken aback by the bluntness of the question, Mayo answered the best he could.

"Name's Mayo, me and a friend were shot down not too far away."

"Mayo? What sort of name is that?"

"It's my name, at least i don't call myself Spade."
"The Frenchies tell you that? I really do hate this place."

"Then why don't you leave?"

"Simple reason, don't know where the hell i'm at."

"You either? Least i'm not the only one."

"You're a pilot, by the looks of it anyway, and you don't know where you're at? Bloody Americans. You probably couldn't tell your ass from a whole in the ground."

"Apparently you can't either, Misure Commando," one of the Frenchmen interjected, to the delight of the other rebels in the camp. Spade only turned back to the heating stove, cleaning his Colt .45 and his Lee-enfield sniper rifle and muttering things,mostly expletives, about Americans and the French.

"That went well, i suppose,' Mayo commented to himself.

Mayo spent the rest of the night talking with the various members of the camp and began working on a route back to England, and eventually, back home. They were apparently only 40 miles inland from Normandy. That was 40 miles through Nazi infested territory, and quite possibly, 40 miles of hell. The small base had plenty of food and water for the trip, but ammunition supplies were less than plentiful. There was ammo for all sorts of weaponry, most of which no one at the base had, everything ranging from small .22 calibur rounds to large flak shells. There was a bullet-riddled German truck, which may or may not run. All around the small barn lay parts from all manner of things that the French had found and brought in from their night patrols.

The small group spent the remainder of the night in the barn. Many of the Frenchmen asked the pilot for tales of his battles with the Luftwaffe. He recounted a few of them, several of which perked a response from the silent Red Devil, but he never told them of the battle he just came out of, the memory was still working it's self out, and the details still scrambled around at random. The sun eventually peeked out over the horizon signaling a new day had arrived, and the group had gathered their gear and were setting out over France. The band of 15 followed a small stream for several miles, going downstream, hoping it lead to the Channel. A going along a turn in the stream, the group ran into quite a suprise. A patrol of Germans ambled casually out of a hedgerow not even 15 meters away from them. Upon spotting the group, the Germans almost literally froze in place, as did the French, waiting for whatever was going to happen, to happen. The tense atmosphere was suddenly shattered by a blast from Spade's Colt 45. The Wermacht soldiers scramble off in seperate directions, leaving their quite dead comrade to bleed into the stream from the well placed head shot. As Spade looked around, he noticed most of the French had taken cover as well. That gave him a slight chuckle.

"Scared one of 'em right out of 'is boots," Spade commented upon seeing a pair of nicely shined boots lying on the forest floor. Mayo had moved to the dead German and searched his pockets.

"The bloody hell are you doing Pilot?" Spade asked.

"It's called looking for intel. This guy had a nice map on him, and a bottle of Conach. You want it?"

"Nah, not into that, though i'm quite hooked on that drink you Americans thought up. Coke is it?"

"Didn't think you guys got that in England."

"Not very much, but i get it special order from the States."

"Cheers to you then, my friend."

"Don't count on it." Spade said with a grin.


After a few more miles, and no more encounters with German patrols, they came upon the stream's mouth, which emptied into a larger river, and not the Channel, as they had hoped. They followed the river downstream a little ways and eventually came upon a bridge. The bridge was a recently repaired steel bridge, with airfield grating acting in the road's stead. On this side of the river, the group could see a machine gun nest on either side and the operator's room had a tell-tale barrel sticking out of the window. An anti-aircraft gun lay a few meters out and to the left of the road. The other side was more or less the same, minus the control room gunner. It was likely this bridge was rigged to explode in case of Allied attempts to cross. What seemed like two divisions of tanks and soldiers, along with their support trucks and a Flak 88 Anti-Aircraft gun, were in process of crossing the bridge.

A shot rang out and one of the Frenchmen fell dead.

"Sniper!" Mayo shouted and the group took cover in the nearby foliage. An alarm rang out from the bridge and the two Panzer divisions were suddenly arrayed against them. One of the tanks on the far side of the river blasted the tree line near the group, missing terribly and causing the group to move. German commands rang out amongst the noise. Troops had broken off from the group and began to move against the Resistance fighters.

"Spade, you think you can take out that sniper?"

"Sure thing, can you give me some covering fire?"

"Definitely. Kristen! Get your men to lay down suppressing fire on the bridge."

"Right. Peloton! Etablissez supprimer le feu sur le pont!"

The Frenchmen laid down pretty heavy fire on the bridge head. The German troops scrambled out of the way and back to the road. Hiding behind the tanks for cover, they felt a tad safer. None dared look out to see where the enemy was and how many there were.

Spade spotted the sniper with his scoped Lee-Enfield. He was in the same control house as the machine gunner, who had withdrawn his gun from the window and attempted to place it in the west facing window, but had caught three stray bullets with his head and two with his chest. The sniper had wisely ducked down and was relatively unharmed. However, now that he was standing in his original position, he was the target. BOOM! The sniper's head was torn through by the large .303 inch bullet.

"Sniper's down." Spade remarked casually and began seeking other targets. He found a tank commander poking his head out from the top hatch of the lead Panzer and sent the poor man tumbling back into the tank, his face a bloodied mess, screaming the worst sort of German curses anyone ever heard. Spade continued his search for targets up and down the German line.

Mayo directed and redirected fire where he thought it was needed. Though nowhere near as good as a trained infantry fire leader, his orders kept the Germans at bay for the moment. The Panzers couldn't get a good target on the group and their rounds landed haphazardly. Some landed short and splashed in the river, others tore apart the tree line. The young pilot set a plan into action he had only now come up with. "Does anyone have any explosives?!" He shouted over the din of battle.

"Oui, misour, here you go," said a Frenchman named Jacques. He tossed a bundle of TNT to the pilot who dashed off with them. Running through the woods, he stayed relatively low, both to avoid stray fire and detection by the enemy. When he was sure he wouldn't be seen by the Germans, he dashed out of the trees and up to the rear Panzer. He lit one stick of dynamite and shoved it down the huge main gun. The fuse burned out and the barrel was torn apart by the blast, rendering the tank's main weapon useless. One of the crewmen inside opened the hatch and was picked off by Spade's rifle. Mayo proceded to the next tank, but this time he openened the rear engine compartment as much as he could. He lit a stick and ran back to the wood line. The tank's engine exploded into a huge fireball, which in turn set off a chain reaction with the contained ammunition. .50 calibur bullets exploded out of the hull and the large armor piercing rounds punched out of the blazing tank and tore through the tracks of the tank in front of it, causing the thing to veer to the left and into one of the bridge's columns, effectively stalling out the entire line of Panzers. The pilot ran back to his comrades, who gave him a cheer. His actions waranted both a hug from Kristen and a sigh from the Englishman, who quickly returned to his sniping.

Thinking that the enemy must have tanks, many of the pinned down Germans fled from the tank column, leaving the tankers without infantry support. A Frenchman, Marques, had returned from a quick jaunt to a nearby farm and came back dragging two small rafts. They were large enough for the now even smaller group, having suffered 5 more casualties, bringing the group's number down to only 9 remaining. The group burst from the woodline toward the river and launched the boats almost instantly. Those who weren't rowing fired at the enemy and attempted,as much as one could, to keep the enemy ducking. Kristen and three of her fighters were in one boat, Mayo, Spade, Jacques, Marques, and a Frenchman who had dual MP40s were in the other. They were spaced out about 20 feet from each other and Mayo's raft was ahead by about 12 feet or so. A tank shell landed in the water right next to Kristen's raft and sent the entire thing flipping over, throwing its occupants out into the river.

WIthout even thinking, Mayo jumped out of his boat and swam with all his strength to the other raft, all the while hoping to God that there were survivors. He reached the wreckage and found two of the Frenchmen floating downstream. Kristen and her remaining companion clung to the driftwood, both of them completely deafened by the explosion. The pilot wrapped his arm around the young French woman and began dragging her to the other side. The Resistance fighter who had been left in the river began to swim toward the bridge. He caught on to one of the pylons and began to climb up. The others watched as he began his climb along the bottom of the bridge toward the beginning of the circuit of the demolition charges, setting off the timer on each charge as he went. He reached the end of the bridge and jumped onto land. Offering the group on the far side a salute, he ran toward the German lines, shouting "Vive la France!"

"Who was that man?" Mayo wondered aloud.

"I don't know, but he's good in my books, for a Frenchie." Spade replied.

The timers on the charges ran down to zero and the entire bridge blew, scattering flaming Germans and tank parts everywhere. None of them saw the galliant Frenchman on the far side of the river take his final stand atop one of the Panzers, his scrounged Thompson sub-machine gun blazing away at the Germans, laughing maniacally as return fire tore into his body.

The firefight behind them, they now numbered only five. Five of them continued the journey North towards the English Channel, but first, they had to get to a town called Dunkirk.

Crawling out of his flipped over Panzer, the bloody faced tank commander who met Spade's Lee-Enfield pulled himself to his feet, his once sharp looking uniform now crusted in his blood and the blood of his fellow tankers along with oil and dirt made him look like a veteran of the Great war back in 1914.

His goggles had caught shrapnel from God knew where. As far as he could tell, he was the only one on this side of the river who had survived the blast from the bridge. He limped over to a Kubelswagon that looked intact and drove to the Wermacht HQ the tank column was heading to before this mess occured.

Revenge for the shameful defeat was foremost in his mind and he requested an entire company of infantry and two Panzers, along with support from the Luftwaffe, to hunt down the Underground fighters who had put his Panzer Division to shame. Setting out from the Depot, the small army of Germans sought the utter destruction of the band of five.

"Look here, Jerry went and left us a nice present. Let's see if she runs any though." Spade rambled on inspecting an armored car that the Germans had abandoned. "She's got enough Petrol to get us to Dunkirk and it looks like she's equipped for anti-air. Everyone in!" He said getting into the driver position. Mayo hopped into the gunner's seat and scanned the skies. Kristen and the remaining two Frenchmen loaded into the remaining space and braced for a bumpy ride.

They set off to Dunkirk doing about 40 miles per hour.

About an hour or so into the ride, Mayo spotted a squadron of Me-109s that seemed to be giving chase. He leaned into the cabin and alerted everyone else to the new visitors they had received. The squadron closed the gap on the armored car and Mayo opened fire on them, catching one in the engine with a burst of fire. It spun out of the sky and crashed to the earth.

The remaining three planes dove down and opened fire on the car. Mayo shouted down to Spade to break off to the left and the first plane missed its mark and most of the rounds pounded into the street ahead and to the left of the car. The next plane wasn't so lucky and it's pilot caught a cockpit full of flak shells. The plane slammed into the dirt road and exploded. The last plane made its run at the car. Opening fire, it walked rounds up the car and over Mayo's position. Mayo ducked at the last moment, but was wounded along his right arm and across his back. Just as it had started, the remaining planes were gone.

The passed through an intersection of roads and made a few more miles before the infantry trucks and Panzers joined into the chase. The Panzers couldn't match the speed of the armored car and were stationed at the town of Dunkirk itself, hoping to catch the car at its destination. The infantry trucks pulled up behind the armored car and looked for targets. Mayo got back into the gunner position in time to see the first of five trucks pull up. The soldiers in the bed of the truck opened fire on him, but the bulky AA gun offered some protection. The large gun turned on the truck and the before it even fired off a round, the driver of the truck panicked and sent his truck careening of the road, flipping it and throwing his passengers everywhere.

The second truck made visual contact and Mayo opened fire on it, tearing apart a small farm house as the transport dodged behind it.

"We're here!" Spade shouted,"Oh Christ, They've got Panzers! Everyone hang on tight!"

The two Panzers stationed at the town opened fire on the Armored car, narrowly missing it. The car broke the perimeter and sped into town. A round caught the vehicle in the under carriage and flipped it over and sent it tumbling down the street. Flames engulfed the vehicle and debris landed all around. The now heavily wounded pilot's only concern was getting his comrades out of the wreck. He pulled Spade out of the driver's seat and into an alley way for cover. He ran back into the car and pulled out Kristen, and made it his last trip as the last two Frenchmen had been killed in the wreck.

He collapsed on the side of the building, breathing heavily and bleeding profusely from his wounds.

"Mayo! How bad have you been hit?" Kristen asked after seeing his blood stained uniform.

"I'm not making it home." He replied grimly.

"Don't say that!" Spade yelled at him. "We're getting you home and getting you a round of decent and a few medals."

"No, i'd never make the trip over the Channel with these wounds. I have to stay here."

"Damn it! You're coming even if i have to...no, you really do want to stay, don't you?"

"Yes, better to die now than later in this God-forsaken war. Now you two get out of here! Get back to England."

"I shall never forget your bravery, mon chevalier beni" Kristen said as she kissed him good bye.

Tears filled all of their eyes as final goodbyes were said. Mayo pulled himself back to his feet and stepped into the street. Four squadrons of infantry were coming down the lane toward him. He scooped up a Thompson from the wreck of the car and opened fire on the German troops. He took them by complete suprise, but as he had guessed, more soon arrived. He was heavily outgunned and his vision was blurring from both lack of blood and over abundance of adrenaline, yet he was unnaturally calm. He charged toward the Germans, Thompson blazing in one hand, pistol throwing rounds out in the other. He reached the first soldiers and a fierce melee ensued. There could be only one outcome though. A bayonet pierced his lung and the butt of a rifle shattered his jaw, he grew cold and frightened, and death seemed too slow to come. He was on his knees in the street when he saw the disfigured comander stride up to him, Luger drawn. The cold barrel came to rest on his forehead, and he heard the hammer lock into position.

"Auf Weidersehen, American." Were the last words Mayo heard before the commander fell dead, a .303 inch hole in his forehead. Spade had returned! Machine gun fire erupted from behind Mayo and rounds sprayed into the street ahead of him. A few Germans made last ditch attempts to fight the British force that had materialized behind the American pilot.

"We came back for you, Mayo, figured you didn't really want to die yet, especially not in this country, eh?" Spade said as he assisted a medic in loading Mayo onto a stretcher. "Besides, the Frenchie girl over there got awfully upset, and, being the gentleman i am, i led this whole bunch of boys back here to get you back for her, hahaha."

"Yes, Spade, you are such a gentleman." Kristen commented

They brought him down the road a ways toward a small field hospital the Brits had set up. There, he was treated for his wounds. The doctors said it might be a while before he could fly again, or fight for that matter. So, he spent his time writing letters to his family and squad mates, letting them know what had happened over the past few days. He even learned a little French from Kristen, much to Spade's utter disapproval. After about two or three weeks, the doctor finally gave his approval and allowed Mayo to return to England.

"Well, i suppose this is my final farewell to you, eh?" Mayo said to Kristen.

"Oui, it seems that way. I have enjoyed your company and feel blessed to have met such an honorable American." She said with half a smile that held back a flood of tears.

"Don't cry Kristen, I will come back to France one day and visit with you. I'll even write if you'd like me to." Mayo offered.

"That would be wonderful, and when you come back, don't wear that old flight suit, it makes you look rather silly." Kristen said with a chuckle.

The boat horn sounded from the docks and a captain called for any last minute passengers.

"Guess that's me." Mayo said before Kristen wrapped him in a hug. She gave him one last kiss before he ran to the docks and boarded the waiting craft....